Chapter 3: Smile Though Your Heart Is Breaking

Ron and Hermione had wanted to come over as soon as they heard what had happened. Harry strongly suspected that they had originally intended to apparate at the stadium itself, while he was still in the medi-tent waiting for his shoulder to heal--it seemed exactly like something Hermione would insist on doing--but Ron must have somehow talked Hermione into alerting Harry first before simply showing up unannounced.

And for that, Harry was grateful.

It's not that he didn't appreciate the gesture. He was touched that they wanted to come all the way to see him, that they had been so concerned about his injury that they had wanted to be at his side at a time like this. He knew how lucky he was to have them for best friends. But he just couldn't let them come. Not right then.

He just couldn't let them see him that night, not the way he had been in the medi-tent, right after Roger Franklin had broken the unimaginable news to him. He had been too stunned to take it all in at first, too numb and dazed to register the full meaning of the words, to feel their true impact. But later that night, when he was all alone, with no one around for whom he needed to put on a brave front, the tidal wave came crashing over him: unexpectedly, painfully. And he wept silently throughout the night, waiting for exhaustion to claim him into a dreamless sleep. He was happy Ron and Hermione were not around to see this.

He just... couldn't face anyone about this just yet.

It had been five days since it happened. He had returned to his flat three days ago, thankful to be home, relishing the privacy of his own room and his own bed, where he wouldn't have to deal with whatever pathetic sob story Rita Skeeter was spinning about him this time. And he could only imagine that she must have really been chomping at the bit with this. There had been a steady stream of owls coming through his kitchen window since he arrived home, of course: tokens of best wishes from friends, sincere condolences from Cannons fans who were devastated after Edmond Devon had made the announcement of his retirement from the game.

And then there were the daily letters from Ron and Hermione, wanting to know when they could come over, wanting to know what they could do and if they could be of any help to him at all. Eventually, he relented. In truth, he did want to see them. For the last nine years, they had been by his side for every bad thing that had ever happened to him, and this was no exception--even if he didn't want to face this head on himself just yet.

The sound of voices out in the hallway alerted him to their presence. It was Hermione's voice that he heard first--she was speaking to Ron in that hushed, fretful tone she so often slipped into whenever one of them was in trouble over something. He smiled to himself as he heard her; she would make a wonderful mother one day, he could tell already.

"Ooh, I could kill that Skeeter woman for writing what she did!" she was telling Ron. "How dare she exploit Harry?! She'd better not even think of coming here and bothering him, either..."

"If she does, she's even more shameless than I pegged her for..."

Harry shook his head. Looks like he was right after all.

Ron and Hermione knocked on his door soon after. He waited a few seconds to answer it; he didn't want them to know he had been at the door all this time, hearing them talking about him. As soon as he did, Hermione flung herself onto him, squeezing him so tightly that his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you finally let us come over..."

Behind her, Ron stood awkwardly, with a hesitant grin and his face so red, it looked as if all his blood had been rerouted to his head.

"Hey, mate," he said quietly. Then, as if just now noticing Hermione's death grip on Harry, he said, "You think you can ease up on him, love? He did just hurt his shoulder..."

"Oh..." Hermione turned scarlet and let go immediately. "Sorry, Harry... I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Harry smiled. "No, s'all right. No worries."

But Ron and Hermione both looked so apprehensive still, as if they expected him to break into pieces at any second.

"I'm fine," he told them. "Really." He smiled, in an effort to get them to ease up a bit. "Relax, would you? You're starting to scare me a little."

"Sorry," Ron muttered. "It's just that... well, we just, you know... we wanted to make sure you were okay. So... are you? Okay?"

"Yeah," he said. It was an outright lie, of course, but he just didn't want anyone's sympathy right now, even theirs. "So, how was the wedding?"

That's it, he thought. Get them to talk about Seamus' wedding. Change the subject so we don't talk about me or my stupid injury.

Ron chuckled. Harry was so grateful to hear the sound of laughter; he really needed to hear it at that moment.

"That good, huh?" Harry said.

Hermione scowled at Ron. "What? I thought it was absolutely beautiful, Harry. I wish you could have been there too."

"I didn't say it wasn't beautiful," Ron countered. "But you have to admit, Lavender got a bit carried away with the whole thing. Not that that should surprise anyone."

"Did you by any chance catch the bouquet, Hermione?"

"The what?"

"Muggle tradition, Ron," Harry explained. "The bride tosses her bouquet and whoever catches it is said to be the next to get married."

"Oh."

Harry smiled as the tips of Ron's ears turned pink, as they usually did in situations such as these.

"Well... no," Hermione said. "We left before the reception was over..."

�Oh,� Harry said, suddenly remembering he was the reason they had left early, and feeling guilty as a result, �right.�

"Besides, I don't believe in those superstitions anyway."

"You don't?" Ron said, clearly surprised.

�No, I don�t. It�s all so silly, really, like that rubbish Trelawney was always trying to make us believe. I mean, just because a girl happens to have good hand-eye coordination, that shouldn�t mean she�ll be walking down the aisle anytime soon. It�s such a ridiculous thought, don�t you think?�

Ron seemed to be studying her face intently, as if trying to extract a clue as to how best to answer that question. �Er... yeah,� he finally muttered, �sure, if you say so...�

Harry had been eying them both closely in the last few minutes. There was definitely something more going on here. He had known them long enough--and remembered enough of their tortuous, denial-filled, tension-ridden courtship--to know when there was something more to their bantering.

Whatever it was, he had a feeling he probably didn't want to be caught in the middle of it, as he so often had been back in the day. He still bore the scars of having been a victim of their crossfire.

"I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some tea, Harry?"

"Sure, that sounds nice, thanks..."

Hermione smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of earshot, Harry looked at Ron, and before Harry could even say a word, Ron already beat him to the punch and said, �Don�t ask.�

Deja vu all over again, thought Harry.

"What did you two fight about now?"

"Nothing--we haven't fought."

Harry threw him an incredulous look.

"I swear, we haven't!"

"Then what was that all about?"

Ron shook his head and sighed. "Damned if I know," he said. "She's been like this ever since the wedding. I just... I dunno, maybe I shouldn't push it. I'm sure she'll let me know on her own when she's ready. She always does."

Harry chuckled under his breath, which Ron must have heard too, because he grinned as well.

"Harry..."

"Yeah?"

Ron looked as if he were about to say something, but was fighting an internal battle over whether or not he should. "Nothing," he finally said. "It's not important."

"You sure?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it just as quickly when Hermione returned with a tray.

"I wish I had remembered to bring scones," she said. "Ron found this incredible wizard bakery just a few blocks away from my flat--they have the most amazing scones..."

Harry poured tea in his cup and drank it absently, listening to Hermione trying valiantly to engage him in small talk, presumably to get his mind off other things. He appreciated her good intentions, even if they weren't working all that well at the moment.

Still, he thought he owed it to her to at least pay attention to what she was saying, but his concentration was soon broken when he noticed an owl fly up to his window sill and tap gently on the glass pane.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Been getting a lot of post lately." He got up and opened the window, letting the owl fly in. There was an envelope tied to its leg, whose crest he instantly recognized, and the handwriting on it was familiar. "It's from Dumbledore," he said.

"What does it say?" Hermione said.

He sat back down with them and opened it, then read the letter out loud.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I
know this can't be a very easy time for you,
but trust that everyone's well wishes are with
you.

It might be too soon to ask you this, but I
do hope you consider it. There is a vacancy
in the Defense Against Dark Arts position at
Hogwarts. I would like to extend an offer to
you to fill it, if you so desire.


You will always be welcome at Hogwarts.

Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore

Harry paused for a long time. He could feel Ron's and Hermione's eyes on him, and knew they were expecting him to say something. The trouble was, he didn't really know what to say.

Ron was the first to break the silence. "Will you do it?"

"I... don't know..." He looked up at them. "I've never really thought about teaching, much less teaching there. It's just so... unexpected."

Hermione smiled. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you'd be wonderful at it... If you decide to do it, that is."

He folded the letter and put it back in the envelope again. "I don't know," he said. "I really have to think about it." He looked at the envelope, turning it over and over in his hand, then finally, he said, feeling himself choke on the words as he did, "I guess... there are a lot of things I didn't think about... But I guess I always knew I wouldn't be able to play Quidditch forever, eh?"

He felt Hermione's arm slide around his shoulders, and though she and Ron didn't say anything, it felt so comforting just to have them here with him.

He would tuck away this letter for now, and let reality sink in just a little bit more before he made a decision. After all, the rest of his life still awaited him, and there was still time--there would always be enough time--to figure out what he wanted to do.