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It was a beautiful summer day in Ottery St Catchpole, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were enjoying the warm sunshine and cool breeze. They’d just gotten their OWL Results, and as they’d all done quite well, Harry and Ron had managed to convince Hermione to take a day off from summer homework and just relax and enjoy the day with them. Ron had brought out a basket of strawberry jam tarts his mother had made, allegedly for all three of them, though the basket had somehow migrated closer and closer to his elbow, and there was already a smear of jam on his thumb.
The three teens were lying in the grass out behind the Burrow, watching the clouds drift by. They had started out lying separately, but somehow, as always seemed to happen lately, had ended up in a loose tangle: Harry lay on his back with Ron’s arm flung loosely across his middle, while Hermione had claimed Harry’s other hand and was using Ron’s shoulder as a pillow. Hermione’s bushy hair was currently being decorated with tiny wildflowers that Harry and Ron were playfully weaving into her curls – she had feigned annoyance at first, but eventually she couldn’t help but break into a fit of giggles at their antics.
They enjoyed the silence for some time, until Harry finally spoke up.
“Hey Hermione,” he said, “have you thought any more about what you might like to do after we graduate from Hogwarts?”
Hermione frowned as though she had indeed spent far too much time thinking about this.
“Well… I used to think I would apply for a job at the Ministry of Magic. The system is so corrupt and broken but I thought that if I got my foot in the door I could start changing the system from the inside and make a difference in the world that way. But after this past year, I’m starting to believe that’s impossible.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Why do you think it’s impossible?”
“Honestly, Harry,” said Hermione, “you can’t change people who don’t want to be changed, and those people will do anything to avoid accepting change. Just look at what they did to you and Dumbledore, The Boy Who Lived and The Greatest Wizard of All Time. Look how quickly they turned on you when you were inconvenient to them. What do you think they’d do to some uppity Mudblood bitch who dares to question their precious traditions.”
“Hermione!” Harry shouted.
Ron sat up sharply. “Don’t call yourself a-”
“That’s what they’d call me,” Hermione continued. “Perhaps not to my face, but they’d be thinking it. In any case, the point is that I refuse to spend the rest of my life trying to earn the respect of people who I don’t respect. I keep looking into my future and seeing myself end up like Percy. Walking into the Ministry with all these plans and ideas of how I want to change things and ending up some spineless sycophant bending over for the whims of more powerful men in the hopes that if I do so long enough, eventually they’ll let me work my way into a position where I get to make the decisions.”
She shuddered. Harry and Ron both pulled in closer to her.
“I can just imagine it… Wasting away in some corner office relegated to filling paperwork and organizing schedules because ‘you’re so good at it, Hermione, nobody’s as efficient as you. By the way, could you get me a cup of coffee?’ And all the while, the proper, powerful, pureblooded men would be taking credit for my ideas in their meetings. No, no thank you. I am no one’s secretary.”
Hermione shifted a bit, and leaned her head over so that it was just touching Harry’s.
“You remember what I was like when we first came to Hogwarts? How alone I was, incapable of making friends, pushed away by everyone because of my more… abrasive traits? Well, things were much the same way back in primary school. I had no one, but the one thing I did have was the admiration of adults. I became obsessed with receiving praise from authority figures, because for a long time it was the closest thing I had to being liked.”
She went quiet for a moment, staring blankly up at the clouds. Ron reached over and stroked her hair supportively, earning him a shy smile.
“Anyway, I suppose I thought there would be nothing better than to become one of them, to earn a position of authority myself someday. But I have to be honest with you, and please don’t tell Professor McGonagall that I said this, I’ve found being a prefect to be remarkably unfulfilling.”
Ron grunted. “You can say that again.”
Hermione swatted at him playfully.
“I still want to make a difference in the world,” she said. “I still want to try and do something meaningful and fight for the rights of the downtrodden. That’s important to me. But at some point I lost sight of something else that’s just as important to me. It’s academia that I love, not bureaucracy. I want to write essays that open people’s minds to new ideas, I want to do research into topics that no one’s bothered to look into and unveil new layers to subjects that have long been considered unworthy of attention, I want to collaborate with other academics who see me as a colleague and build the foundations of change in our world together that way. Some of my biggest role models have proved that you can help reshape the world through the power of words. I want to be like… Yes, I want to be like Mary Wollstonecraft, not Margaret Thatcher. I’m not sure how I lost sight of that.”
“Who are M-”
“Nevermind, Ron. The point is, that’s what I want to do with my life. I never mentioned it, but Madame Pince approached me last year, after she caught me reorganizing some books that had been misshelved. She mentioned that she’s getting old-”
“Well, anyone could have told her that,” said Ron.
“Shush, Ron!” said Hermione, ruffling his hair. “She’s getting old and she’s starting to think about retiring, but she doesn’t want Professor Dumbledore hiring some new librarian who might have good qualifications but might not treat the Hogwarts library with the respect that it deserves. She said she was trying to think of who she trusted most with the books she’s devoted her life to and she… Well, she immediately thought of me.”
The two boys turned to look at Hermione, eyes wide.
“She’s offered me an apprenticeship as soon as I graduate from Hogwarts, and then after a few years, she’d retire, and I would take over as Hogwarts librarian.”
Harry grinned, taking Hermione’s hand in his.
“Hermione, that’s brilliant! You’d be perfect for that.”
“Thank you, Harry,” said Hermione. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to just be a librarian for the rest of my life, but Hogwarts staff have lots of opportunities to pursue advanced education. I could study for a mastery while I’m working as a librarian, and also begin composing essays to send to academic journals and start building a reputation as a scholar. Essays about house-elf magic and why no one bothers to study it except as labor, about centaur law and werewolf legislation, about the legal distinction between Beings and Beasts, and about every obstacle Muggle-borns are expected to overcome quietly. A life filled with the smell of ink and parchment and old books, the sound of turning pages and scratching quills. It’s… it’s all that I’ve ever dreamed of and… I think I’m going to take it.”
“You should, Hermione,” said Harry, warmly. “You deserve those opportunities more than anyone. No one would ever love and care for all those books nearly as much as you would.”
Hermione’s cheeks turned pink, and she smiled warmly at Harry.
“What about you, Harry?” she asked. “Have you given the subject any more thought?”
“Well…” began Harry, “I used to really think I wanted to be an Auror. That was my plan. But after the battle at the Ministry last term, where I learned what it’s really like to fight against dark wizards… I don’t want to do that for the rest of my life. Yeah, I’ll have to fight them a whole lot more until this war is over, but once it is… I don’t want to spend every day on the edge of a knife, one wrong move from losing everything. I don’t want to spend every day focusing on the worst of humanity, learning about all of the most horrific things that people can do to each other.”
Harry paused long enough that Ron stopped fiddling with the grass.
“I’m scared that if I do, even if it doesn’t destroy me, I’ll end up like… Mad-Eye. Always looking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows, carrying battle with me everywhere, unable to relate to people around me anymore, unable to walk into a room full of the people closest to me and think about anything besides potential threats.”
He sighed.
“I don’t want my life to be about constant conflict and war and death. I want to live. I want peace, I want joy, I want love. Maybe that makes me a selfish coward-”
“No!” shouted Hermione, reaching over to take Harry’s hand. “No, it doesn’t make you selfish or cowardly, Harry, it doesn’t at all, and don’t you dare say that again! You have every right to want that, especially after everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve given to this world. You deserve all of that, more than anyone!”
“Harry,” said Ron, seriously, “Don’t be silly. You? A coward? If you were a selfish coward, none of us would be here right now. Coward. What kind of rubbish is that? You’re the bravest bloke I’ve ever met. If anything, you might be a bit too brave.”
Harry’s eyes shone with affection.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, softly.
“Well,” said Ron, “if you’re not going to be an Auror, then what will you do? Do you think you’ll go pro in Quidditch? Because everyone knows you could play for England, if you wanted to.”
Harry shook his head.
“I don’t think so, Ron. Don’t get me wrong, I love Quidditch, and the idea of getting to play every day for the rest of my life has plenty of appeal, but I don’t want to do it professionally.”
“Why not?”
“Because being a professional Quidditch player would mean being even more of a celebrity than I am now,” replied Harry. “It’d mean constant crowds following me everywhere I go, it’d mean giving interviews, posing for photos, signing autographs. I’d hate that, Ron.”
Ron thought for a moment, and then nodded.
“Yeah… yeah, I guess you would, wouldn’t you? Blimey, I always forget how much you hate being famous. I think I’d like it a lot more than you would.”
“Really?” asked Harry, eyebrows raised. “Even after everything you’ve seen me go through?”
“Well… yeah,” said Ron. “Don’t get me wrong, I get it can be hard. I’ve seen what you’ve gone through. But still… being surrounded by people all the time, having them look up to you, being able to make them smile just by walking into a room… Yeah, I think I’d like that a lot.”
“Well, you’re welcome to it,” said Harry, bumping Ron’s shoulder. “But for what it’s worth, you always make both of us smile when you walk into a room.”
Ron’s ears turned pink, and he bumped Harry’s shoulder a bit harder. Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled fondly at the pair of them.
“It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought, Harry,” said Hermione. “So have you thought about what you would like?”
Harry chewed on his lip thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I have. I’ve thought about it a lot, and… actually…”
He took a deep breath.
“I think… I think I want to be a teacher.”
Hermione beamed at him, practically vibrating with excitement.
“A teacher!”
“Yeah… The DA last year was… I don’t know if I would have made it through the year without that. I never thought that I could do anything like that, I never would have even considered it if you hadn’t pushed me to try it, but it was… I’ve never felt so alive, Hermione. I’ve never felt so fulfilled, never felt like I could do anything meaningful. I’ve spent my whole life thinking all I was good at was surviving, I never believed I could actually help other people like that.”
His eyes lit up.
“But I did. I was good at it. I hate saying things like that but I saw how much everyone improved, and there’s no denying it, I was bloody good at it, and I liked it. No, I loved it.”
“You were brilliant at it,” said Hermione. “Oh, Harry, this is wonderful! A teacher! I’m so happy for you!”
“So do you think you’d teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, then?” asked Ron.
“Well… I mean, yeah, I could,” said Harry, “It is my best class. But… I only got so good at Defense out of necessity, to survive, not out of genuine passion for the subject. I’m good at teaching it. But if I had the choice, I think I’d rather teach something that I am really passionate, something that I love, so I can share that love with the people I’m teaching, you know?”
“Like what?”
“Well, I… please don’t laugh, ok?”
“Never!” Hermione exclaimed. “Of course I won’t laugh, Harry, why would I?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably, for a moment he looked almost too embarrassed to speak.
“Well… I was sort of thinking that, maybe… It might be nice to have Madame Hooch’s job.”
Hermione gasped and smiled affectionately at Harry. “You want to be a flying instructor.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah, I really do. I love Quidditch, of course, but flying is… I love flying more than I love breathing. When I’m up there in the air, and everything around me is just blue, with the wind blowing through my hair, and I just feel so free, gliding around any which way, everything just melts away, and no one can reach me. No one can point at me or grab me or tell me what I’m supposed to be. There’s nothing but me and the sky and pure joy, and the sky doesn’t want anything from me. I want to share that feeling. I want to be the reason why other people get to experience that.”
“That’s wonderful, Harry,” said Hermione. “I think you’ve found exactly where you belong.”
“Really? Do you really mean that?”
“Of course I do, Harry, why wouldn’t I?”
“Well… I guess I was worried you might think I was aiming my sights too low. That I should be doing something bigger and more meaningful, more ambitious than that. I was worried you’d think I was being lazy.”
“Oh Harry, no!” exclaimed Hermione. “Of course I want you to be the best version of you that you can be, but it’s not up to me to decide who that is! If you’re pursuing your passions, pursuing your goals to the fullest, that’s all anyone could ever ask of you. And what you said just there, about flying? That was passion, that was true, real passion, and I’d feel awful telling you to ignore it. I want that for you, Harry. I want you to truly love your life.”
Harry turned and squeezed Hermione’s hand, giving her a wide, affectionate smile.
“Thanks, Hermione,” he said. “That means a lot to me.”
Hermione smiled back. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, before Hermione turned to look over at Ron.
“What about you, Ron? What would you want to do?”
Ron’s face went pale in the particular way he did when a joke had escaped him and the truth had caught up.
“Blimey… I was kind of hoping you’d forget to ask me,” said Ron. “I’ve got no idea what to do with my life. I feel like my childhood flew by so quickly, now adulthood’s right around the corner and I’m not ready for it at all. I told McGonagall last year that I wanted to be an Auror like Harry, but honestly, Harry’s right. That’s not the kind of life I want either. Dunno what I’ll do instead, though. Maybe Fred and George will give me a job in their shop.”
Hermione shook her head vigorously, sending wildflowers flying all around them.
“Well that’s not good enough, that’s not nearly good enough. You deserve to have a life you’re passionate about too, Ron. You’ve just got to figure out what that means for you, just like Harry did.”
“But… How do I even do that?”
“Well, what are some things that you love?”
“Well, I love Quidditch,” said Ron, “but even if I was good enough to play professionally, I don’t think I’d want to, not after this year. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I joined the house team and I’m proud of what I accomplished, but it brought so much more stress and pressure to something that used to just be fun for me. Playing professionally would be even worse, I think it might just ruin the game for me.”
Hermione nodded her approval.
“That’s very sensible of you, Ron. So no Quidditch, then. What else do you love?”
Ron frowned up at the clouds.
“Nothing useful. I mean, you know me. I love hanging about, playing games with my friends, eating sweets, joking around, enjoying the breeze on a nice summer day, nothing you could make money doing… I dunno, I guess you’ve been right all these years, Hermione. I really am lazy.”
“I’ve never called you-”
“Yes, you have,” said Ron. “And you’re not wrong, are you?”
The three of them went quiet for a moment. Harry glanced over at the basket of tarts and rolled over to press his forehead against Ron’s.
“You like good food,” said Harry.
“Yeah…”
“You really like good food.”
“I do,” said Ron, not understanding where his friend was going with this.
“Have you ever thought about learning how to cook?”
Ron blinked in confusion.
“Cook? Me?”
“Why not?” asked Harry. “I actually really enjoy cooking. I mean, it wasn’t very rewarding to cook for the Dursleys, because none of them appreciated it, but the act of cooking a meal, seeing a dish come together as you go, it’s actually quite nice, and I think you’d enjoy it, too.”
“Maybe…”
“Your mother is an incredible cook, Ron,” said Hermione, “and thus far it seems like none of her children have taken any interest in it. I bet she’d be thrilled if you asked her to teach you.”
Ron's eyes drifted over to the tarts, and then a small smile played on his face.
“Yeah… Yeah, I’d love to learn how to make some of her dishes,” said Ron, “especially once I move out. Even if it was just for me, I always miss her cooking when we’re at Hogwarts. Those elves are amazing, but it’s just not the same.”
Ron thought for a minute, then spoke quietly.
“Y’know, a lot of Quidditch towns have little inns or B&Bs close to their local stadium for people who’re traveling to see the game. Chudley doesn’t have one, though. I can picture it, if I really try…”
He closed his eyes.
“A warm, rustic place in the rolling green hills on the edge of town… A crackling fire going, the whole place smelling like rich, savory stew, freshly baked bread, and sweet, sticky butterbeer… A little gift shop in the front where we sell Cannons memorabilia, and maybe Fred and George would let me stock some of their merchandise, too. It’d have a homey, welcoming atmosphere… Regulars from the village would come by all the time, and I’d know all of their names. Every day would be like one of those parties Fred and George are always throwing. You know I’ve always admired how good they are at that. It’d be a staple for the people of Chudley, kids would look forward all week to Friday night, when their parents take them to go eat at Ron’s Place.”
Ron opened his eyes to see both of his friends grinning at him.
“What?” said Ron, confused.
“Ron’s Place…” said Harry, wistfully.
Ron’s ears turned pink.
“Yeah… yeah, I guess it is a bit silly,” he mumbled.
Hermione quickly reached across and put her hand on top of Ron’s.
“Ron, no!” said Hermione, “It’s not silly, it’s beautiful!”
“Really?”
“It’s perfect, Ron,” said Harry, warmly. “You’ve found it. It’s you.”
Ron grinned.
“Yeah… yeah, I think I would really love that. And Chudley’s right here in Devon, so I’d still be close enough for Mum and Dad to visit whenever they want. You two would be working at Hogwarts, and after hours, you’d come stay at the inn. I’d have three rooms set aside for us-”
“One room,” Harry cut in.
“What?”
“One room,” said Hermione, “with an extra-large bed.”
Ron’s ears turned bright red.
“Yeah… yeah, right. Guess I’m still getting used to saying that sort of thing out loud. But you’re right, one room. It’d be a home. For all of us.”
“Fred and George know a lot about what it takes to start a business. I think I’ll owl them later.”
The three of them lapsed into a companionable silence, staring up at the clouds again, dreaming about their futures.
“Y’know,” said Harry, “it’s always been so hard for me to picture a life after the war. It’s always felt like fighting Voldemort is all that I’ve got. Especially now. But I know… I know that Sirius would be happy to see me like this. He’d want me to be looking forward to the future, to living. This is the first time I’ve really been able to do that. I think… despite everything… We’re going to be ok.”
“We’ll be better than ok,” said Hermione, throwing an arm around each of them. “We’ll be together.”
Harry and Ron both rolled in and planted a kiss on Hermione’s cheeks. She beamed at them and pulled them in closer until Harry’s glasses knocked against Ron’s temple and Ron laughed into her hair. Somehow, in the struggle, the smear of strawberry jam on Ron’s thumb ended up across Harry’s cheek.
Hermione took one look at him and dissolved into silent giggles.
“What?” Harry asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” said Ron, before leaning in to kiss the jam off of Harry’s cheek. One of the little wildflowers had ended up caught in Ron’s jumper, and Harry, half-asleep with warmth, reached over and began idly playing with it until Ron grabbed his hand, pulling him on top of the pile, causing Harry to yelp in surprise and Hermione to burst out laughing in delight.
There were plenty of clouds in the sky, and some dark ones on the horizon. But today the sun was bright, the grass was warm beneath them, and Ron’s hand was still caught between Harry’s and Hermione’s. Whatever waited beyond the orchard, for now they stayed where they were, tangled together under the blue.