Meant to Be

Chapter one

Hermione was worried about Harry, as per usual for the bushy-haired brunette. With a sigh she stepped away from her window and came to the conclusion that she was always worrying about Harry. It was easier not to worry about Ron, there was no mad lunatic with a wand constantly wanting to kill Ron, just Harry. And now, with Pettigrew back and running around like a mad man there was an even greater threat on Harry's life.

And even the fraction of time where Harry had a new place to stay was no consolation, because that was a promise that could not be fulfilled, not that anyone was at fault because the promise couldn't be kept, it would just be highly illogical for Harry to live with his Godfather when he was still a wanted criminal, even if he was innocent of any wrong doing.

Hermione again sighed and threw herself on her bed in dismay as her thoughts drifted to dangerous places. Pieces of her brain that toyed with her emotions and insisted that she was a perfect match for Harry in every way and that he was her perfect match as well. Those traitorous thoughts were twice as terrifying as the thought of Harry in danger. Harry was always in danger, and it was a fact she had come to accept, no matter how much she hated it. But when she thought of his eyes, and how they gleamed when he flashed a brilliant smile to make her feel better, or about how dark his hair was, or the way he caught the bloody snitch at every barbaric quidditch game, or the one time he didn't recently because the bloody dementors attacked him. How terrifying it was watching him fall out of the sky… how she wished she could destroy every robed creature that had played a part in harming him… she just couldn't deny how she felt, no matter how much she wanted to… and by Merlin she wished it weren't true, because she knew she didn't stand a bloody chance with every girl vying for his attention beneath his pure radar.

It was hopeless to dream about being Harry Potter's witch. Unless… She sat up with a smile on her face and ran downstairs to find her mother reading a book in her favorite rocking chair. She stood and reminisced for a moment, thinking of how her mother passed down her bookworm tendencies. She shook her head and thought to herself that if Ron and Harry could see where she got it from, they'd never pick at her for being so studious ever again.

"Mum," she said quietly and touched her shoulder gently. Jean closed her book and looked up at her daughter with a smile on her face.

"Hello there angel," she greeted her daughter softly. "Do you need something or do you just want to chat for a bit?"

Hermione bit her lip nervously and nodded. "I do need something actually…" She began and started playing with the left sleeve of her shirt.

Jean raised an eyebrow and took a good look at her trembling daughter. "Hermione, what's got you in this state sweetheart?" She asked and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest.

Hermione sighed. "Well… I like this boy… and I wanted to… well…" She took a deep breath. "I'm tired of looking so plain mum. There are girls my age that look so much prettier than me and I know at least half of them use make up and I just really want to make a good impression with this boy, and I think if I could do something with my face and hair I'd have a shot because he and I are friends-"

"Hold it!" Jean said sternly and held up a hand to silence her daughter. "Hermione, I know this topic has you nervous but I'm going to need you to rewind and summarize. It's difficult to put two and two together when you ramble." As if to counter her seemingly harsh words, Jean smiled and held both her daughter's hands in her own.

Hermione took a second breath and tried again. "I really like Harry, and a lot of other girls like him to. I'm tired of waking up every morning with frizzy hair and buck teeth and I really want to learn how to use make up too. I'm thinking that if you teach me how to make myself up, I'd be able to catch Harry's attention as more than just his friend."

She was afraid to look up at her mother, sure that she would laugh and tell her that she looks just fine the way she is and should stop thinking that her appearance should hold so much importance. But that didn't happen. At least… not the way she thought it would.

"Alright, I'm only going to say this once, so pay close attention." Hermione did look up and the look on her mother's face was not judgmental. "When I was a couple years older than you I asked my mum to help me the same way you just asked. She told me that looks don't matter and I should stop valuing my appearance. Then she threw a book at me and told me to study more because men are attracted to intelligence." She sighed and smiled softly. "I mumbled under my breath that she should bugger off and started teaching myself. When I was your age my hair was twice as bushy and frizzy as yours and it made me want to cry half the time, I was also cursed with truly awful acne. Within a month my hair was tamed, my acne was gone, and a mere twenty minutes spent on myself would result in a tasteful bit of make-up that made me feel so much more confident."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "You actually did all that? Within a month?" She asked. "Did your mother get mad at you?"

She shook her head. "No, because she didn't notice until I was dating your father. Your grandmother certainly wasn't the most observant woman. But you also need to understand this," she knelt and peered deeply into her daughter's eyes. "Outer beauty may attract men, but only personality will keep him hooked. Don't lose who you are with what you end up looking like. Make up and nice hair and clothes can build a lot of confidence, but in the end it really doesn't matter as long as you continue to be the angel I know you are."

Hermione nodded with a smile on her face. "I understand mum…" She bit her lip. "Does this mean you'll help me? Because I can't even begin to think of where to start…"

Jean shook her head and laughed. "Of course I'm helping you darling, now go tell your father we'll be out for a few hours having a girl's night."

Harry grumbled and rolled over in bed yet again, unable to quiet his mind. His thoughts revolved around his fear that Voldemort would return, his fear that Sirius would be chucked back in Azkaban, anger that he could not live with his godfather, and strangest of all, Hermione. Harry shuddered at the thought of her somehow discovering that he was beginning to fancy her. She was such a strong-willed witch she'd probably slap him as she'd done to Malfoy if she found out he thought about her in such a manner. Hermione was always closed off to him in that fashion, but open in every other way. She was his closest friend, standing by him even when they were angry with each other, she was the only one that could honestly tell exactly how upset he was and just knew what the problem was most of the time.

He shook his head and stared at his ceiling, thinking of her face. Ron didn't agree, but Harry thought Hermione was actually one of the more attractive girls in Hogwarts. Granted, she'd look even nicer if her hair wasn't quite as out of control, but she was beautiful nonetheless.

But still, he wouldn't dare make the first move with her, he was likely to get hit with an air born book if he asked her on a date to Hogsmead. Or would he? Harry rolled over in bed yet again. Hermione had never given him a signal to come forward judging on his memory, but he had always failed to pay close attention to anything, and that had him frustrated as well.

He sat up angrily and growled, ready to start smashing things. Here he was, famous for something he could barely remember, the flashes of memory he had only brought forward through painful exposure to the Dementors. He was a symbol in the wizarding world, and he knew almost nothing about it. He knew almost nothing about the girl he fancied. He knew nothing!

He couldn't stop himself from kicking his closet door, but instantly regretted it when he heard heavy footsteps and almost equally heavy breathing coming up the stairs to scold him. He sat back down on his bed, hoping that his uncle would simply shout and leave, slamming the door behind him.

He wasn't so lucky though…

"Boy! What have I told you about loud noises?" Vernon asked as he slammed Harry's bedroom door open. Harry rolled his eyes, not bothering to turn and face his uncle. "I asked you a bloody question, freak!" Vernon shouted and slapped the back of Harry's head. "You should count yourself lucky I let you back into this house freak!" He yelled and kicked Harry once he was lying on the floor. Harry kept his face trained, refusing to give his uncle the satisfaction of seeing the pain he was inflicting.

Vernon decided it wasn't worth it to keep wasting his time on his nephew so he spit in disgust, gave him a final kick, and left him with a simple reminder. "Keep it down in here."

Harry sat up when his uncle slammed the door shut and grumbled. "I'll keep it down," he muttered and walked over to his desk. Harry hadn't kept up with his threat to the Dursleys that he would write about any issues to his godfather, nor did he intend to. It was an empty threat that would do nothing to help, and instead cause further issues with Sirius possibly coming out of hiding, and chaos following.

He shook his head yet again. No, it would be better to keep things like this to himself. But, he did want to talk to Hermione…