A/N: This fic is in answer to the "Kissing in the Rain" challenge at the HPFC, in which I was given a pairing (Harry/Hermione) and told to make them kiss in the rain. The title comes from "The Ocean" by Mae. This is a non-magical AU. Enjoy.
When they're young, everything is alright.
Harry has wandered off (again) and is staring determinedly at the stars. He's in the planetarium, of course, so for once it's okay. He traces a few constellations, drawing lines in the air with his finger.
"That's Sirius," says a voice, and he quickly drops his hand. "The dog star. It's the brightest star in the sky, except for the sun."
He glances over at her, brows furrowed. "How do you know that?"
"I've been here before, on the tour," she says. She tucks a brown curl behind her ear. "And my parents bought me a book about stars. I like to read. Do you?"
"Um." He isn't sure—his cousin had never liked to read, and his uncle had never bought anything just for him.
"My favorite kind of book is historical fiction," she continues, moving toward the outskirts of the planetarium and toward the rainforest section next door. He follows her, entranced. "I just love history. Can you imagine all those amazing things happening before we were even alive?" She looks at him, her eyes aglow.
"Er…no?"
She stops, frowning at him. "Where are your parents?"
He looks at his hands. "I'm with my aunt and uncle, and I expect they're still looking at the dinosaurs. My cousin loves them."
"And you?" she asks.
He shrugs. "The stars are nicer."
She smiles at him and they continue walking, through the rainforest and into the desert. She talks the whole time, but he doesn't mind; her voice is nice, and no one at home ever really talks to him, anyway.
"I read about some very tall cacti that they have in the States," she says as they look at a small cactus bush. "I'd like to visit there someday. I want to go to all seven continents someday. What do you want to do when you grow up?"
"I don't know," he answers truthfully. "I'd like to see the stars up close, but I don't know how I'd get there."
She opens her mouth, shuts it again, and smiles. "That's a lovely dream."
"HARRY POTTER!"
He freezes, meeting her eyes with guilt. "I have to go." He pauses, staring at her for one last moment, then dashes in the direction of the angry voice.
It isn't until later that he realizes he never asked her name.
She is practicing her French when he next sees her.
Or at least, he's pretty sure it's French. Having never spoken the language himself, he isn't quite sure, but it sounds French to him.
He waits until there is a break in her recitation, then seats himself next to her. "Hello."
"Harry Potter," she says, placing him immediately.
"And what is your name?
"I'm Hermione Granger." She holds out her hand, and he shakes it, feeling a bit out of place with so formal a gesture. "I remember you."
He nods. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
She smiles to herself, wanting to tell him that she was quite certain they'd see each other again, but she keeps her mouth shut.
"So why are you studying alone?"
She looks down at her books. "My parents are here somewhere. They wanted me to practice my French."
"I noticed. You're quite good," he says, as if he'd know anything about it.
She blushes and looks away. "Thank you. Do you speak it?"
"Um, no." He shrugs. "But you sounded like you were doing it right."
She smiles at him. "And are you alone?"
He sighs. "Kind of. I'm sure my aunt and uncle will be back eventually. They went shopping."
"You're always with them."
"My parents are dead." It comes out harsher than he expects it to, and he looks away, his face turning red. "But it's not like I knew them."
"I'm sorry, Harry." She reaches out to touch his hand, and they both jump back.
"That's alright. I should go, though, in case they do come back soon."
"Right."
Something keeps him from leaving, though, so he watches her as she mutters to herself in French. After a long time he stands, and she watches him as he begins to leave. He turns around abruptly.
"You're the nicest person I've ever met."
She stammers, trying to come up with a response, until he is gone, leaving her confused. She watches him all the way out of the library, and then turns back to her book.
"Je ne comprends pasles garçons," she mutters to herself.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry."
The words are automatic; he's sure the collision is her fault but knows to say so would be rude.
"Oh, that's alright, I—Harry Potter."
He looks up, confused. "Do I know you—Hermione." He realizes he should have seen it before. Her brown eyes—no one else he'd ever known had that shade of brown. "You look…older."
She laughs softly. "I should hope so. We were—what, twelve?—when I last saw you."
"Something like that." He grins stupidly, and then realizes they're both getting soaked. "We should get out of the rain."
"We should," she agrees. Neither moves.
"You look different than you did when you were younger." Her hair, half-heartedly restrained in a ponytail, lies flat against her face.
"Is that a bad thing?" she asks, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
"Not at all."
They stand in silence. He wonders what it would be like to be with her for more than just this moment. To follow her, wherever she's going, and follow her the rest of his life.
"Harry, I have to go. It's amazing to see you." She begins to pass him, but he grabs her arm, turning her to face him. He meets her eyes, his mind blank. "Harry…?"
And then he presses his lips against hers. He can feel her body melt into his, her hands coming up to bring his head closer to hers. He parts her lips with his tongue, and she shivers against him.
"In case I don't see you again," he mutters against her lips.
She pulls away with a sad smile on her face. "Goodbye, Harry."
"Bye, Hermione."
She hesitates, then turns to leave. He watches her go, hope flaring in his heart at the thought of seeing her again.
He can't say he was expecting to see her like this.
He watches her across the café for a long time before he decides to go over to her. Her brown hair is tied back in a tight bun, but a wisp has escaped and falls across her face. She looks older, much older than she should look. Lines crease her face, and he hopes that they are laugh lines. She is, as always, studying—books are strewn across the table, and she occasionally flips through one or the other to reference something as she reads.
But what is most different about her is that she is not alone.
"At some point, I'm going to give up and take you out on a date."
When she looks up, she smiles, but it is a shadow of the smile he has pictured in his dreams. "Hello, Harry."
"Hermione." He smiles and meets her eyes, then gestures down to the stroller beside her. "And who might this be?"
She is temporarily saddened, but she brightens when she looks down at the child's face. "Harry, this is Rose. Rose, this is my friend Harry."
The baby looks up into Harry's eyes and coos a bit; he takes that as a sign of her like for him.
"She's adorable." She looks quite a bit like Hermione. Her brown eyes, even at her young age, are inquisitive; he is reminded of the first time he met her, when they watched the stars and she named them all.
"Until she wakes you up at three in the morning, crying to be fed," she says, a bit of exasperation leaking into her voice. He glances back at her, his eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit busy at the moment."
"She looks just like you, you know."
She sighs, then looks down at Rose, a smile creeping into her features. "Everyone says that, but to me she looks just like her father." When he doesn't answer, she continues. "He's a friend of mine. We dated for a little while, but things didn't work out. And then I found out about Rosie—" She meets his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"It's alright, Hermione." He leans across the table and tickles Rose, who giggles and grabs hold of Harry's finger. "Just tell me he's around for her."
"He is. He's quite a good father, actually, although his mother is none too happy about it." She looks down at her daughter, at her death grip on his finger. She smiles, the first real smile he has seen from her. "She really likes you."
"I really like you." He wasn't quite expecting to say that, but now that it's out there he meets her eyes. "Hermione, we don't just keep meeting each other by fate."
She looks away, staring into her cup of coffee. "I can't."
"Why?" he asks. "There's a reason for this, I know it—"
"I have a daughter, Harry," she says, and he can hear the sadness in her words. "I have responsibilities, I'm trying to earn my degree—"
"And that prevents you from falling in love?"
She bites her lip. "I think I'm better off alone."
He removes his finger from Rose's grasp, which displeases her, and moves his chair around the table so that he can face Hermione without something between them. "You're not."
"How do you know?" Tears threaten to fall, but she holds herself together.
"Because I do." He kisses her, and for the first time everything is the same as it was the first time; they're both young and nothing is stopping them.
"Give me a chance?" he asks, exhaling against her lips.
She meets his eyes. "Okay."
He smiles and kisses her again.
"I now pronounce you man and wife."
Their hands are clasped and her head falls on his shoulder. A smile is bright upon both of their faces.
"You may now kiss the bride."
They watch as Ron and Luna embrace and their lips meet, and Harry squeezes Hermione's hand. "This is going to be us someday," he whispers to her.
"You keep saying that," she answers with a smirk as they begin to applaud the newlyweds. Rose, who was the flower girl for her father's wedding, comes running over to them. Harry hauls her up and sets her on his hip as they walk back down the aisle.
"I mean it this time."
"You mean it every time." She punches his arm lightly, then threads her own arm through his. "We'll get there, I'm sure."
"Get where, mommy?" asks Rose.
Hermione answers, "Nowhere, dear," just as Harry answers, "Down the aisle, Rosey," and they both look at each other.
"But we're on the aisle," says Rose quietly.
Harry laughs and lifts her into the air, and her laughter peals through the air. He brings her back down to eye level and tells her, "You were a very good flower girl."
"Well it wasn't very hard," she says. "All I had to do was through some petals."
"Do you see what I mean when I tell you she's exactly like you?" says Harry to Hermione.
She smiles. "Not at all."
She engages in conversation with someone else as they continue out to the parking lot, and he watches her, entranced as ever. Her lips curl upward in a smile, a laugh; she is so effortlessly beautiful that it takes his entire being to stop him from yelling his love for her in the streets.
"Harry?" asks Rose.
"Mmm?" he answers, tearing his attention away from Hermione to meet Rose's eyes.
"I think it's about time you married Mommy," she says matter-of-factly.
He smiles, leaning toward her to whisper in her ear. "That's just what I plan on doing."
And the girl, who looks so very much like her mother, smiles back at him, stars dancing in her eyes.
A/N: Loosely translated, the French phrase Hermione mutters is "I do not understand boys." According to Google Translate. I don't speak French, either. But thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed enough to leave me a review