A/N: Hello, loves, and welcome to my first ever HP fic! I've been an avid Potterhead since about 2005, and a hopeless Harry/Hermione shipper from the get-go, but I've simply never gotten around to writing anything. I always felt that the community was so vast that I'd hardly be contributing. But, alas, I simply couldn't stay away. I marathoned the movies this past weekend and was possessed to write this utterly typical fic that I will hopefully have the time to update this summer.
To my darling West Wing followers: I'm terribly sorry to disappoint, but unless you're a potterhead (a Harmony loving potterhead, to be specific), then you probably won't enjoy this. I hope you aren't mortally offended that I've begun this little project and will thus have less time to update my other stories - I plan to write plenty for both over the summer, rest assured.
To the big, bold Potter community: I have loved you from afar since I was a child. Do go easy on me, will you? This is my first foray into the magical realm, after all.
Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Harry Potter.
Reviews: Yes please!
Rating: T for now.
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Harry Potter was just retiring for the night with his subscription of the Daily Prophet, when there came a determined knock on the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place. He smiled slightly, knowing only one person who gave the same five sharp raps on his door each time she came to visit, which seemed to be increasingly often. Whereas his other best friend might have shouted or banged on the door as if his life depended on it, Hermione was always polite regardless of her present mood. Which, he surmised, was likely quite poor.
Still stiff from practice, he shuffles to the door in his sweats, but is beaten to it by Kreacher. "Hello, Miss Granger, may I take your coat?"
"Oh, why thank you, Kreacher." Harry hears her treacly sweet voice, reserved for house elves, echoing in the hall. "It's lovely to see you, as always."
"And you, ma'am." Kreacher replies. "Master Harry is in the living room, if you-"
"Hey, Hermione." Harry offers a smile as he rounds the corner to face her. "Thanks for getting the door, Kreacher."
"Of course, Master Harry." Kreacher replies, dropping into a low bow.
At Hermione's urging, Harry had attempted to dismiss Kreacher shortly after the war had ended. As he knelt before him, offering a shrunken shirt, Kreacher had shaken his head firmly. He had told Harry that his mother had worked at Grimmauld place all her life, as had her mother before her and so on, and that if it was okay with Harry, he would much prefer to live out his few remaining years in the home of his beloved master, Regulus, serving Harry, than to venture out into the world on his own for the first time ever. Taken aback, Harry had of course complied. He tried to go easy on the old elf, however.
"Harry." Hermione smiles easily, the tight and worried expression melting from her face. "Sorry to surprise you like this."
He waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it." He would invite her in, but she has already brushed past him into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.
"You're the best, you know."
"I do know."
Hermione rolls her eyes, giving him a tired smile. "I just... Wanted to talk to you. I didn't want to go home yet, and I just... Wanted to see you."
Harry nods, pulling up a chair across from her. This had been happening more and more lately, it seemed. "You and Ron had a row again?"
She blinks at him dully. She couldn't exactly be surprised that he'd guessed correctly. "I guess you could say that."
"What about, this time?"
Hermione shakes her head, pressing one hand to her forehead. It was all so fresh. And for whatever reason, each time she fought with Ron, the first thing she did was to seek out Harry; his earnest eyes, his soothing voice, his gentle teasing. She let him salve the anger she was feeling. Already, it was working. "It was silly, really."
"Oh?"
"Well, I had asked him about his plans for the fall. If he wanted to go back to school, to go into vocational training, get a job, you know... And, well, he got a bit touchy."
"And then?"
"And, then, well... You know how we are, Harry."
He did indeed. "So he was a right prat about the whole thing?"
Hermione grins, despite shaking her head. "Oh, it wasn't all him. I can be quite the nag when the occasion calls for it. Or rather, when it doesn't."
Harry scoffs. "Nonsense, you just want what's best for him."
She worries her lip, avoiding his gaze. "I suppose that when he comes storming over here, you're singing a different tune?"
He furrows his brow. "What?"
"Well, after we've fought, and Ron's over hear raging about what a- a- well, you know what I've been, you probably agree and take his side."
Harry offers a grin, lying to her easily. "Of course. Gotta keep it even. But you're the one here now, so Ron is a git for the time being."
This was rather far from the truth. Ron knew better than to talk to Harry about his fights with Hermione, because he knew whose side he would take. And for that matter, had he called her whatever "you know what" Hermione had hinted at in front of Harry, he could expect a curse (or perhaps a sucker punch) thrown his way by his best friend.
Hermione smiles at him. "Glad to know where your loyalties lie."
Whatever lighthearted reply Harry is about to deliver is cut off by Kreacher's shuffling entrance. "Tea, Miss Granger?"
Hermione looks up in surprise. "Oh, thank you, Kreacher, that would be lovely."
Kreacher nods humbly. "And you, Master Harry?"
"Oh, no thanks. I'm, erm, good, Kreacher, thank you." He answers distractedly, watching Hermione's face. She is turned away from him, biting her lip, and he thinks he can see the start of tears welling in her eyes. "Hermione?"
He reaches across the table tentatively to take her hand, but the gesture only seems to tip her over the edge. She hunches over miserably, crying openly.
"Hermione, what is it? What did he say?" There is an edge to his voice now, the type of anger that could only surface upon seeing Hermione cry.
"Nothing." She says unevenly, drawing choked breaths. "He didn't say anything, Harry, it's just..."
"What?"
"I really think it's over this time." She says softly, fresh tears falling.
Across the table, he stares at her intensely. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
"The fight was really that bad?"
She almost laughs. "No. It really wasn't. It's just... I don't know. We've been struggling for so long to make this work. But all we do is fight. We're not happy."
"But neither of you wants to hurt the other?"
"Right. Because we've been friends for so long. But, god, Harry... Things were so much better when we were just friends. We don't enjoy our time together anymore." She takes a deep breath. "It's terrible, because I love him so much, but I'm just... I'm just not in love with him."
Harry nods, lost in thought. He squeezes her hand gently. He hated what was happening between his two best friends. It hurt them both, which hurt him, but at the same time he knew it was for the best. Everyone had seen this breakup coming miles off; it was only a matter of time. In his opinion, they'd never really been a good pair.
She removes her hand from his grasp to accept her tea from Kreacher. She thanks him with a watery smile.
"It's going to be okay, Hermione."
She shuts her eyes, sipping at her steaming tea. "It isn't. It really isn't. We got everyone so invested in the two of us... The Weasleys, my parents, all of the DA and the Order. Not to mention you. We'll be right back to sixth year, you having to pick who to spend time with."
"Was never too invested in it, actually." Harry says quietly, though he isn't sure she hears him.
"Though of course, it's like that for you a lot of the time now. Regardless, sometimes I think... Sometimes I think everyone else was far more invested in the relationship than Ron and I ever were."
Harrys nods in accord. He was certain that outside pressure was the only reason they'd stayed together this long in the first place. "Hermione, don't worry about all of that right now. Don't worry about how anyone else might feel. You're what's important right now."
She chances a glance up at him from her mug, finding warmth in his eyes. "You think?"
"I do."
She shakes her head, smiling. "You know Harry, you're really great about all of this. It's quite selfish of me to barge in like this, to trouble you with my problems after I'm sure what must've been a very tiring day, and-"
"That doesn't sound like you focusing on yourself, now does it?" He interrupts teasingly, uncomfortable under her acknowledgement.
"It's just... Thank you." She finishes in a whisper, gazing at him tenderly.
"Any time."
She finishes her tea in silence, staring into her empty mug long after she's drunk the last dregs. Harry notices this but says nothing.
"I should probably go home." She says finally, reluctance evident.
"Do you want to?"
She shakes her head slowly. "No."
"I figured."
After the war, Hermione had tracked down her parents and righted their memories. She'd moved back in with them, wanting to spend as much time with them as possible after their difficult time apart. The only snag in their relationship was hers with Ron - Hermione's parents held more than a little resentment, whether justified or not, for both Ron and Harry, as they'd dragged their precious only child off into a war. It had taken time, but eventually they had accepted that she was with Ron. When they fought, however, Hermione couldn't stand to see them. Their silent judgment was enough to make her feel as though she was proving them right.
"You could stay here, if you like." He offers, a tinge of hope in his voice.
"Oh, thank you." Hermione replies immediately, her body sagging in relief.
Harry smiles. "Any room you want. I've got plenty."
"Have I told you how wonderful you are?"
"I never tire of hearing it." He stands, taking her empty mug to the sink. "C'mon. You look exhausted."
"I feel exhausted." She says, standing as well and ambling toward the main hall.
"That makes two of us."
"Long day?"
"If you'd consider a four hour practice in the rain a long day, then yes."
She whips around to look at him as he follows her toward the stairs. "Four hours? Goodness, Harry, whatever for?"
"Coach wants us to perfect this one play before the match on Monday. At this rate, though, he won't have half a team left to play on Monday."
"That man is like Wood on an energy draught." She shakes her head, resuming their progress.
"Easy for him to be energetic, he gets to stay in one place for the whole practice." Harry grumbles.
"I am sorry, Harry..." She trails off.
"Why do I feel there's a 'but' coming?" He quirks an eyebrow at her as they stop on the first floor.
She smiles. "But, c'mon. You're the seeker for England's national team. You didn't think it would be easy, did you?"
He rolls his eyes good naturedly. "Please, Hermione, not another lecture about hard work and determination. I thought I was done with those once we left school."
"You thought wrong, Potter." She grins. As was usual for her visits to Grimmauld Place, her spirits had been lifted immensely since walking in the front door.
"Can it wait 'til morning, at least?"
She lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, fine."
"Fantastic. Goodnight, Hermione."
"Goodnight, Harry. Thanks for everything."
In response, he simply draws her into a hug. "It'll be okay, Hermione. Everything will look better in the morning."
She relaxes into his arms, head on his chest. She listens to the soothing sound of his heart, beating persistently despite numerous attempts to halt its activity forever. "You're right, of course."
"I, Harry Potter, am right? Now there's a memory for the ages." He draws back to smile at her.
"Har, har." She says dryly.
"I'll see you in the morning."
"See you."
They part ways, turning into adjacent bedrooms. Despite the fact that there were many larger and more luxurious bedrooms in the old house, Hermione always chose the one next to Harry's. It helped her to sleep better.
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Hermione is awoken in the morning by the slamming of 12 Grimmauld Place's front door. She blinks open her eyes hazily, momentary panic at the sound fading as she remembers that Harry got up early these days and was likely returning from his run just now. She drags herself out of bed and down the steps, drawn into the kitchen by the smell of fresh coffee.
She finds Harry leaning against the counter, guzzling water as the coffee pot beside him thrums to life. His face is flushed from the February chill, his hair sticking up in all directions. He gives her a look. "Morning."
"Morning." She mumbles back, her entire body willing the coffee pot to fill up faster.
"That's, er, an interesting outfit you've got going there." Harry says, concealing a grin.
Confused, Hermione glances down at her attire. She vaguely remembers attempting to transfigure her day clothes into pajamas late last night, but it appears she hadn't entirely succeeded. Her pants were halfway between jeans and flannel pajama bottoms; they were still the color of denim, but were now softer and overly large. Her sweater, which she thinks she had tried to turn into a tshirt, was the same fabric but multiple sizes larger and the sleeves were shrunk to just above the elbows. She returns her gaze to her best friend sheepishly.
"I didn't have any pajamas here, so..."
"You could've borrowed some, Hermione."
"Right." She says quickly. For some reason, the thought of sleeping in Harry's clothes is doing something strange to her tired mind. "Umm, can I have some coffee?"
"Sure. Looks like you need it."
She glares at him as he reaches into the cupboard to get her a mug. "Thanks," she grumbles.
She collapses into a chair at the table, hands clasped firmly around her mug. She can feel Harry's eyes on her as she drinks, but doesn't turn to meet them.
"So what are your plans for the day?"
She sighs. Couldn't she just have a few minutes to wake up before he started in? "I suppose I should talk to Ron." She says slowly.
Harry seizes on this. "Yes. You should. No use in drawing things out."
"Do I have to? Can't I just ignore him for a few weeks and hope he gets the message?" She whines.
"No, Hermione. You know that he deserves better than that."
"I know." She mutters, glaring into the black contents of her cup. She tries vainly to find another excuse. "But I have an interview today, Harry, and I just don't know that I'll have the time-"
"What time is the interview?"
"Two."
Harry checks his watch. "It's eight, now. You've certainly got time."
"But Harry," she begins persistently, looking up at him, "I need time to prepare. I want to go over my notes, and make sure I look presentable, and practice possible questions, and-"
"This is for the Healer program at St. Mungo's, right?"
She nods.
He waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, you'll get it. And even if that was a worry, you'd still have time to talk to Ron."
Hermione groans. "Why must you make me do the right thing?"
"Because. It's what you always do for me."
She looks over at him, but he isn't looking at her, instead fixing himself some toast.
"Besides, if you go over and talk to him this morning, he'll have a few hours to cool off and think about it all, and then I can go over and talk to him tonight after practice."
"You'd do that?"
"Of course."
She relents as he takes a seat across from her, a plate stacked with toast in front of him. "Fine. I'll go over to the Burrow. Just as soon as I eat something. To gather my strength."
"I'll take it you want one of my pieces of toast."
She gives him her best attempt at a winning smile. "If you would be so kind."
"I'm an athlete now, Hermione. I need my carbohydrates."
Her only response is a slight pout, and he begrudgingly offers her a piece of jam laden toast.
"Thanks, Harry!" She beams.
"Yeah, yeah." He says, voice muffled by a huge mouthful of food. "Make sure you put your clothes right again before you leave. You look ridiculous."
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When Harry doggedly makes his way to the front door of the Burrow that evening, his knock is answered by Mrs. Weasley. "Harry!" She cries delightedly, immediately commencing fussing over him and crushing him in a motherly embrace.
When he finally manages to extricate himself from the conversation about his diet that he has had with her at least twice so far this month, Mrs. Weasley directs him outside to the yard with a sad look in her eyes. "It's a real shame, those two."
"It is." He agrees robotically, forcing himself out the door and toward the gangly redhead sitting stoically in a lawn chair.
"Staying for dinner, Harry?" She calls out the back door.
"Of course, Molly!" He calls over his shoulder, eliciting a smile from the Weasley matriarch.
Ron doesn't turn to look at him, despite his shout. Harry stops in front of his chair and crosses his arms, looking down at his best mate.
"Hey, Ron."
"'Lo."
"You don't look too good."
"Don't I?" Ron replies hollowly, hardly bothering to look up.
"Ron, Hermione told me what happened."
"I'd imagine she did."
"I'm really sorry, mate."
"Are you?" Ron spits bitterly, displaying life for the first time. "I've seen the way you look at her."
Harry is taken aback by the venom in Ron's voice. Unable to think of a sufficient reply, he merely stutters.
In truth, this relationship between Ron and Hermione had been taxing on him from the start.
Following the war, and the month of too many funerals, he'd retreated into isolation. To manage the pain, and the grief, he had sought time alone with his thoughts. Hermione and Ron had found comfort in their families, and perhaps each other at times, but Harry, as was par for the course, went it alone. He wished only to escape from it all.
As the summer came to pass, however, things began to change. His sweet silence became loneliness, and he longed for company. He longed for anything to distract him from himself. So he'd gotten a job; first as the seeker for a local team, but later as the star player for England after he was recruited by their coach. He had at first feared that they wanted him only for his celebrity, but soon came to understand that the grizzly old coach cared for nothing but talent.
He began to reconnect with his friends, yearning for the closeness they had once shared. He had even chanced a few trips to the Burrow, but Molly's constant worrying and Ginny's icy stare were enough to dissuade him from frequent visits. He relied primarily on meeting up with Ron and Hermione out in Wizarding London or elsewhere, but it did little to ease his loneliness. They treated him alternately like a third wheel and a toy with which to play tug-of-war.
There was one thing that kept him from resenting them, and it often came to him in the form of Hermione's voice. Her voice, and her tear stained face, on the Grand Staircase at Hogwarts: "I'll go with you."
She had begun a relationship with Ron not two hours prior, and yet she had offered to accompany him to his death, and more than likely to die with him, if only so that he didn't have to be alone in his final moments.
So through all of the bickering, the fighting, the pettiness... He forgave them. They had been his best friends for years. Ron, while perhaps not as vocal about his loyalty or love for Harry, was still his first ever friend, and was worth more to Harry than words could ever express. So he cut them whatever slack they needed. They deserved it, after all they'd been through for him.
"Ron, I..."
"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm just being paranoid." Ron covers quickly, reading the expression in Harry's eyes and realizing that he couldn't afford to be estranged from both of his best friends at the moment. "It's... I'm sorry."
"It's okay, mate." Harry replies easily. He didn't want to fight any more than Ron did.
Perhaps Ron was a little bit right about his motivations. Regardless, he saw this moment as an opportunity. Finally, he could have both of his best friends back. And he wasn't about to do anything to jeopardize that.
"So how are you holding up?"
"I'm fine, I suppose. I saw this coming, I just... Didn't do anything about it. I just let it happen."
Harry pulls up a lawn chair across from Ron, looking at his self-pitying expression. "I won't say that you're wrong."
Ron finally meets his gaze. "I really screwed up on this one, didn't I, Harry?"
"Ron, there's nothing you could've done. It's just... One of those things."
"Like you and Ginny?"
Harry sighs in exasperation. "For the last time, my relationship with your sister is in no way comparable to yours with Hermione."
"And why not? What's to stop Hermione and I from becoming like the two of you? All prickly and awkward."
"Well, for one, Ginny and I were never close. And two, the breakup wasn't exactly mutual, which is why there's some... Lingering animosity."
"Lingering animosity? You have been spending a lot of time with Hermione." Ron smiles sadly.
Harry returns the smile briefly. "And aside from that, Ginny and I dated for a few months at school. It was childish, it was immature, it was... I don't. We both wanted different things, and neither was really about the other. I wanted to be normal. To date in school. It didn't really matter who it was. And she... Well, she wanted to date the boy who lived. It wasn't about me."
"It was a little bit about you, mate."
Harry presses on distractedly, not giving any signs of having heard Ron's interjection. "And then she wanted to get back together after the war, and it was just... It all felt wrong. You know? But you and Hermione... Well, if nothing else, there was genuine love there. Maybe not the kind you'd hoped for, but you care about each other. And you'll get over this."
Ron seems at least partially placated by this assessment. "You think?"
"I do."
"I miss the way things were before."
"I do too."
"It'll take some time, though."
"Probably."
"Boys! Dinner is ready!" Molly's voice echoes across the yard.
Both boys are grateful for the interruption, as they'd had just about enough of talking about their feelings and relationships as they could manage for the time being. Harry stands, offering Ron a hand up.
"C'mon. After dinner, I'll take you out and get you hammered."
Rom grins wickedly, accepting Harry's hand. "Deal."
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It takes Harry a moment to realize that the five throbs in his head are, in fact, consequential of five sharp raps on his front door. He groans, rubbing at his eyes. He hears Kreacher open the door. It's only when he registers the sound of snoring across the room, and whom the snoring was coming from, that he realizes that perhaps his guest shouldn't be led blindly into the living room.
He scrambles off of the armchair in which he'd collapsed last night and tumbles haphazardly into the hallway.
"Harry!" A delighted exclamation greets him from the doorway.
He turns around, vision blurry. He recognizes the voice, and the ill-defined blob at the end of the hall is easily identifiable by her mass of bushy brown hair.
"Hermione." He affirms, voice distinctly gravelly and out of use.
Hermione hurries toward him, placing her hands on his arms. At this distance, he can make out a huge smile on her face. "I've got news for you! Oh, where are your glasses?"
"Oh... Well, uhh..." He glances about him uselessly, disoriented.
"Accio glasses," she says quickly, giving her wand a quick flick. She furrows her brow at him as his glasses arrive from the living room. "Did you just get up?"
"I, umm-"
"Let's go sit down, shall we?"
"No!" He says suddenly, grabbing her arm as she makes a move toward the living room. She stops, looking at him in confusion. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was not awake enough for this. "It's just that, well. Ron's in there. I took him out last night, to cheer him up, and well, things got... He crashed here. On the couch."
Her excitement wilts noticeably. "Oh. I see."
"Er, right. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She says briskly. "You said you were going to talk to him last night, it's just... No, this is a good thing. Thank you, Harry."
"Oh. It's no problem. So, what was the news?" He changes the topic hurriedly.
"Oh. Right." She shakes her head slightly, resuming her brilliant smile. "I came to tell you that I got into the Healer's program! I just got the owl this morning, I start in August!"
"Really? Hermione, that's bloody brilliant. I knew you'd get it, of course."
"Thank you, Harry." She says breathlessly, cheeks flushing slightly. "Anyway, I'll need to find a place to live in London before then, maybe you could help me look? I think the long distance apparation would be too much for a morning commute, and aside from that, it's time I move out of my parents' place, and-"
"Come live with me." Harry blurts suddenly. He seems almost as surprised by his words as she is.
She stares up at him uncertainly. "Really?"
The look in her eyes is the nail in the coffin, melting him. "Of course, Hermione. God knows the place could stand to be filled up a bit. It's so empty most of the time."
He didn't mean for his statement to come across so pitifully, but it had. He feels himself blushing.
Hermione, on the other hand, is beginning to glow. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to be getting in your way, or, you know, ruining the Boy Who Lived's bachelor pad." She says, only half joking.
If anything, his blush deepens. He wouldn't deny that he'd had a few girls in and out of the place, but nowadays he longed for more permanent company. "Hermione, please."
"I'm just checking."
"Honestly. You'd be doing me a favor."
She pretends to weigh her options. "Okay. I accept."
He can't contain a wide grin, nor can he help the swelling feeling in his chest. "Brilliant."
"Brilliant," she echoes, her own huge smile reappearing. "Oh, thank you, Harry. I'm so excited."
At this, she launches herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. It takes him only a moment to return the embrace happily. "I'm glad. It'll be like old times."
She chuckles dryly into his chest. "Don't remind me."
She pulls back, giving him one last smile. "I should go. Before Ron wakes up."
He nods hastily, having forgotten, in fact, that his best friend was asleep in the other room. "Right. I'll owl you later."
"Or I can stop by?"
"Yeah. Any time."
"Alright. Bye, roomie!" She grins goofily, bustling out the door.
He smiles to himself, alone in the hallway. He tries vainly to ignore the warmth in his chest and the accelerated speed of his heart. It was normal to be this excited, of course. Right? He'd lived alone for quite a while, and, well... He missed her like crazy. And Ron, of course. He missed them both.
Sixth months couldn't go by quickly enough.
A voice from the stairs surprises him. "She does rather brighten up the place."
Harry squints up at the old elf. "Are you trying to imply something, Kreacher?"
"Of course not, Master Harry." Kreacher replies, concealing a smile.
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This is mostly expositional, no real plot yet, sorry!
Do you like it? Love it? Hate it? Absolutely abhor it? Let me know!