This early update is brought to you by the lovely ladies at Dramione FanFiction Writers on Facebook. I have no self control in maintaining a schedule if the chapters are already written and they made me feel way better about it, so surprise: early update! Thanks, ladies! This one's for you! 3
CHAPTER FOUR - The Patron Saint of Unicorns and Rainbows
Tea. Biscuits. Pyjamas. It's Hermione's trifecta of a long sit-in. Usually, though, it's complete with old muggle movies and perhaps a good book. Tonight, however, she's sitting across her small table from her very best friend, and she wants to wring his neck.
"So, you thought because I looked sad because my ex-husband is a dickhead, that you'd just upend fifteen years of friendship and snog me a little!"
Her shrill voice would have woken the children had she not been clever enough to throw up a silencing spell over her kitchen. Granted, it's not just her voice that can wake the dead; she's been flinging plates around as she cleans them and Harry has to thank his quick seeker reflexes that he manages to catch a fork as it flies towards his face. Her hair is growing by the second, as if her curls are frizzier the angrier she becomes. And Harry takes it all, sitting at the table with his hands folded in his lap and his big, green eyes filled with unspoken apologies.
Unspoken, because she'd yet to allow him a word in through her ranting.
"I just don't understand." She throws a sopping wet rag onto the table because she's disgusted that she's held it in her hand for so long. "Why did you kiss me?"
Harry looks terrified to answer the question. Almost as if he knows whatever he says will be the wrong thing. He opens his mouth, thinks better of whatever is about to spill out, and then snaps it shut. He picks at a threat on his jeans, a place where the material is so worn it's starting to fray, and he halfheartedly shrugs his shoulder.
"I was caught up in the moment," he says as he raises his eyes to hers. She's glaring, he's trying not to smile crookedly at her and failing. "You're pretty. You're sad. I wanted to make you feel better. And-"
"Do you realize," the words leave her slowly, cutting him off by just the sharp tone, "what I've gone through in the past week?"
Harry nods and his eyes dip to the biscuits on the table. "I have some idea, yeah."
"Some," she emphasizes. "Not all, Harry. I'm losing my fucking mind here! I'm divorced. Me, divorced. I'm a damn paper pusher. I'm raising two children, I'm fourteen thousand galleons in debt at least. And now I've agreed to nanny for Draco bloody Malfoy."
"I thought you'd said he wasn't so bad?"
Her brain stops. It's just empties. All of that, her entire rant, and this is how he chooses to respond. Merlin, she's going to actually murder him. She grinds her teeth together and crosses her arms over her chest.
"Harry." Hermione takes a deep breath and counts to five in her head as she expels it. "It doesn't matter if Draco Malfoy becomes the patron saint of unicorns and rainbows, I'm not entirely thrilled to be working for a man who once made fun of me for having buck teeth."
As if instinct guides her, Hermione runs her tongue over the groove over front teeth. Some things never leave you, and the way Draco Malfoy once treated her stings. No matter how much he's changed. He's kind enough now, he's humble, but she's still struggling to separate the boy from the man.
"Hermione, we were twelve and everything was so messed up." Harry scoots his chair around the table so that he's perched next to her. "I know, I know, that doesn't make up for it. But maybe working with-"
"For," she emphasizes.
"-for him won't be as bad as you'd think." He tries a tentative smile and it earns him less of a frown from her. "He's really not so bad, actually helps quite a bit at the DMLE as a consultant."
"Professionally, of course he's brilliant." She sighs and uncrosses her arms and starts picking at the end of her sleeve. "Work ethic aside, Harry, it's just hard, okay? And that's on top of everything else."
It is quiet for several minutes. Harry watches her with a notch of worry between his brows and she stares out the small window, just barely making out the crescent moon behind thin clouds. Truth is, she really did enjoy seeing Draco as a father, and she did enjoy his company at dinner. It's strangely easy to be around him, despite all of her hesitation to work for him. But, so much has changed in her life, so many things have been turned upside down and inside out. She's nervous about it all, about not having a path to follow, about not knowing the rules anymore.
And then Harry kissed her and now she has even more questions. She liked the kiss and she loves Harry, of course she does. But, it's complicated and she doesn't know if she can do complicated on top of everything else.
"Ginny had an affair."
The words hang between them and Hermione doesn't know how to respond. Harry and Ginny have been divorced for a year now, six months earlier than when she and Ron filed for divorce. Harry told her that they wanted different things and Hermione understood then. She doesn't understand now. Ginny got everything she ever wanted; the boy of legend, Harry Potter. And she just threw it away.
The shock on her face mustn't be a surprise because Harry bobs his head, a sheepish tug at his lips. He steeples his fingers and plants his elbows on the table, resting his chin atop the tips of his fingers. She's not sure how to respond, and thinks for a moment that the Harry she's known all along has been affording her his happiness, because he suddenly doesn't look as cheerful as he's been. Torn between rubbing his back consolingly and pouring him several successive cups of tea, Hermione just stares at him, the silence continuing to linger.
A few days' worth of stubble, a gash in his chin so small she's never noticed it before, the indent of his glasses where they perch on his nose, deeper than she'd expect to see which means he's been nervously pressing them into his face as he used to do when they were younger. His lips twitch toward the slightest frown and his eyes are barely pink, but he's definitely not sleeping well.
Merlin, how has she missed all of this?
"Harry-"
He rubs his hands up and down his face, once and then twice as if to force himself to be present now. He turns to her, just a slight maneuver so that his legs are aiming towards her and his knee falls between hers.
"She told me the day after it happened," he says finally, too matter-of-factly, too detached. "Some random bloke while she was training in Belgium last year. She said she cried the whole time."
Hermione's hand is over her mouth and she's sure she's not breathing. She had no idea that Harry'd been through this, and some of the things she's said about her own marriage, about Ron, about her sex life. Merlin, he must hate her for the things she's told him.
His lips quirk just a smidge at the corners. "She said it was the worst night of her life, if you exclude the obvious. And she apologized and she cried and, hell, I even begged her to fix it. I wanted to keep trying, to make it work for the kids."
Hermione knows the story now. Their marriage is over. Harry is raising his children practically alone. She opens her mouth to tell him she's pleased that it didn't work, that an affair isn't forgivable, but he keep talking and stops her dead in her thoughts.
"Ginny was so sure I'd want to end our marriage that when I begged her to stay, she actually laughed. No, no," Harry settles Hermione as she huffs and fires up, ready to call Ginny, someone she's always loved, a bunch of nasty names. "No, Hermione, she asked me how I could try to save our marriage after what she'd done. She said my 'saving people complex' hasn't gone away and that I needed to save someone else for a change."
Hermione raises an eyebrow and drops her eyes from his. She picks at her sleeve and then swipes her hands against her jeans just to have something else to focus on. It takes all her willpower not to scowl, but she's trying her damnedest despite the way her forehead wrinkles with the effort.
"Ginny," Harry breathes out an uncomfortable laugh, "she thinks I haven't spent enough time trying to save me."
But, of course, Harry Potter, the selfless wizard who once trudged into a deadly, creature-infested forest and faced down the most vile wizard of all time, knowing he was going to die, has never been interested in the value of himself as a person. Hermione, thankfully, doesn't hate Ginny as much as she did when Harry said the word 'affair'.
"She has a point." Hermione chances a small smile and chews on her lip. "So, you divorced her because she wanted you to save yourself from a horrible marriage? Sounds a little like a trashy romance novel to me."
He laughs, open and light, and he ruffles his hair so that it falls messily across his forehead. "Let me try it another way, you cheeky witch."
She doesn't mean to turn red immediately when his bright green eyes meet hers and crinkle playfully along with his entirely Harry smile, but it happens before she can even wish for it to stop.
"Ginny didn't want to waste time trying to save a marriage that she knew, deep down, neither of us wanted anymore."
Hermione's laugh is a sharp, humorless huff. "The exact opposite of Ron and I, you mean?"
"She forced me to consider myself, Hermione." He scratches at the back of his neck and massages the skin there as he considers her. "I can't fault her for it. It hurt like hell, but I forgave her."
She sips her tea, not for comfort but for something to do as she considers what he's saying. The tea has gone a bit too cold for her liking so she stands abruptly, nearly knocking Harry back in the process, and starts the kettle again.
He seems okay. Tired, perhaps, but genuinely okay with everything he's said. It certainly explains why he can do Christmas at The Burrow and laugh and smile with his ex-wife. It reminds her how much she's not looking forward to Christmas in a few weeks' time, sharing space with Ron and his entire family. She loves the Weasleys, always has, but she doesn't have Harry's penchant for forgiveness, not by half.
Sure, he's let himself go a tiny bit; he's scruffier than he ever was and his hair does this chaotic swoop thing that he doesn't bother to tame. But maybe she's been wrong blaming Ginny for everything. Maybe he's working too hard; he's rarely home, really, and she's gotten used to minding James and Albus while he's working. Maybe she's been too quick to assume he's actually struggling with his divorce. Maybe he's just struggling with the same thing every other adult struggles with: life.
He's behind her as she stands guard over the kettle. Her fingers tap against the counter, nails too short to produce much noise at all. He's so close that she can feel his warmth, she can hear every little breath coming from him, and she thinks he's going to do something. Something big. Her nerves are lighting up with sparks and tingles starting at her toes, shooting through her body. She's on edge. Her breathing stops. She hears him wet his lips.
"I kissed you," he reminds her softly, his breath fanning across her neck. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. Not then, not like that."
Don't overthink it. She squeezes her eyes shut and curls her fingers against the countertop. Hermione agrees with him, but it stabs at her heart to hear the words from him. His lips felt so right, like she'd been missing this feeling forever and it was perfect. But, she's a mess. He doesn't need a mess. Ginny's right; he needs to consider himself and she's definitely not what's best for him right now.
"I don't regret it." His hand is on her hip and his thumb toys with the band of her jeans almost absentmindedly. She feels his forehead against her shoulder and finally lets out the breath she's holding. "But, I want you to consider yourself, Hermione."
Because, like Harry, she's been trying to save the wizarding world since she was eleven. Years have passed since the war, but she's still trying to save everyone except herself. She smiles despite herself as his lips gently press against her skin where her shoulder meets her neck. A little ringlet of hair flutters under his breath and sends shivers through her. When Harry feels her reaction, he steps back.
"I-"
The kettle whistles and she rips it from the stove. The poxy thing practically flies out of her hand and she's flinging boiling hot water all over her kitchen. Some water droplets land on her hand and she hisses before tossing the kettle into the sink. It sizzles and cracks against the porcelain, but she's too busy hopping from foot to foot exclaiming about the burning sensation on her skin.
"Fuck, bloody ow, you twat!" She curses at the kettle. It bloody stings.
"Excellent start." Harry takes her by the elbow and leads her back into her seat. "You know when I said 'consider yourself', I meant immediately and without third degree burns?"
He's pulling a salve from his pocket, because of course he comes stocked with it, and applies it to the angry red marks on the back of her hand. He's so gentle with her, meticulous as he dots the blue paste onto her and smooths it over with careful strokes of his thumb.
"I can hardly think anymore," she whispers suddenly and he stops smoothing the paste for only a moment. "I'm always worried that I'm making the wrong choices and I don't even know what my choices are anymore."
"You're brilliant, Hermione." He smiles at her and places her hand on the table so that the salve can dry. "Whatever choices you do make are always well informed and thought through to the point of insanity. You have so many choices."
"Harry." She's serious, but she snorts a laugh. "I had a choice of accepting your help paying off my solicitor or working for Draco Malfoy. I chose Malfoy."
"Point."
"Obviously I can't be trusted to make choices."
"Except," he smiles as he says it, just a little thing that teases her. "Owing money to Harry Potter is very much against every fiber of your being. Indebted to anyone, constantly worrying about paying me back, feeling uncomfortable at every family function. Those were your arguments."
"Yes, I remember."
And she did, clearly. He begged her to take his money, the money that sits in his vault untouched because he hasn't figured out what to do with it. He pleaded with her to have peace of mind and just take it and not worry about it. But, she's a stubborn witch and she doesn't ever want that price tag hanging over her friendship. She's independent. She'd figure it out, she told him.
"And now you're working for Draco." She pinches her lips because he looks far too smug. Smug Harry is her least favorite Harry. "You won't owe anyone money. You'll spend more time with your kids. And you might even start to heal because you'll get the hell out of this small flat instead of locking yourself in every day."
"I do not lock myself-"
"Come out with me then," he spits it out quickly, as if he thinks she's going to renege her words. "You haven't been to a pub with me in ages and if you don't lock yourself in then you'll have no excuse, right?"
Damn. He has a point, but she hates pubs. Loud, smelly, crowded. Harry just loves them, of course, and as far as she knows he goes out with his friends from work and that's always been enough. Why is he so eager to get her out to the pub now? Don't overthink it.
"I hate the pub." The burns on her hand are stinging less and she pulls her hand off the table to pick at a thread on her sleeve.
"You hate leaving the house."
"I don't care for drinking."
He's tight lipped. "Ron wouldn't let you drink."
She gasps, outraged. Let her? "Let me! Harry, Ron never stopped me from drinking, he-"
Oh, bugger. Did he? When's the last time she's had a beverage? She counts on her fingers; months, years? Merlin, she's had wine with dinner here and there, but she hasn't touched anything else since…
"Before Hugo." The words escapes her in one, long breath. "I haven't been to the pub since before I was pregnant with Hugo."
She's angry. It seeps in slowly and then it encompasses her entirely and all at once. Hugo is five bloody years old. Crikey, has that much time really passed since she'd gone with her friends to a pub? But she hates pubs, doesn't she? So maybe it just never came up and maybe it isn't really Ron's fault. A mutual decision… except she knows Ron frequented the pubs while they were married. He went with everyone except for her. God, and sometimes she was just so happy that he was out of the house that she didn't even care when he came stumbling through the floo at four in the morning. But to think that he'd actually kept her from drinking, without her even realizing that's what he'd done!
She's livid.
"We're going to the fucking pub!"
She stands up quickly and it's the second time she nearly knocks Harry over. Rage blinds her as she starts to walk from the kitchen to her bedroom, but Harry stops her with a hand on her shoulder.
"Er…" he spins her around and gives her a crooked smile. "It's Sunday."
"And?" Her shrewd gaze narrows further.
"And, if I'm not mistaken, you start your new job in the morning and I know for a fact that I have to meet with Kingsley at half eight."
"So what you're telling me is that we're not going to the pub tonight?"
"Given that between us, we have four children who wouldn't appreciate being left on their own all evening and two very important obligations very early in the morning… yes, that's precisely what I'm telling you."
Hermione, despite everything, simmers down immediately. He's right, of course, they can't very well leave their children unattended. But then -
"Harry," she asks curiously, "where are your children right now? Did you leave them at The Burrow after dinner with the Weasleys?"
"No, of course not." A short burst of laughter escapes him, a nervous sound that fills her kitchen. He scratches his stubble and takes a breath. "James and Albus are with Draco."
Her entire brain halts in its tracks. All the anger over Ron, all the confusion over the kiss, it's all gone.
Suddenly, she wonders if she even knows her best friend anymore.