Chapter Two: Buzzed
Beyond the front steps of Malfoy Manor, Harry held Hermione's coat open for her, only to have her get caught and tangled trying to slide her arms through its sleeves.
"Ow!" She winced as he freed an errant curl. "Careful."
Well-versed in her hair's habit of snagging on anything it grazed, he nodded gamely. It was a go-to response since they'd been round-faced eleven-year-olds. A good-natured, slightly-clueless bob, sometimes followed by an absent push of glasses for further effect. Hermione always bought it, comforted or mollified every time.
He helped her straighten her elbow, guiding it out toward a cuff like she was five. "I didn't know the Brightest Witch of her Age would need so much assistance navigating the wilds of her jacket," he said, cracking a smile.
She stuck out her tongue. "Less cheek, more focus," she rocked in place, swinging the remaining empty sleeve back and forth. "It's getting hard to feel my limbs."
Harry's good humor vanished. "Are they filling with pins and needles?" He started thinking of potion side effects, reaching for her second wrist to rescue it from its awkward ankle bent up behind her shoulder-blades. He skimmed along her side, brushing knuckles against fabric, and missed Hermione's small gasp and the way her eyelashes briefly fluttered.
She seemed just as oblivious, attempting a nod of her own, but only managing to drop her chin to her chest. "My head too," she sighed. "Feels like a Confusing Draught maybe."
That deduction cost her the last of her concentration. By the time Harry had secured her other arm and started buttoning her coat closed, a strange sheen clouded her gaze.
"Hang in there, Hermione," he assured. "I'm almost done."
"I'm not worried," she said flatly, a foreign detachment in her tone. "You're Harry Potter. My Harry. You always save the day."
Guilt crept its way up his chest. If he hadn't camped out in that blasted corner, no one would have gotten the opportunity to sabotage her drink.
"Saving it from the messes I make myself, maybe," he managed, working to swallow past the thick lump that had sprung to his throat.
"Uh-huh," a wry smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Nothing else. Never any large-scale heroics here."
Harry arched a brow at the sarcasm. "You don't sound befuddled, Hermione."
She shrugged. "It feels like there's a bunch of bees between my ears," she rubbed a temple, working her jaw around. "Noisy when I try to think," an unkind snicker slipped out. "I wonder if this is how Greg Goyle feels all the time."
He finished with her last button, and her smile strengthened as she looked down at herself, pleased he'd conquered the unvanquishable outer layer.
"Time to get out of here," she groped for his forearm. "Go easy on the Side-Along – I don't want to make the bees cross."
As an Auror, Harry knew he should stay at the scene, questioning guests, gathering evidence, and patrolling for suspicious behavior, but he folded her hand over his arm without hesitating. The investigation would have to wait. The woman he'd harbored feelings for since he was seventeen needed him.