For Old Times' Sake

Saturday
Charged Moments + Confessions. Us. The Art of Snogging.

She remembered.

There was only one wand between them then with Harry's having been divorced from him because of a Blasting Curse she had sent at Nagini in the upstairs bedroom of Bathilda Bagshot's cottage in Godric's Hollow. And yes, even though she had saved their lives, he told her as much the morning after, Harry's broken wand was more than a casualty and because of it, he was angry with her. But given the circumstances, she supposed he had every right to be: that winter had been nothing short of brutal and instead of keeping warm, both of them were constantly cold, her jar of Bluebell Flames having only done so much. And searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes had been taxing, more so than anything she'd ever done before in her life. Most of the time, she felt that instead of progressing, they were actually regressing, not coming any closer to finding the rest of the Horcruxes than when Harry had first told her about them.

That was partially the reason as to why Ron had left. And in the weeks since he did, Hermione remembered the pain she felt with his departure. However, she wasn't the only one who felt empty and hollow, because Harry did too. She knew he did as she knew him as well as she knew herself. (I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something. We thought you knew what you were doing. I get it, you choose him.) Ron's words were like a bucket of ice water in the morning, biting and stinging. It was painful to hear them spoken, especially between best friends. And for a while, Hermione thought that her friendship with Ron was like an empty bank vault at Gringotts, the Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts having been robbed by an impossible task that seemed to have no end in sight.

For what it was worth, Hermione stayed with Harry, weathering the storms Ron couldn't. In the process of Harry becoming a wanted man, she was wanted woman, namely by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, headed by Old Toad Face. They moved from place to place, mere hideouts amongst the English countryside, desperately searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes and trying to destroy them. Yet they were running close to empty, Ron's departure clear evidence of this, and frustration was beginning its acquisition on the both of them. And that was what started it.

On a snowy hilltop, they were arguing about Dumbledore's letter to Gellert Grindelwald about plotting their rise to power over Muggles. Alarmed by his expression, Hermione knew then that Harry admired Dumbledore far more than she initially realized. She, too, didn't think it made for nice reading, even if it was Rita Skeeter who outed Dumbledore in the first place. He loved you…I know he loved you, Hermione remembered whispering to him. He didn't think so and dismissed her with: Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm. Though she was hurt by this, she listened to him, but not before brushing the top of his head lightly with her hand.

Because even if her feelings for Harry had started to change in third year, it was her brushing her hand atop his head that she felt intimate with him, bypassing the kiss she gave him on the cheek at King's Cross before the summer holiday at the end of fourth year. It was a cacophony of emotions she wrestled with shortly thereafter, all started by what Ron had said: I get it. You choose him. Though she denied it at the time, she thought she might've been unconvincing. Perhaps Ron noticed this and he factored this as another argument in his favor to up and leave.

Sure, she cried a lot when Ron left and hadn't bothered to speak with Harry at all. She was depressed and wanted the world to be depressed with her. But after a period of time, she found that her crying lessened before stopping altogether. Because of this, she believed she'd turned a corner. She no longer came to breakfast with her eyes puffy and red, she no longer randomly spaced out during the day, and she no longer broadcasted the series of crying episodes that Harry had been the sole audience member to at night. And it was one simple touch that helped her. A spark that touched a waiting fire.

Returning to the task at hand, Hermione readied the fry-up with baked beans, bangers, black bacon, buttered toast, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, and mushrooms. She took out of the kitchen and smiled at Harry fast asleep on one of the mattresses she conjured for them last night, the stuffies around him as if they were his own personal bodyguards.

Walking over to him, she said softly, "Harry, wake up," shaking his shoulder gently.

He slowly blinked his eyes open and then yawned, stretching his arms high over his head. Looking around, he squinted before blindly reaching out a hand, grabbing his glasses from the coffee table.

"Up already?" he asked and smiled as if he was tipsy.

"You know I'm an early riser."

"Sure, but what'd you need to get up early for today?" he yawned again. "It's Saturday."

"Well, since you made dinner last night, I thought it'd only be appropriate to make us some breakfast this morning," she said.

"Appropriate, huh?"

"Appropriate," Hermione confirmed and waved her wand. The tray that carried the fry-up floated between them, resting on their mattresses like a buffer zone of sorts.

"Breakfast in bed seems like a fine way to start a Saturday, don't you think?"

"Couldn't agree more," he replied and charged at the food.

Hermione did as well though at a more sedated pace, choosing to go after the fried eggs and toast first.

Around them, rain drops began to pepper the windows, reminding her of some of the places where they had stayed when on the run: rain-swept woods, a mountainside where sleet played a vicious game of Muggle dodgeball against the sides of their tent, and a wide marsh where frigid waters nearly flooded them and their belongings. Because of this, she shouldn't be the least bit surprised that she much preferred staying with Harry in Godric's Hollow rather than staying with Harry somewhere in the English countryside, the woods, mountainside, and marsh be damned.

"This is delicious," Harry said. "Who knew you had it in you to make all this?"

"On again about my cooking skills when on the run, are you?" He only shrugged. "If you must know, even though you're better at it than me, I'm pretty good with a fry-up."

"I know," Harry gestured down to the half-eaten one between them. "But is this all you're good at?"

"You said so yesterday that baking's more of my thing," she told him. "I mean, you weren't wrong."

"Have any plans to bake this weekend?"

"What're you in the mood for?"

He thought for a moment, a forkful of baked beans on temporary delay, and said, "Your specialty."

"I think it's nice of you to assume I even have a specialty."

"You don't?"

"I'm good of some of this and some of that," she said.

"Kind of cryptic, but I'll take what I can get," he grinned, making her do the same. "How long have you been up anyway?"

"Close to an hour."

"It doesn't take that long for a fry-up."

"I was thinking about different things," she sipped her orange juice.

"Care to let me in on them?"

Even though Hermione wanted to mention the memory of brushing her hand over his head, she thought that there was a good possibility – a strong one, actually – that Harry wouldn't have thought twice about it. What was affectionate and intimate to her was nothing more than a platonic gesticulation to him, one he wouldn't lose any sleep over. Could she really tell him that there had been a lot of feelings she was trying to convey in that touch? Could she really tell him that, in her own mind, the boundaries of friendship with Harry were blurred, and had been for some time now? Could she really tell him the truth and the repercussions that came along with it?

"Ron…Godric's Hollow…Dumbledore," she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. She figured she wasn't doing a good enough job because Harry was looking at her strangely.

"It's in the past though, isn't it?"

"You remember everything?"

He paused for a minute, his eyes taking to the window nearest to them, the rain made it seem like the glass was sporting a breastplate of bubble wrap, and said, "It's hard to forget, the good and the bad."

"There was good in all that?" she asked, and even though she was goading him, Hermione just couldn't help herself. She had to know about his thoughts, if there were any, about her brushing her hand over his head.

"Despite everything that happened up to that point in time, we were alive and together."

"Together?" Hermione repeated. "From what I remember, we were both miserable. Maybe we were even more than miserable."

"It wasn't like that all the time," he countered. "If we decided not to visit Godric's Hollow, I would've never known about my parents' cottage."

"You like it here, don't you?"

"I love it," he said instantly, looking around them, "more than anywhere else."

"Hogwarts included?"

He nodded and continued, "There was also that time on the hilltop," but stopped soon after.

Hermione regarded him carefully, seeing a maelstrom of emotions spin around his eyes, so much so that it made her a little dizzy. She could tell that he was undergoing some type of internal conflict, a conflict, she supposed, he hadn't underwent before. But something was there, a resolution of sorts that loomed like the sunrise. All that remained was how Harry would interpret the resolution itself, whether it was something he'd pursue or not pursue.

"You brushed my head," he said slowly as if he was coming out of a daze, "ran your hand over it."

"I did," she agreed.

"Why?"

Of all the things she expected when coming to Godric's Hollow, this was the very last thing on the itinerary. It was something she hadn't foreseen happening at all, especially on a Saturday morning. Such a discussion was coming dangerously close to the truth of the matter at hand, but the more she thought about it, did she want to keep putting the truth off? Harry already expressed his thoughts about Ginny and she had already expressed her thoughts about Ron, namely that both of their relationships were a relic of a past they wished not to continue with. To put it simply, they changed, and with it, their feelings changed too. Instead of rekindling what they had, now they had a chance to start something different. Something else. Something new.

Unsure of how he'd respond to her long-standing secret, she said, "Things…they just all came to a head."

"What kind of things are you talking about?" he asked.

Shaking her head, Hermione grabbed the tray, abstaining from asking whether or not Harry was finished with his breakfast, even though the empty plate was an answer unto itself, and took to the kitchen.

"Hermione," Harry called out, following her.

She ignored him as she deposited the tray in the sink and charmed to have the plates and cutlery clean themselves. Watching the soap suds lather what was in the sink as if it was some type of therapy, Harry surprised her by grabbing her hand and turning her around so that she faced him.

"What is it?" he said softly.

Figuring it was now or never, she sighed, "I've been keeping something from you, and it's been a long time coming that you actually find out what it's about."

"Did you want to sit down?" He made to move towards the kitchen table.

"I'd rather not," she replied. Taking a deep breath, she started, "Do you remember in third year when we used the Time Turner to go back in time to save Sirius and Buckbeak?"

"Sure," he said.

"We went to Professor Flitwick's office and you told me to hold onto you, and I did." Here, she took her hand from Harry's and hugged herself as if she was cold, determining that she was cold, at least a little bit, and assumed the rain outside had something to do with it. "That's when my feelings for you started to change."

What she didn't tell him was that Harry's simple instruction (You'd better hold onto me) was part of a memory she'd never forget. She couldn't even if she wanted to, and there was no doubt in her mind that she'd be able to remember every detail of that night. Hermione even dreamt about it over the summer holiday, though she supposed her own fantasies found an unlocked door to enter through because the dreams she had were very different from what had actually happened.

In them, after saving Sirius, Harry and Hermione raced back to the Hospital Wing, though had to take a detour in a deserted classroom to avoid a rather rambunctious Peeves. However, the bloody Poltergeist had heard them go in and decided to lock the door. Of course, it was in her dreams that the Unlocking Charm was completely ineffective against him. He laughed like a little schoolgirl while taunting them from the corridor. They were rather pressed for time and Hermione ordered him to let them out.

Kissy kissy opens doorsy! he cackled evilly, and stuck his head through the door to bear witness to such a kiss. Harry and Hermione turned to each other, shocked. Kissy kissy opens doorsy! Peeves sang again, almost as if he was egging them on. Then, much to her surprise, Harry stepped forward and kissed her. This was when she'd wake up, her knickers flooded. No, not soaked, but flooded instead. It was just a dream, yes, meaning such events hadn't happened in the way she dreamt, but Merlin help her if she didn't begin doing her own laundry then. She just couldn't face her mum if she happened to notice that Hermione's knickers were always wet.

"Then there was the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year and I kissed you at King's Cross," she said. "On the cheek!" she added hastily.

Harry touched his own cheek as if he remembered this, startling Hermione since she believed he hadn't remembered at all.

"In fifth year, you went after Cho," she soldiered on, "and in sixth year, you went after Ginny-,"

"While you went after Ron," Harry inserted.

"I didn't go after Ron," Hermione said, scoffing. "I was just angry over the fact that he leveled down to snog someone like Lavender in the Common Room."

"Okay, so you were pining after him," Harry rolled his eyes.

"Call it whatever you want, but like you said, it's in the past."

The rain was on the window above the sink and Hermione loved the sound. It was the perfect setting to read, just like Harry was reading her, and he was reading her very carefully at that. Yet she was confessing a secret of hers, one she never admitted to anyone else but herself.

"The time on the hilltop came after," she said, "when I brushed my hand over your head."

"So why'd you do it?" he asked again.

She thought he knew what the answer was as Harry wasn't dead from the neck up or anything, but wanted her to say it aloud. It would be kind of like a confession of sorts.

"I think you're fanciable," was her answer and here, she literally felt her cheeks burn, something that had a very low probability of ever happening, especially to her. Even then, she was so hot that she was positive one could fry an egg anywhere on her body. Who knew how delicious it would be and quite frankly, who cared?

"Fanciable?" Harry repeated and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't be like that," she told him, "it's embarrassing enough as it is."

"What's there to be embarrassed about?"

"Because I know you don't reciprocate!" she pointed a finger at him accusingly. "You tend to go after those who're attractive like Cho or Ginny."

"And look how they ended up," Harry said. "Last time I checked, I wasn't with Cho or Ginny anymore. Merlin, I told you already that I don't want to be with them. It's done and over with. That's all there is to it." Sighing, he went on, "Cho and Ginny, namely Ginny, didn't find me like you did."

"That comparison is ridiculous," Hermione replied, "because she tried to."

"I'm not making a comparison," he said. "I'm just stating a fact."

"Don't you remember that I ran upon some luck?"

"Maybe it wasn't luck at all," Harry folded his arms over his chest. Perhaps he was cold too. "Maybe it was meant to be."

"You mean like fate?"

He shrugged, "Is it so hard to believe?"

She thought about this and concluded that fate was something of a delusion, happening exclusively in the many books she read. It was fate that brought them together was an overused trope that only occurred because the author lacked any imagination in bringing two characters together in a viable relationship, one that didn't include the use of fate itself in any way whatsoever. And outside of books, she reckoned that fate didn't exist in bringing two people together. After all, how could it? Fate wasn't some sort of being or deity she put her faith in. It was almost as ridiculous as considering the fact that Cornelius Fudge had an army of Heliopaths at his disposal. Outrageous, wasn't it?

On the other hand, Harry, for whatever reason, seemed to take into consideration that it was fate that brought them together to Godric's Hollow, a place that was quickly becoming somewhat sacred in that it was Harry and Hermione who visited Godric's Hollow last Christmas and it was Harry and Hermione who were in Godric's Hollow right now. Of all the times he had been there, she was by his side; and of all times she had been there, he was by her side. Was this simply a coincidence, or did fate play a bigger role in the assembly of their (relationship) friendship? She didn't know the answer to this and because she didn't, she grew frustrated. It didn't do Hermione any good when there was a question to be had and no answer to go along with it. Such violated the laws of sensibility!

"It's hard to believe since I'm not entirely sure that fate exists in the first place," she answered.

"And you wouldn't think less of me if I did?"

She shook her head and said softly, "I could never think less of you, no matter what."

"Not even when we were on the run?" he hilled a brow at her.

"If anything, that's when I felt the closest to you-,"

"When we were alone and together," he finished.

Outside, the rain was getting heavier and when Hermione looked out the window, she saw that clouds fogged the tops of the trees in the backyard. It was picturesque, and almost wished she had a Muggle camera to take a picture of it. If she did, she'd be sure to show her parents it and – and what? Legalistically, she hadn't any parents, not since she used the False Memory Charm on them and changed their names to Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Thus, her relationship with her parents was temporarily severed, and maybe it was severed permanently. A long time ago, her parents were the only constants in her life. Now, however, Harry was the only constant in her life.

"I'd say we give it a try," he said.

"Give what a try?"

"Us."

She waited for a second , a long one at that, attempting to understand all that was included in his proposal. Us. And for all the brain power she had whilst at Hogwarts, such brain power was running close to empty right about now and she cursed herself because of the fact. She then mentally put together a pro and con list with all the positives and negatives that came from a potential relationship with Harry. Hermione assumed she shouldn't have been too surprised that the positives heavily outweighed the negatives, of which there weren't any.

"Were these the kind of changes you neglected to tell me about last night at dinner?" she asked.

"When we were looking for Voldemort's Horcruxes, d'you remember when I took out the Marauder's Map and kept a close eye on Ginny's dot at Hogwarts?"

"You practically did so every night when Ron had left."

"After awhile, I stopped seeing Ginny's name. I saw yours instead," he replied. "That's when I knew my feelings for you changed." Here, he paused and put his hands in the pockets of his green-checkered pyjama pants. "Maybe it was a long time coming. I mean, we've known each other since we were eleven."

"And now, years later, here we are," Hermione inserted.

Harry laughed a little at that and agreed, "Here we are."

When Ron and Lavender started dating, all that was involved in their relationship was snogging, and lots of it. To make matters worse, due to Ron not being invited to Slughorn's Christmas Party in sixth year, he turned to snogging Lavender silly – well, sillier than normal, so much so that if she happened to walk the plank on a Muggle pirate ship, it was likely she'd wander right off the edge of it. Hermione was rather disgusted by their outward affection towards each other and was forced to put a Silencing Charm on them when Lavender started making noises in the Gryffindor Common Room that would typically be associated with behind closed doors.

Things took an even worse turn when Lavender, angry with Slughorn, whom she referred to as the fat, ugly oaf, for not inviting Ron to his Christmas Party, attempted numerous times to rally those who hadn't been invited either, hoping to execute a hostile takeover of the celebration itself. Inclusion, not discrimination! she chanted one night to a small scattering of applause. Ron, who she had forced to stand beside her, was as red as the ripest of tomatoes. Meanwhile, Hermione, sitting in a corner and attempting to knit a new wardrobe for Dobby, had her concentration broken so many times by Lavender's recital of Inclusion, not discrimination! that she almost cast the Banishing Spell at her to expel Lavender right out of the Gryffindor Common Room. Then, she could try and rally the Fat Lady and her army of chins to attack Slughorn's Christmas Party instead.

Even Harry chimed in on Ron and Lavender's aggressive displays of affection as he told her once, Sometimes I'm left wondering if they're both going to die from a lack of oxygen because they hardly ever come up for air. Not only that, but it's more than embarrassing when they perform like exhibitionists in the Great Hall at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Have you noticed?

However, with Harry and Hermione, things were different. Instead of snogging like their lives depended on it, both were more than content to enjoy the other's company. That was why they had taken up to Harry's room. He was interesting himself in Quidditch Times, eating McVitie's Milk Choc Hobnobs whilst doing so as Hermione was busy looking over leaflets she had thought to keep when she had a meeting with McGonagall on career advice in fifth year. Make a bang at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was her current interest, though Have you got with it takes to train Security Trolls? and So you think you'd like to work in Muggle Relations was close by.

"Aren't you going to sit your N.E.W.T.s?" Harry asked from beside her, his eyes on the dozens of leaflets that were like their own graveyard atop his bed.

"It's never too early to start thinking about what to do after N.E.W.T.s," she said.

"And Security Trolls interest you, do they?"

"It's a possibility, just like everything else here," she gestured towards the leaflets.

"D'you have something about an Apprenticeship with McGonagall?" Harry made a point to look at each leaflet in turn. "You were her favorite student so I'm sure she'd make the offer."

"I was not her favorite," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"You were!"

"Just because I answered some questions-,"

"You answered all the questions," Harry said, grinning.

"Well, what do you expect? I didn't see anyone else raising their hands."

"That's because you beat them to it," he told her, nudging her shoulder with his. "Rushing and all."

"I was not rushing! I'm just faster than everyone else!"

"Whatever it was, I think you'd make a great professor."

"Except it was you that taught the D.A.," she pointed out, "not me."

"Because of Umbridge," he said.

Old Toad Face, she corrected mentally.

"At least consider it." Harry flipped a page in the Quidditch Times, devouring an entire hobnob in one bite. "You get on well enough with McGonagall."

"But teaching…really?" She made a face as if she had swallowed something sour. "I don't think I have enough patience for that."

"You helped me with the Summoning Charm in fourth year," Harry said. "Before then, I was a complete muppet at it."

"All you needed was practice."

"And that practice was by your doing."

"Still…," she trailed off, shaking her head, doing away with the idea of teaching. "I was leaning more towards the Ministry. Maybe the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Going to carry on with S.P.E.W.?"

"I might," she said a little haughtily. She never did forget that while she made Harry the S.P.E.W. Secretary and the Ron the S.P.E.W. Treasurer (Dobby was the S.P.E.W. house-elf representative), they never did try to recruit new members, as Neville was the only person who joined. "What about you? Have you given any more thought about sitting your N.E.W.T.s?"

"Think I should?"

"Of course!" Hermione said, scandalized that he'd think any differently on the matter. "Though no one's going to force you to."

"Not even you?" When she shook her head, he asked, "Really?"

"You have the rest of the summer to figure things out," she said. "Before then, it's more than likely you'll change your mind a hundred times, possibly even more than that. No matter what, I'll support your decision, even if you choose not to go back to Hogwarts."

"You want me there, don't you?"

She nodded, "For selfish reasons."

Closing the Quidditch Times, he said, "And I have to be unselfish about some things."

"Like what?"

"I haven't visited Teddy yet."

"He's with Andromeda?"

"Castle Combe in Wiltshire," he answered. "It wouldn't be right if I didn't stop by at least."

"There's the rest of the weekend to account for," Hermione said. "Did you want to go today or tomorrow?"

"Actually," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "I was kind of hoping it'd just be the two of us this weekend." Looking at her, he added, "You don't mind, d'you?"

"And what was that about being unselfish?"

"I'll start that on Monday," he said.

"Because that'll make so much of a difference," Hermione replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him.

Harry smiled, "Maybe, maybe not." After a pause, plus a little hesitancy that she instantly picked up on, he said, "There's actually something I want to give him. A present, if you will."

"Oh?"

He reached into the drawer of the bedside cabinet and took out a picture, one that had already been framed. Handing it over to Hermione, she took it and saw James, Sirius, and Remus (Pettigrew wandered off some time ago, Harry said to her, bitter) standing together, their arms strung over each other's shoulders. In addition, a Golden Snitch was buzzing around their heads. Luna might've suggested that the Golden Snitch was, in fact, a Nargle and only her Butterbeer Cork Necklace would keep it away.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked him.

He pointed to the wall that had pictures scattered across it and said, "That was the only one that had Remus. The others are of my parents." Wetting his lips, he asked, "Think Teddy'll like it?"

"He'll love it," Hermione replied, "and the fact that it came from you would make it all the more special to him."

"Hope so," he said.

Running her fingers across the picture, she commented, "You're probably tired of hearing this, but you look so much like your dad." And it was true, he did: they both had the same untidy, jet-black hair; they both had the same thin face; they both had the same eyebrows; and they both had the same mouths. For Merlin's sake, even their round-rimmed glasses were the same! Though it was all very uncanny to say the very least, Hermione didn't mind, because Harry, like James, was very handsome.

I think you're fanciable.

"Only the eyes are different," Harry added.

Looking over at him, she said, "Bright green, just like your mum."

"Like them, do you?"

"I can't think of anyone who doesn't," and Snape, uninvited, pushed his way to the forefront of her mind.

"That wasn't a line, was it?"

Groaning, Hermione said, "Give me a break, I'm new at this."

"No, we're new at this," Harry corrected.

And before she understood what was happening, he closed in the space between them, his lips finding hers.

Because the air was chilly, Hermione was glad for the loose sweater she thought to grab before leaving the cottage. And what was more, when Harry wrapped his arm over her shoulders, much like James, Sirius, and Remus did in the picture he planned to give Teddy, pulling her against his side, the chilly air was soon forgotten. Thank Merlin for that!

Light spilled out of the partially-closed curtains of the cottages they passed, the cottages themselves seeming to be both charming and quaint in a whimsical sort of way. It made her think of the Christmastime even if it was many months away still: she'd snuggle into a comfortable couch with a book, a throw over her legs and a fire in the fireplace crackling nearby. Mint hot chocolate would sit on the corner of the coffee table, steam fogging its surface, and she'd take a sip of it while looking at the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Snow was all but determined to build up on the sill, while a rainbow of lights around the windows flashed like the neon lights at the road junction of Piccadilly Circus in London's West End. On top of that, Harry was there as well, his presence completing the perfect Christmas picture. She smiled to herself at this.

A dog in the front yard of a cottage they walked by barked at them (I've always wanted a Staffie, Harry told her) and the couple next door was having a contest of who could scream the loudest. Meanwhile, a cottage across the way had a kaleidoscope of colors firing out of its chimney. Hermione assumed a magical family lived there and wondered what Muggles would say if they saw it. She then shook her head in admonishment as a small explosion rocked the entire cottage, seeming that the cottage itself had sneezed.

"You planning for a big shop at the supermarket?" Harry asked her.

She shook her head, "I just need a few things."

"For what?"

"Baking," she answered. "I figured out what I wanted to do."

"And what's that?" he pressed.

"You'll find out tomorrow."

"It's not treacle tart, is it?"

"But you like treacle tart," she said. "It's your favorite!"

"Sure it is, but I don't want to set myself up for disappointment when you make something else." After a pause: "Are you making Treacle Tart?"

"You'll find out tomorrow," she repeated.

"What about a hint?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"It starts with a B."

"B?" he repeated, then started muttering to himself. After he quickly exhausted the list of desserts that began with the letter B, he nearly pleaded, "C'mon, give me more than that. Baking isn't much of a strong point for me."

"Just be patient," she told him.

The middle of Godric's Hollow was a small square, in which a church, a post office, a pub, and several other shops gathered. The setting sun cut slices through the church's stained-glass windows that seemed as if they were pained onto the cobbles. And the same kissing gate was there, sitting off to the side of the church that served as the entrance to St Jerome's Graveyard…where Harry's parents were buried. She chanced a look at him then, a little surprised that he hadn't given St Jerome's Graveyard any type of acknowledgement whatsoever. However, the cottage, his cottage, provided plenty of pictures of his parents, happy and madly in love with each other. She remembered the pictures in the sitting room on the mantle, one of them showing James and Lily snogging each other in the backyard. Surely he'd want to remember his parents alive and well instead of the alternative, right?

"I need to get some more McVitie's," he said casually. "We're all out of them."

"You finished it off?"

"Don't look at me like that, they're good!"

"And terrible for your health if you keep at them the way you have!" she chastised. "Really, I'm baking something for us tomorrow and you still want McVitie's?"

Laughing, Harry said, "Baking for us, huh?"

She glanced at him and nodded, "Us," confirming the fact that she thought of them as a couple.

For his part, Harry confirmed the fact that he thought of them as a couple by kissing her temple, letting his lips linger. It reminded her of the snog they had had earlier, something that, although surprising, was gladly received by her, and greatly so. She had enjoyed snogging him, and she hoped that he had enjoyed snogging her.

Okay, so maybe their relationship wasn't much different from that of Ron and Lavender's as Hermione had initially thought, because Harry snogged Hermione, and she snogged Harry for a long time. A very long time at that. And to say their snog was exciting, passionate, or wonderful wouldn't be enough to accurately describe it, not by a long shot. Sure, it was exciting, passionate, and wonderful, but it was everything else in between as well. Years of pent-up demand had Hermione seeing the furthest of stars that existed within the known Universe when Harry snogged her, so much so that it seemed like she was floating in space. Hell, she reasoned that if a Black Hole came and swallowed her whole, she'd go happy knowing that her snog with Harry surpassed any and all expectations, wildly too. And though they didn't take their snog farther than was necessary, she definitely felt his erection when it pressed against her, almost fainting because of it.

She wasn't at all embarrassed to say that she wanted more of his snogging, and nearly admitted as much to Harry. It made her wonder how far he was willing to go, especially since their relationship was in its infancy…new to him, new to her, new to them. But thinking about it, Hermione reckoned they had all the time in the world to address the next stage of their relationship. So why was there any need to hurry it along faster than what they were comfortable with? Voldemort was gone. The Death Eaters were gone. The community was slowly starting to piece itself back together again, Harry and Hermione included. The rest of the weekend, and the rest of the summer, was theirs and theirs only, giving them a long period of time to figure things out. As a result, Hermione felt at peace. She was with Harry and for now, it was all that mattered.

A/N: Thank you for the interest the story has generated thus far! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. Thanks for reading.