For Old Times' Sake
Sunday
Harry and Hermione Bake. Aunt Petunia Returns. Secrets from the Forest of Dean.
Hermione used her wand to grease the square pan she found in one of the cabinets of the kitchen, dividing the pan in two halves and lining it with parchment paper. In one bowl, she mixed together all-purpose flour, almond flour, baking powder, and salt. In another bowl, she put butter and caster sugar together until it was creamy, cracking open three large eggs to go along with it. Thereafter, she gradually added the flour mixture as well as two tablespoons of milk.
"Still not going to tell me what you're baking?" Harry asked from the table. He looked at her like a dog would when begging for a roasted pork ear.
I've always wanted a Staffie.
"I gave you a hint," she said, distracted.
"Not much of a one," he pointed out. "Although, I kind of settled on a Bakewell Tart." He licked his lips. "Is that it?"
"Have a little patience," she replied, and inwardly smiled when he groaned loudly. It wasn't like she was torturing Harry, not in her mind anyway, but she liked to see him restless. The drumming of his fingers atop the table and the bouncing of his leg atop the floor made him more fanciable than was allowed by any law set by the Ministry.
"I guess it isn't Bakewell Tart then," he murmured.
After she separated the batter in two separate bowls, she added almond extract to one and a blend of cocoa powder, milk, and sugar to the other. The almond batter was poured into one half of the pan and the cocoa batter was poured into the other half of the pan. She waved her wand and, like Harry did with the toad in the hole, used a variation of the Fire-Making Charm to bake the batter faster and quicker than Muggles would be able to. What would normally take thirty to thirty-five minutes only took Hermione a minute or so at most.
"So Banoffee Pie, Bedfordshire Clanger, Black Bun, Bridie, and Butter Pie are all out," Harry said, counting the pies and tarts on his fingers. "It doesn't look like you're making Blancmange, Bombe, or Brandy Snaps either. Bread and Butter Pudding seems a bit far-fetched," he frowned, "which leaves Banbury and Battenberg. Then again, it can't be the former because Banbury Cakes are usually served with afternoon tea-,"
"I never said it couldn't be served with afternoon tea," Hermione inserted as she set the almond and cocoa sponges on a cooling rack. She then warmed apricot jam in a saucepan, ran it through a sieve, and stirred small circles through it.
"Battenberg, then," Harry said. "You're making Battenberg."
"And what happened to the Banbury Cakes?"
"The ingredients you're using say otherwise," he gestured to the almond and cocoa sponges she grabbed. She carefully trimmed the tops off of them and almost missed Harry stealing the cocoa remnants.
"It's not even noon!" she exclaimed.
"A little piece was all it was," he defended, a smile was beginning to work its way across his face.
"You're hopeless," she grumbled though didn't really mean it.
"Then we're hopeless together," he said. Standing to his feet, he leaned over the table, the almond and cocoa sponges like paralyzed spectators between them, and kissed her softly. When he pulled away, all too quickly mind you, she was grinning from ear to ear, unable to help herself from doing so. "Want any help?" he asked.
"Only if you don't mind."
"'Course I don't mind," he said, clapping his hands together and rubbing his palms up and down as if he was trying to get warm. "What d'you want me to do?"
"Place the almond sponge on top of the cocoa sponge," she said. "And don't you dare steal anymore!"
Hermione watched him carefully follow her instructions. When he was finished, she trimmed both sponges to equal sizes, fully aware of the fact that Harry was just behind her, looking over her shoulder to see what she was doing. He was standing so close to her that she could hear him breathing, and was a little annoyed that his breathing seemed to be as normal as one's breathing should be, compared to hers which was erratic and mercurial to say the very least.
After she cut the sponges lengthways into four rectangles, she pointed at the apricot jam still in the saucepan, "Get that, will you?" He did and she said, "Brush the apricot jam on one side of the almond sponge here," and placed one of the almond sponges in front of him, "and do the same thing to the cocoa sponge here," and placed one of the cocoa sponges in front of him. She pushed the two sponges together when he was done and brushed the tops of the sponges with more apricot jam. She repeated this with the last two sponges, this time spreading apricot jam on the bottom of the two sponges as well, and placed them on top of the other two sponges in a checkerboard pattern.
"You want me to cover the rest of this with apricot jam?" Harry asked.
"Made Battenberg before, have you?"
"No," he shook his head, "but you've a lot of apricot jam left over," pointing a finger at it.
Smiling, she said, "Go for it," and turned to make the marzipan. She ground almond flour, cocoa powder, and powdered sugar in a Muggle food processor, of which Hermione controlled by magic. After putting in some almond extract, she stole four tablespoons of apricot jam from Harry and began to grind the ingredients together even further. When she completed this task, she grabbed a bit of the marzipan and kneaded some of it into the shape of an irregular block.
"Can you help me with this?" she asked, sandwiching the block of marzipan between two sheets of parchment paper.
"Roll it out?" he guessed.
She nodded, handing him a rolling pin.
Bunching up the sleeves of his navy flannel to the elbows, he took the rolling pin from her and got to work on the marzipan itself.
Hermione watched him as he did this, smiling at his messy hair and the lightning bolt-shaped scar that zigzagged down his forehead. His eyebrows were pulled together like magnets, concentrating on the task at hand, while his tongue was on his lips, similar to how one would look when trying to work out a labyrinthine problem at hand. However, her smile faltered, and turned into a sort of panting like a dog would on a hot summer day, when she saw his broad shoulders. There were also his biceps that moved under his shirt while he rolled and rolled and rolled. Even though she had never taken a liking to Quidditch, she was thrilled that Harry did with how his body had matured since playing, filling out a lot better than she would've ever expected of him. To be honest, she never prioritized one's looks because it was shallow to do so. Sure, everyone saw with his or her own eyes first, but that didn't mean that looks were all that counted when it came to relationships. Yet Harry got a good luck of the draw, a really good luck of the draw at that.
"That's enough," she told him and cut the marzipan into a large rectangle, placing the checkered sponges into the middle of it. Then, very delicately, she wrapped the sponges in marzipan, axing the ends with a knife. To finish, she flipped the cake over and scored the top of it with small diamond inscriptions.
"Seems okay, doesn't it?" she asked, inspecting the Battenberg from every angle that was possible to her.
"Okay?" Harry repeated, incredulous. "It looks delicious!" He waved his wand and two forks flew out of the cupboard. "Let's have at it!"
"Well, it really should be cooled-,"
"And Cooling Charms are hard for you?" He moved his wand down the Battenberg like one would move a hand held metal detector down a suspicious person at the airport. The one closest to them was Cardiff. He then cut a slice for her and another for himself, taking to it hungrily. "I know it isn't noon yet, but this is amazing!"
"Better than treacle tart?" she asked, having a small bite herself.
Harry thought about this for a while, ravaging his piece of Battenberg in the process. "It's about the same," cutting himself a second helping to eat. It was gone in a couple of seconds at most.
"You're going to spoil your lunch," Hermione said.
"Maybe we'll do a late lunch and early dinner sort of thing," he shrugged. "What d'you say?"
"I assume you'll be doing the cooking?"
"Knackered from the Battenberg, are you?"
"Am not!" she replied lightly.
"So you'll help me?"
"Of course," she responded. Then: "Did you need help before?" On Friday, they had a toad in the hole for dinner. On Saturday, they had fish and chips with malt vinegar for lunch, a Scotch Egg with ketchup and fried pickles for dinner, and a sticky toffee pudding with ribena for dessert. Yet, in all of that, Hermione hadn't thought to offer her help once, and she felt horrible because of it.
"I didn't really need it," Harry said. "It's more of the fact that I wanted it."
"Wanted it?" she repeated, a little distressed. "I didn't know," and she put a hand on his arm.
"You're not feeling bad about it, are you?"
"It's hard not to," she replied.
Harry smiled, pulling her into a hug. "I'm not mad or anything," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I just like spending time with you."
Hermione, relishing the scent Harry's shirt carried, said, "You've changed."
"Changed?"
"I always got the feeling that you preferred Ron's company to mine."
"At times I did," he said. "Even then, you were there for me more than he was, a lot more. I guess I never told you how much that meant to me."
"Being with you right now is more than enough," she said.
"Is it?"
Pulling away from him, she nodded, "I like what we have going between us."
"Dating and all?"
"Technically, we haven't been on a date-,"
"Yet," he inserted.
She paused. "Are you planning on one?"
"I have a few ideas," he seesawed his head to the left and right. "Tonight, maybe?"
"You want to go out?"
"For a first date, I'm definitely cooking for you."
"And what about wanting my help?"
"We'll put that on hold for tomorrow," he replied.
"You know, this is a bad habit you're falling into, procrastinating like you did at Hogwarts."
"Procrastinating," he scoffed. "I'm doing nothing of the sort."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione asked, "If I may, what do you plan on making?"
Throwing her own words back at her, he grinned, "Just be patient."
From the kitchen window, Hermione watched Harry in the backyard, lost somewhere in the unkempt and wild underbrush he had initially overlooked, and thus had yet to take care of, when he first moved into the cottage. (I honestly forgot about the back, he told her.) He believed there was a pond there, claimed by a bit of nature who had long overstayed its welcome, and was all but determined to find it. (It'd be nice to have something like that to sit by at night, he also told her.) And she agreed with him. Having a pond to go along with the cottage was a secret of theirs and theirs only, something that no one else would be part of since it was only Harry and Hermione who lived there in the first place.
Just as she was beginning to imagine if the pond was apt to go swimming in – here, she remembered Harry's broad shoulders and biceps that moved under his shirt as he rolled and rolled and rolled the marzipan – she heard a knock on the front door.
Curious, she went to it and saw a woman there, one who had a face that closely resembled a horse and a neck like that of a giraffe's. (An escapee from Chester Zoo perhaps, Hermione thought.) The blonde hair atop her head was flimsy and thin, her eyes were large and pale, and her jaw was lantern-like and very square. A string of pearls collared her neck, autumn leaves cluttered her blouse, her handbag hung from her arm like a sloth, and her skirt arrived somewhere below her knees.
"Is Harry here?" she asked. "Harry Potter?"
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, a little amazed that the horse-giraffe-hybrid-of-a-woman could actually speak, "but you have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?"
"Petunia Dursley," she answered shortly.
A pause hung between them like an intermission of a long movie, movies that Muggles used to watch before their attention spans shrunk considerably. To be honest, Hermione was stunned, very much so, that one of Harry's relatives decided to pay him a visit. She doubted Harry expected as much because Merlin knew she didn't expect anything of the sort.
"One moment," was all she could think of to say and quickly took to the back of the cottage. There, she threw open the door and beckoned Harry with her hand.
Sprinting towards her, worry on his face, he asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Your aunt is here," she told him, grabbing his arm as if she was about to blackout, never mind Harry blacking out. And if they both happened to blackout, then it was likely Petunia Dursley would be waiting for a long while until they came to. "She asked for you."
"Really? You're serious?"
"Of course I am," she said rather shrilly. Clearly, the stress of the whole situation, one that turned on a sixpence, was seizing her like Old Toad Face seized Marietta Edgecombe in Dumbledore's Office when asking her about the D.A. in fifth year.
SNEAK.
Harry grabbed her hand and led her back inside, stopping short upon seeing his aunt waiting patiently on the doorstep. Hermione reckoned that they hadn't seen each other in ten months or so and wondered if either one noticed a change in the other, because Harry himself had changed and she supposed doing away with Voldemort and the Death Eaters was the reason why.
"Aunt Petunia," Harry said.
"Harry," she returned with a cordial nod, one that was void of a smile, though it wasn't like Hermione had expected one to show up anyway.
"What're you doing here?" he asked.
"There are things I would like to discuss with you," she answered. "If you'd rather that I leave, I'll understand."
"Come in," he said. And after she took an abnormally long time to take the couple of steps needed to enter the cottage: "I'm just surprised to see you is all. I didn't expect anything outside of Little Whinging."
"A visit wasn't what I'd anticipated, but I wanted a chance to clear the air between us."
Harry only nodded and gestured towards the sitting area. For her part, Hermione spelled the door closed with her wand and made to go upstairs to give Harry some privacy. However, he stopped her when he didn't let go of her hand.
"Stay with me," he said, nearly begging.
"Are you sure?"
"Please," he continued.
"Okay," and they went into the sitting area, taking the opposite couch from Petunia, who put her handbag on the floor and smoothed her skirt out afterwards, the coffee table separating them like the Channel.
Turning her attention to Hermione, Petunia asked, "You are?"
"Hermione Granger," she said.
"An acquaintance?"
"No," Harry said a little forcefully, "she's my girlfriend."
"And are you…one of them?" Petunia asked quietly.
"She's a witch," Harry replied for her.
The only acknowledgement Petunia gave with this admission was a face like that of a stone gargoyle: ashen, still, and unsightly – or in other words, she gave no acknowledgement at all.
"How'd you know I was at Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked.
"That Headmaster of yours…Dumbledore," she shuddered a little, "he told me in the letter he left with you the night Lily died. I asked to make the funeral arrangements for her to be buried in the graveyard next to the church. St Jerome's, is it?"
"What about the cottage? Was it by accident that you knew it belonged to my parents?"
"Those people we were with…Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones…they told me."
"And you decided to come for a visit?"
"I came by everyday this week," she said, "only to drive away when I couldn't get enough courage about myself to face you after so much has happened. But I had to come, to tell you things I've wanted to for so long now."
An uncomfortable silence settled over them then, and Hermione, a little nervous about the forthcoming conversation, asked, "Would you like some tea?"
"English Breakfast would be lovely," Petunia said, seeming to be relieved for a reason to look elsewhere than at Harry, who, Hermione knew, was barley containing a lid on the animosity he had for the Dursleys, including that of his aunt.
Giving his hand a squeeze, one that was meant to be reassuring, she stood up and went to the kitchen. There, she grabbed a kettle and brought the water in it to a boil with a wave of her wand. Next, she put several teabags in a teapot and filled it with the boiling water, meaning to let it brew for three minutes or so.
As she waited, Hermione remembered Harry telling her how life was like with the Dursleys: the fact that the Dursleys lied to Harry about how his parents had died and forbade any questions about his parents, the emotional and verbal abuse he received, the infliction of cruel punishments on him like refusing him meals, and of course, playing Dudley's favorite game, Harry Hunting, of which he always did with his gang. And she couldn't forget the cupboard under the stairs, the bars on his bedroom window, Marge Dursley swelling like a hot-air balloon, the Ton-Tongue Toffee fiasco with Dudley, the Dementor Attack of which Harry had been blamed for, and the insensitive comments made by his uncle. His Godfather's dead? and He's been left a house? upon learning of Sirius Black's death. It was a lot for Harry to endure and she couldn't blame him for wanting to keep his hands clean of the Dursleys.
It's like water under a bridge with them. It'd be enough to know that they're safe.
Shaking her head a little, she poured three teacups, added some milk in each one, and finished with a handful of Rich Tea Biscuits. She took out the tray like Muggles would, or else Petunia might be scared silly if she did so with magic, and set it on the coffee table. Harry then grabbed her hand again and pulled her down next to him.
"Before I left Privet Drive, I wanted to tell you something that I never got the chance to," Petunia started, grabbing a teacup and taking a sip.
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"Despite my hatred for anything and everything that had to do with you and your world, I did know of some things. Before you left, I wanted to wish you some luck in whatever you were setting out to do. It's just that I couldn't find it in myself to do so. Call me a coward, you have every right to, but that's how it is sometimes. A coward leading a cowardly life." When her eyes found Harry and Hermione's interlaced hands, she said, "But I guess you didn't really need it."
"Not everyone survived the War," Harry replied. "There were those that I was close to who didn't make it."
Losing Fred has been hard on all of them and I wouldn't expect anything less.
"I know how you feel," Petunia responded.
"How?"
"Don't forget that the same night you lost your mother, I lost my sister," she said. "We may not have been on the best of terms, but she was still family. And as much as I tried to separate myself from her, there were many days and many nights where I thought of her."
Harry was quiet for a minute, reaching for the teacup closest to him, then thought better of it.
"Uncle Vernon, how's he? And Dudley?"
"Both are fine," Petunia said.
Hermione thought that she was rather abrupt with her answer and apparently, Harry thought so too for he said, "Uncle Vernon doesn't know you're here, does he?"
"No, he doesn't," she shook her head, taking another sip of her English Breakfast.
"Why is it that you guys never got along with my parents?" Harry asked. "I mean, you rarely mentioned them at all, and when you did, it was only in passing."
Petunia considered this and said, "Well, it was many different things, things that happened with Lily when we were young. She was able to perform certain abnormalities – like turning teacups into rats – almost as if it was perfectly normal to do so. My parents were enthralled with the idea that Lily was able to do such abnormalities when others, like myself, couldn't. At one point, I was even torn between curiosity and disapproval. However, our relationship deteriorated because of it, and deteriorated even more when she met that awful boy," she shuddered again.
"Snape, you mean," Harry inserted.
Hermione gasped at this bit of news, not knowing that there was some connection, or disconnection, between Petunia and Lily and Snape – an unusual trinity of people if she ever knew one.
"They became close with each other," Petunia continued, "Lily and that awful boy." Then, with a kind of faraway look in her eyes, she said, "I spent so many years trying to forget about him, bedraggled as he was from Spinner's End. The moment we met, there was a mutual dislike we had of each other, a feeling that only grew the more time Lily spent with him. And it was soon after that Lily got her letter from that school of yours."
"Hogwarts," Hermione supplied.
"A woman came by to drop it off," Petunia went on as if she hadn't heard Hermione, "and did some funny tricks meanwhile."
"Like turning herself into a cat?" Hermione asked.
Petunia looked over at Hermione, her eyes wide like teacup saucers, and said, "You've seen it too?"
"I'm very much like your sister," Hermione replied, smiling at Harry as she did. For what it was worth, he smiled back at her. "My parents aren't able to do magic either. Professor McGonagall dropped off my Hogwarts letter, and to prove that magic was real, something my parents were skeptical of, she transfigured herself into a cat, her Animagus form."
"You mean that you didn't have parents that were different," she whispered, and her eyes darted to the left and right to see if she expected a train, the Hogwarts Express maybe, to come rattling down the tracks and crush her for speaking complete and utter blasphemy.
"Not at all," Hermione said, remembering that she now referred to her parents as strangers.
Petunia sniffed, "Well, as you can probably guess, I was jealous of Lily, so much that I wrote a letter to that Headmaster of yours, Dumbledore, asking him if I too could study you-know-what," she said so softly that Hermione thought it was entirely possible she hadn't said you-know-what at all. Hermione assumed she meant magic. "As it is, he denied my request, kindly, mind you, and that was that. After Lily went to Hogwarts with that awful boy, I rarely spoke with her, burning every letter she thought to send me. My parents knew something had changed between us and did their best to repair the damage-,"
"Though nothing worked," Harry inserted.
"When I met Vernon, I was very hesitant to tell him about Lily and her abnormalities because I was fond of him, very fond, and didn't want to drive him away. Heavens, he despised those who wore black suits with brown shoes! How was I supposed to tell him of Lily and her abnormalities? Nonetheless, I did tell him eventually when we stopped for a snack of battered sausage at a chip shop. He said that he wouldn't judge me any differently for the faults of my family. Bless him for that."
Hermione had the opinion that this was rather rude of him…the faults of her family…and felt herself frown.
Harry, on the other hand, asked, "What did Uncle Vernon think of my parents when they first met?"
"It was nothing kind," Petunia said, and though Hermione might've imagined it, she thought Petunia looked a little sad. "The first time we met was at a restaurant. The Only Running Footman I think it was called, somewhere in the City of Westminster. Vernon was telling James about a new car of his, the 1977 Ford Cortina. James, however, wasn't all that impressed by this and instead told Vernon about some sort of broomstick. Naturally, Vernon believed James was some sort of weirdo who collected too much unemployment benefits, and we left. On the way home, Vernon was beside himself when James had insisted that he had a fortune in solid gold. Unemployment is what he means, Vernon had said."
Petunia stopped here, deciding her English Breakfast was much needed. She eyed the Rich Tea Biscuits but decided to hold off on them, for now at least.
"The second time we met was at our wedding. I remember seeing James take over to us during the Reception, probably urged by Lily to apologize for his behavior at The Only Running Footman. Vernon said very loudly to those nearby that magicians belonged in a circus, and referred to James and Lily as amateur magicians. Lily was so upset."
"How about at my parents' wedding? Did you guys go?" Harry asked.
"We didn't as Vernon couldn't fathom being anywhere near James. And even though I missed Lily, I also didn't want to upset Vernon any further. A coward leading a cowardly life," she repeated with a rather pathetic laugh. "But it was soon after that our mother was stricken with cancer. Lily and I disagreed on which was the better option: to follow the doctor's orders or for our mother to seek alternative treatments with her lot. Lily was adamant that our mother would be better taken care of with you-know-what. We bickered for a long time, too long because our mother died with us bickering at her bedside."
Hermione saw that Petunia's eyes had begun to water, making her large, pale eyes become glossy like candlelight behind a stained-glass window. Because even though Harry told her the horror stories of how life was like with the Dursleys, she couldn't help but feel bad for Petunia, someone who managed to suck up her pride, one she carried around with her for years, to make amends with Harry and to make amends with herself. It was admirable in its own way.
"After our mother passed, I refused to speak to Lily at all, blaming her for our mother's death. In that time, I received multiple letters from her, apologizing and wishing to meet, but I binned every one of them." Accompanying another sip of tea was: "The very last bit of post from Lily was announcing your birth and a picture to go along with it. Soon though," and she looked at Harry with her still-glossy eyes, "well, you don't need me to tell you what happened then."
Harry, his hand still with Hermione's, asked, "So why are you telling me all of this now?"
"Because I regret everything that happened with Lily, and I regret everything that happened with you. It may not seem like it, but I loved Lily. I loved her dearly. She was my younger sister. I had to look after her, to keep her safe from harm. And everything changed with that awful boy, calling me names I didn't understand. When Lily left to go to that school of yours, I felt a separation with her in that I belonged in one world and she belonged in another. We were worlds apart from each other and I was the one who felt left behind by my sister. And even though I envied her abnormalities at one point or another, I had to accept the fact that I was never going to share in those abnormalities. Then along came Vernon who encouraged the worst aspects of my character – bitter, judgmental, and even a little petty at times – to anyone and anything that was unlike ourselves.
"When I heard that Lily had been murdered, I was devastated, but I hid my devastation under the weight of this unresolved jealousy I had of her. Still, the sting of her death was always there, unwelcome when it came to me at night when I tried to sleep…knowing that she was never going to wake up." Hermione noticed that the glossiness in Petunia's eyes had gained considerable weight. "I'm not telling you this to ask for your forgiveness because I'm long past that. But all of these years I've never been able to talk about Lily to anybody, especially Vernon, even though I wanted to. If I could, I'd go back in time and change everything. It's more than unfortunate that I'm unable to and that's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life." She picked up her handbag and reached into it, taking out a bright green blanket. "This is what you were wrapped in when you arrived on our doorstep," she said. "It's something that belongs to you," and handed it over to him. "The color," she continued, "is meant to resemble Lily's eyes. She mentioned to me long ago that James loved them – eyes that you inherited. I only kept it this long because it was the last connection I had with my sister."
Words were something of an unknown to Harry then, who studied the blanket as if it was some kind of antique, part of a past that he'd left behind in order to be able to move forward on his own accord, minus the baggage he had to shoulder for so long. Like Petunia, Hermione figured that the blanket - Harry's blanket - was a connection he had with his parents, and from the look in his eyes, that connection was felt instantly.
Managing a smile, Petunia said, "Well, I'd best be off," and stood to her feet.
Harry carefully set down the blanket and replied, "Thank you…thank you for coming over. I never believed you would."
"Losing your parents when you were a baby…I can't imagine how that was for you. And after, you had a terrible childhood, something I'm to blame for. Lily deserved better. You deserved better, far more that what I gave to you. For that, I apologize. I can't speak for Vernon, but I'm sorry for the way I treated you. You deserve to be happy," and she looked at Hermione when she said, "I'm sure you will be."
Harry and Hermione got to their feet and walked Petunia to the front door.
"Farewell," was what she said to them.
Hermione watched her take down the path that careened its way through the waist-high grass, wiping at her eyes as she did. She got in her car and waved as she drove away. Harry, having pulled Hermione against his chest, waved back.
And that was the last time Harry and Hermione saw Petunia Dursley again.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked him.
Harry was staring up at the sky, the stars above them like a chaotic jewelry jubilee, his eyes distant.
"Just thinking," was what he said.
"About your aunt?" she pressed. She recalled how Harry spent the rest of the day in the backyard, of which he'd done a bang-up job of clearing, once his aunt had left, only coming inside to cook their dinner: a Sunday Roast, complete with maple-mustard pulled pork, parmesan-roasted potatoes, broccoli and carrots – topped with a honey glaze – Yorkshire puds, and, of course, a fair bit of gravy to go along with the Sunday Roast itself. It had been delectable, similar to how she found Harry delectable as she watched him move around the kitchen, more so than the toad in the hole on Friday and the Scotch Egg on Saturday.
"No," he shook his head.
"You were quiet throughout dinner," she said, and it was true. He had been quiet, eerily quiet at that.
Sighing, he said, "Remember how you told me yesterday that you were keeping something from me, and that it was time I found out about it?"
Before then, Hermione could do nothing but stare at the arrangement Harry had setup for them in the backyard: the pond (oh yes, Harry had found the pond alright) mirrored the paper lanterns, of which were red and round, that lingered just atop it, while glow-worms crowded the paper lanterns themselves. The result was a red and green blaze, like one would see at Christmas. Now, however, she turned to look at him, puzzled.
"I dunno if Ron ever mentioned it, but it was the Forest of Dean with Slytherin's Locket," he started.
"He mentioned it," Hermione said, "though he never got very far."
"What happened?"
"He'd get angry and stomp away," she shrugged.
"I never told you about that night," Harry said, his eyes on her. "I wanted to, only I'm sure Ron wouldn't have appreciated it any."
"Is it bad?"
"Not to me," he replied.
She waited, a little eagerly at that, because she had known something went wrong with Slytherin's Locket. Ron's actions spoke for themselves. In the time she stayed with him at the Burrow (following the War, he meant to bring it up many times. Yet there was a problem, a big problem, and it was what she'd said to Harry. He never got very far. He'd get angry and stomp away. And that's what Ron did every time. Thus, she concluded that Slytherin's Locket had dealt him something dirty, and it greatly affected him more than he cared to admit.
"Snape's Patronus led me to a pond, probably a little bigger than this one," he nodded his head to the private pond before them, still echoing with the glow worms infestation of the paper lanterns (Christmas in May!), "somewhere in the Forest of Dean. The Sword of Gryffindor was there and after a struggle, Ron managed to get me out."
Harry moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him, and kissing her temple. She briefly smiled at this, liking the way his lips felt on her body. But her smile quickly waned as she wondered if his actions were more for her sake or his.
"Since he was the one who recovered the Sword, I decided that he should be the one to get rid of Slytherin's Locket. He didn't want to, but I pushed it on him anyway. After I spoke in Parseltongue causing the thing to open, there were eyes, Tom Riddle's eyes, and it saw the both of us," he paused. "It also saw-,"
"The Sword of Gryffindor," Hermione said for him.
He nodded and kissed her temple again, letting his lips dawdle as if they liked her temple very much.
"The eyes panicked, I could see that they did, and before Ron could stab Slytherin's Locket, a voice hissed at him, talking about his dreams and fears…his desires and dread. It claimed that he was least loved by his mum…least loved by you."
Hermione's breath hitched in her throat at the least loved by you bit because it was true. Hermione's feelings for Harry were far stronger than her feelings for Ron. I get it, you choose him. She supposed that Slytherin's Locket studied them whenever they wore it (How ridiculous we were to do that! she thought to herself), discovering their own personal wants and wishes. As for Hermione, she wanted Harry and wished for him to be happy.
"Soon after, we came out of Slytherin's Locket-,"
"We?" she asked.
"Versions of ourselves," he explained. "Only our hair was like flames, our eyes were red, and our voices were like Voldemort's," and he kissed her temple (X marks the spot, she guessed). "We taunted him, playing to his insecurities and to his jealousy. Then we kissed."
"Just like that?"
"It was meant for Ron's sake more than anything else," Harry said. "But it's what got him to finally get rid of the damned thing."
Hermione, playing with one of the buttons on his flannel, said, "And that's what you were keeping from me?" Before he could reply, she continued, "I thought it'd be something else."
"Hang on a second, I'm not finished," Harry told her. "It's what I said to Ron afterwards that's bothering me. You see, he was beside himself with everything that'd happened, everything he'd seen. And I saw how defeated he looked. It was like he'd lost before he'd even begun. I went to him to make sure he knew that I loved you like a sister, reckoning you felt the same way about me. But not only did I lie to him, I felt like I was lying to you too. Because it was when we were on the run together that I stopped seeing Ginny's dot on the Marauder's Map and saw yours instead, remember?"
"Of course I remember," Hermione nodded. "You only told me yesterday."
"I just need to make sure you know that I don't love you like a sister. Merlin, I don't even have a sister so how could I possibly understand what loving one is even like!" He turned to her and said, "I'm sorry."
"You haven't anything to apologize for!" she replied, vehement.
"But I lied," he said. "I told Ron that I loved you like a sister when I didn't. I still don't." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I never will. You mean more to me than that."
Hermione, calling to her spontaneous side, said, "Then how about you show me."
"Show you what?"
"How much I mean to you."
Harry's brow curved like a bridge over a strong current. "I don't follow."
Taking a leap of faith, one she hoped was going to be repaid in kind, she released herself from his arm, of which was still wrapped around her shoulders, and straddled him. She saw that he was mesmerized when she slowly removed her blouse, letting it parachute off to the side, forgotten. Next, she reached out and undid the buttons of his flannel. When it slipped off behind him, she moved her hands over his chest. Suddenly, he flipped her over and she let out a surprise laugh when he did.
"Is this your first time?" he asked as he coffined her body under his.
"Yes," she said, her voice dim and distant as she felt his erection trying to push its way through his jeans.
"Mine too," he smiled and kissed her.
Were they rushing into the next phase of their relationship even though the first phase of their relationship hadn't really begun? Hermione didn't think so. For Merlin's sake, they'd known each other for years now and had been best friends for the same amount of time! If they wanted to make love in the backyard of his cottage in Godric's Hollow, then why shouldn't they be allowed to? Harry and Hermione were consenting adults, aged more than their numbers made them out to be from everything that they had been through. They were happy together, far more than the past. It was a different life they led before the War, and it was a different life they meant to lead after it.
With Harry drinking from her, his tongue wild in her mouth, Hermione needed him inside her. And it was like he read her mind, because he undid the button of his jeans, yanked down the zipper, and soon after, like lovers, they claimed each other.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.