The Burrow, late July 1996
The early sun was already warm and bathed the garden gold. He closes his eyes for moment and breathes deeply, feeling the sun on his face. The air is perfumed from the wildflowers cross the hill, brought down by the early morning breeze.
She's standing out in the garden, beside a wooden bench under the oak tree. Well, not so much standing as pacing back and forth. She's still in her socks and she's got her hair in two braids down her shoulders, and the climbing sun catching the curls that spring free round her face. It's longer, he thinks, as she twirls a braid anxiously around her finger. The sight of her here, healthy and strong, gives him relief he didn't know he needed.
"Hermione?" He calls to her, making his way across the grass. She turns at his voice and her face breaks into a grin, eyes crinkling and teeth flashing perfectly white. She jogs across the yard and throws herself at him, arms winding tightly around his neck.
"Harry!" She says warmly into his ear, "I'm so glad you're here."
He hugs her to him; she feels warm and soft and heavy on his chest. Her hair smells like fresh bread.
She pulls back, scanning his face. "Are you ok? When did you get here? I heard you came with Dumbledore."
He huffs at her eagerness. "Uh, about one last night," he offered, shrugging. She doesn't miss the exhaustion in his voice. Of course, she doesn't.
"Was your summer... ok?" she probes, her brows pulling together as she stares up at him. He feels like she's shrunk since he's last seen her.
Harry takes a laboured breath, and scratches at the back of his neck. "The Dursley's were the Dursley's, I guess. Didn't really talk to me... but that's how I like it," he recovers quickly, catching the sadness creeping into her eyes.
"I'm sorry you were alone, Harry," she mutters, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I should have written more."
"No, no, Hermione!" He shakes his head, picturing the stack of letters tucked into the side of his trunk. "You wrote plenty! They were great, actually." He tries a smile, and she seems to buy it.
"I just didn't want to you feel like I'd- we'd forgotten you."
Harry thinks back to this time last year, feeling so frustrated at seeing her and Ron, happy and together at the Burrow while he suffered at the Dursley's, how he shouted at her. He feels a heavy wash of guilt.
"You know, I'm here... If you ever want to talk," she offers, genuinely. "If you're not ready to talk about-" he coughs loudly, stalling her. Any mention of Sirius brings a lump to his throat.
"What are you doing out here?" he says quickly, gesturing at the garden. Her eyes light up and she bounces on her heels.
"Oh! O.W.L.S, Harry! The owls should be arriving anytime now." She pauses, thinking for a moment and her smile turns anxious. "I know I messed up Ancient Runes," she mutters. "I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation, and the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back-"
"Hermione!" He shouts, trying to reassure her. "I'm sure you were perfect."
She smiles and she unconsciously massages her hand over a spot on her left chest. Harry frowns at the unfamiliar motion. Suddenly, purple flames streaking across her chest and dontletherbedeaddontletherbedead flashes in his mind. He flinches, clenching his fists so hard his fingernails stab into his skin.
She reaches out to touch him, and he instinctively steps back from her. He doesn't miss the hurt across her face.
"Sorry, I just... I have to go," he splutters out, his chest feeling tight. He needs to get out of here before the walls he's carefully built over the summer come crumbling down. He backs out towards the house, leaving her there, dejected, in the middle of the garden.
.
•
.
He felt pretty pleased with his results, the only unsettling feeling was that Auror training requires N.E.W.T.S grade potions, and Snape won't accept Exceeding Expectations. He smiles with Ron and jokes that he's glad to be rid of him, but he feels an emptiness settling in his gut; over the summer, the idea had taken hold of him. He'd never had something to look forward to, work towards, that wasn't not dying. It was something that implied there was going to be a life after either must die at the hand of the other.
Hermione gets ten O's of course, she beams up at him and he pulls a strained smile back at her, I told you so. Ron's happy to just have passed. Mrs Weasley's so proud, she gets Ginny and Fleur to help her cook up a large lunch in celebration. Ginny looks sour the entire time, muttering under her breath and clanging pots. Eventually, Mrs Weasley pulls her aside and whispers something about growing up and family.
Hermione drags Harry and Ron up to her room and badgers at him until he's finished telling them about his evening with Dumbledore and Slughorn. She's staying in Charlie's old room, across from him on the second floor. He moves some books to sit on her bed and he notices their strange covers; A History of Prophesying: Inspiration, Interpretation and Revelation and Prophecies – The Mystic Con.
There's a smaller one underneath and he pulls it out, turning it over in his hands. He runs his fingers over the title; Lady Chatterley's Lover. When Hermione notices her face burns red and she steals it from his hands, hiding it behind her back.
"So, uh... do you think he'll be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" she stammers, looking at anything but him.
Harry frowns. "I expect so... no Umbridge anymore."
"What's that?" pipes up Ron, moving to stand in front of Hermione, eyes gleaming. "Behind your back?"
"None of your business," she scowls, and he swipes behind her, searching for it. "Leave it, Ron!" she says firmly, stepping back from him.
"Oh, come on!" he laughs at her, holding her wrist and plucking it from her hands. Her eyes go wide as Ron inspects it, his face dropping.
"Oh," he says, disappointed. "Why are you getting so worked up over a Muggle book?" He throws it back at her and she catches it, barely. "Aren't our books boring enough?"
She swallows and her eyes flick to Harry's for just a moment. An awkward silence settles between them. Harry coughs, clearing his throat.
"He, uh, knew my parents..." he starts, desperate to break the tension. "Slughorn, I mean. He-"
"Lunch!" comes Mrs Weasley's booming voice from downstairs. Ron takes a breath of relief and strides out the door. Harry directs Hermione a sympathetic look as she places the book in her trunk. He catches her elbow as he follows her out the door, and she spins to look at him, surprised.
"Those books...where did you get them?" he asks, and her cheeks flush red again. "The big ones," he adds, sensing her discomfit.
"Oh, uh... Dumbledore convinced Madam Pince to let me take a few home over the summer. She wasn't happy about it, but I insisted. I just wanted to make sure we knew everything about the..." she looks up at him cautiously, "you know."
He nods at her and swallows. He hasn't stopped thinking about it. Alone all summer with the constant voices of powerthedarklordknowsnot and neithercanlive and goodonejames circling. He feels a comfort knowing he hasn't been the only one.
She nods back at him and they make their way into the kitchen, Mrs Weasley pottering around. Ginny is moping, pointedly sitting at the opposite end of the table to Fleur. Ron has pulled his chair up close to her, she's speaking to him in that silky voice and he hangs off every word. Hermione watches him with an unreadable look and takes a seat next to Ginny. Harry sits across from them, loading his plate.
"Looks great, Mrs Weasley," he says. He hasn't eaten like this since Hogwarts, and his stomach is growling.
"It's nothing, my dear," she smiles back at him and places a buttered bread roll on her husband's plate. Ginny says something that makes Hermione laugh.
"'Ermione, your teeth are so lovely," croons Fleur, flashing her own perfect smile.
"Uh, thank you. My parents are dentists," Hermione says, running her tongue over her teeth.
Fleur's eyebrows pull together delicately. "Denteests?" she repeats, looking to Mr Weasley questioningly.
His eyes light up. "Yes, indeed!" he says eagerly, rubbing his hands together. "As I understand, they are some sort of Muggle Tooth Healer, correct?" He motions to Hermione and she nods. "I have been speculating recently about the properties of toothpaste. I find it astoundingly strange why Muggles require paste made out of teeth."
Harry and Hermione both erupt into laughter, and the others look at them incredulously.
"What's so funny?" huffs Ron, staring at the two of them with a frown.
"Sorry, Mr Weasley," laughs Harry, grinning at Hermione. He's missed this - laughing with her. "It's for cleaning teeth."
"Why would you want to clean teeth with that?" quips Ginny uncertainly, looking between Ron and her father. "Mum would always just use a spell..."
"It's not...It doesn't matter," says Harry, waving his hands at them. "Fleur," he starts, changing the conversation, "when's the wedding?"
She spins to face him, and her eyes light up. "Oh, yes! We are thinking next summer, zee Riviera is particularly beautiful at zis time of year." Mrs. Weasley chokes on her bread roll. "You will all be invited, of course! I wish to take zee girls shopping in Pah-rhee. Ginny, 'Ermione, you would look lovely in 'e dress!"
Harry thinks back to fourth year when she wore that periwinkle dress and smoothed her hair. She didn't look like Hermione at all.
"Some powder on your freckles, and a Sleek-Easy for zat 'air - you will look gorgeous!" Fleur continues, gesturing at Hermione. Her fingertips slide over the freckles on her nose and across her cheeks. Harry's chest pangs when she lowers her eyes. She doesn't speak for the rest of the meal.
Ron spends the next half hour with his sleeves rolled up, showing Fleur the faded tentacle scars that wind up his arms. Hermione excuses herself quietly.
"Dear, would you take the leftover bread to the chickens?" Mrs Weasley calls to her, motioning to the crusts and half-eaten rolls on the counter. Hermione nods and folds them into a checkered kitchen towel, disappearing out the back door wordlessly.
Harry looks down at his own plate, now clean except for his own crusts. He stands abruptly and all eyes at the table turn to him.
"Uh," he starts, feeling pressure under their gaze. "I'm just... I'll take these out too," he motions to the door, gathering up his crusts. Mrs Weasley smiles at him with a thank you, dear and the table continues its conversation.
She stands by the chicken coop, poking the bread through the wire. The chickens are teeming at her feet, shaking their feathers and chattering. He moves in beside her, unsure what to say. He rips a piece of his bread and pokes it through the wire too.
"You don't need to make me feel better, Harry," she says softly, staring at the chickens as they push and peck. He's not sure how, but she's always been able to read his thoughts. "Don't tell me Fleur's mad and I'm not ugly and all that."
Harry frowns. "But I don't think you're ugly," he says, and it's feels familiar in his mouth. He thinks she's far from it.
She rolls her eyes and huffs, "Thanks Harry, but-"
"I like them..."
She frowns at him, "what?"
"Uh... your freckles, I mean." He quickly looks away from her, ripping at another piece of bread. "I don't think you should... you know... cover them up."
Her face flushes pink. The chickens cluck, demanding more bread.
"I think I have a better idea," he says, scooping up the remaining bread. He pulls at the latch and swings open the coop gate.
"Harry, no!" Hermione yells but it's too late, the chickens are swarming. They fly at him, pecking at his hands and flapping all around.
He makes a high-pitched yelp and flings the bread at the ground. Hermione's hands cover her mouth; trying, and failing, to conceal her laughter. Her eyes are shining, and he feels pride in his chest. He brushes a feather from his hair and grins at her too.
The chickens take off in all directions, flapping and clucking rowdily.
"Come on, then," she laughs, "I'll help you catch them. Well..." she thinks for a moment. "I'll corral them, and you catch them."
.
•
.
"If we play two on two, I think it would work," says Ron abruptly. They're all sitting in the Livingroom; it's just past midday and the room is hot and stuffy.
"What are you talking about, Ronald?" sighs Ginny, her feet swinging over the side of an armchair.
Ron sneers at her. "Quidditch, you twit," he answers back, and Ginny throws a pillow at him. "If it's me and you versus Harry and Hermione, we should be pretty even." Harry steals a glance at Hermione, she looks alarmed.
"Why do I have to be on your team?" quips Ginny.
"Because Harry's the only actual player and Hermione can't even fly, that's why!"
Hermione's teeth sink into her lip, suppressing a response.
"I'm up for it if you are," Harry says to her, and she nods her head gingerly. The hair on the back of his neck prickles at the thought of being back in the air.
Ginny springs to her feet and pushes past Ron.
"I get the Cleansweep!" she shouts, running through the kitchen. Ron's eyes go wide.
"That's mine!" he roars and bounds after her. Harry laughs, and Hermione watches it all with a look of trepidation.
"Hey, don't worry," Harry says, holding his hand out to her. "I'll help you."
She smiles a little and nods, taking his hand and he pulls her from the couch.
They discuss where the best spot would be, and settle for the orchard, as the surrounding trees can act as goal posts. The Weasley's have an old Quaffle, faded and patched, but no Snitch. Ron argues that Harry shouldn't be allowed his Firebolt, but he laughs him off.
His broom rises to meet his hand like an old friend, and moment the smooth wood touches his palm he feels content.
He kicks off hard and feels the familiar weight of himself settle on the broom. He savours the cold sting of the air whipping his cheeks and the swooping, weightless sensation he only gets from flying.
He pulls up slow, far above the ground, closes his eyes and breathes. It's so calm; the sun warm on his face and the wind whistling between the nearby hills. He thinks what he'd give to stay up here forever.
Ron and Ginny are below, hovering above the ground as they fix large baskets to the trees at either end of the orchard. He spots Hermione still on the grass, struggling to mount her broom. He glides down to her.
"Use the Silver Arrow," he calls down to her. "It's slower, better handling," he offers, and she looks up at him, confused. He lands beside her quietly.
"I just have trouble getting off the ground," she reasons, looking down at the broom, exasperated. "I can't get my feet in the holds without tipping."
"Just let the broom take your weight. Don't try to sit above it, if that makes sense."
She frowns at him. "It doesn't."
He laughs. She looks at the broom like it's some equation she can figure out. Harry thinks it's more like the opposite.
"Just trust that it's going to hold you and don't over think it."
"That's easy for you to say," she quips, the broom between her legs tilting to the left. She plants her feet and huffs, tossing it to the ground.
Harry disappears into the Weasley's shed before returning with another broom. "Use this one," he offers. She eyes it with caution, folding her arms across her chest.
"I don't think it's a good idea. Why don't you just play alone? You're better than both of them, anyway." She motions up to Ron and Ginny.
"No way," he says flippantly. "I'm gonna need you as back up."
She laughs, and he grins at her proudly. "I don't think so," she snorts.
"Here," he says, mounting the Silver Arrow and hovering just above the ground. "I'll get it balanced and you get on."
She pauses for a moment, eyes flicking up to Ron.
"Ok, just... don't go any higher."
He shakes his head. "I promise."
He slides back on the broom, dipping it forward just enough for her to climb on. He places a steading hand on her ribs; a nice, safe, totally appropriate position. She glances at him over her shoulder.
"Now what?" she asks, blowing at a curl in front her eyes. It's tingles his cheek.
"Put your whole weight into it, find your balance. Then I'll hop off."
"Ok... ok, I got this." She sets her face with a determined scowl and he lets out a laughing puff.
She jerks the handle up a little too quickly and she slips back into him. He exhales harshly. Her ass is fitted snug in against his hips. His fingers tighten around her rib cage and feels the swell of her breast above them. Suddenly, his trousers feel too tight.
"Sorry!" she gasps, righting the broom. She twists against him ohgodohgodohgod.
His mind goes blank. Blood rushes loudly in his ears.
"I think I got it," she says after a moment.
"Oh... yep, yes... good job," he stammers, climbing off. He holds the tail as she anchors her feet in the holds.
"Thank you," she mutters, looking down at him, cheeks pink.
"Uh, no problem!" he says at little too loudly, trying to discreetly adjust the front of his trousers.
"Are you two ready or what?" calls Ron from above, juggling the Quaffle from hand to hand. Harry squints up at him. He thinks mounting his broom right now is a bad idea.
"Yep! Just... gotta use the loo!" he shouts, signalling his thumbs awkwardly back towards the house.
"Well, you need to hurry up!"
What he needs a bucket of cold water and a kick up the arse, he thinks. He tries his absolute best not to waddle across the field.
.
•
.
"Good night, boys," sings Fleur as she heads up the staircase, leaving Harry and Ron alone in the livingroom. They wave up at her, and Ron watches her hips sway as she climbs. Mrs Weasley has set out some sweets for them after dinner.
"What do you think she's doing with a bloke like Bill?" Ron murmurs, turning to Harry with a giddy smile. "She could have anyone she wants, and she chooses him."
Harry raises an eyebrow at him. "And what? You think you're any better?"
Ron throws a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean at him. "Hey! I'm just as handsome." Ron flexes his arm, slapping his bicep. "Better body too, some might say."
Harry snorts. "Who says?"
"Fleur."
Harry chokes on a bean. "Bugger off!"
"No, I'm serious," he says proudly. "The other day when I was showing her my scars she said -" he puts on a terrible French accent, "- Zay are still very 'andsome arms."
Harry laughs. "I don't think that means what you think it means."
"I think she's totally regretting saying no to me for the Yule Ball," he jokes, leaning back into the couch and crossing his ankles. "She's thinking she could've had all this," he gestures down to himself.
They both laugh. "Seriously though," Ron huffs. "We need to get girlfriends this year. At this rate Neville will get laid before us. I hear he's gotten close with that Hufflepuff girl."
"Who? Susan?"
"Hannah Abbott. And I'm pretty sure Malfoy is shagging Parkinson."
Harry cringed, raising his hands in protest. "Like I needed to know that!"
"What's the point of being the Chosen One if you can't use it to get girls?"
"I think it makes it harder, to be honest," he shrugs. Ron stuffs his mouth with a handful of beans.
"Why?" he garbles. Harry thinks for a moment.
"It's just never easy, you know? They're either scared of me or want something out of it." He runs a hand through his hair. "I just want it to be... easy, I guess."
"Well, send them my way," Ron laughs. "I don't mind if they just want something outta me."
Harry laughs and shakes his head at him, rolling his eyes. He flicks a yellow bean at Ron's head.
"Would be nice, though," sighs Ron. "Get a girl and forget about all this bad stuff for a while."
"Would be nice..." Harry repeats quietly.
"You think I should try for the team this year?"
Harry frowns, "huh?"
"The Quidditch team. I'm thinking of trying out again."
Harry thinks back to this afternoon out in the field. Between making sure Hermione didn't fall and trying not to make it obvious he was doing so; he hadn't really paid Ron much attention.
"I'll give you some tips," he says, and Ron's eyes light up. "We'll do some more practice, maybe try a few different roles."
"Brilliant."
.
•
.
The next few days is spent between Quidditch, sleeping and eating. Harry works with Ron out above the field. Ginny insists on helping and, even though she was quite good, he thinks she's just enjoying throwing things at her brother. Fleur brings them water every now and then, and Hermione seems content to watch them from under the oak tree, nose in her book. They've taken to eating dinner in the garden every night, just before the sun goes down.
"I think maybe chaser just isn't for you," Harry says to Ron, wiping at his brow. Ron flies behind him and they land just near the orchard fence.
"I wish we had some bludgers," Ron says, pulling off his shirt. His pale, freckled skin contrasts his tanned arms and face. Harry removes his too.
"Don't let your mum hear that," Harry laughs, wiping the shirt down his chest.
They climb over the stone wall and the smell of frying oil wafts across the garden. He hears Ron's stomach rumble.
"I hope that's fish and chips," Ron groans, inhaling deeply and walking a little faster. He turns to Harry and lobs his broom at him. "Take this back to the shed, will ya?"
Harry catches it in his free hand and opens his mouth to make a retort but Ron's already off, headed for the kitchen door.
He passes the oak tree and he's surprised to find Hermione still there, hair pulled into a bun above her head. She's pressing a cold glass against her neck. Eyes only for her book, she doesn't hear him approach.
"Hey," he says, standing before her. She jumps, and gasps when the water splashes over the side of her glass.
"Harry, what are y-"
She looks up at him and pauses, teeth biting into her lower lip. A bead of water runs down her collar and pools in the dip between her breasts. He swallows.
"You hungry?" He smiles down at her, nodding towards the kitchen. Her eyes are locked above his shorts. "Hermione?"
Her eyes flick up to his and her ears go red.
"Uh, yes," she stammers, closing her book. "Sounds good."
"How is it?" Her eyes flick back to his chest for a moment. "The book?" he finishes.
"It's... good," she says, tucking it under her knee. "Are you finished for today?" She motions to the brooms in either hand. He looks down at them.
"Oh, yeah. Ron's set on chaser but I don't think it's gonna happen," he laughs. "Not today at least."
The kitchen door bangs, and Ron exits with a fresh shirt on, juggling large plates. Mrs Weasley follows, shaking cutlery at him. Ginny joins them and they eat together under the oak tree.
"Bill's coming home tomorrow," Ginny says, crunching a chip between her teeth. "Mum's invited Tonks."
Ron frowns. "Why?"
"I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family. "
"Are you mad?" huffs Ron incredulously. "Who in their right mind would be looking at Tonks when Fleur's around?"
Hermione's fork stabs at her fish and she frowns down at her plate.
"At least she's cool,' says Ginny. "At least she's a laugh."
"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately," says Ron. "Every time I've seen her, she's looked more like Moaning Myrtle."
"That's not fair," snaps Hermione, pointing her fork at him. "She still hasn't got over what happened... you know... he was her cousin."
Sirius. The sinking pit in his stomach opens wide. He's been so content these past few days. A heavy feeling of guilt rises, and he tries swallowing it down.
"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" exclaims Ron, poking his own fork back at her. "Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never even met-"
"That's not the point," huffs Hermione. "She thinks it was her fault he died."
"How does she work that one out?" Harry utters between gritted teeth. Hermione winces, turning to him, her brows pulling together into this sad, sorry expression. He hates it.
"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn't she?" Hermione says, softer and more careful than before. "I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn't have killed Sirius. "
"That's stupid," said Ron, waving a chip around. It was stupid. It was so stupid. Sirius wouldn't have even been there if it wasn't for him.
"It's survivor's guilt," said Hermione, eyeing Harry cautiously. They all fall into a wretched silence. The sound of Ron's fork scraping on the plate pierces through him. His eyes sting.
He gathers is plate and stands. "I'm gonna... take a shower," he says, looking down at his chest. His sweat has attracted a fair bit of dirt and he thinks it's perfectly plausible.
He makes it to his room unscathed, shuffling past Mr and Mrs Weasley in the Livingroom, both preoccupied, speaking in hushed voices. He finds a scruffy orange ball curled up on his pillow.
He sits on the edge of the bed and Crookshanks trills, startled. Harry holds his head in his hands as Crookshanks stretches and settles against him. He breathes deeply, sucking in air between his palms.
After a while, he's not sure how long, there's a soft rap on his door.
"Harry?" she asks, easing it open. She squints into the dimness. He doesn't move to reply.
She stands before him and Crookshanks whines, bounding off the bed and rubbing his head against her legs.
"Do you want to talk?"
"Not really," is his muffled reply. It won't make her leave, but he thinks it's worth a try.
The bed dips as she sits next to him, her knee bumping his. She reaches down and scratches the top of the cat's head. They sit in silence for a while, Crookshanks purring heavily. She places her hand his arm and his skin rises in goosebumps to meet her fingers.
"I know you were thinking about Auror training," she starts, probing at him. "I think it's a bit unfair Snape doesn't accept Exceeds Expectations."
He nods.
Her eyebrows pull together and she tries again. "I think you'll make a great Quidditch captain this y-"
"It's my fault," he chokes out, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. She grips at his forearm, smoothing her thumb over his skin.
"Harry..."
"It is!" he cries, standing and pulling away from her.
"It's not. It's theirs," she says, resolutely.
"I'm the one who played into their hands. I led us right to them. Sirius had to come save me!"
"Sirius made his own decisions," she says, carefully. "Do you think he could've lived with himself, knowing he left you to fight alone? What if you died?"
"Then it would be my own fault!" he says, throwing his hands up.
"And you think we'd all be just fine without you?" she huffs. "You have so many people who love you, Harry. People who couldn't live without you." Her eyes are shining up at him, with tears or with defiance he's not sure.
"I don't want people to die for me," he says heavily, drained. That sad, sorry expression is back.
"Please don't look at me like that," he sighs, turning away from her.
"Like what?"
"Like you feel sorry for me, as if I didn't do this to myself." He gestures sluggishly at her, at himself. "Like I'm broken."
"It's not like that," she looks down at her hands, and breathes. "I know you're hurting, and I can't make it go away. I just want you to know that I'm here."
He exhales, and the guilt is back, clawing at his chest. He presses his fingers stiff at his temples.
"I know."
"Everyone that night wishes they could have done something different. Tonks wishes she'd beaten Bellatrix. Ron wishes he didn't get separated. I wish I had been able to reflect that curse."
His eyes flick to the spot on her chest, just above her left breast. He sees that purple flash again and dontletherbedead rings in his ears.
"I'm sorry," he says, and she looks up, eyes searching his. "I couldn't protect you."
She gives him a sad smile. "I made my own decisions too."
"You scared the fuck outta me, you know." He laughs miserably, the memory of that utter terror creeping out from behind the wall. "I thought you were dead."
She launches from the bed and snakes her arms around his waist, pulling him to her. He exhales harshly, she's so warm against his cool skin. He slides his arms round her neck.
"I should have listened to you," he whispers into her hair, her forehead hot against his collarbone. He'll never make that mistake again.
She hums, and her breath tingles over his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. She feels entirely too good pressed into him.
He steps back from her, and she smiles up at him. "You better," she quips, wiping at her eyes. He smiles back at her and his chest feels a little less heavy.
He doesn't know what he would do, how he would cope, without her.
.
•
.
It's Harry's birthday on Wednesday. Fleur helps Mrs Weasley bake a cake and the smell fills the whole house. An owl arrives early in the morning with hastily wrapped George's Compendium Box of Pyrotechtrix.
More where that came from. Happy Birthday. – F & G.
Ron eyes the fireworks avidly. Harry gets a pair of knitted socks from Mrs Weasley and a box of Chocolate Frogs from Ron. Hermione gives him a subscription to Seeker Weekly and new pair of leather arm guards.
"I noticed last year you've been flying without them." She says, watching him as he slipped one on. "You've already broken your arm once."
"Yeah, my old ones got too small," he reply's, tightening the straps. They're perfect.
"Since when do you notice anything about Quidditch?" quips Ron, and she rolls her eyes at him.
"Thanks, Hermione." Harry grins at her.
"You're welcome." She grins back.
Ginny brings Harry breakfast in the Livingroom. She's made him tea. It's much too sweet and he winces when it hits his tongue, but thanks her anyway.
When she turns her back Hermione swirls her wand over his cup. He looks up at her and there's this feeling like they're waiting for everyone else to catch up. They never do.
That's what best friends do, right?
•
•
•
"Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often," said Krum, stumbling over her name. Everyone seemed to have a stake in his relationship with Hermione back then.
"We're friends."
Krum frowned; black, bushy eyebrows scrunching together. "She knows ev'ryting about you. Vhat classes you take, vhen your homework iz due. Vhenever I talk about my Quidditch, she alvays compairs it to you." Harry nodded, this was nothing he didn't already know. "You two must be very close."
Harry shrugged. Hermione is a constant that he never really has to think about, no matter how many goblets spit out his name.
"It's just how it's always been."
Krum thought for a moment, eyes glassed over. "Do you know her favourite sveet?"
"Sweet?"
"Ya."
"Oh, uh... She loves sugar quills, the Deluxe variety. She's says they last longer. She doesn't like liquorice, and Oh! avoid Exploding Bon Bons. She actually likes chocolate, but one time they exploded in her bag and got all over her book and she's hated them ever since." He laughed, picturing her outraged face. "Cherry Fudge. You can only get it in the variety pack, but she never minds as she always gives the Treacle ones to me..."
Krum studied him with a frown and deliberated if she's worth pursuing if it meant Harry came along for the ride too.
