I am so excited that Harmony Co. has reached 2,000 members! Thank you to the admins for putting on this super secret event! I had SO much fun writing this piece that was only supposed to be 6k and... is way bigger than that now. XD
Much, much love to mcal for alpha-reading this fic and encouraging me to continue through all my worries! You're a rockstar and I adore you!
Disclaimer: I own nothing familiar in this story. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and eHarmony belongs to someone who is not me, but who could pass up using it for a Harmony story?!
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There are no matches for Hermione Granger that Magi-Tech can provide.
She has tried the lot; Muggle Match, Muggleborns Only Dot Com, OK Muggle, Gryff-Tinder. She's gone on no fewer than twenty six dates in the expanse of the United Kingdom and she's not found anyone that sparks the most miniscule bit of passion in her. They are all the same. Dockers, polos, loafers, beards; every single man she's dated is a carbon copy of one another. None of them have serious job prospects. None of them can handle a future Minister of Magic. Some of them have questionable integrity and more than one offers to pay her for a night at their flat.
One gentleman was lovely enough to earn a second date, and then he asked her if she would consider giving him the knickers she was wearing. Hermione Granger declined politely and later found herself wandering around Wizarding London with a pint of ice cream instead of sinking her teeth into the delicious medium-well steak she was craving for a week.
She's about to give up on app dating sites when someone catches her eye. One Harry Potter, The Chosen One, her very best friend himself, smiling in a photo that appears to be taken in front of the Ministry of Magic in Italy. He looks happy, alight even. Not the sullen desk-ridden auror that she's used to seeing every day for working lunches.
He's, Merlin forbid she thinks it, fit.
She's never thought of him like this before. Never scrutinized the curve of his jaw or the stubble on his chin. She's never looked at his eyes like they might hold something more than friendship in their green stare. It's strange to observe this still life photo of her best friend and think about what they could become, if they'd work out romantically, and if she's willing to disrupt their friendship with deeper feelings.
Has his hair always looked so roguish? No, it's always been messy and chaotic — but dashing?
Hermione squeaks and slides the app on her phone from bottom to top. She can't contemplate this. No, it's entirely inappropriate. So, she determines to ignore that she's seen anything at all and decides that she'll never, ever mention it to Harry, either.
Ignoring Harry's face on a dating app turns out to be impossible.
Not only is he on all of the muggleborn sites that she's registered on, but he's on eHarmony, too. He's in a football kit, is fit, and looks entirely muggleborn.
She's so buggered.
All weekend, she's thinking about how to go about expressing her interest on Harry's profile. If she just swipes and waits for his response, she'll go out of her mind. If she sends him a message, it makes her too vulnerable. If she approaches him, it seems rather desperate. In the end, she has an entirely new profile on eHarmony for one Jean G., a constabulary consultant in London. Hermione adds a few glamour charms to her profile photo and puts her profile live.
Her finger hovers over the "SAY HI" button on Harry's profile. If she does this, she can't ever take it back. There's a measure of deception in her plan — nothing nefarious, of course, but certainly it's questionable. She just wants to know if she can even feel something for him without putting her friendship with Harry on the line. If not, he need be none the wiser.
Hello. The greeting rolls off her fingers and she chews on the corner of her lip before finally pressing send.
An ellipsis appears. He's typing back immediately. Hermione's heart jumps into her throat. No, this is a very bad idea. She never should have messaged him. She's half a second from panic-deleting her account when her phone dings.
Hello, Hermione. The flutter of her heart is so fast that she's sure she's about to pass out. He keeps typing. I didn't know you were using muggle sites as well.
He knows. He knows she is using dating sites. That means he's looked at her profile. That also means that he's passed up her profile. It hurts for some reason and she stares down at her phone with a frown.
Lunch? It reads just like his daily memos to her office. Why hadn't they ever texted before?
Her thumbs move across the screen. See you in ten.
She smoothes down her wild, frizzy hair as she approaches the little corner cafe they've called theirs for the past decade. Hermione peers through the window and sighs. Of course, he's already sitting inside at their two-chaired table, a croissant and a short tea set out in front of her seat. Harry smiles that earnest smile that she's certain she finds attractive now. She waves and darts into the cafe, heat flushed on her face.
"So." Harry runs his fingers through the sticky-up fringe on his forehead. "eHarmony? Wizards not enough anymore?"
Hermione sighs and pinches a piece of her croissant. "It's not that they aren't enough. It's just that I expect too much."
It earns her a chuckle. "Hermione Granger, Hero of the Wizarding War, expects too much of her love life? Never."
She chucks the piece of croissant at his forehead and it pings off his scar.
"Oi!" He laughs and grabs the flaky crumbs from where they plops in front of him and tosses them onto the corner of his plate. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Eth. What's the proper phrasing there?"
"Well." She considers him carefully as she draws out the word. He's dressed simply, a muggle cotton shirt and jeans. He's as attentive as always, always the edge of a cheeky smile on his face. "Hamlet actually says: 'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.' Not all of the words need 'eth' added to them, you know? And I'm not protesting — your sarcasm regarding my love life is unappreciated, thank you very much."
"Consider me educated on Old English, then." Harry sips his tea.
"Early modern english." Hermione pops a piece of croissant into her mouth.
"What's the difference?"
She splutters. How could she even imagine that Harry, of all people, is the person she's meant to spend the rest of her life with? What's the difference between Modern English and Old English! It's like asking the difference between muffins and croissants — there are differences. There are!
"I have to get back to work," she says finally and tosses a few quid on the table. Harry tries to protest, but she hates it when he pays for her. "I'll see you at the office, yeah?"
"Oh… kay. What just happened?" She can feel his eyes follow her as she leaves, but she doesn't dare glance back.
What is she thinking? Hermione Granger and Harry Potter? Horrible combination.
Friends, that's all.
But, the beat of her heart tells her otherwise.