Chapter 5

Less than a week later, Harry had announced he was moving in with Anna. That had all transpired roughly six months ago. Harry and Anna had only been dating for a few months at the time, and Hermione worried that something had been broken with Harry.

Yet he gave little indication of that. After he moved out, Harry simply couldn't seem to stay away from her office at the Ministry, stopping by at first a couple times per week, but soon on an almost daily basis. The two of them had grown used to working together and bouncing ideas off of each other. The banter and physical contact mostly stopped, but she could never stop giving him an occasional hug, particularly when he looked like he needed one.

Over the recent holidays, she sensed Harry and Anna must have had a serious fight, though. Harry became distant from Hermione for a couple weeks after the New Year, and when Hermione did eventually query him about it, he was oddly circumspect about the whole thing. But then, for the past month, he had resumed his daily visits with Hermione, often working even longer hours along with her into the evening.

Therefore, when Harry showed up late at night at Grimmauld Place a few days earlier, claiming that Anna had finally kicked him out for not planning a single thing in advance for Valentine's Day, Hermione was not in the least surprised. Although he was cautious in his wording, clearly Harry had realized how vapid Anna's personality really was. Hermione almost had to laugh at the way it seemed like Harry had sabotaged his own relationship. After all, he had vaguely brought up the idea of Valentine's Day with Hermione a couple weeks before, saying he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Frankly, he seemed more interested in making sure Hermione would be okay being alone that day than in coming up with a plan for Anna. Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's obliviousness—while she couldn't give a fig about Valentine's Day and its ridiculous rituals, someone like Anna, with her obsession with appearances and public events, most certainly would have high expectations. Couldn't Harry see that? Hermione thought it was like the whole stupid Cho Chang debacle all over again.

Harry was nothing if not a creature of habit, even bad habits.

And thus she found herself now lying on the floor with her best friend, surrounded by moving boxes, amused at his avoidable problems in his relationships, though secretly quite happy to be snuggling up together with him again. Deep inside, she knew this was all a kind of fantasy, that Harry would eventually be tempted by another beautiful girl seeking his attention. Even though she couldn't bring herself to attempt to date anyone else since her feelings for her best friend had become clearer to her, she carried little hope that her affection would ever be reciprocated. Harry clearly had a type demonstrated by his string of gorgeous women, and that definitely wasn't her.

But she also knew that there was part of him that would always belong to her, the part she was so glad to see come out again today: the safe and secure friendship she had come to depend on, no matter what else they encountered in their lives. She only wished that this more physical side of their interaction could continue, this closeness, even if she knew it simply wasn't practical.

Harry stirred beneath her, and Hermione realized they had been lying there on the hard floor for perhaps a couple minutes during her reminiscences, their breathing finally returning to normal. She expected that he would move to get up, but surprisingly he didn't. Putting her arm more tightly around him, she turned her head up and kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"I've missed... this," she said, burying her head in his chest again. What she really wanted to say was, I missed us, but there was no us, she had to remind herself. This was merely another part of their friendship, a part that she had missed far too much in the past few months.

"Me too," he sighed, closing his eyes, and wrapping his arm around her again. He needs this, she told herself. And while he needed her, she'd always be there.

She didn't want to take advantage of it, though. And eventually she'd have to draw some boundaries—things had gotten a bit out of control today, and they seemed to teeter dangerously on the edge of something else, something less playful and more than merely friendly. But she couldn't let those desires out. The worst possible scenario she could envision would be for her to let something happen, and for Harry to go along with it out of some warped sense of friendship or obligation, which would make everything awkward between them.

That is, if they even made it that far. More likely, she'd just end up embarrassing herself when he had to clarify that he really didn't feel that way, and by extension embarrassing both of them.

Taking a long breath, she pulled herself up, noting, "We're never going to get your things unpacked while lying on the floor." She walked over to the nearest stack of boxes and pointed. "Where do you want these?"

It took him a surprising amount of time to sit up, and then he merely sat there, gazing at her for a moment.

"Well?" she said.

"Why don't you tell me where to put everything, and it will be faster," he finally said. "You know you'll end up reorganizing all my things anyway."

Hermione only then realized how much of that was true. While they had lived together, just as she had brought some order to Grimmauld Place in general, she had gradually helped him sort out his room, even the supplies in that desk they had just moved. Was it too much? "Harry," she said, "I just wanted to help. But you should choose how—"

He finally stood, shaking his head and interrupting. "That wasn't a criticism. You think about where things should go more than I do, and there's generally a logic to it." He walked over and stared down at the boxes she had been pointing toward. "I somehow made it by for most of my life, but I didn't have a lot of things as a child. Now… after living without you for the past six months I haven't been able to find anything most days without using a Summoning Charm."

The corners of her lips curled up at that. Harry wasn't one to give compliments that often, but she felt proud that he valued her, even in these little quotidian things. She handed him a box, and they walked together to the cupboard while she tried to recall where everything had been before he moved out.

"Just so you know, though," he said, handing her a few minor mementos from his Hogwarts days for storage, "I don't think I'll ever keep my clothes sorted by color like you do…"

She shook her head, chuckling as she worked. "Well, I don't think we need to worry about sorting your occasional Gryffindor reds from the rest of your wardrobe, which is what—fifty shades of somber?"

His eyes dropped at her comment. Years before, Harry had told Hermione the stories of how he inherited Dudley's ill-fitting clothes, and Petunia would sometimes dye them to some neutral shade of gray, which made them even more horrid. But when he was able to buy his own, even aside from black wizard robes, he still seemed to gravitate toward grays, black, and other similar colors, as if there was still some shadow on him that lingered after he had escaped both the Dursleys and Voldemort.

Hermione stopped and looked at him. "Sorry, Harry—I didn't mean… well, you dress very smartly." She looked him over, in his drab tee shirt and well-worn dark gray jeans. Even in these clothes, she still understood why he could draw the attention of so many witches, though. He was no longer the somewhat lanky teenager she grew up with: years of training and working as an Auror had left him strong, fit, and… frankly, incredibly sexy. "That is, aside from moving day of course," she said, forcing her eyes back to the box and her task. "I was just thinking you could use some variety is all."

"I just buy them because I don't really know how to match things. You could…" he said, "that is, we could go shopping... together."

"You want to shop for clothes… with me?" She shook her head in confusion, as she continued to sort through his box. "Harry, you've spent the past five years dating women who have a significantly better sense of style than I do."

"Yeah, and I'm not interested in being stylish like them. Wizards, as you know, are already a bit odd and bold with their choices of attire, compared to Muggles. I don't want people looking at me like Anna does." She understood: Harry never wanted to stand out. "I just want to look nice…" he added a moment later, "like you."

She scrunched down her eyebrows at that and glanced over at him again.

But he was looking off. "I mean, you always look really good… er, that is, professional," he stammered. "When you're at the Ministry, I mean." His eyes darted to her briefly, and then away again. "Well, not that you don't… erm, you look great at other times too." Was that a slight pinkness she saw in his cheeks?

"I… well, thanks, Harry. I never realized…" She tried to think of the last time Harry had ever commented on her clothes or her appearance, and she was drawing a complete blank. Not that he ever said or made any negative comment either.

But now that she thought of it, it was like Harry actively avoided the issue. Sure, she sometimes caught him staring at her when she was particularly dressed up—she knew he didn't think she was ugly—but they'd share a smile and she never thought much more of it. In fact, once or twice while they were living together last year, she had asked him how she looked before heading off to a date, and he made some vague positive remark before resuming whatever he was doing. The idea that he actually noticed what she wore and might even admire how she looked? The notion was all completely foreign to her.

Harry was still looking a bit uncomfortable. "Of course I'll help you pick out some new things if you'd like," she said, giving his arm a squeeze, which seemed to settle him a bit. "But let's get back to it, shall we?"

They spent the next couple of hours going through the rest of Harry's belongings, getting rid of some old things, and reorganizing everything. After Harry's earlier statement, Hermione couldn't resist taking a pass through the wardrobe in his room and sorting his clothes. When he came back into the room after taking a few last things to the office, he walked up beside her and stared at her work. He shook his head at her, commenting, "You're really amazing, you know."

She smiled back, suppressing her urge to put an arm around him or just lean into his side; she was already doing it too much today. "Careful, Harry—we're in danger of this turning into an actual Valentine's Day," she said. "First, you say nice things about my clothes, and now one of your rare compliments. The next thing you'll be cooking me a romantic candlelit dinner…"

"Well... I suppose I could, but I had an even better idea than that actually." He glanced toward her and raised his eyebrows. "Curry?"

Hermione's face lit up. "That's brilliant! Our place? I've barely eaten there in months!" A little Indian restaurant a few blocks off of Upper Street had become their refuge in the Muggle world last year. Whenever they wanted to go out for a meal and avoid the prying eyes of the wizard press, they ended up there. Before Harry moved out, they had been eating there or getting takeaway at least once each week for nearly a year. It just wasn't the same going without him, so it was yet another thing she had missed.

But her enthusiasm was tempered a moment later. "That would be perfect, but they'll surely be mobbed tonight," she added. "It's after six o'clock. It would probably take hours even to get something to bring home…"

He gave her a sly grin. "Which is why I rang them and ordered takeaway yesterday."

"You silly boy. And here I thought you were incapable of planning anything." At that, Hermione had to take his hand, clutching it tightly. "What are we getting?" she said excitedly.

"You'll have to wait and see…" Hermione glared at him, narrowing her eyes a bit. Of course he knew she preferred to know everything; secrets and attempts to surprise her just made her try to wheedle things out of him. "No, you'll wait," he said with that mischievous grin as he squeezed her hand back. "I should probably leave in a few minutes to go pick it up anyway."

He retrieved his coat, as she followed him around. "Thank you…" she said, as he turned back toward her with a confused expression. "For getting dinner," she clarified.

"You're thanking me? Hermione, you gave up today to help me move, and you've helped turn this whole house from a dismal decaying reminder of the past into a real home over the last few years, a home I'm happy you've agreed to share with me for a while. The very least I can do is buy you dinner."

"Harry, it's your house. You own it."

He shook his head. "Actually… I was going to wait to tell you, but this is our house now. Officially. Or, well, it will be soon. I decided when you suggested I should move back the other day. I already had a discussion with a solicitor about it, and the paperwork should be drawn up next week. Given everything you've put into this building, and how much I know you like it now, you deserve to be a co-owner… and I say that only because I know you wouldn't let me simply give the entire house to you." He turned toward the door, muttering, "The only thing I ever did was inherit the place anyway."

Hermione simply stood there, stunned. "Are you serious, Harry?"

He glanced back. "I've been thinking about it for months, actually. And don't even try to object."

"But you can't… that's too much."

"It's my house, and I've decided. You deserve it. Besides, I think Sirius would have liked the idea. He liked you, he knew you always were the one to look after me, and I think he'd have found it quite amusing and ironic to see the house end up owned by a Muggleborn." He chuckled, "And by next week, Kreacher will have to call you anything you request, even though you'll now finally be his official mistress."

Was Harry serious? "You know I would never order him… I couldn't stand—"

"I know. But now you could…"

The idea was still sinking in for Hermione. He wanted to give her a house? "Harry, we need to talk about this."

"No—right now, I need to get dinner. But the answer will be the same when I get back."

He exited quickly, leaving her staring after him in amazement. She frankly had grown quite attached to 12 Grimmauld Place in the past few years, viewing it as less of a temporary arrangement and more of a permanent home. Once or twice she even had thought that maybe someday she could offer to buy it from Harry, though that seemed like a far-off goal, given real estate prices in this part of London.

He simply couldn't just give it to her, or half of it, or whatever he was proposing, even if he only was lucky in inheriting it in the first place. But she was afraid he'd find it insulting if she offered to try to pay for it in some way, like she wouldn't be appreciating their friendship or something. She'd have to think about it—next week, when he came up with this paperwork, she'd sort out how to come to a more reasonable compromise.

Even so, her mind couldn't help drifting to another alternative—she and Harry would own a home together, living together in that home. Last year, after so many months with him, she just felt like life had become so natural: coming home to see him, waking up to have breakfast with him, sometimes even cuddling up together on the sofa with him. It seemed boring and domestic, but it was like skipping all of the stupid stressful dating rituals and anxieties of building a relationship and just having a life with someone. Maybe, eventually, he'd look to her one day instead of all those fangirls chasing after him and...

She shook her head, dismissing this fleeting fantasy while she busied herself with some final organizing tasks.

Hermione had just settled on the sofa with a book when Harry returned, bearing three large bags and placing them on the floor beside their small coffee table. "Eat here?" he queried.

She nodded. This had been their typical place for casual dinners, when they'd forego the formal dining room and kitchen, a domain they generally left to Kreacher, who always seemed to view Muggle takeaway with suspicion. "Harry!" she exclaimed as he reached for his wand, expanding their table to nearly double its normal size and beginning to organize the various containers. "Did you order the entire menu?"

"Only your favorites," he replied. "They'll be enough for leftovers this weekend, which I know you like." As he arranged the food on the table, he pointed to each item in turn: "papadums, samosas, minced lamb kebab, saag paneer, aloo chole, rice and raita of course, and rogan josh, mostly for me, but obviously you're welcome to it. I splurged on some peshwari naan, as I know you think it's a special treat, and your favorite gulab jamun for dessert." Harry reached down to the bag and placed a final dish directly in front of her. "Oh, and lastly, for the girl who burned out her tastebuds at least a year ago: laal maas, extra spicy." He looked everything over, as if taking a detailed inventory. "Did I miss anything?"

Her eyes glanced over the table in amazement; he remembered everything she liked. "I think we'll be eating leftovers for most of next week, but this is perfect."

"Well, not yet. Per your request…" Harry reached for the third bag, which was different from the first two and which he so far hadn't touched. "I stopped for a couple extra items and picked up the necessary accompaniments from the dining room downstairs." Within a minute, he had assembled two long candles in their holders and lit them magically. At the same time he dimmed the primary lights of the room slightly, before pulling out a bottle of red wine, which he proceeded to uncork. "Romantic enough?" He smirked at her.

"You're making fun of me."

"Not at all," he said. "We're just dining like civilized people—er, civilized people who apparently prefer plastic containers and forks." She had to laugh at his silly grin, as he finished pouring two glasses of wine. "You know, at the restaurant, Neha brought out my order. Once she saw me, she got this happy, excited expression and asked, 'So are you two back together?' I didn't really know what to say…"

Hermione knew precisely what he meant. Neha, the owner of the restaurant, had seen them dining alone together so many evenings. And without gossiping wizards around them, they didn't need to pretend. Hermione could reach out and take Harry's hand when she wanted to, just to feel that friendly closeness, without causing whispers at the next table. But Neha and the rest of the staff had been kind and attentive to them, even if they didn't ever talk about their personal lives.

A few times, she heard Neha make the same comment in Hindi to a couple servers when they had picked up an order. When she ran into Parvati one day at the Ministry, Hermione thought of it and asked her about it, trying to recall the words accurately. "You're sure that's what she said?" Parvati had asked, laughing loudly. When Hermione nodded, Parvati explained: "Loosely translated, it means the 'cute young couple with the wild hair.'"

Staring at the meal Harry had laid out in front of them, Hermione sighed and shook her head. "It's strange how everyone always thinks—"

"... We're together," he said, concluding her thought. "So, I decided maybe we deserve a bit of wine and candles tonight, even if it's just the two of us."

Hermione looked into his eyes, which seemed mirthful, but also sincere. Although she knew this wasn't real, Harry's friendship with her and affection for her certainly was. "Thank you," she said, taking a glass of wine and raising it. She waited for him to settle down next to her on the sofa and do the same. "To Anna," she added.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "To Anna?"

Hermione smiled broadly. "For giving me the opportunity to have a wonderful quiet evening today with a friend, rather than having to stress about some silly, overly romantic nonsense..." But her voice trailed off as his eyes had dropped down. That wasn't what she expected at all. "Harry, did I say something wrong? It was just a joke—I thought you were happy about..."

"No," he said, meeting her eyes again. But some of the light was gone; Hermione wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "There's really no one I'd rather be with today," he added, raising his glass again. "To… friendship," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Although they clinked glasses and began eating their delicious dinner, their conversation stopped. Hermione didn't know what she had done to upset him, except perhaps making light of Harry and Anna's relationship. Maybe it was too soon, she thought. He seemed to be completely ready to be rid of Anna a couple days ago, but maybe it was all an act. She usually had a very good intuition about what Harry was thinking, but there was something odd about him tonight. In fact, she thought, he had been acting strangely all day.

She did ultimately get him talking again about some cases they were investigating in the Auror office. By the end of dinner, things seemed back to normal, as Harry began gathering the leftovers, insisting that she should relax after all of her help that day. "I'm feeling a bit sore and sweaty after moving today," he said, returning several containers to a bag. "So I think I'll head to the shower, if that's okay."

"You don't need my permission to shower," she half-rolled her eyes. "Unless…" she hesitated, not sure how far she was willing to push their silly pretend scenario from earlier. "Well, if you want to complete our Valentine's Day experience by cuddling together on the sofa," she said with a smirk, making an exaggerated couple of sniffs in his direction, "then I might encourage it."

"Only if you promise to join me in appropriate sighs of contentment," he said, leaning heavily against her on the sofa before letting out a very exaggerated "ahhhh…"

"Okay, enough!" she laughed, pushing him off. "After that outburst, no snuggles for you."

"My first night back, and she's already cutting me off from the snuggles," he said, placing his hand on his chest and pretending to be wounded. "It's almost as if we're married."

He had finished collecting the leftovers and rose from the sofa. But he left one container on the table, along with her fork. She looked up at him with a quizzical expression.

"If I take that away," he said, "I'd wager ten galleons that it would be gone before midnight. I know you want more than you had." The corners of her mouth turned up as she looked at him; he was staring back at her with the silly glint in his eye. "Just don't set your mouth on fire with that stuff," he laughed as he turned away.

Hermione smiled to herself a moment after he left, as she instantly snapped up the container. Yes, she apparently could be that predictable sometimes...