To Valour and Candour
"I'm not going to be some girly cliche and pretend I care about being single on Valentine's day.. Again." An inelegant hiccup slips out, Hermione barely covering it with her hand. She sits her wine glass down on the coffee table, balancing on one knee as she leans forward. Ginny sits to her left, doing more harm than good when she grabs Hermione's forearm to try to lend support.
Hannah groans from her position on the floor. She's stretched out in front of the fire like a cat, her wine glass reflecting the flickering flames beside her. Hermione almost smiles at the image because her content, lazy pose is very much how Crookshanks likes to deposit himself there.
"Hermione, no more of this. If you're not ready to admit why you reject all the wonderful men we set you up with, then I give up!"
Ginny eyes her, "Yeah. I mean, wasn't Terry Boot just a catch?"
Hermione falls back in a fit of giggles at this, but Hannah shoots up from her relaxed position, her expression indignant, "Terry can be very nice! It's not my fault Hermione and he thought a debate competition was a normal activity for the first date."
"Terry Boot has always been a git, end of. More wine, ladies?" Ginny stands to get another bottle from the kitchen, not bothering to wait for their response. Hermione is about to moan her disagreement, having had her fill of alcohol clearly, but Ginny is gone into the next room all too soon.
It's a Friday and she more than deserves this, Hermione decides. It's been weeks since she let loose and tomorrow is Valentine's Day. It's the third year running that she has absolutely zero plans, which obviously Hermione does not care about. She doesn't. Valentine's Day is as ludicrous, and lucrative, in the Wizarding world as muggle. Hermione has learned that she likes it no better when there's a bit of magic involved.
In fact, it's rather off-putting when getting a coffee, or lunch, on Valentine's Day and suddenly there's a dancing napkin on the next table over, serenading a couple. Yes, better to stick to muggle venues.
Ginny returns and tops up their glasses with generosity, the liquid sloshing around the lip because she takes little care with her movements. She jumps back onto the couch beside Hermione, holding her wine out with a rigid arm to prevent spills. Hermione is looking at her for a much more worrying reason though; Ginny is biting her lip, face flushed with an expression of intense concentration.
To her disappointment and dread, her eyes rise up to Hermione and she says, "Is there something you're not telling us? Are you pining for Ron or Harry? Do you like girls? Honestly, we couldn't give a toss either way."
Hannah nods in agreement, the action disjointed when she pairs it with drinking at the same time.
"No, I like men.. I just.. I don't know. I think I've such great men in my life I always end up comparing and they always end up short."
Hannah snorts, "Please tell me you mean Harry because last I heard, Ron forgot Susan's birthday in January."
"Yeah, that's not really his strong suit. Remember your birthday, Hermione? Harry rented out that cafe/bookshop and we all spent the day hanging out there." Ginny is still looking at Hermione, eyes narrowed, and the glint there would have normally alerted Hermione to her determination, but Hermione has had too many drinks to see anything beyond the bluntness of words.
She only nods instead, "Yep, it was great. Hey, what is this wine? It's nicer than the one I bought.. Probably more expensive than ten pound I take it?"
"He's quite good to you," Ginny comments, ignoring her question entirely, "I think for my last birthday I got a voucher for Quality Quidditch Supplies."
"We've been through a lot together," Hermione says, picking at the material of the couch. "He deserves to be happy. I'm more sorry that he's spending another Valentine's alone.. It seems so unfair,"
As earnest and honest as her words are, they still make Hannah snort a little. Ginny throws her a sharp glance that silences the noise.
Ginny swirls her wine around in the glass. Carefully, she responds.
"What makes you say that?"
She shrugs, "He's the best person I know. Kind, selfless, smart. Harry would give up anything for someone he loves… and all he really wants is a partner, a family, someone to share a life with. It seems so little to ask, doesn't it?"
Hermione is still looking down at the couch, lost in her own thoughts. Ginny and Hannah share a glance, eyebrows lifted in surprise. Hannah nods for Ginny to say something, and she opens her mouth to do that when Hermione throws her arms in the air, eyes glistening with tears.
"How can someone be so – so normal still after all that? Sometimes he'll tell a joke, or laugh or more often, utter something hilariously sarcastic and even though it's occasionally annoying my overriding thought is 'you amazing human being' and how contagious it is. Because it is, isn't it? The whole room lightens when Harry does.
"He's been knocked down again and again, and yeah, he runs into it full force now and then, but he always pops back up fighting for everything he cares about. And - God, please don't tell anyone, but when I'm making a decision I – I sometimes think about what he would do. Isn't that pathetic?
"And he, just, he deserves someone good, too. Someone who will care, and not about the fame, or money, or power, but him. The person who leaves his jacket in almost every pub he's in, but never forgets to thank me every Christmas for the flowers on their grave – and – oh, I'm a mess."
A tear slips down her face, and she sniffs loudly. The sound echoes around the room, only accompanied by the soft crackling of the fire. Ginny and Hannah sit, slack-jawed, watching with undisguised astonishment. Hermione groans.
"I've had far too much to drink, I'm sorry. Please forget I said that," Her eyes flicker between her two friends, pleading them to respond with acquiescence.
Hannah reacts first, propelling herself over to Hermione's feet. She places her hands on her knees, soft but encouraging, "Hermione, if you're in love with him, you should tell him."
She presses the heel of her hands into her eyes, sniffing again. Hermione shakes her head, her arms moving with it, and sighs.
"No. We're not – we're not like that."
Ginny is finally startled into action by a sly kick from Hannah into her leg, and pulls Hermione into her side. She puts her arm around her and rubs in a fashion she hopes is comforting. This has never been Ginny's strong suit. She has always preferred attacking on a friends behalf than staying behind to dry the tears.
"Hermione, I think it's worth it to try. What's the worst that could happen?"
She looks at Ginny like she's insane, "Oh, yes, how bad could it be? What an excellent question, Ginny. All that journalism interning isn't going to waste!"
"Hey!"
Hermione softens, "Sorry, that was a bit harsh. Anyway, I'm fine. I'm so sorry, I'm an idiot getting that upset over nothing."
"It's not nothing.."
"Too much wine for all of us!" Ginny cuts in brightly, eager to change topics, "Why don't we put on a bit of Spicy Girls, Hermione? You love that song!"
Hermione wipes the last vestiges of tears from her face and says miserably, "It's Spice Girls, Ginny. And yes, I do want to put it on."
When Ginny disappears for ten minutes, Hannah and Hermione are so busy dancing, they don't notice.
Hermione is shaken rather too abruptly into consciousness the next morning. An urgent, low voice calls out her name beside her. She groans at first, moves to turn onto her side, but Hermione's brain begins to work then. Several realisations scramble for priority in her brain.
1. She is on her bed. The duvet is laying neatly under her, unused.
2. Her pyjamas are also presumably still folded under her pillow, also unused, for she is still in clothes from the day before.
3. Harry is the one so rudely interrupting her sleep.
She blearily opens her eyes, tries to focus on him, "What are you doing?"
His smile is wide and excited, he's even a little breathless, "You have to help me track down this Valentine's letter I got this morning it's –"
Hermione cuts him off with a whine of complaint, pulling her pillow over her face. With a muffled voice, she says, "You woke me for this. What time is it even?"
He sounds like he's stifling a laugh so Hermione peaks out from her cover. Harry gives her a crooked grin, "Late night?"
"Maybe," Hermione's response is cryptic, but it's only now she notices the bright blue sky from the window behind him. From the sun's position, it's probably not morning. She repeats her question, "What time is it?"
"Midday," Harry replies casually before racing on, "It's a mystery, the letter appeared within my apartment, almost like it had been dropped there personally or someone used my own owl. And you need to read it, it's – Hermione, it's so.. so .."
"It's from a secret admirer, Harry, mystery is kind of the point," Hermione says dully, reaching for the hangover potion beside her bed. She swings her legs over the edge of her bed but Harry ends up passing her the potion. She gives him a half-hearted smile, "Thanks."
Curious spots of pink appear on his cheeks then, as he reaches his hand back to rub the back of his neck, "Er, so you don't.. You don't know.. No ideas?"
Hermione looks at him in confusion, "Why would I know?"
He's saved from responding by Ginny and Hannah, who choose that moment to barge into her room. Hermione figures she must look pretty wrecked if their appearance is any indication. Hannah's hair knots and sticks out in all the wrong places, while the skin under Ginny's eyes is stained with crumbly, black particles from her make-up.
"Potion," Ginny intones, reaching her hands out with a grabbing gesture.
"Bathroom," Hermione says with a nod to her ensuite. Hannah rushes to obtain the all-saving elixir. She looks up at Harry, "I don't know who she is, but when you think about it, it is interesting because they'd need some access to your wards."
Harry brightens, "Exactly!"
"Oh, hello, Harry, what brings you here?" Ginny's grin feels mocking, but Hermione has no real reason to think that.
"I just love spending time with hungover, crabby women."
Hermione uses the pillow that was sitting under her chin to smack him in the stomach. He lets out a good-natured grunt and pulls it from her hands before tossing it across the room.
"Cheater. Anyway, Ginny, Harry got some wonderful Valentine's letter this morning or something and he needs help tracking down the person."
"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the letter?"
A thought strikes Hermione then and she leans towards her friend, "Ginny, tell me, when you sent Harry your beautiful poems –"
"No!" She shouts, lunging onto the bed to slap a hand over Hermione's mouth. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because Hermione is laughing too much to finish her sentence.
Hannah returns and hands a potion to Ginny, evidently having taken hers already. Ginny shoots Hermione a warning look and releases her to take the flask.
"I hear you've a secret admirer to track down, Harry."
He turns to Hannah, nodding, "Yeah, I was hoping Hermione could lend a hand."
"Oooh," Hannah says, stretching the syllables, "I get it. It's another one of those wild goose chases you pair do as an excuse to spend time together."
"Er, what?"
"Yes, what?"
"Am I alone in this?" Hannah asks, looking at Ginny for support. Ginny shakes her head, signaling her agreement. "You're always going after some project or another, whispering closely and spending long nights 'researching'."
Hermione is affronted, "Don't use air quotes, it was researching!"
"Remember the time they were sure Zacharias Smith was an unregistered animagus and did this entire crazed timeline on a seven foot long parchment?" Ginny asks Hannah while cackling, sidestepping Hermione and Harry's sounds of protest.
"Smith is a git." Harry supplies, as if that refutes all they're saying, "So, anyway, you two can piss off if you're gonna be so unhelpful."
"Did I miss the part where this is your flat?" Ginny responds, raising a brow.
"Hermione, do you know any spells for this? I figure there must be one we can use to trace who wrote the letter."
Ginny's eyes widen, "You can do that?" She stares at Hermione.
"No, I don't know any such spell. Sorry, Harry." They all sink lower with this news, stewing with differing thoughts on how to proceed. Hermione thrusts her hand in the air then, glee shining on her face, "You know where will have the answer?"
Hannah, Ginny and Harry exchange looks of understanding. Harry's the one who answers, his expression undeniably fond, "The library."
"Or, a bookshop. Lets go!" All complaints, groans and moans have been banished from Hermione's voice now as she brightly hops out of bed and goes to her wardrobe to gather clothes for the day.
They watch her for a moment. Hannah turns to Harry, curious, "What's so great about this letter, anyway?"
He colours, "Er, well.. She said some nice stuff and, I don't know. It was nice."
"Wow," Ginny remarks dryly, "The bar really is set at 'nice'."
"Well, you didn't make it." Harry responds, the jab mitigated by his smile but Ginny rolls her eyes all the same. Their friendship in adulthood largely consisted of slagging each other to the point of annoyance.
"And we all thank Merlin for that." Hannah says firmly, putting an end to the conversation. She's still eyeing Harry with interest, almost as if she's on the verge of stunning him to steal the letter and satisfy her thirst for gossip.
While Hermione changes in the bathroom and gets ready for the day, the other three make idle chatter about their plans for the day. Hannah is meeting Neville in the evening for dinner and drinks, but intends to nap for several more hours before then. Ginny is relatively evasive about her plans, which is likely because she prefers to keep her dating life private.
By the time Hermione emerges, Harry is rolling his eyes at something Ginny and Hannah appear to be passionate about, and she catches his response.
"The day I ask you two to set me up, alert the Daily Prophet to let them know I've obviously given up all hope. I've seen the blokes you set Hermione up with."
Hannah waves him off, "Pfft, perfectly nice young men, they were."
Eager to end the conversation, Hermione clasps her hands in front of her and clears her throat, "I'm ready to go. Who's coming?"
Hannah glances at Ginny, and Hermione could swear there's a wordless conversation taking place that she's not privy to. Slowly, she nods, "Yeah, I er, have to nap.. And prepare.. For my date. You know me! Love a long bath before a night out. Yep. Well known fact. So.. I'll be off.."
Ginny sighs, "Yes, I am also equally busy doing things we've established I do."
"What on earth is happening?"
Her confusion is only matched by Harry's impatience, who moves towards the door, "Great, see you again. Hermione, lets go, or the chance will pass me by and I'll be left making piss poor excuses on Valentine's like these two."
Their protests are weak and half-hearted. Hermione hugs them goodbye, thanks them for a wonderful night and leaves to use the floo. She thinks she hears Ginny say 'finally', and is momentarily hurt by this, but soon reasons that Hermione must have heard wrong.
They sit on the highest platform in Flourish and Blotts, scouring spellbooks for something to aid Harry in his noble quest. Hermione pushes the conclusion of this adventure to the back of her mind and instead focuses on the journey, intent on leaving Harry to reveal the amazing witch's name when the time comes.
When she does think about it, it's an odd concoction of emotions that wash over her. There's a scratchy, hoarse feeling at the back of her throat and a peculiar pressure behind her eyes. This doesn't bother her half as much as the sinking claustrophobia that pushes against her chest, painful, uncomfortable, bleak.
But she isn't thinking about that.
Hermione focuses on the sound of his voice next to her, alight with the thrill of finding a promising lead only to scoff in disappointment when it's fruitless. The low, gravelly tones tinged intangibly with delight and excitement in those moments makes her heart buzz in a way that makes it all worth it.
She doesn't want to react to his presence. Hermione hates that, still, after all these years he's the first thought in her mind.
They spend plenty of time together, but there's something profoundly intimate in their positions, huddled around books and low lighting lamps in the dark corners of the bookshop. It's both unfamiliar and achingly familiar. Hermione is reminded of all the late nights they spent desperately pouring over books for information that meant something much more than a secret admirer.
If she and Ron are explosive arguments, fierce loyalty and antagonism, then she and Harry are soft conversations, a balancing act, and low, warm flickering lights. They're a calm morning, the safe haven before the day that awaits. Bursts of colour seem to invade her thoughts of Harry, too; the golden shade of a glimmering necklace, forest green beckoning you forward, a red uniform of protection and warmth.
She tries to block out the image of them in the blue hue outside the tent all those years ago, eyes meeting and skittering away as they leaned into each other for warmth.
"Hermione?" A hand waves in her face, "Where have you been? I've been trying to get your attention. Do you want to grab food? I'm starving at this stage." Hermione thinks on this, wondering if it's worth it. She's sure one of the two books they now have contains the spell they need.. If they wait just a little longer..
Sensing her hesitance, Harry nudges her gently, "Come on, I'll buy these two books and we can read them over a pasta. Our reputations can only let us read books for free for so long.."
Hermione is smiling against her will at the mention of pasta, "You don't play fair, bringing Italian into this."
"Do you really want to discuss playing fair - how's your confounding spell these days?" He teases, pulling her up from her seat before taking the book from her hands.
She huffs, without any real annoyance, "Am I ever going to live that down?"
Harry pauses, looking uncertain, before he responds with, "The things we do for love, eh,"
Hermione lets out an inelegant mixture of a scoff and a laugh at this, "Love? How about hormonal misguided jealousy, hmm. I'd hope we've all grown a bit since then." She takes care climbing down the several sets of stairs, eyeing the books haphazardly dropped in random spots with disapproval.
Harry is waiting for her on the last step, gazing up at her, amusement etched into his features with a charming grin, "What, you haven't attacked anyone with a flock of birds lately? Although, you know far more spells now - don't tell me you've been letting loose herds of animals on poor blokes?"
With little effort, Hermione responds by pushing him off the last step as she passes, "Better be careful, or you'll be next, Harry,"
She means it to be teasing, a funny joke in their banter but for reasons that make her flustered, Hermione's voice is too low to be a joke, her smile edging into something sultry and god - he knows she's flirting. Why is she flirting?
Harry clears his throat and holds up the books, gesturing with his free hand to the till, "I'll, er, meet you outside?"
She nods, no longer trusting her mouth to obey the rules of her brain. Hermione is so terrible at flirting that she never even considered that she was doing it until she saw Harry's eyes widen slightly, a red hue creeping along his cheekbones.
'You'll be next, Harry' Hermione mimics in her head, with a voice that is highly unflattering and inaccurate. She continues to berate herself until she reaches the front door, and sees the newest addition to Diagon Alley across the road, slightly to the right. It's the Italian place Hermione loves, and as she stares at it, she realises she's a bigger idiot than she thought.
Couples at tables line the window beside the entrance, chatting and laughing over delicious food with the flicker of a candle in between them infusing romance to the air. She gulps, eyeing the restaurant with great apprehension. They probably don't have a free table, she reminds herself, thankful for her intelligence at that moment.
However…they'd certainly make an exception for Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. On Valentine's day. Oh dear.
"All good?" Harry asks, his tone light again.
Hermione acts fast and feigns disappointment, "Well, Magia del Cibo is booked up, so.. Shall we just grab a bag of chips in the place beside you? We can keep working in your apartment then. Two birds, one stone," She adds weakly.
His eyes flicker over to the restaurant, an internal conflict raging, but in the end he nods and agrees to her plan. It's fortunate that Harry is averse to using his fame for anything, and to being treated differently because of it, otherwise they'd be sitting cosy in a booth or across from each other at a table of pasta.
Yes, how horrid.
They apparate in an alley near the chipper beside Harry, keen to avoid seeing anyone. His stomach growls as they walk to get their food, causing both of them to laugh. Harry goes onto tell a story of being starved for ten hours while on a stakeout with Ron, of all people, and how Ron's complaints were harder to tolerate than the hunger after hour six.
She watches as he speaks, her heart happy with the lightness in his eyes and step. There was a time they all worried he would never get this part of life. The beauty of everyday life, the enjoyment of the small things.
Hermione tries to forget his presence when they get back to studying. She's sitting cross legged at his coffee table, the book laid open a distance away from her food but close enough to read. Kebabs are a messy food so Hermione tries to keep it away from the precious literature, even though it slows her down.
Harry has no such problems, his back against the couch with his book on his lap. He eats without concern for any drips of sauce falling to the pages. Hermione casts him a pointed look. He rolls his eyes and holds a napkin under his chin when he bites, holding it up afterward in a gesture that asks 'happy?'
She nods, pleased with his solution. Hermione returns to her focus of spellwork and even though it's for a reason she's not comfortable with, she enjoys reading through the various encantantions and their purposes. Learning magic has been an enjoyable journey for Hermione since she was eleven. She doesn't quite understand how anyone gets sick of it. Sometimes, the muggle child in her wants to stand and shake the adults around her for their lack of wonder, screaming 'It's MAGIC, guys'.
"Are you cold?"
Harry peers over at her with a concerned look and points to the goosebumps along her bare arms. Hermione hadn't noticed the chill, too wrapped up in books, and blinks at her arm as if it betrayed her. With the delay in response, Harry moves the items on his lap and stands.
"I'll get you a jumper." She begins to protest, but he waves her off and leaves. Hermione sinks back a little, her posture hunched over the table while she contemplates this. It's not a rare occurrence, friends borrowing a sweater or jumper when not home, but there's something about this that feels like she would be wearing her heart on his sleeve.
She takes a second to curse herself for wearing only a t-shirt and heavy, bulky winter coat. Hermione longs for her fire at home, there would be no problem if she were in her own apartment. They could even watch television.
He returns and throws a blue jumper in her direction, a light shade she hasn't often seen on Harry. Hermione accepts it without comment. The colour prompts flashes in her mind: Harry's face in the blue light of her spell, in a rare smile during their endless hunt; his astonished, speechless expression as she descended in a blue dress made to stun; the navy sky that was their companion on a cold night in Godrics Hallow; Teddy's hair, violently varying in blue shades as they chase him around this living room.
She jumps at Harry's voice, "You, er, look.. You look nice in that.. I mean, the colour. It suits you, you know."
Hermione is so surprised she takes a moment to respond, watching his face with curiosity. He blinks a little too much, stares too hard before avoiding looking at her entirely. Harry scratches at his neck, "Getting anywhere with that?"
"Getting anywhere?"
"The spell.."
"Oh. I think we're close. These books are specifically designed for journalists and they would definitely make use of a spell like this. And – Harry… thank you."
She doesn't need to specify, and he doesn't ask. Harry nods and returns to his book.
The jumper is a terrible addition. Hermione's brain is completely distracted from their task, inventing and dismissing excuses to take it off. It smells like him.
There's no way Hermione can sit and focus when she's swathed, like an embrace, in his scent.
Her life must have some luck in it, because Harry suddenly jumps up from his seat, holding the book out with two hands, "Christ, I think I found it!"
"You did?" She asks, excited, if not a little surprised it's not her discovery.
"Don't sound so surprised, I am an auror, you know,"
He sits beside her, laying the book on the table between them. Before Hermione reads the passage, she responds.
"Hmm, noted. Maybe you'll need to participate in more research, Harry."
Harry puts his hand over the incantation, "Hey, now, let's not get drastic. So what do you think?"
She reaches and pulls his hand off, and nearly coughs in surprise when he laces his fingers through hers. Hermione ignores it and reads the page with great difficulty. To her despair, Harry is right.
This is the spell they need.
Hermione clears her throat, trying to scrape away the absurd swell of emotion that has risen there.
When she speaks, her voice isn't a whisper, but it is soft, "I think this is it, Harry. You'll find her." She squeezes his hand, hoping to convey the support her words cannot.
Harry is looking at their hands, "I just realised we kind of spent Valentine's Day together. It was pretty nice."
Part of her wants to apparate home and wail into her pillow. Another, larger part, wants to scream at him. Hermione does none of those things.
With effort, she imagines a wall shutting her emotions out of her expression and tone, then says, "It was nice."
They sit in silence then, and his eyes travel up to meet hers. He's studying her intently, causing an odd mixture of arousal and panic to encroach on her being. Fearing what she'll do if she remains here any longer, Hermione pulls her hands from his and slaps them on her thighs.
"Well, I best be off. I shouldn't be here when you do the spell and find the lucky woman. Good luck," She gives him her best smile and grabs her coat from the couch.
Harry is looking between the book and her in confusion, "Wait, you don't want to do the–"
"No, no, that's fine, that's private, I wouldn't – couldn't bear to intrude on that." Her voice is high and unnatural, but she can't dwell on that now, Hermione needs to leave.
He pulls what she presumes is the letter out of his pocket, scrutinises it, and then his shoulders slump, "Ok, then. I'll – I'll let you know."
Hermione jumps and points in agreement, as if the thought is a great wonder, "Oh, yes! Please do, I'm ever so interested in what happens."
Harry is beginning to look suspicious, and she can see his mood changing. Hermione's not shocked by this, given they're worked on it all day and now she's racing out the door. It's bizarre, her behaviour is bizarre, even she can't deny that.
Flustered, she bends to give him a one-armed hug, wishes him luck and then apparates home.
For some reason, when she lands in her living room, Hermione is breathless. Luna and Ginny pause in their conversation on the couch, turning to gawk at her. She holds up a finger, willing her heart to calm and lungs to adjust.
Of course, her friends can't obey simple instructions.
"Hermione? What happened? You're a mess!"
She rolls her eyes and sits back on the couch, coat almost suffocating her in the process as it bunches around her neck, "Thanks for that, Ginny." Hermione takes one more deep inhale and exhale, finally feeling (sort of) back to normal.
"Hello, Hermione," Luna's voice is as soft and agreeable as always.
"Lovely to see you, Luna. Neither of you have plans then?"
Ginny is still looking at her with concern, but flicks her hair over her shoulder at the question, "Of course, we're going to a muggle club in London with some other friends. Oh, you should come!"
She claps her hands together, a gesture so uncharacteristic that it makes Hermione dubious of her intentions.
"I'd certainly appreciate your company, Hermione, I've a feeling it won't quite be my scene."
Hermione looks over at Ginny, "You sound like you're trying to distract me."
Ginny's face drops and her neck jerks back, affronted, "Um, sorry for inviting you on a night out. Shit, why so suspicious?"
"Sorry. Long day."
"I thought you were with Harry all day?" Luna asks, "You usually have a good time together. I wondered if maybe it would turn into a date, given the day that's in it."
She fiddles with the zip of her jacket, prolonging taking it off, to avoid looking at them as she replies.
"God, no, not at all. Just – just research. Harry got a very heartfelt letter and I was helping him find the spell to track the admirer."
"Ah," Luna says knowingly, "Sequor."
"You know the spell?" Hermione groans, pressing her hands over her face, "What a waste of time."
"Maybe..although, I could have been sure I taught Harry that spell before for a case he had.." She trails off and shrugs. Ginny and Hermione stare as Luna reaches forward to eat the crisps on the table, nonplussed.
Hermione shakes the thoughts from her head. There's no point thinking about whether Luna is right, or the multitude of possible reasons today still occurred. There are too many variables. Maybe she should go out with Luna and Ginny, try to meet someone or just have fun with her friends. Hermione rarely frequents nightclubs so it might be nice as a once-off to forget all thoughts of Harry. Because that's what's really important right now, forgetting–
Green flames burst from their fireplace and Harry stumbles out, a very disconcerting mixture of emotions splayed across his face. Hermione stands immediately and reaches a hand out, but he steps back from all of the women. His vision is focused on Ginny, who looks like she may flee at any moment.
Hermione tries to ascertain what is happening, or even how he's feeling, but she doesn't know if she's ever seen him look this way. Harry seems to be a little angry, maybe confused too - no, definitely confused - and the infamous letter is crumpled in his hand.
"You – you? Why? Was it supposed to be funny?"
Ginny gasps, "Funny? Harry, you have to know I would never be that crue–"
"Well, I know you don't like me very much anymore, so I can't imagine that any of this is true. And you – you saw me this morning! You knew I was excited, you knew I was interested – why.. Why?" He sounds lost, his voice cracking as he stares at Ginny searchingly.
Meanwhile, Hermione's brain has finally started to work and she gapes at one of her best friends, "Ginny – you were the secret admirer? Why would you lead us all on like this?"
"I–I don't.. It's not what you think, I never meant to–to lead anyone on.."
"Ginny." Harry's tone now is firm, lacking any warmth and comfort. It's one Hermione has heard many times, but rarely directed at her. It's chilling.
She throws her arms up in the air and turns to Hermione, her face effectively hidden from Harry, somehow looking like she's beseeching Hermione to say something.
Hermione is baffled.
Ginny is whispering, drawing Harry closer so he can hear, but her words are for her, "You were so upset last night… and I knew, I knew, if he heard. I thought." She sighs, "I'm not the comforter, I don't know how, I like to act. I thought I was helping."
Alarm bells are ringing in her mind, and she actually feels woozy for a second, the implications of Ginny's words settling with all the comfort of a dementor.
"Ginny?" Hermione asks, hoping to be relieved.
Luna is between them, seemingly out of nowhere, and grasps their hands, "This is all so unnecessary. Ginny, your heart was in the right place, but that was very rash and reckless, even for a lion, and perhaps a little stupid. Hermione, I think.. I think Ginny has tried to play matchmaker to terrible results."
Ginny nods, looking miserable. Hermione's eyes snap to Harry now, who appears to be increasingly agitated. Upon meeting Hermione's eyes he snaps, "What is going on?"
"I wrote the letter last night, when Hermione said some nice things about you. I thought… I thought you two would be good together. I did a shit job, but to be fair, I was pissed."
"You said this?" Harry asks Hermione, floored. Before she can reply, he turns to Ginny and Luna, "Sorry, but can you give us a minute?"
"Oh, yeah, 'course."
Luna and Ginny shuffle around the living room, grabbing various accouterments. Hermione takes off her jacket, overcome with heat now, and tucks her hair behind her ears. She has no idea what she looks like, or what is on Harry's mind right now, but Hermione has this feeling that life is about to shift monumentally no matter what she says or does. This is the checkpoint, the point of no return.
The door closes behind her friends, the sound echoing around them. Hermione's glad they actually left the place and didn't just go to Ginny's bedroom. This may be quite embarrassing for her.
Taking a deep breath, training her eyes on the ground, Hermione starts, "Harry, I was quite drunk last night. And I said some things that.."
Harry takes a step forward. He seems to have no reluctance to look at her, his eyes burning her with their stare. It's another expression she isn't wholly familiar with, which makes sense seeing as they've never had this type of conversation. Lots of times they've been close, dancing along the line, teetering and pulling back, but Hermione has always covered up her mistakes.
Usually, she creates reasonable excuses or feigns forgetting. Sometimes, when she's really struggling, she lies. Hermione doesn't want to lie to him.
"I said some things last night about you… deserving happiness.. Because it has always been on my mind. You've always been near the top of my thoughts, and while I'd like to pretend to you that I'm ignorant as to what that means, I'm quite done with lying so blatantly to your face." Hermione internally gives herself a pep talk, reiterating that she's a confident, brave person and she can do this.
Harry moves closer again and she flaters. Her train of thought derails a bit, and she gapes while trying to retrieve it. He's still just looking at her, eyes roaming over her face, but there's a definitive blush across his cheeks and his breathing is uneven. This gives her the strength she's been lacking, and gazing up at him from a step away, Hermione decides to let her heart be her guide for the first time in many years.
"Harry, the thing is, I'd really like to snog you."
He reels back at her words, from shock or distaste, she doesn't know - she can't be sure initially. She should say something, anything, but Hermione doesn't have any point of reference here. Yes, many hours have been spent reading romance books, but it's a vastly different experience when it's your own best friend you spill your heart to.
Although, she had been rather inarticulate, now that she thinks about it.
After a weighty silence, in which Hermione doesn't know what Harry is doing because she is hiding behind her hands, she looks at him again. He's glancing down at the paper in his hand and then drops it to the ground, choosing to focus his gaze on her instead.
She steps forward, closing the gap and slowly placing her hands on his chest. It's tentative, experimental, but she is gladdened by the success when he doesn't push her away. Harry closes his hands over hers, and lowers his forehead to hers. It's a stretch with their height difference, but neither seem to mind.
It's startlingly intimate; their bodies leaning against each other; his hands, gentle and soft as they ghost over hers; breath mingling, hot and shallow. Without breaking contact, his hands slide across her arms and down her sides, coming to rest on her lower back. Harry edges them closer again, the sensation sending a flood of arousal through her, coiling low in her abdomen.
But it's nothing compared to the unfurling of sheer joy, a flower blossoming in her chest, right down her toes and out to her fingers.
Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Hermione reaches up and presses her lips to Harry's. He doesn't jump or startle but, as if he's been waiting for it, grips her tighter and returns the kiss with feror. He sucks on her bottom lip, and that's enough for Hermione to deepen the kiss.
The kiss develops from soft and sensual to hot, intense and hurried in a matter of seconds. She doesn't know how, but she's backed up to the couch, the arm unbalancing her enough that Hermione clutches Harry's shoulders for support, dragging him lower.
His hands are everywhere, heat trailing in his wake, but they need more. Hermione needs to feel his skin on hers, she wants to look him in the eye for a minute, yearns to see his eyes dark with desire for her. Her brain cannot compute this sentiment in its entirety, too full of Harry and his lips on her neck, his hands skimming the skin above her jeans.
In a swift movement that leaves Hermione startled breathless in both surprise and lust, Harry slips his hands under her bum and lifts her onto the couch until she's lying down. He breaks contact to hover over her and resumes their kissing. His weight presses down onto her, his leg cruel and teasing in between hers, her hands finally bold enough to skirt up his jumper to feel his skin and pull closer.
He eases off her a little to press his hand under her shirt, his touch feathery and soft across her bra until he tweaks her nipple lightly and Hermione cannot contain the moan that escapes from her. Harry mumbles, "god, so hot," in a way that sends Hermione's heart and confidence soaring.
They try to reposition, side by side, to be able to feel each other more but they're brought back to reality with an abrupt tumble.
Harry starts to fall first, but it's too quick to stop, and soon they're both rolling off the couch and onto the floor. They crash into the coffee table, groaning and moaning for entirely new, decidedly unpleasant reasons. Reaching up to remove a shoe from under her, Hermione begins to laugh.
Her laughter grows, unbridled by any self-consciousness and soon Harry is joining her. She moves to lie on her shoulder, facing him, and smiles at him as the last vestiges of chuckles fade. This expression is one that she doesn't often see, either. Unguarded, open, happy.
Returning her smile, he reaches out and strokes her cheek, "You're gorgeous."
Hermione ducks her head, but he lifts her chin and kisses her again. It's over all too soon, the ache unsatisfied, yet Hermione still beams at him. Harry's eyes are tracing her face again, like he's memorising every crease and freckle, before meeting her own brown eyes. It's everyone's favourite feature of his; green, vibrant eyes. She feels a thrill of being the one on the receiving end of these types of stares.
Harry kisses her again and then leans back, "Do you want some water?"
She realises her mouth is incredibly dry and nods, "Please."
He goes to the kitchen and Hermione tidies up the living room, wondering what they'll do now. To cut through the silence, she turns on the radio, but leaves the volume on low. Her hair is tucked behind her ears again, and she tries to tame it a little to no avail.
There's a few random items littered around the room from her roommates and Hermione begins to toss them in a corner, even though Harry has seen the place in its messiest states. She knows things are the same, but they're also earth-shatteringly different so she decides to put her best foot forward.
Until she finds a letter. Intrigued, Hermione sits back down on the couch and begins to skim it. Her eyes well, and then she reads again, absorbing every word and phrase with growing affection. She feels Harry drop beside her, water placed on the table they were rolling into moments ago. He puts his arm around her and they read together.
"You deserve everything, too, you know," There's a gravity to his words, an earnest promise that makes her heart race.
Hermione turns to him, hating herself and cringing for her next words but saying them anyway because she feels this and she deserves it. They deserve to be happy, sappy, romantic, unromantic, and anything else they please. They've more than earned it.
She keeps her voice as light and casual as possible, "Maybe I have everything, now,"
Harry's face splits into a grin wider than she's ever seen and he lifts her back onto his lap, their laughter ringing out around them.
A letter falls to the ground, thoroughly forgotten until the next morning.
Harry,
There's a lot I haven't said to you, but I think you should know. I know I'm better known for lecturing at length but I don't want to ramble. You're the best person I know - and not because of your fame, money or how you won the war, but because of your kindness, laughter and love. You inspire me and I've made many of my best decisions in life by thinking about what you would do.
This Valentine's Day, you deserve someone who wants you for just Harry. You deserve a family beyond the one you've built already.
I want you to be happy, more than anything. If that could be with me? Even better. You know where to find me.
Love,
Your Secret Admirer.
In a barely legible scrawl on the back, someone has written: 'Hermione?'
A/N:
In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the HMS_Harmony_Valentine_Day_Fest_2022 collection.
Prompt:
Fanfic prompt: When Harry receives a secret admirer letter on Valentine's Day that stands out among the rest, he enlists Hermione's help to track down the person who wrote it, only to later discover that the person in question had been under his nose the whole time.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I am sorry to whoever created the prompt - I don't think this is the kind of thing you intended but it got away from me! Hopefully it's a good read for you anyway :)