December 2001
"Someone asked me out," Hermione told Harry over lunch the next week.
Harry froze, swallowed the food in his mouth, praised himself for not choking or dropping his fork, then carefully placed the fork on his plate and said airily, "Oh?"
"I said no."
"Oh," Harry breathed, extremely relieved.
"I could tell just based on our first conversation that he wasn't very smart. I definitely can't be with someone who's not smart. But still, I think this is progress. People don't think we're dating anymore."
"Oh." Harry said this one with disappointment, then tried to recover by adding, "That's good."
"Right," Hermione nodded, eyeing Harry carefully. He was being weird. She thought they were over all that awkwardness from a few weeks ago. "Anyway," she continued, "don't forget we're going to the opera this weekend."
"Opera?"
"We planned it Sunday when we were at Luna and Rolf's. Remember, the cure for the Wampus kitten's illness?" She was clearly exasperated about this last part.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Hermione bit her lip, trying to think back. "Oh, that's right. You were battling that niffler while we were talking about it. I meant to catch you up later but it must have slipped my mind."
Harry scowled and grumbled, "I have got to stop wearing my watch when I go over there."
Hermione nodded seriously. "I don't wear any jewelry at their house. And I know Luna doesn't own any, or, not anymore. But Hannah was telling me Rolf is about to propose but I can't imagine how he's keeping a ring in that house. And then once he gives it to Luna, how is she supposed to keep it safe?"
"They're going to be married?"
Hermione shrugged. "He's going to ask. I assume she'll say yes. Maybe she should just get a tattoo of a ring. Magical tattoos can even be made to shine and glimmer like jewelry, so that would be a good substitute."
"But they're our age," Harry pointed out.
"I know. Doesn't it make you feel dreadfully behind?"
Harry didn't answer that. He was feeling a lot of things: sad, lonely, jealous, but mostly ashamed, since he knew he was supposed to be feeling happy for his friends, not all that other stuff.
"Anyway. What's this about the Opera?" he asked, ready to change the subject.
Hermione sighed. "It's a whole thing that makes no sense. I'd repeat it, but I don't want to float yet one more illogical argument into the world - there are already too many out there. Long story short, they have a Wampus kitten that has taken ill and Luna is convinced a trip to the Opera is just the cure the cat needs."
Harry had to keep from laughing at the expression on her face. "Come on," he pleaded. "Just give me a little bit of the argument behind that."
"Fine. It's something to do with the vibrations of the music, particularly from a Soprano and the lead Soprano in this show is from America, which is where the Wampus cat originates, and - ugh -" She led out another sigh of disgust. "Don't make me keep going."
Harry was laughing and she kicked him under the table. "I know you think Luna's theories are crazy," he said, "but you can't deny that they seem to work. She and Rolf are quickly becoming the most renowned magizoologists in the country."
"Oh. I know why she's such a good magizoologist and it has nothing to do with her insane theories," Hermione countered.
"Okay. Why then?"
"I cornered Rolf about this months ago because I know he can't possibly believe all that stuff Luna does. Well, he had a few drinks in him which is probably why he admitted that he doesn't really believe her, but that her ideas rarely harm the animals so he goes along with them. He told me the reason she's such an incredible magizoologist is that she loves all the animals deeply. If that kitten recovers, it won't be because of some vibrations from an American Soprano. It will be because she doted on it for weeks and even brought it to the Opera and let it sit on her lap."
Harry nodded. He was thinking animals were like kids. Everyone had these elaborate theories about the right way to raise them, but all you had to really do was love them. He knew that better than anyone. "That's really cute," he admitted.
"I know," she said with a wistful smile. "He's good for her and I'm sure she'll say yes when he proposes."
"So," Harry moved to change the subject again, not wanting to go back to that sad, lonely, jealous and ashamed for feeling sad, lonely, and jealous place. "They're going to take a Wampus kitten to an Opera. Isn't that a formal affair?"
"That's where you come in. You're going to let them use your invisibility cloak so Luna can hide it on her lap."
"Okay," Harry said reluctantly. He was wondering if having a wild animal at an Opera was a crime and if letting Luna use his cloak to hide it would make him an accessory.
"And we're going to be there too. To watch this 'disaster waiting to happen' unfold."
"We?" Harry asked hopefully.
"We're not going as a couple or anything. A group is going. Neville, Hannah, Rolf, Luna, and the cat, of course. Ron and Lucy were a hard no, saying something about how they'd rather eat their own arms than suffer through an Opera, and Ginny's busy."
"I can't believe I missed this whole conversation."
"I can. That house is pure chaos. It's a wonder one of us hasn't been seriously injured by now."
Harry was thinking back on the Opera. He'd never been to one, but Ron had told him once they were incredibly dull. "Is this eating an arm thing an option for me?"
"No, you have to go," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"And why do I have to go?" If he were going with Hermione alone, even if it were just a fake date, he wouldn't be hesitating. But this group situation, even with the possibility of getting to see a wild animal break loose, didn't offset his disinterest in sitting through a boring Opera for several hours.
"You need to get out more, Harry. I know you're waiting for this new bout of fame to just blow over, but I think the fact that you're hiding away and making yourself inaccessible is making it worse. People obsess more over rarities and catching you out in public has become a rarity."
"Fine, I'll go," Harry snapped, desperate to cut off this line of conversation. He knew exactly where she was going with this and didn't want to hear her urging him to try and flirt better with other witches.
"When is it?" he asked.
"Saturday."
"Oh. What time?"
"Why? Do you have plans?"
"No need to look so surprised," he grumbled.
"Sorry. What are your plans?"
"I'm having lunch with Dudley."
"Oh." Hermione's eyes widened. "That's a big deal. Isn't it?"
"Yeah, maybe. We've been emailing for months and this seems like the next logical step. I'm trying not to overthink it."
"Do you want company?"
Harry shook his head, even though the real answer was yes. But he needed to stop depending on her so much. "I've got this one."
Hermione didn't look convinced but nodded anyway. "The Opera's not until seven, so unless your lunch runs very long, you should be able to go to both."
"Why are you so eager to go to the Opera?" he asked. "Is this about the cat or do you like that sort of thing?"
She shrugged. "The Opera's okay. I've been once, but only in the Muggle world. I'd prefer a ballet or even the symphony. But I want to go this weekend because Arty Bulstrode will be there."
"Who's Arty Bulstrode? Some relation of Millicent Bulstrode?"
"Her grandfather. He's on the board reviewing my new law and apparently is one of the Elders holding out against it."
"They still haven't given you a final decision on that?"
She sighed and shook her head. "I'm convinced they decided against it the second they saw me enter the room and they're just doing this long deliberation to make it look like they gave it serious consideration. So this whole cornering Bulstrode thing will probably come to nothing, but I have to try."
"Damn. Sorry."
"It's fine." She sighed again and turned back to her plate.
"So, Saturday. I know we're not going together, but I could still pick you up and…" he let his voice trail off.
Harry was imagining a scene at her flat. They'd both be dressed up and he'd stop to look at her and let her know with his eyes how beautiful he found her. They'd stare at each other for several moments, then she'd lean in, stopping halfway. He'd close the distance between them and-
"You don't have to," her voice cut into his thoughts. "We all agreed to meet outside the theater at 6:45. Bring your cloak, of course, and Luna will have the tickets."
"Right." Harry tried to hide his disappointment but Hermione picked up on it anyway. However, she misinterpreted what was behind it.
"I know you're probably worried about your cloak, but it will be fine," she reassured. "Wampus kittens don't have their claws yet."
"Yeah, right," he muttered before focusing back on his food.
Harry met Dudley for lunch at a dark pub near Dudley's University. Dudley was there when Harry arrived, sitting at the bar and already halfway through a pint of beer. Harry's first thought was that he looked cool. He hadn't seen Dudley away from his parents before and apparently Dudley was mildly fashionable when allowed to dress without his mum's influence.
He was wearing a t-shirt with a name on it Harry didn't recognize, under one of those military-looking jackets. His jeans were ripped in spots and Harry assumed it was on purpose. Coupled with the fact that Dudley wasn't fat anymore, but just muscular from all the rugby he played; he looked good. He also had that confidence and ease in his own body (reminiscent of Draco Malfoy) that Harry had never mastered.
That comes from being well-loved as a child, Harry thought bitterly.
Harry looked down at his own appearance. He was wearing dark pants (with no holes), a collared shirt, and a jumper. To a Muggle, he probably looked like a forty-year-old professor. But this outfit worked well when going between worlds. It didn't raise suspicion in the Muggle World and in the Wizarding one, it was standard as Wizards were typically more formal than Muggles.
Why do you care? This is Dudley. Also, you know magic. That has to count for something.
That was a solid point. Harry took a deep breath and crossed the pub, then took the seat next to Dudley.
"Sorry I'm late," Harry began. "I don't think I've told you, but I have a three-year-old godson who I watch a lot and, anyway, there was this whole drama this morning about milk. It's a long story."
The barman stopped in front of them and Harry ordered the same beer Dudley had chosen, since he knew next to nothing about Muggle beers, just one more reason he wasn't cool in this world.
You need to stop this. You're the second most eligible bachelor in your world and witches send you their eyelashes.
"So, uh, you're like a dad?" Dudley was asking.
Harry realized he'd never explained about Teddy in their emails. "Oh. Er, no. Teddy, that's the kid's name, his parents were killed in the war. I'm his godfather, mostly because there really weren't any other options and he stays with me one or two times a week to give his grandmother a break since she's raising him on her own. Her husband died in the war too."
"Shit. That's crazy that there was this whole war going on and none of us knew."
"Yeah. Crazy."
A heavy, awkward silence settled between them. Luckily, Harry's beer arrived. He was glad to have something to do and started sipping on it as his mind raced. What should he say next? They'd already covered all the easy stuff in their emails. He knew Dudley went to University, still hadn't picked a course of study, played rugby a lot, and liked to go out to pubs with his friends. What else was there to know?
Dudley also seemed desperate to fill the silence because his next question was, "So what was the drama with the milk?"
Damn. Is this really what they were going to talk about? One of Teddy's tantrums? Maybe they weren't ready for this.
Harry took another gulp of his beer and started to explain. "He asked for a glass of milk with his breakfast, I poured it, and he lost it because it wasn't the right milk."
Dudley looked confused, a look Harry was used to seeing on his face. The familiarity was oddly comforting.
"Apparently Teddy had grown attached to the last carton of milk though I have no idea how he knew the difference between the two. I explained I had to throw the other milk out since it was old and gross and that this was fresh milk I was giving him. He was not having it. He threw the milk across the room and screamed at the top of his lungs. I was seriously considering calling my friend to see if you could un-vanish something so I could get the gross, old carton back, clean it, fill it with fresh milk, then give that to Teddy. So yeah, that was the drama."
"That kid's mental."
Harry decided not to point out that he remembered a similar tantrum of Dudley's concerning the correct type of cereal box and Dudley that had been closer to seven at the time. "I'm told it's normal for his age. But yeah, he's mental."
"You said you vanished the old carton? What does that mean?"
"Oh, it's a spell to get rid of rubbish and stuff. It's called a Vanishing Spell. The item you vanish just disappears."
"Where does it go?"
"I have no idea. And honestly, I don't know if you can un-vanish something. I've never tried."
"Huh."
They were quiet again, each sipping on their beers. This time Harry broke the silence. "Um, is there anything interesting going on in your life?"
"Not really," Dudley shrugged. "You?"
Normally, Harry wouldn't have given a meaningful response to this question. But he was still feeling down about Hermione, was on edge from dealing with hours of yelling this morning, and was eager to avoid another awkward silence, so he answered Dudley truthfully.
"Yeah, there are a few interesting things. I recently figured out I'm in love with my best friend, who doesn't love me back and is also my other best friend's ex-girlfriend. And my own ex-girlfriend told me she cheated on me while we were dating, with a girl, and she's bisexual now. She and her new girlfriend are moving to Spain in a few months."
"Whoa."
"Yeah." Harry took another sip of his beer. Surprisingly, it felt good to get that out. Maybe it would be nice to hear another person's opinion on it all; someone who wasn't Teddy.
"The friend you love, is it the brunette you brought to dinner last time? The one who yelled at my dad?"
Harry nodded.
"And the ex-girlfriend was the girl before that? The one with the red-hair?"
Harry nodded again.
"Huh. They're both fit."
"Oh, er, yeah, they are." Harry wondered if he should tell Hermione Dudley thought she was fit. Would that help with her self-esteem or just make her feel weird? He could see it going either way. He took another sip of his beer.
"What are you going to do?" Dudley asked.
"I honestly have no idea. What do you think? Have you ever been in a situation like this?"
Dudley thought about it and was wearing that blank look Harry knew well again. "No," he said eventually. "I don't have friends who are girls. I've also never been in love."
Harry found neither of these things surprising.
"Why don't you just kiss her and see if she kisses you back?" Dudley asked.
"That could be problematic," Harry replied. "It could mess with our friendship. It would mess up our friendship," he corrected. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me like that."
"But not 100% sure?"
"No. I guess there's a small chance she likes me back. Very small," he added.
"Yeah, so you kiss her and then you'll know," Dudley repeated, more confidently now. "And if she does kiss you back, then you shag her and see how that goes."
"Uh huh…"
"And if that goes well," Dudley continued, a suggestive smile on his face.
"I have a feeling I'm not going to like where this is going," Harry muttered.
"Invite the ex-girlfriend over for a threesome. You know she'll be into it, since she likes women now. And by then you'll already have been with both of them so there will be no surprises and-"
"I'm going to stop you there," Harry cut in.
Dudley shrugged, unashamed, and motioned for the barman to bring him another beer.
Harry stared at his own beer and asked, without looking up, "What if she doesn't kiss me back?"
"Oh, easy. Run away. It'd be even better if you could make her forget about the whole thing. Is there a spell for that?"
"Yeah. But it's frowned upon to use it on your friends."
Dudley furrowed his brow, like he was thinking hard, then got a wicked grin on his face and asked, "Do you think it's possible some witch kidnapped me, shagged me, then made me forget about it?"
Harry gave him an incredulous look.
"Well?" Dudley pressed.
"It's possible," Harry allowed, "but highly unlikely."
Dudley let out a laugh and nudged Harry in the side. "You need to lighten up, Harry."
Harry thought that was probably true but had no idea how to go about it. When he looked back at Dudley, he was shaking his head.
"What?" Harry asked.
"It's just that you're my age. A little younger, actually, but you're like a mature adult. You fought in a war, are dealing with some big romantic drama, have a kid and a real job. Meanwhile, I'm over here and the biggest decision I'm grappling with is which party to go to tonight. The one at the pub, with a better beer selection, or the one at my friend's flat, with more girls?"
"I thought you hadn't picked a course of study. Shouldn't that be your biggest decision?"
Dudley smiled and took another sip of his beer. "Probably."
Harry shook his head. He was thinking about his recent lunch with Hermione when she'd mentioned Rolf proposing to Luna. Harry had felt so behind, like she'd said, but this was a nice reminder that he was still very young. It was okay that he wasn't living with the woman he wanted to marry and wasn't about to propose to her. He had a lot of other stuff figured out and had time to sort out the rest. Look at Dudley. He had nothing figured out and wasn't worried in the slightest.
"Don't let that long list of things that make me sound like an adult fool you," Harry replied. "I have no fucking idea what I'm doing."
Dudley smiled. "Okay, I gave you advice about your problem-"
"That hardly counted."
"Whatever. Now give me advice on mine. Should I go for the beer or the girls?"
"Beer," Harry said quickly.
"Liar. You seem like a romantic. You'd pick the girls."
Harry shrugged and drained his glass. Yeah, Dudley was probably right. Was it weird that he knew Harry that well? They had grown up together.
"Speaking of parties, I have another question," Dudley said.
"Okay. Go ahead."
Dudley leaned in and lowered his voice. "Do you have really good drugs in your world? And if so, can you get me some?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, we have mind-altering potions. But I work in law enforcement and tend to avoid handling illegal substances."
Dudley sighed and said teasingly, "You're just as boring as ever."
"And you're just as lawless," Harry retorted. "If your mother only knew that her precious Duddy-kins did drugs…"
Dudley flipped him off but was smiling good-naturedly. "I don't have to worry about you telling her, do I? You're not coming round for dinner anymore, right?"
Harry shook his head. He'd received the Dursley's invite for the next bi-annual dinner and had declined, not even bothering to cite an excuse.
"Good for you. I always wondered why you kept putting yourself through those."
Harry was at a loss for words. He hadn't expected to hear one of Hermione's opinions coming from Dudley. He admitted that while he and Dudley had next to nothing in common, his cousin wasn't bad company. And this lunch (which Harry was just now realizing was only going to consist of beer) wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be.
Hermione was supposed to be scanning the large hall for Arty Bulstrode but that was not what she was doing. She was hiding behind a pole, watching Harry flirt with another witch. The witch seemed familiar but Hermione couldn't place her.
Just then, the witch in question, who was very pretty, placed her hand on Harry's arm and let out a laugh. And he didn't shake it off! He wasn't laughing fully like the witch but he was smiling. Hermione was vexed to see it was Harry's real smile, not the fake one he used anytime he was doing interviews or getting photographed. He was genuinely amused by the conversation.
Hermione knew how this was going to play out. Harry would ask this woman out and she'd say yes because he was Harry Potter. They'd go on a few dates, laugh more, like they were doing now, and soon the witch would learn that not only was Harry as brave, daring, and powerful as the papers said, but he was the kindest, most loving person she'd ever meet. He was also funny, clever, and handsome and the witch wouldn't be able to help herself from falling madly in love with him.
Once Harry picked up on the fact that she truly loved him and not just his media persona, he'd fall in love with her back. Then one day, Harry would announce over one of his and Hermione's cooking dates that this would be the last Tuesday they'd spend cooking together as he wanted to spend all his free time with his new girlfriend. But he'd keep their Thursday lunches going, since he'd sense how lonely Hermione was.
During one of those lunches a few months later, he'd tell Hermione he was about to propose and show her the ring. And maybe a year or two after that, he'd tell her they were expecting and his eyes would be shining with joy at the anticipation of finally getting the family of his own that he'd always wanted.
Hermione realized then she had tears in her eyes. And there was an ache in her heart she couldn't explain. This was Harry's dream, wasn't it? And didn't she want Harry to be happy? If that were truly the case, then why did the thought of him moving on and finding that happiness make her feel so depressed?
This is one conversation, but you've gone and married them off, then given them kids. Get a grip, Hermione.
Hermione patted the tears from her eyes and kept scanning the room for Arty.
[If Hermione had been able to hear the conversation she was watching, she would have felt loads better. Because the reason Harry was smiling was because he was thinking about her. But it wasn't the worst thing for Hermione to be faced with the idea of Harry moving on with someone else and to experience her disturbing and unexpected reaction to it.]
When Harry arrived at the theater he met Luna, Rolf, Neville, and Hannah outside. Rolf had the kitten (which was nearly a foot long and hardly a "kitten" in Harry's opinion) in his robes and immediately covered it with Harry's invisibility cloak. Before Harry had a chance to ask after Hermione, Hannah told him she'd arrive early and gone inside to look for someone. Harry figured she was looking for Arty Bulstrode.
A few minutes after that, he was leaning against a banister, scanning the room for Hermione while also trying to keep an eye on Rolf, whose arm was currently invisible as he held the cat under the invisibility cloak, when someone tapped him on the arm.
Harry turned to find a pretty, blonde-haired witch with light blue robes smiling at him. He was about to make up some excuse to send her away when she said, "Hi, I'm Agatha, from St. Mungo's. I just wanted to ask how your friend, Hermione Granger, was doing. We see a lot of patients in our ward but everyone still talks about her. She's hard to forget."
Harry nodded and decided not to turn the witch away, since she was talking about his favorite subject. He told her Hermione had made a quick recovery and Agatha went on to explain how the Mediwizards on her ward still talked about her and how simultaneously brilliant and scary she was. A few of them had been convinced if they didn't release her, she'd hex them. That's why they'd sent Agatha in last.
"Why you?" Harry asked.
"I have a sister like Hermione, bold and fearless and willing to say whatever's on her mind, so I wasn't afraid," she replied, then admitted, "I wish I were more like that."
"Yeah, me too."
"So, you're not bold and fearless like everyone says?"
Harry shrugged, "It comes and goes, but I'm nothing like Hermione."
Agatha smiled. "We can't all be that impressive."
"She's certainly impressive and also scary," Harry continued. "When she was just sixteen, she started an illegal club at the height of Dolores Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts. She swore everyone in the club to secrecy and when one girl snitched, she cursed the word "sneak" across her face. I think it's still there and I'm pretty sure Hermione knows how to remove it, but refuses to on principle. So maybe the Mediwizards were right to be scared."
This was the moment that had upset Hermione. Agatha laughed, placing a hand on Harry's arm and Harry smiled as he thought of how fiercely loyal Hermione was. And Hermione was right, it was a genuine smile.
Just then, a chime rang out, indicating it was time for everyone to take their seats. Harry bade Agatha farewell and went to join his friends. It wasn't until they were in the theater, trying to find their seats, that Hermione joined the group. She'd been drying her eyes and trying to recover from her unexpected bout of jealousy before meeting up with her friends.
"Oh, there you are," Neville said when he saw her. Harry was just behind Neville. Hermione could feel his eyes on her but didn't meet his gaze.
"Sorry I'm late," Hermione said in a rush. "Ready to sit?"
"Actually, it turns out we're not all sitting together. We're split into two groups of three. Harry's going to sit with Luna and Rolf right here and we're two rows back." Neville motioned to three empty seats in the aisle next to them and Hermione noticed the blonde witch from earlier in the same row.
She finally looked up at Harry, who was watching her, concerned. He'd noticed she was upset about something and guessed she'd found Arty and the conversation hadn't gone well.
"You're sitting here?" she asked Harry.
Harry shrugged and muttered under his breath, "I should probably be close to the cat, just in case."
"Right, the cat," she said sardonically. She was sure Harry was more interested in his proximity to pretty blonde witches than invisible kittens.
He grabbed her arm, leaned in, and whispered, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'll see you at intermission." She turned and followed Neville and Hannah to their seats.
Harry had not picked the spot next to Luna and Rolf because of the Wampus kitten, but it wasn't what Hermione thought either. When Neville said they'd be splitting up, he scanned his two options quickly. The three seats closer to the back were next to a plump, thirty-something witch who was eying Harry hungrily. The other seats were next to Agatha, who Harry already knew to be normal. It had been an easy decision from there.
By the time Hermione sat in her seat (next to the woman who wanted to eat Harry) she was seething. She tried to take deep, deliberate breaths. She reminded herself she was here for Arty and began scanning the boxes above for him, but she didn't find him before the lights dimmed.
Fifteen minutes into the show, Hermione wished she'd read up on this opera before agreeing to come tonight. One of the main characters, a lovely, dark-haired witch (the American Soprano) was lamenting about her lover and how in order to save him, she had to Obliviate him, causing him to forget their entire history. Hermione supposed the rest of the opera would be about the two of them falling back in love.
She'd missed the reasoning behind why he needed to be Obliviated, since she'd been too busy gripping the edges of the arm rest tightly and taking very long, deep breaths as she counted in her head. Maybe they'd skip the Obliviation scene. She'd probably be fine if they only referred to it but if she had to watch this woman Obliviate the man she loved, she thought she might lose it. And if he fought back or protested in any way...well, she didn't even let her mind consider that.
After the aria finished, it was time for the woman to take the man's memories. The woman raised her wand and the man looked back at her, horrified. Nope. This was too much. Hermione managed to choke out, "Loo," under her breath before escaping to the now-empty entrance hall.
She headed for a dark corner on her right and braced her hands on the wall, letting her head hang down. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop her tears from falling and messing up her makeup. A moment later, there was a hand on her back. She knew exactly who it was but for some reason that just made her sadder.
Harry peeled her off the wall and pulled her into his chest. She placed her forehead against his crisp dress robes as she continued to take deep breaths.
"Let me take you home," he whispered into her hair.
She shook her head.
"Don't tell me this is about that Bulstrode bloke. You said yourself, you didn't think talking to him would help."
Hermione straightened, pulling out of his grasp, and shook her head. "I'll be fine. I just need to pop into the washroom and splash some water on my face."
Harry sighed and watched her disappear around the corner. He leaned against the wall and as he waited for her to return, thought to himself that this was one thing (probably the only thing) he didn't like about Hermione. He hated when she put everyone around her first (sometimes, like now, even people she didn't know), instead of stopping to take care of herself.
A few moments later, when Hermione emerged, she saw Harry was in the same spot, leaning against the wall. He looked broody and she wondered if he was wishing he was back inside with the blonde witch from earlier.
She noted that he looked very handsome. He was wearing a set of navy blue dress robes she hadn't seen before and his hair was slightly tamer than usual. He'd put some type of product in it to pull it back out of his face but it was still slightly messy, like it was trying to escape and return to its usual, tousled state. The effect was nice.
"You look dashing," she announced when she stopped in front of him.
"And this upsets you?" He straightened and cocked his head at her. She realized she'd said it a bit angrily and it had come out sounding like an accusation.
Harry took a moment to study Hermione. She was wearing a long, golden gown, which was cut modestly and draped elegantly off her body, hinting at her curves underneath. The bodice was lace and the part at the top see-through. When he spotted her collarbones just above the top edge of the gold lace, he had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss one. Luckily, he didn't do that, since that would have been weird and completely inappropriate for the current situation.
He moved his eyes up. Her hair was pulled to the side in a loose pony-tail, her curls falling over one of her shoulders. Her eyes were sparkling, an effect caused by the gold dress picking out the flecks in her irises that Harry knew the exact shade of and probably intensified by the mix of resentment and melancholy he sensed in her expression.
But even though she wasn't smiling, she looked breathtaking. He decided to tell her so.
"You're breathtaking," he whispered, as if it was a secret he didn't want anyone to overhear.
"I thought you were just going to say that with your eyes from now on."
"The way you look right now, it bears saying multiple ways. I'm considering writing it out, too."
That elicited a small smile, which just improved her appearance. She stepped forward and started wiping away a few tears she had shed on his robes. Harry wondered if she could feel his heart pounding impossibly fast.
"I didn't mean to yell just now," she muttered. "You really do look dashing and I'm sorry about this."
Harry took a step back because he knew if he didn't put some distance between them, he'd do something stupid. "It doesn't matter how my robes look. I'm about to leave here and take you home. I'll just read about the Wampus kitten disaster in the papers. I don't need to see it in person."
Hermione shook her head. "I'm staying. I'm sure by now the Obliviation scene is over and from here on out, I should be fine. It just caught me off guard, that's all."
"If you insist on talking to Bulstrode tonight, just stay out here and we'll wait for intermission."
"I know he enjoys the Opera and it might be helpful if I could refer to specific parts of the show when I talk to him," she countered.
"I can't stand this, watching you do this to yourself. All for some law."
"Not just 'some law.' My first law, ever. One I've poured countless hours into and one that if passed, would help thousands of creatures around the country. I can put up with an uncomfortable night for that."
Harry scowled. He knew from the look in her eyes he wasn't going to win this argument. "I hate this," he grumbled.
"You've made that clear."
She was matching his glare and Harry wondered why she seemed annoyed with him. Even before this back and forth about her law she was upset that he'd come out to check on her. Why?
"Okay, I'm going to get back," she announced.
Harry watched her disappear into the dark theater and sighed before following her.
Hermione had just settled into her seat when there was a commotion to her left. Harry was in their row, crouching down and whispering to Hannah and Neville. Neville whispered back, then stood up and let Harry take his seat.
Hermione leaned over and hissed, "What are you doing?"
"If you're going to torture yourself like this, I'm going to hold your hand and make sure you're okay," he whispered back.
"But - Hannah," Hermione motioned across Harry to Hannah but Hannah just waved her away.
She leaned over Harry and whispered, "No worries, Hermione. I see Neville all the time. I can handle a few hours away from him."
Hermione watched Neville climb into Harry's old seat two rows ahead of them. Once he sat down, he turned to the blonde witch on his right and gave her a curt nod. She nodded back before turning to face the stage and Hermione imagined she was wearing a look of disappointment.
She noticed then that Harry was holding his palm up on the arm rest and looking at her sternly. His intent was clear.
She had an urge to cross her arms and refuse to take his hand but she had no idea why. She took a deep breath and placed her palm on top of his.
It started out as simple hand holding. When Hermione placed her palm on top of Harry's, he curled his fingers around her hand and turned back to face the stage. A few minutes later, he began absently rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand.
Hermione's focus was pulled away from the opera to the pleasant feeling of his caress. Once the practical part of her mind took note, she panicked, gave his hand a squeeze, then pulled hers back and pretended to scratch an itch on her nose.
She placed her hand back on her lap and tried to act casual but Harry had turned to watch her and noticed she looked upset. He leaned in and whispered, "Be honest, are you okay?"
The feeling of his warm breath on her neck sent a chill down her spine and goosebumps raised on her bare arms. "You don't look okay," he pressed when she didn't reply.
Hermione placed her hand, palm up, on the arm rest and nodded down at it. She was willing to do anything to get him to stop the whispered conversation. His intoxicating scent, that feeling of his breath on her skin - the hand holding was better than all that.
He leaned back into his seat but instead of taking her hand, began feathering his fingertips along the top of it. First, he touched his fingertips to hers and slowly dragged them down. Even though he stopped at the bottom of her palm, the tingling spread all the way up her arm, down her back, and stopped between her legs. She let out a sigh and looked down at their hands. He did it a few more times before changing the movement.
Next, he began tracing on her palm with his middle finger. Her heart was beating wildly now and she closed her eyes and focused on the pattern of his movements. She wondered if he was spelling out some sort of message but after focusing for a few moments, determined the patterns were random. It was such a simple movement but it felt absolutely divine.
He moved on to playing with her fingers. He laced his fingers with hers, as if about to link their hands together, but instead of curling his fingers around her hand, drew them up and pressed on the skin between her fingers before repeating the motion.
Even though he was only touching her hand, her whole body was on edge. At the end of each motion, she waited with bated breath to see how he'd touch her next. She chanced a look at him, to see if he knew what sort of effect he was having on her, but his eyes were on the stage and he appeared to be doing all of this absently.
If this is how it feels when he touches you absently, what would it feel like if he were paying attention?
Her body reacted embarrassingly to that question and she rushed to silence the voice in her head.
Harry must have felt her eyes on him because he turned and raised an eyebrow when he saw her face. She wondered what expression he saw there and if he'd noticed her flushed cheeks. He leaned in again and the feeling of his breath on her cheek nearly sent her over the edge.
"What?" he asked.
Hermione nodded down at their hands. "You're tickling me," she breathed, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
"Oh." He looked down and shifted their hands, then linked them together. "Sorry."
Tickling? Is that what that was? Do your knickers usually get soaked when someone tickles you?
Shut up!
She took a very long, deep breath and turned back to the opera. She committed herself to studying every single word with such intense focus, one would think she expected to be tested on it later.
A few hours later, Hermione was stomping up the stairs to her flat. Harry was following behind, feeling bad for her. He guessed the conversation she'd had with Arty Bulstrode just before they'd left the theater had gone poorly. Harry was wondering how much trouble he'd be in at work if he hexed one of the Ministry's Elders as he followed her into the flat. She slammed the door hard and the sound snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Hermione. It'll be fine," he started. "This is just your first piece of legislation. I'm sure there will be loads more and-"
"What?"
"You're angry. I assume it's because of Bulstrode."
"He was fine," she snapped, distracted.
"Oh, then, are you-" He cut off and studied her more carefully. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing rapidly. He remembered that one of the triggers for her panic attacks was the memory of the day she Obliviated her parents.
Is that what was happening? Was she about to have another panic attack? Dammit. She should have left the opera right at the beginning when he'd told her to.
That was not what was happening. Hermione's mind was currently operating in overdrive and was struggling to keep her body calm as it did so. It had more inputs to process than usual. First, the painful reminder of the day she'd Obliviated her parents. Second, Arty's cryptic comments about the deliberations concerning her law. But next to Harry, those two things were trivial. Her mind was filled with thoughts of him.
She turned to face Harry and found him studying her. His green eyes were bright and swimming with concern and for some reason, the way his brow was furrowed right now coupled with the way he was rubbing his jaw made him look even more handsome than usual. Had he always been this handsome?
Yes! No! I mean, he's the same. He's a good-looking person who looks better tonight because he's wearing dress robes and has tidier hair. End of story.
But what the hell had happened earlier with the hand holding? They had held hands before but it had never incited that reaction in her.
You're lonely and you haven't had sex in a long time. An attractive man touched you and you went a little crazy; it's no big deal.
She'd saved the final anomaly for last, since a part of her knew there wouldn't be such an easy explanation for this one.
And the jealousy? The voice in her head was quiet, like it was afraid to say this part. That was, undoubtedly, jealousy. Don't try to deny it. When I saw him with that witch I couldn't bear the thought of them together. And I've been angry with him all night for it - I still sort of am.
Yes, that was petty, said her practical voice. But again, not a big deal. You just don't want him to move on first. You don't want to lose your friend because then you'll be alone.
There was, as always, a logical explanation for her concerns. But on this night in particular, all the excuses felt hollow.
This conversation played out in Hermione's mind in a matter of seconds. During it, Harry rubbed his jaw and eyed her warily, waiting for signs that she was spiraling into a panic attack. When she opened her mouth to speak, he expected her to finally acknowledge what was happening, like she had at Malfoy Manor, and ask for help but instead, she yelled at him.
"Why did you come after me when I left the theater?!"
There was a rush of unpleasant emotions swirling around in Hermione's body, chief of which was intense frustration at being unable to put clear words to what was going on. Hermione hated nothing more than not knowing and this was the most confused she'd felt in a very long time. So, she took all those bad feelings and projected them onto the person who seemed to be the cause of them.
"Why did you switch seats and hold my hand?!" she added.
"Because you're my friend and you were clearly upset and I was trying to help!" he yelled back, but he was confused about why they were yelling.
"I wasn't clearly upset. No one else noticed. Just you." She'd stepped closer to him and was ramming her finger into his chest.
Harry grabbed her finger and gently pulled it down, then said in a softer tone, "Obviously, I'm better than them. Keep that in mind when you're shopping for Christmas gifts over the next few weeks."
Hermione wasn't in the mood for jokes. She rolled her eyes and violently pulled her finger out of his hand.
Harry took a deep breath. She was clearly angry and it seemed to be directed at him but he knew this wasn't real. He knew Hermione well enough to know she jumped to anger when she was flustered and struggling to handle her true feelings.
As someone who suffered from his own bouts of emotional instability, Harry didn't fault her for it. And luckily, he was used to dealing with a tantruming toddler and knew how to keep from taking outbursts like this personally.
"What's really going on here?" he asked in a soft voice.
His question echoed in her mind as her brain struggled to answer it. The information it needed was locked behind a wall she didn't even know was there. What was wrong with her? She was good at this. She knew how to name her emotions. She knew when she felt like she was being taken for granted, or lonely, misunderstood, sad. But this…this eluded her.
The expression on Hermione's face was devastating. She looked lost and scared and Harry desperately wanted to comfort her. He raised his hands to her face, lacing his fingers through the hair behind her neck, and began stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.
"Hi," he whispered.
She nodded, at a loss for words as her brain continued to spin.
"Are you having a panic attack?"
She thought about it, then shook her head.
"It sort of seems like you are," he replied with a small smile.
"I'm not," she managed to get out.
She raised her hands up to cover his and pulled them down to her side. Then she took a step closer, acting entirely on instinct now. Harry inhaled sharply but stayed in place. Their faces were inches away and all he would have to do was lean in ever so slightly…
But the look on Hermione's face kept him in place. Her gaze was intense and she looked like she was searching for the answer to some giant Arithmancy problem in his eyes.
This was close to the truth. What she was looking for were more satisfying answers to the questions she'd asked herself a moment ago. Answers that didn't feel wrong and something told her that Harry held them.
Harry knew he should take a long step backward but it was all he could do to keep from kissing her. Stepping away was out of the question. Very carefully, he moved his hands to her waist (since it was right there), and waited for her to move away or retaliate, but she didn't.
"Hermione?" he breathed.
She was impossibly close. He could feel her breath on his lips, taste it, even, and he was about to give up on this whole restraint plan and just kiss her when the alarm bells finally went off in Hermione's head.
She turned away, nearly ripping herself out of his grasp, and pressed her palms into her eyes. Harry was still reeling from the almost kiss and wondering if she thought of it as an almost kiss too, so he wasn't ready for what she said next.
"You're always there," she mumbled to the ground.
"What?"
She took her hands away from her eyes and they were bloodshot and fierce. "You're always there," she repeated accusingly. "Why are you always there?"
Harry was incredibly confused. She'd been yelling, then he'd thought they were about to kiss, now she was angry again?
"You want me to leave? Is that what you're saying?"
"I'm saying - I - I - it's not fair, is it? That at all my worst moments you're there. I know you're trying to help and all, I understand that, but maybe I need to work through it alone."
Maybe I've become too dependent on you, she added in her mind. Maybe that's what this is, some unhealthy attachment I've developed. And I just need you to leave. Yes, that will fix it.
She was really reaching now. And because she was busy clinging to illogical arguments to explain feelings she didn't understand, she didn't notice the effect her words were having on Harry.
Why are you always there?
Hermione's words bounced around in Harry's mind, then moved down to his heart, causing a stabbing pain each time they collided with a piece of his body.
She was done with him. Maybe she'd figured out how he felt, maybe it was something else, but the result was the same. She didn't want him around anymore. It explained why she'd been annoyed that he'd followed her out of the theater and why she'd seemed upset with him all night.
Harry was also someone who turned to anger when he was feeling especially emotional, which was why he glowered at her and yelled back, "I'm always there!? You're the one who's always there!"
Hermione was taken aback by the vehemence in his tone. "What?"
"How about I give you a list? I know you love those." Harry clenched his fists. He was using his anger to keep the tears forming behind his eyes from falling.
"Hogwarts," he started. "I'll list that as just one item, but it includes a hundred little moments when you were there with me, anytime I needed you. Next, the war. You never left. Even Ron left, but you stayed, although you knew I had no idea what I was doing and that our chances of winning were slim to none. Godric's Hollow. You've gone back with me every Christmas Eve since the war to visit my parents' grave. Whose idea was that? Yours. And in the past few months, damn, I'd need a whole roll of parchment to list all that out."
He unclenched his fists and began counting on his fingers. Hermione was frozen in place.
"The Dursleys and the broomstick ride after, which you hated but did anyway. Cheering me up on my birthday, helping fix up the kitchen, comforting me when I had my nightmare, then pulling me (quite forcefully) out of my slump after that whole ordeal. Trying to get me to be happy, trying to force me to date again, just - everything. You can yell at me all you want for always being there for you but you wrote the bloody book on it!"
When Harry finally stopped his rant, he took a breath and braced himself for the backlash. He was ready for her to shout and list out all the ways he'd been there when, apparently, he shouldn't have been, but he wasn't ready for what happened next.
Hermione was looking off in the distance, eyes wide and unfocused. He recognized the look she got when she was solving a problem. Then, suddenly, she dropped her head in her hands and began to cry.
While Harry had been rattling off his list, the walls in Hermione's mind had finally come crashing down. The events of the night, which she hadn't been able to properly explain or catalogue away, were still there in the forefront of her mind.
Then Harry started listing that evidence all in one go - moments when she'd expressed so clearly how much she cared about him. This was the first time she was seeing all of it together and once that happened, the truth was painfully clear.
Harry began to panic. She'd been on the verge of an attack and he'd gone and yelled at her. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why hadn't he just kept calm? Had he sent her over the edge? He stepped closer to her but was careful not to touch her. He wanted to help her but hadn't forgotten her words from earlier.
"Do you want me to leave, like you said?" he asked carefully. "Do you want to be alone?"
She shook her head and a tension in Harry's chest released.
"Can I hug you? Just - er - because it looks like you need one," he added nervously.
She nodded and when he didn't immediately move, closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck.
As Hermione stood there holding Harry, just two feet away from where he'd been standing during his own revelation a month ago, she finally admitted to herself that she was in love with him. And it wasn't a new thing, not at all.
She'd loved him since her early years at Hogwarts. Although she'd tried to hide it and ignore it and push the thoughts to the back of her mind, the feelings had been there the whole time.
"Are you sure you want me here?" he whispered into her ear. "You just said-"
"Stay," she sobbed, tightening her grip on him. "Please, just stay."
A/N: I promised limited angst at the beginning and then the feelings got away from me. This is the problem of writing without an outline. Though, technically, I don't think all of this is angst, just drama and it's ending very very soon. Thanks for reading!