Chapter Twenty-One.

There was a warm voice, coming somewhere from the depths of his mind, but Harry couldn't allow it to penetrate any deeper into his consciousness than at a surface level. He was staring at a letter before him, but like the voice the words wouldn't come into consciousness.

Instead, Harry was thinking of Marcus Barnaby. Harry's last session with him, which had happened two weeks ago, had proven rather futile. Harry had become quite sure that the hand around Hermione's throat was that of a woman, and that she was wearing a ring. Perhaps it was due to Harry's reluctance to be around Barnaby after their argument earlier in the month, but that was all he'd been able to figure out. It wasn't enough, though, and Barnaby had returned to America. He'd be back for more sessions in the new year, but that was too far off for Harry to feel at ease.

He felt, quite honestly, as if he were missing something obvious.

'Harry?'

'Hmm?' Harry looked up from his desk and the letter before him. Hermione stood by his side, a nervous smile etched onto her face.

'We've been invited for Christmas,' Hermione said. 'With my parents.'

Harry's eyebrows rose into the air; a flash of terror rushed through his body. He'd met Hermione's parents before, of course, but that had been years and years ago, when they were merely friends.

'My dad has been wanting to meet you for weeks…' Hermione continued. 'He's invited my grandmother so you two can meet. My mom and I have been putting it off for weeks but…' She studied Harry's face, softly biting the inside of her cheek. It was a habit that she'd developed recently, and Harry had noticed that she did it anytime she felt unsure, or nervous. 'Shall we wait until after Christmas?' Before Harry could even answer, though, she added: 'Let's wait until after Christmas. It's too much, with the holidays and my parents and my grandmother… let's do after.'

She'd already started moving away, but Harry grabbed her hand just before she slipped from his reach, and Hermione turned.

'Let's do it,' Harry said, before he had an opportunity to change his mind.

Hermione's eyes lit up, and Harry knew at once that he'd made the right decision.

'Oh, brilliant!' she smiled. 'My parents will be so excited.'

Harry smiled, too, ignoring the feeling of dread that was now spreading through his chest. It'll be fine, he told himself. It's just her parents. They're lovely people.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were, indeed, lovely people. On Christmas Eve, they welcomed Harry into their home with hugs and cheerful faces, and Hermione's grandmother, a bony woman with hair the colour of fresh snow, made a point of telling Harry just how handsome he was. Millicent Granger was an exceptionally old lady. Over ninety years old and bent like a bough, her mind was as lively as spring flowers. Harry understood quite quickly why Hermione was so fond of her.

'You see, back in my day, boys actually made some effort to woo us,' Millicent said when the company had gathered comfortably in front of the fireplace, each with a drink in hand. The evening was still young, but it had already grown dark outside; alongside the Christmas tree and the glowing fire indoors, it made for a warm and somewhat mysterious ambiance.

'How did you woo my granddaughter, Harry?'

Harry looked up, awakened from his daydream, and saw Millicent staring back at him with raised white eyebrows and a look of childlike delight on her face. 'Did you woo her?'

Harry, taken by surprise, looked for a moment at Hermione, who was sitting to her grandmother's right and was visibly blushing. He smiled.

'She wooed me, actually', Harry said, and Millicent's eyebrows rose even further onto her sun-spotted forehead. She turned to her granddaughter with surprise. 'Have you, now?'

The red in Hermione's cheeks burned even brighter, and Harry stifled a laugh.

'Well…', Hermione said, and she shot Harry an accusatory glance. 'He left me no choice, really. He wasn't quite receptive.'

'Not receptive to you?!' Millicent just about shouted. Her head turned back towards Harry. 'What, with my genes, you're not receptive to my granddaughter?'

Mr. and Mrs. Granger laughed, and Millicent turned fully to Hermione to tell her exactly how to 'woo bloody Richard Todd, if you wanted!' Harry looked on and smiled, relishing in the warmth of family and togetherness, when he suddenly felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He looked up and saw Mr. Granger standing over him.

'Would you mind helping me in the kitchen for a moment, Harry?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not at all, sir,' he said, and Mr. Granger smiled warmly.

Harry followed him into the kitchen, where potatoes were happily roasting in the oven, and hot wine was bubbling calmly on the stove. The countertop was embellished with plates of different vegetables and meats, bowls of sauces, and one large pie.

'Well, Harry,' Mr. Granger said, as he bent before the oven to check on the food. 'Are you enjoying your first Granger Christmas?'

'Oh yes, sir', Harry said, and he glanced over his shoulder at the living room, where Hermione, Hermione's mother, and Millicent were talking and laughing heartedly. They hardly seemed to have noticed the two men leave the room. 'Your mother is…'

'Quite something,' Mr. Granger agreed, and he turned the oven's temperature up with a few degrees.

'She likes you. I can tell,' he added, and he moved to the only empty spot on the counter, where bowls of leafy greens and vegetables were neatly put in a row. Mr. Granger began cutting the vegetables with quick and experienced precision, and Harry realised then that he hadn't come into the kitchen to help.

'I'm glad to finally meet you as well, Harry. Hermione's told us so much about you.'

Harry smiled, feeling slightly guarded. 'Good things, I hope.'

'Oh yes!' Mr. Granger laughed. 'She's utterly infatuated with you, I'm afraid.'

They remained quiet for a while, with Harry not quite knowing what to say, while Mr. Granger cut up the vegetables, tore the leafy greens into smaller pieces, and drizzled some olive oil across the mixture. 'Oh, the cheesecake!' he said suddenly, and he moved abruptly towards the fridge. 'Toss that for me, will you, Harry?'

Harry obediently picked up the salad pincers and began to toss the salad, ensuring that the olive oil and vegetables were distributed evenly.

'Now… Harry,' Mr. Granger said as he pulled a perfectly smooth cheesecake from the fridge. 'Hermione told us about your… job. Highly dangerous, is it?'

Harry froze, the salad pincers hovering above the bowl, and swallowed. He cleared his throat and said, carefully: 'Not always, sir.'

Mr. Granger, as if he understood perfectly the daily occupations of Harry's profession, nodded understandingly and sipped from his wine.

'I see…', he said, and Harry nervously clenched and unclenched his jaw. From the living room, he heard Millicent's boisterous laughter, and Hermione's gleeful laugh in response. 'But my daughter,' Mr. Granger continued, and Harry forced himself to keep tossing the salad. 'She won't get… into trouble, will she?'

Harry's heart sank ever so slightly, and he slowly looked up at Mr. Granger, and then over his shoulder towards Hermione, who was admiring a bracelet on her grandmother's arm. Harry looked back at Mr. Granger, then, and feigned a smile. 'No, sir,' he said, and he despised himself for lying to this man… this father, who only had one child to protect. 'I wouldn't let it happen,' Harry added, in a near whisper.

Mr. Granger, seeming immediately relieved, clapped his hand onto Harry's shoulder and laughed with the laugh of a man who is attempting to lighten up a tense moment. 'Of course not, Harry. Of course not. I should have known, a wizard like you… she couldn't possibly be more safe.'

Harry smiled wryly, regarded Mr. Granger's face as he watched his daughter, and despised himself even more. The sound of a kitchen timer going off rudely awoke Harry from his daze, and he tensed momentarily before putting down the pincers. 'Salad's tossed.'

Right on cue, Mrs. Granger came into the kitchen, half-laughing with the remnants of her mother-in-law's joke in mind. 'Everything all right, dear?' she asked, but because she was turned away from both men, Harry and Mr. Granger said in unison: 'Everything's great.'

She turned again, a glass of red wine in her hand, and waved her wrist at her husband, laughing. 'Not you, darling. Harry!'

'Oh, yes, I'm great,' said Harry.

'My husband's not giving you too much trouble, I hope?'

Harry smiled and hoped it was convincing. 'Not at all, Mrs. Granger.'

'Good,' said Mrs. Granger, and she squeezed Harry's shoulder affectionately. 'Then do come join us at the dinner table, will you?' When Mr. Granger remained by the countertop, studying his cheesecake, she added: 'Both of you!'

'Ah, yes!' said Mr. Granger quickly, and he took hold of a large bowl of potatoes. Nudging Harry, Harry grabbed the salad he'd just tossed, and followed Hermione's parents to dinner.

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the evening and part of the night with the Grangers, talking, laughing, exchanging gifts that Harry hadn't asked for, and having some of the best food Harry had had in a long, long time. Nevertheless, everything felt fallacious to Harry. He felt as if he was playing the part of someone else. The part of a proper boyfriend, the desirable choice for a parent's only daughter, but he couldn't for a moment shake the feeling that he could become one of the worst things to ever happen to the Grangers. They liked him, now, adored him even, at least according to Millicent, but eventually… maybe in a few weeks? A few months? They'd wish he'd never happened.

When Harry and Hermione finally set foot onto the street, and Hermione lovingly waved back to her parents as the two of them walked off, Harry felt like an utter fraud.