It hadn't taken long for the wine to loosen Harry's tongue. He was a novice when it came to drinking, after all. Butterbeer didn't exactly count as alcohol when it would take consuming an entire barrel to feel even remotely drunk. He had only recently been given firewhiskey and that hadn't been a large enough measure for him to feel an effect. He certainly was feeling an effect now from the wine.
As it happened, Harry was anxious about drinking. When Uncle Vernon ever had one too many, his verbal tirades were a lot more explosive. Being yelled at while inhaling whiskey-scented hot breath didn't exactly endear him to the practice of getting drunk. Harry knew all too well that alcohol could turn volatile people into violent ones. He didn't want to ever become anything like his uncle, not that there was ever a chance of it, but he feared the things he would say or do if he lost control of himself. He said hurtful things when he was angry… had done and said many things he regretted when he lost his temper. Being drunk could only make that more likely to happen.
But soon enough, after a couple of glasses, Harry found himself far from angry. In fact, he had gone the complete opposite way. He felt relaxed and comfortable, a warm feeling of contentment settling over him, warmer than the blanket that was tucked around his legs. His loosen tongue had quickly got to work, but he was yet to say anything embarrassing. The words that had come out of him had not been incriminating at all. He felt safe, at ease, and most importantly, he was happy. For the first time since the wedding, he was enjoying himself.
The reason for his joy wasn't the wine. It was who he was sharing it with. Her interest in him, the way that she listened to him attentively as if he was as informative as one of McGonagall's lectures, he felt… flattered. Her attention sent his heart racing in a way that it never had done before in Hermione's presence. Her idea for them to play some sort of version of '20 questions' should have made him shut down at once. But just being with her, in his drunken state, had apparently temporarily cured his shyness. Her questions had been innocent, normal even, and so he responded in kind as if they were just two teenagers with normal lives, not the two most wanted witch and wizard alive.
Then the time came for the questions to turn more personal.
"What did you want to be when you grew up? When you thought you were a muggle, that is."
Lost in his own thoughts of wondering what the yule ball would have been like if he had Hermione on his arm instead of Parvati were shattered as her question hit home. He raised his eyes from his quiet studying on his wine, seeing Hermione watching him with rapt interest. She was turned, fully facing him, the same way he was lounging. Her features were softly blurred by his poor vision, but he could still make her out. They were only two feet apart. Close enough for him to smell the faint citrus aroma of the wine on her breath. He suspected his breath smelt the same.
For a moment, he considered not answering or making something up. He wasn't all that good at lying on the spot and Hermione would see through it at once. He then realised that the question was fuelled by pure curiosity. Hermione wasn't digging into his past. In fact, it only then hit him that they had a common ground that he didn't share with Ron. She, at one point in her life, had no idea that magic existed. They had both had completely different lives in a world separate from the one that they were currently fighting for.
He chose to answer her honestly.
"I remember being asked that in school. 'What about you, Harry, what do you want to be when you grow up?' and I never answered. I didn't know if there was anything I could be. I wasn't good at anything nor did I enjoy anything."
He could suddenly remember being in a classroom, the spotlight put on him, as the teacher asked him that very question and he clammed up. Dudley and his goons had sniggered at him. He had been too scared to speak. The teacher hadn't pressed him, Miss Clarke - he recalled, but he had to finish the assignment. He handed it in blank and got in trouble for it.
"Really, the only thing I wanted was an escape. I wanted to be anything that wasn't who I was and where I was. I used to dream of flying… of being free, I suppose. Maybe that's why I like flying as much as I do. It reminds me of those dreams. Longing to be free."
He remembered when he told Vernon about his dream with the flying motorbike and nearly caused him to crash the car. He remembered those dreams of weightlessness, of no walls, no rules, no chores.
"I got my escape, at least," he finally said, exhaling out a breath and letting a smile take his pain away. He then shared with her what happened when, at long last, the magical world rescued him in the form of a half-giant and a lot of letters.
It was unlike Hermione to listen to him without interrupting, but she just watched him, her eyes betraying hints of strong emotions that she was trying to hide. Part of him was worried that his anecdote revealed a little too much of what his home life had been like, but he wanted her to know that there was at least some happiness in his life. Being saved by Hagrid was certainly a happy memory, even if he ended up learning that his life was a big, fat lie.
As they began to open up about their muggle childhoods, it struck Harry just how little he knew about Hermione's childhood. All he knew was that her parents were dentists and that she was an only child. Nothing else.
So when he heard about how she, too, felt deep down that she didn't belong. That there had always been a part of her that was otherworldly, a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. He felt something snap in place. They had both gone from being lost and lonely to finding where they truly belonged.
Hermione set her wine glass down and leaned over, picking up the bottle. She shook it.
"Still some left. Do you want a top-up?"
"Sure," he replied, watching her as she filled up both their glasses again.
"Compared to how you received your Hogwarts letter, mine was rather undramatic," Hermione said with a wistful smile. "It was the week after the school term had just finished for summer," she set the bottle down with a rather loud and unnecessary clatter. She winced at the sound, picking up her glass. She settled back on the lounger on her side, her gaze going distant. "I was upstairs in my room, reading something or other, when the doorbell rang. My parents had just come home from work only a few minutes before. They called me down, and said that there was someone to see me." She gave a small smile. "That was the first time I ever met anyone with magic."
"Who was it? Dumbledore?" Harry asked, intrigued. He had no idea that someone had personally introduced Hermione to the magical world, but then he had seen the memory of Dumbledore doing just that for a little orphaned boy who had no knowledge of his magical heritage. A boy that would end up changing the course of history.
"No, it was Professor McGonagall. She explained that I had magic and that I had been accepted to attend Hogwarts. She gave me my letter and explained the contents. She gave us booklets meant to help introduce me to the magical society, but they were pretty worthless. When she told us how to get to Diagon Alley, I asked if there was a bookshop there."
"Of course you did," Harry said, smirking. Her mouth jerked in response.
"The moment I stepped into Flourish and Blotts, it all made sense. The smell of the books, the knowledge… the magic… I was so excited. I was just so wrapped up in it all. I never really noticed that my parents were…miserable."
The smile on Hermione's face dissolved, the traces of mirth draining away as if bleached away. Her eyes hollowed.
"I never really paid attention to how much it hurt them whenever I would choose my world, my friends, over spending time with my parents. When I chose to spend Christmas with you and Ron, not them, or Easter. It was only when I went home Christmas last year that it finally all came out… as these things do when you bottle them up… in an argument." She looked away. "We all said things that we regretted and we reconciled later, but it still… was a big elephant in the room. They had pretty much lost their daughter… I know it sounds a bit melodramatic. They will always be my parents, my family, but we couldn't pretend that we're part of two separate worlds and they simply cannot co-exist. Especially not right now."
Harry opened his mouth to say something, to offer some comfort, but he didn't know what to say. Her eyes then found his and she gave a sigh.
"I'm sorry. I've completely ruined the mood," she said.
"No, please, it's fine," Harry said immediately. He ran over what she had said and felt a tremendous wave of shame. Why had Hermione never told him about this before? He knew why, of course, and it was making him feel sick with himself. He never gave her the impression that she could talk to him. He was walled off, distant, and last year, they spent more time bickering than ever before. He felt awful.
"So much for avoiding depressing topics," Hermione said grimly, then sipped some of her wine. "Maybe it should be you hitting me around the head."
"No… this is important," Harry told her, "that you never mentioned this before… well… I'm pretty mad at myself that I made you feel like you couldn't talk to me. I've been a pretty shitty friend."
Hermione gave a soft, sad laugh, looking away. "Don't be like that, Harry. You had more than enough on your mind. Even more so now! I shouldn't be burdening you with this."
"Yes you should," he said firmly, now frowning at her, "Merlin, Hermione, I've shacked you up with all my problems. You're currently the second most wanted person in our world because of me. The very least I can do is listen to you as a friend! I want to listen to you… and support you."
He reached out his right hand, his fingers brushing her arm as he made a move to put a consoling hand on her. But he used the wrong hand. The cloth of his bandage rubbed against her arm.
Hermione gave a sigh, looking down at his hand that was resting on her arm. She let her hand rest over his. A line creased her brow as she touched his bruised skin. The touch sent a shiver down his spine. Then her eyes flashed up to meet his. With the soft candlelight bathing half her face, the details were cast in sharp relief, but what caught his attention were her eyes. Her pupils were fully dilated in the low light, leaving a ring of brilliant gold around the black. Sparkles of gold twinkled and danced in the depths of her eyes, reflections from the candles that hovered around them.
"I can pull my head out of my arse and make time for you, Hermione, and I'm so sorry I've never made that clear," he said to her earnestly. Hermione looked over to him, her mouth quirking up in the corners. She studied Harry for a moment. The intensity of her stare caused heat to pool in his lower half, making him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Her gaze softened.
She then shuffled her legs around, moving to sit up on the edge of the lounger. Putting her glass down on the table, she then surprised Harry by taking his bandaged hand into both of hers and laid his hand on her lap. He watched, puzzled, his brow creasing as he tried to read what her intentions were.
"Let's make a deal," her voice had gone quiet as she looked down at his hand, her brow creasing.
"A deal?"
"Nothing magically binding. Just an agreement."
Curious, he then matched her, swinging his legs around to move into a sitting position. His back and shoulders burned in protest at the movement, his muscles still not fully recovered. He spilled a bit of wine as he moved but ignored it. As he shifted upright, his bare knees pressed against Hermione's. He didn't pull his injured hand away from Hermione and just watched instead as she cradled it in her lap, holding it so tenderly.
"From now on, if we have something we want to talk about, no matter what it is, we promise to listen to each other and support each other. We might not have our own family, but we have each other and… we're as close as family gets."
Harry's breath caught in his lungs. He swallowed, a little painfully, and shakily leaned over to the table, putting his glass down.
We're as close as family gets.
He reached across with his other hand, taking both of Hermione's smaller hands in his own.
"There is no one I trust more," He bit on his lip a little, feeling a lump growing in his throat. "I promise to always listen to you and support you. And I've been your family the moment I jumped on a troll's back and shoved my wand up its nose for you."
Hermione gave a sniff and a small laugh, her hands shifting as she held his. She nodded, a tear coming loose. Bringing up his right hand, he gently brushed the tear away.
"So we have a deal?" She asked him as he settled back. He let out a breath through his nose.
"We have a deal." He confirmed, his heart feeling like it was trying to jump out of his chest. Hermione watched him for a moment, her eyes roving over his face, as if taking in every detail. His skin prickled at how intently she was studying him. Then her pupils returned to his eyes.
"Okay, so in that case, there's something I need to tell you," she said softly, "and I don't want you to flip out… I want you to listen to what I have to say."
Harry felt instantly on edge, his heart responding in kind, starting to race. He glanced down at the hands he was holding.
It's Hermione. You're safe with her.
He swallowed down his nerves and looked up at her. "I'm listening."
"Good." Then he saw Hermione's own nerves as she grimaced, but she let out her breath, steadying herself, looking intently at him.
"I know about the wand."
For a moment, all there was in his mind was silence. His thoughts scattered as he tried to registered what she meant because she surely didn't mean the wand that was sat in his bedroom, wrapped in cloth. The yew wand that belonged to a wizard called Tom Marvolo Riddle. The wand that had murdered Lily and James Potter. The wand that had nearly killed him, only for the curse to rebound and seal his fate as the Boy Who Lived.
"I worked it out," she told him gently. He registered that there was no horror in her voice, no disgust, "no one told me and… I haven't told anyone. But you deserve to know that… I figured it out."
Her eyes not once left his face. Harry let in a shaking breath, his shock ebbing away a little. In its place, guilt, revulsion and fear took over. He let go of her hands, sickened with himself, unable to hold her gaze. He wanted to run, caught under her concerned and understanding gaze, but he didn't move. He closed his eyes.
"H-how can you stand to look at me… knowing that I held that…thing?" He spat the word. "That I used it."
"Because I know you," her words insistent, "I know you," she poked him in the chest, making him look back up at her. "I don't care what wand you used. Whatever you did, it saved your life and that's all I care about."
There was no hint of unease in her, just concern and… something warm… something that made his chest feel tight and his heart too large.
"You don't know what I did," he said, his voice not as strong now. His emotions draining him.
"I don't," Hermione agreed, "but Remus, Arthur and Kingsley do and I tell you, Harry, those men care for you without a shadow of a doubt. Whatever you did, whatever shame you feel about it, you're alone in feeling it. Kingsley, Remus and Arthur respect what you did immensely. They aren't ashamed of you. In fact, I heard Kingsley say that he respected you as 'a man and a powerful wizard' and that it was your actions that made him take your lead."
Harry was taken back by that. Kingsley said that?
"And Remus, Harry… he loves you. He stayed by your side while you slept, looked after you… he is so proud of you."
Fresh tears formed, his throat tightening. Remus had already said as much. Had even told him that his parents would have been proud of him, not ashamed.
But this was Hermione. He didn't know how she would react if she found out that he stooped as low as casting the Killing Curse. The Darkest of all spells. That he not only used it, but wanted to.
And yet, she was his best friend. She knew him the best and he trusted her. She was still standing at his side, even though she knew what horrors she would face as a consequence. She had saved his life, rescued him from a terrible fate, and was here, by his side, so that he wasn't alone.
So he swallowed and looked down at his hand, making a decision. He pulled at the knot, untying the bandage. Hermione said nothing as he carefully unwound the cloth. The bandage fell away from his hand, fluttering down from the lounger, falling on the floor. The dressing pressed to the wound was spotted with dried blood. Taking a deep breath, he peeled it back, exposing a perfect rectangle slashing down his palm.
Surprisingly, it looked a lot better than it had done. It was scabbed over, brown and red, the surrounding skin not as tight and shiny as it was, but still bruised.
He let out the breath he didn't realise he had been holding. Hermione gently took his hand and inspected the wound, tilting it towards the candlelight.
"The wand did this to you?" Hermione asked softly. Harry raised his head, meeting Hermione's gaze, and then let out a breath.
"Yes," he said quietly. Hermione looked unnerved as she studied his wound. "How…much do you know about what happened after… you left?"
Hermione's lips pursed and she gave him a pointed look.
"After you pushed me away, you mean?"
"I… er… yes," he swallowed, his guilt evident on his face.
"While you were unconscious, I heard a bit about what happened from Kingsley and Remus," she said in a hushed voice as if she didn't want to be overheard, "not much, they wanted to be as respectful as possible. Ron heard more, about how you summoned a wand and saved Remus's life and managed to hold Voldemort back." She swallowed audibly.
"That sounds more impressive than it was," he mumbled, "it wasn't exactly down to any skill I possess or whatever. Our wands… it was all because they are brothers," he said to her. He flexed his right hand, looking down at it, before meeting Hermione's eyes again. "Just like… what happened at the Graveyard… when our wands connected." He throat tightened at the mention of that night. "Only this time… we wielded each others' wands. He had mine and… I had his."
He saw Hermione's eyes grow wider as she realised the implications of what he was saying.
"Voldemort has your wand? It wasn't destroyed?"
"Yes and… no, well… it might be now for all we know," he said bitterly, his stomach clenching horribly at the thought. He closed his eyes, willing himself to not dwell on his wand. It was out of his reach and there was nothing he could do about it. "He was using it as a special punishment all for me and… I hung onto the desperate hope that I might be able to get it from him… somehow." He gave a snort. "I wasn't really in the best frame of mind."
Hermione then gave a sharp intake of breath. He opened his eyes, looking across at her. She wore a very familiar expression, one she wore when her sharp mind connected the dots. Her gaze met his.
"He was holding your wand and you tried to summon it," she stated, "but because you can't summon a wand without first disarming it, your spell went for the wand that wasn't being wielded."
Harry absorbed her words, his mind slower than usual thanks to the alcohol in his system.
"You can't summon a wand when it's being wielded?"
"No, it's impossible. When a wand is wielded by its master, it has a sort of… bond. The only spell that can force a wand from its master is expelliarmus. Unless the master drops it or is forced to do so, a summoning charm would just fail… I suppose." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm surprised you don't know this."
"I… never really thought about it before but it makes sense." He frowned. "The one time I should have disarmed, I didn't."
"Honestly, Harry, I don't think it would have worked," Hermione said. "If you had tried it, I don't think anything would have happened. Expelliarmus specifically relies on wand movement, right? Summoning charms rely on the strength of the intent, remember? Your intent was so strong, you didn't even need a wand to channel it."
Harry gave a soft snort. "Trust me to accidentally do the right thing."
"But what I don't understand is why the wand then attacked you with some sort of curse. I've never heard of wands carrying curses before."
"It wasn't a curse," he told her, and then looked over at the wine glasses, "we… might need the wine for this. It's… a bit unbelievable."
Hermione frowned at delaying hearing the account, but reached over for their glasses. She handed him his and he took it with his uninjured hand. He drank a large mouthful, feeling a heady rush. After he swallowed, he gave a soft sigh.
"Do… do you remember what I said happened when fleeing Voldemort with Hagrid after leaving Privet Drive?" He asked, lowering his glass. Hermione's brows knitted together as she studied him over her glass. "When Voldemort caught up to me and Hagrid, I was barely conscious and my wand swung around to him and shot golden fire at him?"
"I remember," Hermione said quietly, obviously also remembering how she told him that it didn't make sense and didn't believe him.
"When the… yew wand hit my hand, it was that same golden fire," he told her, causing her eyes to widen. She gazed down at his hand, alarmed. "I thought… that maybe it was my wand responding to me. It saved me that one time before. I thought it was doing it again."
Hermione frowned at that.
"You really thought it was your wand? Even though it hurt you?"
"Yeah… and the barmiest thing is that it actually… helped me. I swear, I could feel a bit of magic return to me from the wand. I thought that it was just… an effect of having my wand come back." He looked at her sheepishly. "Like I said, I wasn't in the best frame of mind."
He glanced down at his hand. "I managed to get back up and… well I knew I couldn't run for it. Turning my back to him would have been an immediate death sentence."
"My God, Harry, you… you went to duel?" Her voice was a little breathless.
Lowering his gaze, his heart racing, Harry licked his lips. Nerves squirmed in his gut, his guilt mounting. He then heard Hermione draw in a sharp breath and he looked up at her. The second his eyes met hers and he saw the understanding sparking in the inky depths of her pupils, he knew that she had worked it out. Brilliant Hermione Granger, her mind a masterpiece, found the truth of his pain and guilt.
"You tried to kill him, didn't you?" She asked in a low, soft voice. Her tone was so careful, so… accepting. There was no trace of the reproach he received after he had cast that heinous Sectumsempre curse on Malfoy, no tightening of her lips that would have made McGonagall proud. Instead, there was just concern and understanding. She didn't blame him for his actions. She didn't hate him.
Drawing in a deep breath, holding her gaze, he nodded.
"What happened?" That was all she asked. No 'how could you?' or 'what were you thinking? You know he can't be killed'. He felt a warm glow of appreciation towards his friend, tension parting from him slowly as if exhaling. It was enough to encourage him to continue with the rest.
"He had the same idea and our curses collided," Harry told her. Her brows lifted and then she gave a small nod, her mind piecing the events together faster than he could recount them. "And because our wands share cores, they… connected." He gave a low, bitter laugh. "Our wands saved us from each other. Kind of poetic when you think about it."
Hermione just stared at him, her look turning sad as she sighed. "But you thought you had your own wand…"
He closed his eyes. The moment he did, he saw green light blazing. His eyes snapped open at once, desperately seeking the warm gold light of the candles to chase away the memory. He could feel Hermione's eyes taking in every reaction, reading him, understanding him. So he turned his head to her, his teeth gripping his lip, biting down for a moment, his heart thundering in his chest.
"I didn't realise until after Kingsley showed up and helped with the Death Eaters while I kept Voldemort busy. And when I did…" he gave another harsh, low laugh, meeting Hermione's concerned gaze. "I gave up. I just… stopped. My curse cancelled and I… nearly died." He swallowed, looking away for a moment, eyes closing briefly. "They got me moving and out of there, but it… it was close."
Hermione didn't say anything, but he heard her sympathetic sigh and felt her lean into him, her knees pressing against his, her presence comfort enough. She heard what he had done and stayed at his side. No judgement. No distrust. She listened and supported him.
"You're ashamed of yourself," Hermione said quietly, "but why Harry? You did absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."
He shook his head. "I have every reason to feel shame. I… I attempted murder, Hermione, with… the wand that killed my mum and dad." He sucked in a harsh breath as pain ripped through him as he said those words aloud. Then he gave a sad laugh. "And the worst thing is that it wouldn't have even worked! He's immortal."
"You cast an unblockable attack, Harry. You forced his hand. It was strategic and you managed to think that fast on your feet with less than seconds to act!" Her praise warmed him a little, but he shook his head, dismissing it.
"Sure, I took a moment to realise that offense was the best choice, but I just… lost myself to my rage." He stared at her intently, trying to make her understand. His actions weren't commendable or noble. "I wanted to kill him, Hermione. I wanted him… him to pay for everything that he's done. Not just to me, or mum and dad… but everything."
He felt the tears dewing in his eyes.
"And then when I saw… what I was doing, what wand I was holding…" he heaved in a breath, "it broke me."
Hermione rose from her lounger and immediately brought her arms around him, her soft curls brushing against his face. Her hand rubbed down his back and he gasped out a sob, struggling to control himself.
"It would have broken anyone," she said softly, her voice thrumming through him. He sunk his face into her shoulder, closing his eyes tightly. "You were overwrought, injured, in great pain and anguish. It was the final straw."
He nodded, letting the soothing movements of her hand comfort him. He inhaled the scent of her hair, the same scent of the shampoo he had used himself.
She then moved back, her face incredibly close to his, so close he could feel her breath huffing out of her nose and tickling his face. She put her hands on his face, gently angling his head up to meet her stare.
"You need to forgive yourself," she said quietly, the aromatic scent of her words rolling over him, warm and sustaining.
Was it that easy? Just forget that he currently was in possession of the weapon that destroyed his life? But forgiveness was not forgetting. He had to overcome his feelings, master them, because he needed a wand and, whether he liked it or not, the wand responded to him.
Slowly, he looked down at his hand, studying the wound that would soon become a scar. He would forever be marked, a new scar from that wand. Only this meant something different to the one upon his forehead, it was a sign that he was a survivor out of choice, not just out of circumstance.
"I want to confront it," he told Hermione. "The wand." He drew in a deep breath as Hermione's hands dropped down from his face. "But… I can't do it alone."
"We'll face it together," she said softly. "Do… you want to do it now?"
"Yeah… can you… get it and bring it out?" He asked her, feeling incredibly nervous all of a sudden. He felt a little dizzy and didn't know if it was the sudden rush of adrenaline or the alcohol.
"Of course," she turned from him and she swayed a little as she did. She rested her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She shared a smile with him. "Oh dear… I'm a little tipsy I think."
"Only just a little," he said teasingly.
"I'll be right back," she said.
She was caught in a brief indecision. Then she completely took him by surprise as she stooped down, her curls dropping around his face like a warm gold curtain. He felt her lips press against the middle of his forehead. He went utterly still as if someone had put him in a body-bind. Her lips were warm, soft, and as they parted from his skin, there was a light pop sound. A kiss.
She straightened and slid out from the loungers, taking wide steps to extract herself. Her hair brushed over his head as she left him. He sat frozen not watching her leave, his face red hot. Eventually, he returned to his senses and he lifted his hand, touching the spot where her lips had been.
As her foot made the step up into the dining area of the kitchen, moving from one space to the next, Hermione let out the breath she didn't realise she had been holding. It whooshed out of her, wheezing, and she paused for a moment to collect herself. Her heart was racing, her body electrified as if every nerve was more sensitive to touch all of a sudden. Her skin tingled all over. It was actually slightly uncomfortable. Her lips were the worst. Her tongue touched the skin, the oversensitive skin registering the contact and the taste… the lingering hint of sweat that her lips had picked up from Harry's forehead.
She pulled herself together with great difficulty, not looking back, not dwelling on the impulsive decision to kiss Harry's forehead. She had kissed him once before on the cheek, but that had been different, much different. This had come from a yearning, a desperate need to take away Harry's pain, to touch him… why did she want to touch him so badly? To make him understand that she cared? Was that it? Was the affection purely platonic… not more?
Crossing the kitchen and moving into the darkened villa, Hermione suddenly remembered that Tonks was there. She froze, flushing, hoping that the older witch hadn't heard much of what they had been up to outside. Much less her refilling their wine. She somehow didn't think Tonks would approve of Harry drinking more than she had given them. Especially not when he was not used to drinking at all.
She noticed the candlelight spilling out from the doorway of the living room and heard a faint soft melody. Tonks must be spending the evening in there. Hermione felt a pang of guilt that the witch had spent the evening on her own, likely fretting over what was going on in England, worrying about her husband, her parents, and everyone else. Hermione's guilt increased. Shouldn't they be spending some time worrying about everyone too? They had distracted themselves so successfully, she hadn't spared a thought about the meeting that was happening without their presence.
Tonks told us that we should have the time off. That we should enjoy moments like this. And tomorrow… we'll be back to business when Ron and Remus are back.
Nodding to herself, Hermione headed in the direction of Harry's room. As she did, she froze again.
Tomorrow is my birthday!
She grimaced and sighed to herself. It had been wishful thinking to believe that they could spend the day without talking about horcruxes or Voldemort. How could she even dare to think that they could enjoy something so normal when their situation was anything but? Besides, she had enjoyed some time off, at least. With Harry.
As her hand rested on the door handle to his room, she dwelled on everything that Harry had said. Again, she felt a stab in her heart at how much pain Harry had been carrying, how much guilt. And it was all completely undeserved. She understood that it was a very personal reaction and she couldn't even begin to fathom what he had gone through when he saw the weapon that had killed his parents in his hand. His reaction when he arrived in the rain, his anguish, it all made so much sense now that she knew that he had cast the Killing Curse with the wand.
And there was the matter of the injury the wand had given him. She had made a note to find what she had on wandlore. It caused her some guilt, of course, she had been dismissive of Harry's claims that his wand had acted of its own accord. It was clear now that there was something about their wands, something beyond them sharing cores. Somehow, they were able to retain magic and fire it back. Harry's wand had fired golden fire at Voldemort, then Voldemort's wand did the same to Harry. It… made no sense, but she couldn't deny physical proof.
But then, Harry was the living, breathing proof that not everything in the magical world was explainable. He was the first wizard to survive the Killing Curse. The rules didn't exactly apply to him. Pushing the door open, she searched for the wand that had cast that very Killing Curse that Harry survived as a baby.
Some of the soft candlelight from her summoned candles out on the terrace illuminated Harry's bedroom. She stepped inside, her gaze falling immediately on where the wand was. There was something strange about it, some sort of magnetism that instantly dragged attention to it. Almost as if it carried an aura. She paced over to it, glancing over at Harry's unmade bed. She traced her fingers down the sheets as she walked down the length to the bedside table. In the semi-gloom of the room, she could make out the mokeskin pouch that was still on the table. She was a little surprised that Harry wasn't wearing it.
But then she remembered when Harry had pulled it from under that horrible grey robe.
"They let you keep that?" Ron had asked.
"It wasn't a kind gesture," Harry had then replied. "I couldn't touch it." Hermione cringed as she remembered how Harry had raised his arms, showing them his ruined wrists where he had worn shackles that held his arms above his head for days. She felt bile rise to her throat. The sick bastards didn't just stop at torturing Harry with the Cruciatus Curse, they used psychological methods too. Toyed with him, made him wear his keepsakes without any way of reaching them.
Hermione stood in the dark, reeling, as she reminded herself that all that had happened only four days ago. It felt like it hadn't happened at all, like it was some fiction that her mind conjured up in a dream, or that it happened to someone else and she just heard about it through retellings. But her memories were vivid, as vivid as the injuries on Harry's body. Four days ago, they had rescued Harry. Four days ago, he nearly died while trying to escape. Four days ago… Harry pushed her away with a shield charm, saving her, while he watched through the miasma of Voldemort's temporal form and said goodbye.
Her mind would not stop replaying it. She swung from being intensely furious with Harry from being breathless with relief that he was safe. Now it only mortified her that he thought strategically like a soldier, putting the mission before his own life. He, a teenaged boy, had the reactions of a seasoned veteran. He had no choice but to push her away and keep thinking one step ahead of his enemy. He could never stop fighting. Even now, while drunk, supposedly relaxing, he was taking steps towards his recovery and arming himself for the next battle to come. But underneath all that, he was still a person and he was in such pain. He had lost so much in his life and he still managed to smile, joke, and be a good, caring person despite it all.
She reached for the small, thin bundle of blue cloth that was lurking behind the lamp. The muscles in her arm seized for a moment as it hit her what precisely was in that cloth. The wand of Lord Voldemort. She let out a breath and grabbed it in both her hands, feeling the long, hard object under the cloth. It was strange. She felt nothing from it, no hint of Dark magic, no flash of golden fire.
She thought of what Harry had said in humour. It really was poetic. Two mortal enemies wielding each others' wands as they tried to kill each other, only for their wands to deny them and protect them.
Leaving the bedroom, she strode back into the entrance hall and made her way back to Harry.
"I thought I heard someone," an amused voice spoke from the doorway into the living room. Hermione gasped harshly in shock, then launched into a coughing fit. Tonks laughed. "Sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to give you a fright."
"I didn't see you…" she wheezed out.
"Yeah, well, I can be sneaky when I want to be," she said, making her way to Hermione. She was dressed in a loose robe over a set of pyjama bottoms and a vest. Nightwear, Hermione noted. Tonks's hair was still blonde and curly, but her facial features were her natural ones. Her heart-shaped face, her warm eyes, her button nose. She saw Tonks's gaze sweep down to the cloth-wrapped wand in her hands, then up to her face.
"Harry hasn't taken off again, has he?" Tonks asked her. Hermione stared at her blankly for a moment before remembering what she was referring to. Of course, how could she have forgotten? One of the many impossible acts of Harry Potter. He can apparently levitate himself too.
"No. Gravity is still a rule that he abides by."
Tonks snorted. "He abides by one then. Well, I'll be heading up to bed soon. I suggest you two lovebirds get some shut-eye soonish."
Hermione felt her face ignite at the word 'lovebirds'. Her mouth moved to protest but before she could get the words out, Tonks was talking.
"Remus didn't say when he and Ron will be back tomorrow, but I expect it'll be in the morning. I suggest you take the chance to… um… sleep off the evidence of my bad influence."
Hermione managed to regain the use of her voice.
"I… okay. What is the time exactly? I don't have a watch."
"Just past 12," Tonks said, then gave her a wink, "time flies when you're having fun."
It's past midnight… it's my birthday.
"If you need a hand with getting Harry into bed, just give me a shout, alright? I know he's walking about now on his own, but… don't hesitate to wake me, okay?" Tonks's voice shifted immediately from joking to serious. Hermione pulled out of her thoughts and gave a nod.
"I will," she said, her voice a little rough. Tonks grinned at her.
"I know he's in good hands," her grin was just a little too knowing for Hermione's liking. "I'll leave you both to it. Enjoy your night off."
She rested her hand on Hermione's shoulder, the touch affectionate and warm, then she turned, heading back into the living room. Hermione set off again, her thoughts going back to Tonks referring to her and Harry as 'lovebirds'. Her face was still hot.
Putting all her focus on how she was holding one of the most infamous wands in magical history was just enough to distract her from thoughts of Harry. Hermione was an exceptionally focused individual. Too focused, some might argue. But after consuming a fair amount of wine, she was distracted. The way Harry had taken her hands in his especially distracted her. And the steady 'thrump thrump' of his heart that she could hear when she hugged him, the warmth of his body, the broadness of his shoulders and the rough scratch of his stubble…
I'm holding Lord Voldemort's wand.
The reminder was enough to bring her back to task. She stepped out of the kitchen, back outside. The soft earthy scent of the night rushed over her, cool and collecting. She immediately saw, however, that Harry wasn't on his lounger. Both their spots were vacant. It didn't take long for her to see where he was, but her breath froze in her throat. Harry was standing, his form illuminated by the candles, his back to her. He was at the terrace wall, looking out at the view.
She quelled the panic that he had walked unassisted. He had managed a trip to the bathroom and back earlier without a problem. She took a moment to take in his solitary form. His hair was ruffling in the breeze, the moonlight shining on his raven-black hair. She took in the way that he was standing, his ankles crossed, his elbows leaning on the wall.
When she made her way towards him, he heard her approach and turned. His glasses flashed in the reflection of the candlelight. He must have put them back on while she had gone.
"I figured it might be best to do this standing," he said, raising his voice so she could hear him clearly.
She joined him at the wall and let out a sigh of awe as she took in the view. The moon was up now, three quarters full, and was bright enough to light up the landscape. The dark shapes of the shore were clear and the sparkling yellow lights of the few homes that clung to the rugged coastline. What stole the scene was the rippling reflection of the moon on the inky sea. It took her breath away as she took it all in before turning to Harry.
The look on his face brought her starkly back to the fore. His eyes were upon the object she held in her hands. His jaw was clenched tight. She lifted her hands, presenting the wand on her palms and held it out to him. As she did, Harry drew in a sharp breath. He turned his face towards the sky for a moment.
"I saw Tonks," she told him, hoping to give him a reprieve from what he was making himself face. Harry huffed out a sigh. "She… um… reminded me that we should go to bed at some point before Ron and Remus get back."
"That sounds rather responsible of her," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed upon the sky. Hermione went to follow his gaze. It was a clear night and the sky was spangled with stars. When she saw the brightest star, she knew that Harry was keeping his gaze fixed upon it. The Dogstar. Sirius.
"It does," she said and looked down at the object in her hands. It hit her, the poignancy of what she was doing. Presenting the Boy-Who-Lived with the wand that made him famous. But this wasn't that, it was her helping her friend overcome his trauma, her being supportive. Harry was her friend. He was Harry. A boy with feelings, with a heart and who hurt like anyone else.
Harry slowly turned to face her, his feet planting on the terracotta tiles. She raised her head. Away from the candles, his face was cast in shadow, but she could make out enough of his expression. It was the Harry Potter determination, the firm set of his jaw, the hard look in his eyes. He stepped up to her, his warmth enveloping her. She only noticed it then that the warmth was his magic. It had a faint metallic scent.
He didn't speak as he reached out, his fingers pulling at the cloth to unravel the wand. Hermione was holding her breath, watching Harry's face, seeing the tension.
When he revealed the wand, the tension drained from his face as his expression was just slack as he looked down at the wand. Hermione dared to follow his gaze.
It was just so… normal. A thin stick of pale wood. There were some etchings at the base, a raised lip around the handle. It was clean of blood at least. When she had last seen it, Harry's blood lingered on the handle from where it had seared into his flesh.
"If you are watching over me, mum and dad, please forgive me," Harry said under his breath, so quietly, Hermione barely heard him. He hovered his right hand over the handle of the wand. Hermione glanced up at Harry and saw his green eyes sparkling with tears.
"They will always love you, Harry," she told him. His eyes flicked up to hers and she knew, as their eyes met, that she had said the right thing. He let out a breath, tension leaving, and plucked the wand up from Hermione's hands.
There was a noticeable stiffness in Harry's fingers and a tremor that pulsed through his hand as he willed the sore muscles into action. He manouvred the handle on the wand into the wounded palm of his hand his fingers curled around it, his entire body tense. For a second, neither of them moved, both staring at the wand in Harry's hand.
All of a sudden, the wind picked up around Harry, twisting around him in a whirlwind. Harry gave a cry of shock and stepped back, gripping the wand. Hermione jumped into action, dropping the cloth as she snatched her wand from her pocket, but then she froze, her mouth falling open. The air around Harry was sparkling, golden specks of magic glittering around him, surrounding him. The alarm on Harry's face was gone as he stared around at the magic around him, his eyes lit with wonder. His shirt and hair were billowing as his magic disturbed the air around him.
She knew what this was. She had seen it, felt it, when she herself first held her wand. All those years ago when she stood in Ollivander's shop and he pressed the vinewood wand into her hand.
"It appears we have found a wand that chooses you, Miss Granger," Ollivander had said, smiling as the air sparkled with magic. Her magic.
And now she was watching the same thing happening, impossibly, outside of Ollivander's wand shop. Then it calmed, the wind dropping, the glow that had emanated around him dimmed, leaving him in the dark once again.
Hermione's heart was racing, her breathing heavy as she stared at Harry, trying to wrap her mind around what she had seen. Then Harry's wide eyes met hers and he let out a breathy, stunned laugh.
"The wand chooses the wizard," Harry choked out. His brow creased as he looked down at the wand in his hand. Hermione stepped up to him, closing the distance. She rested her hand on his, curling her fingers on where he was gripping the wand. His skin was hot, too hot, where it was inflamed and likely very sore. He glanced, noticing that Hermione was holding her own wand. He dropped his hand from hers and looked upwards.
Harry flexed his wrist and a stream of red sparks shot up, as vivid as rubies, twinkling above like silent fireworks. The light of his spell lit his face up, illuminating the smile on his face, the almost child-like glee of being reunited with his magic. The tension was gone from his face as he studied the sparkles, watching as they fell back to earth, disappearing. He lowered his head, his eyes finding Hermione as the last red spark dissolved away.
He let out a low sigh and moved close. His left hand came around her and he, for the first time in a long time, embraced her. He initiated it, his arms steady and firm he pulled her into his presence. Hermione immediately brought both arms around him, resting her head against his chest. She leaned in as he took a deep breath, the warmth of his body soothing through the cloth of his shirt. She breathed in the scent of him, felt the thuds of his heart beating so close to her face. He then brought his hand up her back, rubbing it up and down.
"Thank you," he said, his voice so low and sensual. She lifted her head from his chest, finding that they were so close, their noses were almost touching. Half of Harry's face was cast in the moonlight, his glasses leaving a circular shape on his cheek. His fringe ruffled in the breeze. Then he raised his chin bringing his face close to hers and his lips pressed on her forehead.
Hermione's fingers at his back gripped his shirt tightly and she pressed herself closer to him. She closed her eyes, shivering at the intimacy, at the gesture, at everything that had just transpired.
Harry then dropped his head down, pressing his forehead to hers, and sighed deeply. He lifted his right arm and closed the hug, holding the wand behind her back.
"It's past twelve," Hermione found herself saying. "It's my birthday… and this is a pretty good start."
She felt Harry's laugh in his chest, vibrating from his body to hers. He then gave a hum. Hermione opened her eyes, peering up. She could see the indent of Harry's dimple as he smiled down at her.
"This is nice," Harry agreed, "you do give the best hugs."
"I believe this is your hug. You started it, therefore it's yours," she said, smiling, "Is this my birthday present?"
"I'm sorry I didn't wrap it," Harry replied, but then he pouted. "As if all I'd do for your birthday is a hug? I have a plan… but it's a surprise."
Hermione moaned. "I hate surprises."
"I know," Harry said, his smile widening, "but you're the brightest witch of our age so the chances are you'll figure it out before I hatch my devious scheme."
"You are very devious," she remarked and Harry laughed again. His arms shifted around her and Hermione felt another shiver racing through her body. She couldn't believe how good it felt to hold Harry close and be held by him. The closeness… it was beyond anything she had experienced. She had no idea what it was, what this new bond between them was becoming. Sparks of guilt went through her. What if this was something more? What if her feelings for Harry were more than friendship?
It was something that she had never felt before. Not with Viktor, not with Ron. It was like…
Home.
Harry felt like coming home. He was the warm, comforting fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. He was the sustaining glee of a raw bubble of laughter. He was safety, strength and support. And he was where the heart is… just like home.
Joy rushed through Hermione as the dots connected in her mind. She took in a steadying breath, the emotions making her giddy and light-headed. She took her right arm away from where she was hugging Harry and pointed it downwards. Hermione knew she didn't need to summon forth a happy memory. Her current joy was enough.
"Expecto Patronum!"
As bright as the moon, her shimmering otter swished from her wand. Dazzling silver light blazed, illuminating them both. Harry gave a gasp and she glanced at him, his expression one of awe and delight. Hermione could feel the surge of the patronus's protection, the magic tingling along the hairs of her arms.
Then her otter threaded through her legs, making her giggle. There was no physical contact, just the heat and electricity of her magic, sparking through her at the touch. Her patronus then did the same to Harry, making him laugh, grinning.
"Your patronus is keen." He told her, then met her eyes. He then shifted his arm from behind Hermione. his grin sobering a little. An intense look came over him, his jaw setting, then he performed the arching swish of the charm at Hermione's back.
"Expecto Patronum."
Light flashed from behind her. She didn't have to look around to know that Harry's magnificent patronus was standing behind her. She turned her face from where she was resting her forehead against Harry's to see Prongs striding to their side, his crown of antlers a stunning sight.
"Hi dad," Harry said.
Then Prongs paced away, joining her patronus, as they went to patrol, searching for dementors to banish. She and Harry stood, holding each other, watching their magic at work.
Harry turned back to her. She could see every detail of his face now, but in the starkness of the patronuses, colour was washed out of his features. His eyes appeared dark and complex. She felt his breath on her face, ragged, his arms were shifting a little as he held her in his gaze, his eyes then searching her face, a line creasing in his brow.
His lips parted and he let out a breath. Where Harry was a few inches taller than her, his breath ruffled her hair and felt warm along her scalp. Tingles went down her spine, warm rushing through her, and her eyes went to Harry's mouth.
Impulsivity wasn't a trait that Hermione Granger was known for, but it sometimes happened. Her fist flying into Draco Malfoy's face in third year was one such time she showed it. A feathery barrage sent at Ron Weasley after his careless trampling on her heart also fit under the category.
Hermione bringing her free hand up to thread through Harry's unruly Harry was certainly falling under impulsivity. As was her angling his head down so that she could reach up, rising on her tip-toes, so that their noses touched. She could feel his erratic breaths, his nerves, his magic a hot, heady scent like hot metal.
"Hermione…"
He whispered her name like it was a spell. Perhaps it was, because Hermione was caught in it, She lifted up that small distance and captured the last syllable of her name in her own lips before pressing them against Harry's.
His entire body trembled. His arms tightened around her and a soft, low moan tickled in his throat. Hermione kept her fingers in his hair as she kept her lips on his, then she dropped herself down, running her fingers through his hair. His soft, messy black hair that stuck up in all directions.
Harry's eyes were wide, his lips parted, and he stared down. He then let out a sigh, the tension leaving him, and a look unlike anything she had seen in his eyes smoldered. Maybe he gave that look to Ginny once, she didn't know, but now it was all for her.
"This is where I belong," Hermione said, lowering her hand from his hair, "with you."
Harry cancelled his patronus charm and moved both his hands up to Hermione's face. She didn't even flinch when that wand grazed her cheek. He held her face in his hands and brought her close to him.
"I can't do this without you," he said to her, "I… don't know what the future holds. If there is a future. But… whatever… there is for me, I can't do this alone." He kissed her forehead and she held in her emotions as they roared through her.
"You're never alone. And I'm never leaving you," she said, looking up at his chin. He gave a moan at her words and then rested his cheek on hers. "So don't you ever push me away again, Harry Potter."
Hermione's patronus fluttered into darkness behind them as her attention focussed wholly on Harry. He then moved his face down, his lips brushing over hers.
"I think we're in a lot of trouble," Harry said huskily.
Harry's kiss was nothing like the soft, careful kiss Hermione placed on his lips. His lips parted and drew her into a deep, hungry kiss that sent all her thoughts spiralling. Her hands immediately pressed into Harry's back, her body reacting on carnal impulse. Her lips moved in tandem with his and then her eyes flew open.
This wasn't platonic. This wasn't reason. There was no logic in the fire that pooled in her midriff. Nor in the low groan that rumbled in her throat. A sound that would have embarrassed her if she could think of anything else. There was nothing but the incredible feeling of Harry's kiss, of his breath entering her mouth, his steady hold on her face.
It lasted only a few seconds until Harry drew back and panted, dropping his hands from her face. She released him too and found herself breathing equally as hard. She looked at him, watching as he brought his fingers to his lips, his eyes drinking in her lips as he did. He then ran a hand through his hair, agitated, unnerved… in conflict with himself.
Like sinking into a cold bath, the realisation of what just happened washed through her. They had kissed. She and Harry had kissed. They took that step, moved from friendship into waters that were complicated, deep and dangerous.
Oh my God. We kissed…
Hermione gasped, putting her hand on the wall. She touched her breast with her other hand, heaving in lungfuls of air to calm herself down.
"Hermione… I…" Harry started to speak. He took his glasses off, rubbing at his face. "Merlin… I'm so… sorry. I took it too far."
"I believe I started it." She said a little hoarsely. She sighed, turning. God, I need a drink. "Accio wine glass." Her glass zoomed from the table where she had left it and it sprung to her empty hand.
Harry watched her, looking at the glass that she had summoned. "You did." He then looked up at her face. "You did." He repeated. "Why?"
"I got… caught up in the moment, I guess," she said haltingly, torn between wanting to run as far from Harry as she could and kissing him again. "Let's… let's tone it down a bit on the kissing and hugging for the moment."
"Sure…" she saw the uncertainty in Harry's gaze and his teeth trailed on his lip. "This went complicated fast."
She laughed. "We certainly don't like to make things easy for ourselves."
"No… no, we don't," Harry ran his hand through his hair again, then wordlessly summoned his own wine glass. With unerring reflexes, Harry snatched the glass from the air without looking. Hermione grew aware that she felt sobered by the whole experience, or at least she felt clearer. The reality of what had happened was hitting her.
She fancied Harry. It was undeniable now. And his kiss told her that it was mutual. But they couldn't do this… it was a forbidden, unspoken rule that had hung between them for years. Friends, best friends, but nothing more.
It hung between them yet neither of them had questioned why. Was it all because of the rumours about them being together in fourth year that set them against it? They disputed the rumours so often they just believed that it could never be. They remained as close as two people could be without things being romantic, a friendship that, in turn, jeopardised the relationships they pursued. Cho had been jealous of her when she was with Harry. Viktor, too, had been wary of Harry. And Ron?
Ron.
Hermione drank her wine, sinking into silence. She saw Harry leaning against the wall, his face looking a little ashen. He slipped the wand into his pocket and did as she did, sipping at his drink quietly.
"What are we going to do about this?" Harry asked suddenly. Hermione stirred from her contemplations and looked across at Harry. "We owe it to ourselves to talk this through… but maybe when we're a little less drunk and… calmer." He bit his lip, gazing at Hermione. "I really want to kiss you again. I'm sorry, but there it is. Bloody hormones."
"Whatever we do, there's Ron to think about as well."
Harry groaned. "Fuck."
"Let's just… keep it to ourselves until we can figure it out," she said as calmly as she could. "I… Harry, just so you know, I… nothing's changed, okay? We're still close and whatever we are, that's not going to change."
Harry gave a nod. "Good. That's… good." He drank some more wine. "Bloody hell, whose idea was it to get drunk again?"
"That will be Tonks."
Harry grinned at that. "I don't recall Tonks refilling the wine bottle."
Hermione felt her face flush at that and she drank a little more, seeing that she was getting close to the end of her glass. Probably for the best, she thought to herself, a little dazed that she had let her feelings get the better of her. She understood now what it meant when you lost your inhibitions when drunk.
Harry finished his first and sighed, turning to look at the view once more. She caught him looking up at the stars, his face relaxing a little as he sought whatever solace he took from gazing up at his Godfather's namesake. Hermione then drained her glass and heaved a sigh in response. The sound caught Harry's attention and he glanced at her glass.
"We should probably turn in," he said, a little sheepish, "before, you know, we start tearing each others' clothes off or something."
"Harry!" Her face flamed.
He laughed. "Kidding!"
"I never thought you would be such a… a…" she waved her hand, trying to find the right word. Scoundrel? Menace?
"Flirt?"
"That was hardly flirting. That was being lewd."
"You mentioned the colour of my pants earlier. I'm not the only one with suggestive thoughts." Harry gave a very uncharacteristic giggle that reminded her strongly of the young boy Harry had once been before loss robbed him of his innocence.
"Yes, well…maybe going to bed is a good idea. Come on." She reached him, taking him under the elbow. He gave another giggle.
"I'm fine, 'Mione. I can get there on my own." He insisted, but he was grinning at her escorting him. She shot him a side-along look.
"What did you just call me?"
"Um… Hermione?" he said, puzzled.
"No you didn't, you called me 'Mione'," she told him, then took the empty glass out of his hand before he dropped it. He was still smiling, clearly not caring that she was bossing him around all of a sudden. She found herself smiling back, affection surging through her. It meant everything that they could still tease and joke around each other. It wasn't awkward.
Did that mean that it was meant to be?
She set that thought aside. Things were complicated enough as it was.
It was dark and quiet inside the villa. Tonks must have already gone upstairs to bed. Harry helped her bring in the candles and they vanished the empty bottle of wine, not wanting to leave any evidence of their misdemenours. It only took them seconds now both armed with wands.
Things between them were a little sober and quiet until they stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Harry pulled her to a halt before she went on up.
"Before… you go," he stepped up to her, his arm going around her waist. He brought her into a hug. "I had a really nice time, even if we did land ourselves in a heap of trouble. And just so you know, if you want to forget about it and… just remember it as drunken foolishness… then that's fine."
Hermione turned, seeing his serious expression. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him.
"We'll talk about it in the morning," she assured him, "now get some sleep before you pass out."
He smiled. Before he drew away to his own room, his lips ghosted on her cheek, placing a careful, chaste kiss that told her that things were not a matter of 'drunken foolishness' to the Boy-Who-Lived. Not for one moment. Her gaze met his alluring green eyes and she caught a trace of a tear in one of his eyes, sparkling in the semi-gloom.
"Goodnight… and Happy birthday, Mione."
AN: So it finally happened! I hope it was worth the wait!
The glowy moment with the wand is meant to symbolise it changing its allegiance and choosing Harry. I thought it might help Harry cope with the emotional turmoil of wielding the weapon that killed his parents.
Are you ready for things to start to get moving?