Day Eleven

Harry had realized sometime over the course of the last week and a half that he was actually grateful that he hadn't been in love, or really even aware of his attraction to Hermione while they had been at Hogwarts. Because if he had, he could now say with a great deal of certainty that he would have been so distracted that he would have ended up dead, and Lord Voldemort would be ruling Britain.

He'd spent two hours the night before watching Hermione watch a film. Then he'd sat through two more hours at a cafe with Emily- who was apparently not a fangirl, because Hermione seemed to approve of her; Ron- who was going to to have a very painful and possibly permanently debilitating accident on their next auror mission; and Hermione- who had decided to enact her revenge for his little stunt in front of the movie theatre by sitting with her hand on his thigh. And she didn't place it right above his knee like she did at the pub with Dudley. No, she went much higher, and occasionally she would- oh so innocently- adjust her hand.

Add to that, sometime over the course of the evening, she'd undone one or two extra buttons on her blouse and he had trouble even pretending to pay attention to the conversation. He truly believed that normally he would have had more self-control. But over the years he'd erected a series of barriers when it came to Hermione out of respect, self-preservation, and what he was beginning to suspect was a lot of denial. To have them torn down so quickly, to suddenly have been essentially given permission to desire her, it was almost overwhelming. It was thoroughly enjoyable but a lot to manage.

He wasn't sure when, exactly, Ron the Traitor had caught on, but he'd spent at least an hour looking like he was about to bust a gut trying not to laugh at Harry's predicament. And then on the walk home Hermione had grown suspiciously drowsy and practically slammed the door to her flat in his face in a flurry of 'we'll talk tomorrows' and 'sleep wells' and one kiss on the cheek.

He knew that he could have pushed her, and insisted that he needed to talk about what was going on with Dudley right then. But that just wasn't true, he'd gotten permission from the Minister for Amelia to be told about magic, and he was just waiting for his cousin to contact him. More than that, he wanted to be clear headed when they discussed how he felt about that entire situation. So, he decided to let her have her fun and take the night to regroup.

He'd told her that he thought the fact that she was a badarse was hot. And that was true. But he'd never really had her ruthless streak aimed at him before. It was still hot. But it was also frustrating. However, he knew that the stupidest thing he could do was let her know that she'd gotten to him. She'd never let him live it down.

So, when she opened her door to him that evening he told himself that he was prepared, that lasted for perhaps a handful of seconds. As a rule Hermione didn't wear Gryffindor colors, she didn't like the constant remarks, and she'd told him that she wanted to be more than just her blood status and her school house, which was difficult when she was so well known for both. He understood completely, he was just fortunate that his clothing choices didn't receive the same scrutiny hers did.

Which made it a shock to see her in a deep crimson cocktail dress which he determined was tighter and lower cut than anything he could remember seeing her wear before as he leisurely perused her body. She looked beautiful…and terrified, he realized when his eyes finally reached her face.

"What's wrong?" He blurted, terror that she'd changed her mind about them seizing his heart.

She made a face and waved him inside. She turned around to walk ahead of him and he rolled his eyes at his own lack of eloquence. He followed her and grabbed her hips, pulling her back towards him. She squealed in surprise but relaxed against him when she hit his chest.

"You look beautiful," he murmured into her ear

"Thank you. You look good too," she reached around behind her, grabbed his tie and playfully tugged on it.

"I assume we need to talk though?" He asked.

She nodded.

He didn't let her go, just maneuvered them both to her sofa and pulled her down next to him. "Okay, so what's going on? Are you okay?" He looked around, belatedly realizing that he probably should have been concerned about her safety before anything else. There were still a lot of people out there who wanted her dead.

"I'm fine, Harry." She bit her lip.

"Fine, but worried about something?" He surmised.

She nodded and looked at him, her eyes were bright and her face began to color. Harry did his best to ignore the swooping feeling in his chest so that he wouldn't grin like an idiot at her. And then all of a sudden she averted her eyes.

"We're going to see my parents tonight." She said, carefully not looking at him, though she didn't turn her face away.

"That's right," he answered carefully.

"It's just that," she bit her lip. "If you keep touching me the way that you've been touching me lately, they're going to have questions."

For a moment Harry panicked, but for the first time he counted himself lucky to have so much experience with actual life threatening situations, because he was able to forcibly shove that away and think. He knew Hermione and the way that she was behaving right now was not a rejection. She also wouldn't toy with him intentionally, not over something that mattered. Her sudden bashfulness was puzzling but still, the best thing to do was to keep her talking and she would eventually just tell him what was going on.

"Okay. I hadn't thought about that," he admitted, he had been far too preoccupied with being thrilled to worry about anything at all, really. "Is that a problem?"

"Only in that I'm not sure they'll be particularly polite."

"I think you know me well enough to know I can handle myself, and I can handle their questions, whatever they are. I don't have anything to hide," he responded without hesitation.

Her eyes shot back to his. "Oh Harry! I wasn't doubting you, I didn't mean to imply that at all!" She reached up probably to play with her hair, then seemed to think better of it. "Merlin, I'm messing this up!" She shook her head but she was smiling. She looked adorably frazzled.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Just tell me what's on your mind, Hermione."

"That's the thing," she threw her arms in the air, then jumped up off of the sofa and turned to face him. "I don't know how to do that without sounding like a ridiculous sixteen year old girl!"

"Well," he pursed his lips to hide his amusement, "I knew you when you were sixteen. I liked you then and I didn't think you were ridiculous at all. Mostly," he corrected quickly, because even Hermione had sometimes baffled Harry as a teenager, and she knew it.

She laughed. "Well, when I was sixteen, you were fifteen. I probably seemed ancient and incredibly wise in comparison, but I assure you, I was ridiculous."

"Well, now I have to see it," he raised his eyebrows, challenging her.

"Okay, but I want it noted for the record that I'm aware I'm being ridiculous." She insisted, setting her jaw.

He leaned forward but his eyes didn't leave her face. "Noted."

"This," she gestured rather manically between the two of them, "this thing that's happening. It makes me so happy," she started to pace, "so happy! And giddy, and silly! And all I want to do is sit around and think about you which is ridiculous! You're my best friend, I already know everything about you, but I can't stop thinking about you!" She threw her hands up in the air again. "Crookshanks probably thinks I'm going crazy. I probably spent an hour last night in bed just smiling at my ceiling before I could even go to sleep." She spun around but covered her face with her hands and her voice took on a decidedly melancholy tone. "I don't want them to ruin that with their questions. I know that they'll mean well. But I like having this precious little secret with you and I just want to keep it safe forever." She slumped slightly into her hands which were still cradling her face.

Harry stared at her, certain he was gaping unattractively. He was generally considered to be one of the most powerful wizards in Europe, both magically and politically. But it had always just been a rather annoying fact of his life, he'd definitely never understood those who sought that kind of power intentionally. Because he'd never before experienced the rush, the sheer headiness of it until this moment when his best friend stood in front of him and handed it to him on a silver platter.

And it was something. The kind of something that could destroy civilizations.

The difference was that he'd walk into the Department of Mysteries and throw himself through the Veil before he ever used it against her. No, he wanted to bathe in it with her. But the fact that she'd trusted him so completely to give him that kind of power over her, to put herself in a position where he could break her? He'd never recover. He never wanted to.

He jumped up off the sofa and took her into his arms, crushing her to him. She wrapped her own arms around his waist and squeezed back. "I know exactly what you mean, I feel the same way," he spoke into her hair, "but I have a lot of objections to the term 'ridiculous.'"

She squirmed until he loosened his embrace enough that she could look up at him. "Really?" She asked, hopeful and disbelieving. Her eyes were bright again and this time he recognized the emotions he saw in them: joy and more than a little bit of adoration.

"Yes." He nodded. "So you tell me what you want to do. We can just act like everything is the way it was when we were, say, at Hogwarts, and keep this to ourselves for a while longer. Or we can act the way that we want to, and we'll deal with it as it comes."

She bit her lip and he wondered if he was going to have to ask her to stop doing that, for his sanity. Or if he was going to beg her to never stop, because sanity was overrated.

"I don't want to pretend," she confessed, almost like it was a shameful thing.

"Then we won't."

"That's it?"

"I have confidence in us."

Somehow her eyes shown even brighter. "Me too."

They stood there for a long time just reveling in this ridiculous thing, because as much as Harry objected to the term, it was Hermione who was going to have to come up with a better one. Until she eventually raised her wrist so that he could see the bracelet that, as far as he knew, she'd worn every day since he'd given it to her on the first day of Advent. Now it bore, along with the snowflake charm, a tiny nutcracker replica.

"This was apropos for today," she said, indicating the new charm.

"I thought so."

"You put a lot of thought into that calendar, Harry."

"It really wasn't that hard. I had fun."

She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

"Shall we go to dinner, and then face your parents?" He asked grandly, he didn't want to focus on what he'd done for her, he'd gotten so much in return without wishing or even hoping for it, he didn't think he could bear any more thanks in this moment.

She grinned at him. "We shall."

Their meal was enjoyable, like thousands of meals they'd shared before, except for the underlying feeling of anticipation, delicious anticipation. Every smile held a little more meaning, every touch more promise. By the time they were finished and headed towards the London Coliseum, Harry was certain he could handle anything, be it Hermione's parents or the rise of another Dark Lord.

They met her parents outside just as they had Ron and Emily the evening before, though he wasn't foolish enough to do anything that would cause this couple to ask questions. He was, however, certain that they would notice the way Hermione was clinging to his hand. That wasn't completely new, but he didn't think they'd ever been so tactile in front of her parents before.

The Grangers were polite, as always. And, as always, it was rather disconcerting to be around them. Not because he disliked them, but because in looks and mannerisms they were so obviously Hermione's parents, but in demeanor they were incredibly reserved. He had never gotten accustomed to the way that two people who so reminded him of his best friend at first glance, could also be so different from her.

It had never really bothered him before. After the war and what Hermione had to do to keep them safe, he understood their reticence with magical people, and with him in particular. Though Hermione had never given any indication that they had a problem with him specifically. But now he felt the vast distance he would need to cross to gain their approval, and he understood better what Hermione had been trying to explain earlier that evening. But he tried not to let it worry him. He did have a great deal of confidence in himself and Hermione together, they would figure it out.

The ballet was interesting. Hermione was the most interesting part, of course, and her excitement was catching. But he appreciated the new experience, and he read the summary of the plot in the playbill that Hermione helpfully pointed out before it began, so he was able to follow along without much trouble. And as an athlete himself, and the ex-boyfriend of a professional quidditch player he could appreciate what these dancers were capable of, and without magic. He didn't think it would become his new favorite activity or anything, but if Hermione wanted to attend a ballet every so often, he didn't think he would mind accompanying her.

When it was over they made their way outside and stopped to say their farewells to the Grangers.

"Harry, thank you for thinking of us tonight," Mrs. Granger said as they shook hands, "why don't you accompany Hermione to brunch with us tomorrow, if you're not busy."

Harry remembered somewhere in the back of his mind that Hermione had mentioned she would be spending Sunday with her parents this week. He glanced at Hermione but she was just staring at her mother.

"You're welcome, of course. And I'd like that Mrs. Granger, thank you."

"Harry! You have plans at the Burrow," Hermione exclaimed, apparently deciding that now was the time to jump in.

Harry was absolutely certain that he saw the Grangers bristle.

He looked at Hermione. "Sundays at the Burrow are casual, you know that. I can miss this week to have brunch with you and your parents. I'd like to," he added with emphasis, turning back to the Grangers.

"Oh that's right, we can take you to the Club, that'll be a nice change," Mr. Granger said with a nod.

It took Harry a moment, but he interpreted that to mean that unlike most of Hermione's other friends, they could safely take him out into the muggle world. The jab had not been particularly subtle and Harry saw it for the challenge that it was, but more than that, he could practically feel the anxiety radiating off of Hermione.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. "I'll see you tomorrow then?" He asked her parents.

They both nodded and luckily Hermione decided not to object further, but just bid her parents a good night, and the two of them set off towards an apparition point.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, without looking at him when they were out of earshot.

"I suppose I didn't, but I wanted to."

"Harry-"

"I know that you always have my back, love," he cut her off gently. "But if we are going to do this, you don't need to be worrying about protecting me from your parents, okay?"

She let out a long breath and he dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her, though they kept moving, if rather awkwardly. "Hermione," he said with a smile, "you could tell me you had secret ambitions to become some kind of Dark Lady, and I'd probably just ask what I could do to help. I mean, we've already established that I think it's hot when you do things like feed our enemies to a herd of angry centaurs."

She snorted.

"My point is," he continued, "I can take whatever you throw at me, including your parents. So, we'll have brunch at their club. No big deal."

"Right. No big deal."