A/N: Not much to say here … we're nearing the end of this crazy story!
Disclaimer: When I grow up, I want to be J.K. Rowling. She owns all the characters. What the characters do is all in my head.
"Don't be nervous," Harry instructs Hermione as they walk slowly towards the house. He looks over his shoulder. Hermione is taking very, very small steps. Baby steps. He tries not to smile at the thought.
"How can I not be nervous? This was a terrible idea. I should have just stayed home and watched the television all night."
"Yes, I'm sure that would have been quite entertaining," Harry says, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. "I'm sure this will be fun." He waits until Hermione reaches him. She stops, hesitating. He presses his hand on her back, taking care not to push too hard as he steers her forward. They reach the lopsided door, and Harry knocks.
Several moments later, Ginny opens it. She's dressed in a deep green robe, her hair pulled into an elaborate bun at the top of her head. Her eyes are glowing and her cheeks are flushed.
"You came!" she cries out enthusiastically. She embraces Hermione and kisses both her cheeks. Ginny turns to Harry, and Hermione tenses, scolding herself for feeling so bloody jealous.
Ginny smiles, and Harry smiles, too. He leans forward and kisses her cheek very quickly. Hermione can feel his lips on her own cheek, and her skin is burning. "Happy birthday, Ginny," Harry says.
And that's it.
Nothing else.
There's no sexual tension, no chemistry, no nothing.
Harry knows it. Ginny knows it.
"Thank you," she says sweetly, opening the door wider to allow them in. "You can just—well, throw your coats wherever. I have to go tell Mum you're here—she'll be so excited to see you!" Ginny grins and spins away from her friends.
Harry takes off his cloak and turns to Hermione. Her arms are folded firmly across her chest, and she's biting her lip. Harry frowns at her, and she laughs. "All right," she sighs, shedding the cloak.
He can't help but stare.
She's wearing the necklace he and Ron gave to her for her twentieth birthday. Actually, Harry had chosen it, from a Muggle store, and Ron had had a witch jewellery store to add a few final touches to the simple glass and pearl necklace.
That feels like a lifetime ago. A lifetime when his thoughts on the jewellery around Hermione's neck weren't associated with the desire to kiss that neck.
Harry clears his throat. "Shall we?" He offers his arm out.
Hermione nods, tucking her own into his and squeezing his forearm tightly.
"You look beautiful," Harry adds quietly, looking away and blushing slightly as they walk into the main room.
Ron waves them over, a Firewhiskey clasped in his hand. He studies Hermione. "You look great." He looks over at Harry. "You look great together," he says, emphasising the last word and winking at Harry. Hermione, luckily, doesn't catch it, because Mrs Weasley has just hurried up to them. She plants a kiss on Hermione's cheek, then Harry's.
"Oh, you
look positively wonderful, Hermione! And you, too, Harry! Oh, this is
so exciting! When is the baby due?"
But before Hermione can
answer the question, others have begun to swarm around them.
"So, Hermione, when is the baby due?"
"Have you popped the question yet, Harry?"
"Oh you look fantastic, Hermione, positively wonderful!"
"You've got yourself a beautiful girl there, Harry!"
It is exactly what she had anticipated. Not even two minutes, and already they're being bombarded with questions! But somehow, with Harry's hand placed firmly on the small of her back, it's bearable. Terrifying, but bearable.
Harry's enjoying this, to be honest. He can feel himself swelling with pride, and at the same time, he feels sad. Yes, he has a beautiful girl. A wonderful girl. A girl he's positive he'd be willing to spend the rest of his life with. But she's not his. Not really. She's scared—that's the only reason she's staying so close to him.
It's not fair.
"I'll be right back, all right?" he says softly into Hermione's ear. He signals at Ron, who takes his place at Hermione's side, helping her fend off the eager women surrounding her.
Harry walks out onto the porch. It's surprisingly warm for the first week in April, with a strong breeze that blows through his hair.
Mr Weasley and a few of his coworkers at the Ministry for Magic are standing around in the grass, a sheer tent surrounding them, blocking the wind.
Lupin sees Harry and walks over, embracing him quickly. "How are you doing?" he asks.
Harry shrugs. "Not too bad. And yourself?"
"I'm all right. It's been pretty busy, with all the mayhem from catching Bellatrix." Lupin coughs. "Is Hermione here?"
"Yes. She's being bombarded with questions about the baby."
"Ah."
"Harry!"
Mr Weasley walks over to them. He claps Harry on the back. "How are you doing, m'boy?"
"Great,
Mr Weasley, and yourself?"
"Not too bad. It's strange to
think how grown up every one is. Ginny, twenty-one!" He shakes his
head. "It's quite incredible."
Harry nods, smiling. He can't help but realise just how lucky they all are to be here. Ginny, the youngest, has reached her twenty-first birthday. It is incredible, considering the fact that six years ago, he was terrified she'd make it to her sixteenth.
He smiles a little, unaware that Mr Weasley is still talking to him. Six years ago, thoughts of Ginny filled his mind. And now, when he turns off the light and closes his eyes, all he can see is Hermione.
"Harry?"
He feels a hand on his arm, and looks for the face to go with it.
Hermione.
"Hello Mr Weasley," Hermione says sweetly. "Remus."
They smile at her. Harry catches their eyes drifting to her stomach, their grins broadening. Harry can't help it. He smiles, too.
----------------------------
After dinner, Harry escapes to a quiet part of the house, away from the music and the food and the people, people, people. Maybe Hermione was right. It is a little overwhelming.
But he's never felt more proud in all his life.
He sits down on the sofa. It lets out an audible human-like groan. "Careful with my cushions," it wheezes.
"Sorry," Harry says, pulling the small pillow out from underneath him and leaning back, closing his eyes.
All he can see is Hermione. All he can hear is Hermione.
Her tinkling laughter at one of Fred's jokes.
The tentative smile on her face when she caught him looking at her.
The way she boldly stared straight back into his eyes.
"Harry, what are you doing here?"
Ginny is standing in the doorway, her head tilted to one side.
"I, uh, it was a bit much for me. Great party, really, but I can only take so many questions about when I'm going to ask Hermione to marry me."
Ginny grins, walking over and sitting down in the chair facing the sofa. "And meanwhile, I'm being asked when I'm going to find the guy who will ask me to marry him." She sighs. "It is a bit much." She studies Harry. "How have you been, anyway?" she asks.
Harry
shrugs. "All right. Busy, but I think that's a good thing. And
yourself?"
"Likewise." She pauses.
"So, Ron told me that you and Dean are sort of, kind of … back together."
Ginny
laughs. "Sort of, kind of … yeah, that's a good way to describe
it. I think he's just a wee bit scared of me still, after the first
go-round." She smiles. "He makes me happy."
"I'm glad."
"What about you?"
"Well, considering the situation … my love life is nonexistent. It has been since Jane … and you."
"No, I mean you and Hermione."
Harry swallows. "What about me and Hermione?"
"Oh, Harry. Do you think after all the time I've spent with you I can't read you like a book? You're in love with her. It's obvious. You can't get that look off your face."
Harry's
given up trying to deny it. If both Weasleys know exactly how
he feels, is it that obvious to everyone else?
"How long have
you been in love with her?" Ginny pursues.
Harry smiles, grateful that Ginny hasn't changed at all since their relationship dissolved. Even while they were dating, there was a sort of brotherly/sisterly connection that didn't fade when they stopped dating.
"I don't really know," he confesses. "It just sort of—happened. Like, one day she was just Hermione, my best friend … and the next, she was something else." Harry pauses, surprised at how easy it is to talk to Ginny.
She
nods thoughtfully. "Well, I can't say I'm shocked."
"What
do you mean?"
"Oh, come on, Harry. People have assumed you two were dating since you became friends—all the witches who read Rita Skeeter's articles, Malfoy, Krum, Cho, Jane … even me at one point. You just—there's something about the two of you that seems to make sense."
"Well, I'm glad everyone else could see it so clearly, but she obviously doesn't."
"How
do you know that?" Ginny counters. "Have you asked her? Have you
tried to tell her since everything happened?"
Harry sighs. "No.
But—there's no point. I know she doesn't."
He looks up to see a satisfied look on her face.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," she says quickly. "But seriously, Harry," she adds. "Don't assume anything. Ask her. Surely you two have been friends long enough to be able to be honest with each other."
----------------------------
Ron sits down next to Hermione in the main room. "A glass of ice water, as requested," he says, handing her the cup.
"Thanks." She takes a sip and breathes deeply. Who would have thought a party would take so much work on her part? Standing for long periods of time drains her.
"Not a bad party," Ron comments, leaning back. "I haven't seen Ginny in a while, though."
Hermione
shrugs. "She probably exited the scene for a few minutes. There are
a lot of your relatives here that she just doesn't know very well,
asking her all kinds of questions."
"Sounds like your
situation," Ron replies.
Hermione shrugs. "It's certainly not as terrible as I thought it would be," she admits.
"I told you it wouldn't be!"
"All right, all right. You were right and I was wrong." Hermione takes another swallow.
"So how are you and Harry?"
"We're managing." She shakes her head. "I'm still getting my mind around all of this. It's very … well, strange."
"Are you still denying that you're in love with him?"
Hermione looks up in surprise. "What are you -"
"Don't try to hide it, Hermione. I can see it in your eyes, the way you smile at him. You're in love with him. And I think you're afraid to tell him, because you're worried about what will happen to your friendship."
Hermione opens her mouth to argue, but what's the point? He's right. It's sometimes alarming how dead on Ron can be.
She looks up. Where is Harry, anyway?
As if he can read her mind, Harry appears in the doorway … with Ginny. His eyes lock with hers. Does he look … guilty? Hermione swallows a lump in her throat. So she was right. There is something still there.
"It doesn't matter, anyway," Hermione tells Ron sadly. "Looks like Ginny's got him back."
Ron looks at his sister and Harry. "No, I don't think so," he says, winking at Ginny.
"Go on. Ask her to dance," Ginny mumbles at Harry.
"We aren't teenagers anymore, Ginny. This is ridiculous. What am I supposed to say?"
"You're supposed to ask her if she'd like to dance. It's very simple. You've done it a million times before, I'm sure." She nudges Harry. "Go. Now."
Harry stumbles forward awkwardly. This is awkward. Very, very awkward. And why is Hermione staring at him like that? She looks positively murderous.
He reaches the sofa and gulps down air. "I, er, uh, will you dance with me?" he says, stumbling over his words. He can see Ron grin, and he doesn't care.
"Fine," Hermione says coldly. She struggles to her feet, assisted by her two friends. Harry leads her out to the tent, looking back once at Ginny. She's standing next to Ron, whispering something to him. The band starts up a quiet song, and Harry turns to Hermione.
Tonight is a stark contrast to the one in the bar seven and a half months ago.
Hermione places her hands on his shoulders, keeping her distance, but Harry wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She stiffens, aware that her stomach is pressed against his. Refusing to look into his eyes, she focuses on his chest.
"Are you having a good time?" Harry asks her softly.
"I guess," Hermione replies coolly. "Are you?"
"Yes, I suppose."
"Having fun with Ginny, then?"
Ah. That's what Hermione is thinking about.
"We mainly just talked about you," he says truthfully. And when Hermione doesn't say anything, he adds, "She's with Dean. We're not back together or anything stupid like that."
He can feel her relax slightly, and she lets out a sigh. Of relief? He's not sure. He's just not sure.
"I knew that," Hermione says, slightly embarrassed. She's grateful when Harry doesn't respond by teasing her or telling her she's stupid or anything like that.
Mr and Mrs Weasley are dancing nearby. "You two look wonderful together," Mrs Weasley whispers, smiling broadly.
They both try to smile back. They both look at each other, look away. They stare out at the other couples in the crowd.
Neville and Luna are doing some kind of awkwardly exotic dance, the happy married couple of ten months. George is saying something in Lavender's ear, and she's giggling; they've been dating for a year, much to Ron's chagrin. Ginny and Dean are staring into each other's eyes, both beaming. Mr and Mrs Weasley. Tonks and Lupin. Angelina and Fred. A million other pairs, happy together. They've accepted that they're completely in love.
And Harry and Hermione. Refusing to accept it.
Hermione rests her head on Harry's shoulder, closing her eyes. Her breath is on his neck, warm and gentle, and he is finding it difficult to breathe. Those two nights are flashing through his mind. What it felt like to hold her. To kiss her. To be inside of her.
I love you more than you could ever imagine, Hermione Granger.
The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he just can't say them.
His breaths are getting shorter, and she can sense it. His arms are wrapped around her waist, and it feels good. She feels so … safe. Warm. She doesn't want him to let go, not after the music stops, not after tonight, not for eternity. She can't lose him. She would die of a broken heart.
I love you more than you can possibly know, Harry Potter.
She just can't bring herself to tell him.
Hermione looks up and finds herself staring straight into Harry's eyes. She could say it, couldn't she? Open her mouth and tell him exactly how she feels. But no, she won't do it. She can't.
He can't.
----------------------------
"Nicely done, Ron," Ginny whispers in her brother's ear. He's dancing with Susan Bones, right next to Ginny and Dean.
"It seems to be working," he says quietly. "Sort of. Kind of."
"It will work," she promises. "They're just being stubborn."
----------------------------
Hermione insists that they walk back to the house through the silent Diagon Alley, despite the rain beating persistently on their heads. Harry's not really sure why she wants to walk, but he decides not to question her. And it is kind of nice, actually. Cold, but nice. They don't say anything to each other, listening to the sound of their feet on the stones and the rain on the roofs of the shops. They keep looking over at each other and smiling. And neither one knows why the other is doing it.
"That was a fun party," Hermione finally says, looking down at her feet.
Harry wipes his wet forehead with his wet cloak. Stupid. "Yeah. I enjoyed myself." He pauses. "And the robe was all right? It wasn't too tight or anything?"
Hermione shoves him playfully, and they both laugh. "The robe was fine, thanks."
"You looked good in it." Harry swallows. "You looked beautiful." His cheeks are burning.
"You looked pretty good yourself."
They smile at each other, look away. His arm keeps brushing against her shoulder and it's driving him mad. But she doesn't seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn't seem to care. Does she shiver like he does every time any part of his body touches any part of hers? Or is it … no big deal?
Hermione looks up at the sky. But the answer she's looking for isn't written in the stars. Harry alone holds the key. He just doesn't seem to realise it.
He stops suddenly, and bends down. A red rose is lying on the ground, but it hasn't been trampled on. It's as though it just dropped out of the heavens, freshly opened and beautiful. He shows it to Hermione, and then puts it between his teeth.
"That's disgusting," she comments, laughing.
"Dance with me," he says without removing the flower.
"What was that?"
"Dance with me!"
"Here?"
Harry nods, and grabs her waist before she can refuse. He takes her hand and hums as they dance up the street. Hermione laughs and allows herself to be dragged along, humming along with him. He twirls her carefully, and then she twirls him, taking the rose out of his mouth and tucking it into her hair. The stem sticks out, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that they're together.
