For most of the early years of my life, my parents had to fit the role of both guardian and friend. And we built a relationship that many people who were my age simply didn't share. Therefore, it was a slightly worrisome ordeal to bring home a friend for the first time. A friend I was in love with, might I add.
But I needn't have worried about Harry.
And I didn't, really. I knew my parents would love him. What was there not to love? He was charming, kind, humble. At the risk of sounding biased, he was pretty perfect.
That day I felt a sort of contentment well up inside of me. It was like two of my worlds had been butting heads for the longest time, and then were finally able to merge. And it was easy and simple and wonderful.
Once Harry and Hermione entered the sitting room, not five minutes passed before they were bombarded by both Granger parents.
"I thought we agreed you'd wait in the kitchen," Hermione whispered to her mum, as she watched her father march straight over to Harry.
Harry's eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount as Mr. Granger settled himself an uncomfortably close distance away from him.
Hermione could only sigh as she watched her dad open his mouth.
"So, you're the Potter boy, are you?" he said, putting slightly vehement emphasis on the word 'Potter'.
"Er…yes," Harry replied.
Mr. Granger folded his arms across his chest. "You don't sound too sure," he stated, one eyebrow raised.
"Um—"
"So, let me get this straight," Mr. Granger interrupted in a menacing manner. "You and that Weasley…were in a tent with my daughter…alone…for how long?"
"Dave…" Mrs. Granger warned.
"Go on, answer," Mr. Granger demanded, ignoring her.
"Er…well—I," Harry started nervously, shooting Hermione a helpless look.
But Hermione merely sighed again.
"Don't you go looking at her for help," her father reproached. "Answer!"
Harry gulped quite audibly. "Well, um…it was about a year, I suppose… I'm really sorry, sir. She had her own room, I swear. We—we never…"
But the rest of his sentence seemed to trail off as he stared at the older man in confusion.
Hermione looked up at her dad's face to see the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
And just like that, he burst out into a fit of laughter.
Harry continued to stare blankly back at the man, his eyebrows creased in something like bewilderment or even fear.
Hermione couldn't help but let out a small giggle, as well. She most certainly did not approve of this 'initiation' as her father liked to call it. But even she had to admit it was somewhat funny to see Harry turn white as a sheet.
"All right, Dave, settle down. You're scaring the poor boy," Mrs. Granger said, walking up to the pair and moving her still chuckling husband rather forcefully away.
"But did you see his face?" Mr. Granger exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch. "I swear I could bottle that and keep it forever."
Hermione groaned. "Okay, enough!" she said finally, pulling Harry towards her in a somewhat protective manner. "You've had your fun, Dad. Are we done?"
"Yeah, yeah. All done," her father said, catching his breath at last. "For now…"
Hermione threw her mother a pointed look. "This is the emotional scarring I was talking about," she hissed.
Mrs. Granger merely smiled in amusement, before walking over to Harry, who had remained in a dazed silence throughout.
"I'm really sorry, Harry," she said with a kind smile. "You'll have to excuse my husband. It's been his life mission since Hermione was born to scare away any boy she ever brought home."
"Including friends," she added quickly at Hermione's piercing gaze.
Harry let out an amused chuckle at last, running a hand through his hair. "It's fine, Mrs. Granger," he assured her. "I would certainly hate to deprive him of that opportunity."
"And you reacted most admirably, in my opinion," Mr. Granger added enthusiastically, walking over to clap a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Just as flushed and nervous as I had hoped you'd be."
"You knew about this?" Harry turned to Hermione, his eyebrow raised in question.
"Maybe…maybe not," she shrugged, a playful smirk plastered on her face.
"See, now that's just cruel," he said emphatically, causing her to laugh.
"How about we start over with some real introductions this time," Mrs. Granger suggested. "I'm Jane Granger, Hermione's mother, obviously. It's so good to finally meet you, Harry, we've heard so much about you."
"Don't worry, all good things," Mr. Granger added, dismissing Harry's non-existent fears. He stepped up to shake the younger boy's hand. "David Granger, but you can call me 'sir' or 'oh, wise one'."
Hermione groaned.
"Could you not behave like a child for once in your life?" his wife told him, tersely.
Mr. Granger merely shrugged his shoulders, winking at Harry with a good-natured smile.
Hermione felt a pleasing sensation of warmth wash over her as she saw Harry's face break out into a wide grin. She hadn't seen a grin on him like that in ages. It was the kind that filled his hollowed cheeks, concealed the darkness under his eyes, and illuminated his pallid skin.
She could feel someone's eyes on her as a small smile began to form on her own face, and turned to see her mother staring intently at her.
Hermione looked away quickly, a flush creeping up her neck.
"Well," her father declared, clapping his hands together, "why don't we continue our little introductions over dinner?"
"Yes, you two must be starving," Mrs. Granger added, eyeing Harry's thin frame with concern.
As the two men walked into the kitchen, Hermione pulled her mother aside.
"Steer clear of conversations of the war," she said quietly. "He…doesn't really like to talk about it."
Her mother nodded in understanding, then furrowed her brows slightly.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, seeing the look on her mum's face.
Mrs. Granger sighed. "Hermione, that boy is not okay," she said seriously. "It looks as if he hasn't eaten or slept in months."
"I know," she replied, resignedly.
The older woman crossed her arms, a stern look on her face. "You have to take care of him, Hermione. He needs you now more than ever. And if you're not careful…he'll slip through your fingers in the worst kind of way," she said gravely.
Hermione looked down, her stomach squirming uncomfortably.
"Hey," her mother said gently, lifting her chin up so their faces were at eye level. "Just be there for him like you have been all along, right?"
Hermione nodded, exhaling heavily.
"Now, come on. It's never a good idea to leave anyone alone with your father."
Just as the words left the older woman's mouth, they both heard a loud crash emanating from the kitchen.
They immediately rushed towards the room only to find the remnants of a piece of china scattered all over the ground.
"Harry did it," Mr. Granger said immediately, pointing at the boy next to him.
"Wait—what?" Harry spluttered, snapping his head up from the destruction. "I didn't—"
"Oh, honestly, Dave, I gave you one task!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed, hurrying forward to clear the mess away. "Are you all right, Harry? No cuts or scrapes? You didn't step in any of it, did you?"
"Mum, he's not five," Hermione interjected.
"Right," Mrs. Granger said distractedly. "Hand me that broom, dear, so I clean this up."
"Wait!" Mr. Granger exclaimed, suddenly, an eager look on his face. "Hermione, you can just magic this away, can't you?"
"I can do one better," Hermione stated smugly. "I can fix the plate right up."
"Ooh, she is good," Mr. Granger said, patting Harry's arm excitedly while Harry merely stared back at him.
Hermione proceeded to pull out her wand and then cleared her throat dramatically. "Reparo!" she exclaimed.
And just like that, all the pieces reformed perfectly into their original form and landed neatly on the table top.
Mr. Granger clapped enthusiastically, while Hermione bowed in a grandiose fashion.
"I promise, we're usually quite normal," she heard her mum mutter to Harry who merely laughed in return.
After the whole fiasco was over, the four finally settled around the dinner table.
"Please excuse us, Harry. We didn't know we would be having company, so it's not quite as extravagant as I'd hoped it would be the first you'd join us," Mrs. Granger stated.
"Oh! No, please—don't worry about it," he replied, quickly, looking somewhat embarrassed.
Mrs. Granger smiled warmly at him.
"So, tell us a bit about yourself," Mr. Granger directed toward him.
Harry looked up from his plate. "Er…" he managed, turning slightly flushed from all the attention. "Well…I'm…er…"
The three Grangers stared at him.
"Very eloquent?" Mr. Granger offered.
"David!"
But Harry merely smiled good-naturedly. "Yes, practically an orator."
"Oh, you're not that bad," Hermione intervened, then turned to her parents. "He's just nervous."
"Very understandable," Mr. Granger stated. "I'm quite an intimidating man..."
"Well, what's your favourite subject in school?" Mrs. Granger asked enthusiastically.
Hermione mentally snorted. She knew for a fact that she mentioned this, along with many other details, about Harry countless times, before. But it was an easy enough question for him to answer, and a way to break the ice, she supposed.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts, I guess. It was my best one, anyway," he shrugged.
"Oh, yes, Hermione mentioned you were quite good in that subject," Mr. Granger said. "So good, in fact, that you beat her in those exams of yours. Now that is a true feat, my son."
Harry smiled. "Well, I wouldn't want to rub salt on an old wound here…" he said, looking sideways at Hermione.
"Oh, shut it," she scowled.
"Hey, nobody likes a sore loser, Hermione," Mr. Granger pointed out, earning a nod of approval from Harry.
"Do you have any hobbies, anything you like to do in your free time?" Mrs. Granger continued on.
"Well, I play Quidditch—that's the wizarding sport," he replied. "I quite like flying."
"And he's amazing at it, too," Hermione added, matter-of-factly.
"I'm not that good," he quickly countered, pushing his food around in his plate, distractedly.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"He made the house team his very first year at Hogwarts, the youngest to do so in a century," she told her parents, feeling pride well up inside her at the impressed looks on both of their faces.
Harry only turned redder at their compliments, however, and he artfully brought a glass of water to his lips to avoid making any further comments.
Hermione simply shook her head and smiled to herself. She secretly adored his modesty. His nervous fidgeting, his flushed cheeks, the way he ran his fingers through his messy hair. It was so cute and endearing, so Harry.
Looking at him, she would never guess that this man would be able to defeat the greatest dark wizard in history. That innocent and gentle Harry could have the power to fight through death and destruction. He was an anomaly. Like two different people: the war hero and the reclusive boy.
And I love them both, she thought, as she continued to watch him converse with her parents.
"No! You're pulling my leg, aren't you?" her father exclaimed.
"I assure you, sir, I'm not," Harry replied, amused.
"You had to regrow all the bones in your arm?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
Mrs. Granger gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Was it very painful?" she asked timidly.
"Oh no, dear, I'm sure it was an extremely enjoyable experience," her husband replied, sarcastically.
"Oh, shut it, you!" she retorted, smacking him on the arm.
"It was kind of painful, yeah," Harry admitted. "But, I mean, it does make for a good story."
Mr. Granger chortled loudly, nodding his head in agreement.
"And that makes it all worth it, I suppose?" his wife scolded, huffing to herself. "You men are strange creatures."
"She's just angry because I like to retell the story of the time at work when I ran head-first into the monitor, split my forehead open, and started bleeding profusely all over the patient," Mr. Granger explained to Harry. "And it didn't help that this particular patient had an aversion to blood, and ended up unconscious on the ground at the sight of it all."
"Huh…" the younger boy replied thoughtfully. "And they say a dentist's job isn't exciting."
"Who says that?" Mr. Granger asked sharply.
"Er…not me, that's for sure," Harry said quickly.
Mr. Granger levelled his gaze on him for a moment, before breaking out into a wide smile. "Yes, well, we're not all blessed with the choice to become dragon tamers or—or faeries or whatever."
"Neither are we…" Hermione commented, raising an eyebrow.
"Lies," her father declared suddenly, pointing his finger at her. "One of the Weasley boys works with dragons."
She immediately dropped her fork in exasperation. "How on earth does he remember that?" she complained to her mother, who merely shrugged in defeat.
"You ask me every time, and every time I have no response," the older woman replied.
"It's the Granger Gift, m'dear," her dad stated proudly, tapping a finger to his forehead.
"What's the Granger Gift?" Harry asked, amused.
Hermione scowled at her smirking father. "Abnormally, freakish memory," she explained.
Harry instantly let out a bark of laughter. "Don't worry, I think you inherited that gift just fine, Hermione," he assured her.
She turned to look at him. "What—you really think so?" she asked, trying to quell the earnestness in her tone.
He stared at her as if she'd just gone mad. "Have you forgotten that you were the best in our year? Or pretty much any year, really. And every time you answer a question in class you sound as if you've spewed out the textbook."
"Oh, you're just being sweet," she responded with a wave of her hand.
"No…no I'm really not," he said slowly. "Trust me, 'sweet' isn't exactly an attribute most blokes are queuing up to be called."
Hermione gave a sniff of amusement. "Well, fine then…I guess you kind of have a point—"
"What?" her dad spluttered through a mouthful of potatoes. He quickly gulped it down. "I've been telling you this your entire life, and now just cause Harry says so, you believe it?"
Hermione could see her mother trying and failing to fight back a smile.
"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, I know I've always been…well…intelligent…but-"
"No, no I get it," her dad assured her. "The opinion of your father doesn't matter, but the opinion of a dashing, young lad, on the other hand—"
"Dad!" she exclaimed, feeling her face heat up instantly.
She didn't dare look over at Harry, and prayed silently that he wouldn't think anything of it. Not that he should…it wasn't as if her father had any clue about her real feelings towards the 'dashing, young lad,' himself.
Hermione mentally cringed. Oh, wouldn't that be an atrocity...God, he would never let me live it down…
"Sweetheart, it's a lovely night tonight," her mother addressed her a moment later. "Why don't you and Harry step outside for a bit while your father and I clean up in here."
"I could help," Harry offered, pushing his chair back and standing up.
"Nonsense, dear," the older woman replied with a smile, reaching for the plate in his hands. "You've both had a long day. Now go on and get some fresh air."
Waiting for both men to be out of earshot, Hermione leaned over to her mum. "You're not going to tell Dad about…you know," she said, tilting her head toward Harry.
"No, I don't know…"
"Mum…" Hermione said warningly.
A small, but secretive smile played on the older woman's face. "No, dear. I would never wish that sort of mental and emotional torture unto anyone."
She mouthed a quick 'thank you' before standing up to lead Harry away from her father and out the back door.
Once they were both outside, Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. "Sorry about…all of that," she said, gesturing to the house behind her. "My dad's really a child at heart."
"I've noticed," Harry replied, amusement lacing his tone. "He's great, though. Both your parents are."
Hermione bit her lip as the pair started walking aimlessly. She then turned to him again. "You sure you're not lying?"
He threw her an exasperated look.
"Right," she responded quietly. "Well, I mean, he just comes off a little strong, Dad does."
"And he's great," Harry repeated emphatically. "Why are you so concerned, anyway? It's just me."
"I care about your opinion, Harry," she insisted, looking sideways at him. "I would hate it if you didn't like my parents for some reason."
"I'd be more worried about them not liking me."
Hermione snorted. "Oh, please. They're practically in love with you. My mum finds you incredibly sweet."
"Again with this whole 'sweet' business," Harry sighed, shaking his head.
She laughed heartily at him. "Would you like me to say it again? You are sweet, you are sweet, you are sweet," she repeated, grabbing onto his arms as he brought his hands up to cover his ears.
"You hear that everyone? HARRY POTTER IS SWEET!" she yelled out into the night.
He quickly covered her mouth. "Are you mental?" he hissed. "The neighbours could be sleeping!"
But Hermione merely dissolved into a fit of muffled laughter, relishing the tingle that shot through her as his palm brushed against her lips.
"Iss onne aydo clak!"
"Huh?" he asked in confusion.
She rolled her eyes and brought his hand away from her mouth. "I said, it's only eight o'clock."
"Yeah, well…you're still disturbing their peace," he said.
"I'll make sure and apologize next time I see them."
"That's all I ask."
They continued walking in a comfortable silence, not quite sure where they were heading, but enjoying the excursion nonetheless.
"You know what I just realized?" Harry asked some time later.
That we should spend the rest of our lives together?
"Hmm?" she replied, disregarding her wayward thoughts.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking a small pebble on the ground. "Today was the first time I laughed in a while," he said.
Hermione stared thoughtfully into space. "It was, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," he responded. "But I'm not sure if I feel relieved or guilty."
"Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean," she admitted quietly.
Another small silence met her words, and Hermione found herself desperately searching for something to say. This was the first time that Harry had willingly broached the subject of his feelings, and she was terrified that if she said the wrong thing, he would immediately close up again.
However, before she could continue fretting, his voice interrupted her thoughts.
"I just keep…thinking about everyone, you know?" he said, not looking at her.
"Like who?" she asked carefully.
Harry blew out a puff of air, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. "I dunno—everyone. Ron, George, all the Weasleys. Mrs. Tonks. For Merlin's sake, Dennis Creevey."
"Everyone who's lost someone," she concluded, staring at the ground.
"Yeah," he replied in a low voice.
Hermione turned her head discreetly towards him. The expression on his face was a stark difference to what it had been throughout most of the day, and she was disappointed to see the familiar hollow look reappear in his eyes.
"It's just not fair, you know?" he declared, forcefully.
"I know," she practically whispered.
"I mean—they were all so young, right? Fred and Colin. And Lupin and Tonks just got married, just had a baby. They just had a baby, Hermione. Teddy. I saw him, you know? I saw him at his parent's funeral," Harry confessed. "And God, Hermione…he was so small. He was so tiny."
Seeing a bench up ahead, Hermione carefully sat Harry down as a flood of thoughts and emotions seemed to suddenly tumble from his mouth.
"And, you know, I—I come here with you, and I'm scared out of my mind that your parents will end up like Lockhart and it'll be all my fault. But then they're okay and I'm so relieved. And I'm happy because finally something went right. I laughed, Hermione, I laughed and it felt so good," he uttered, staring into her eyes. He looked away again, shaking his head.
"But how can I feel good when everyone else around me is suffering?" he continued. "When I keep thinking over and over again how I could have done something different. Found the horcrux sooner, gone to Voldemort when he said to. And I know what you and everyone else will say. That it's not my fault, right? That everyone knew what they were getting into? Well, none of it matters. Because I feel like it's my fault, okay? Okay?"
Harry's voice broke slightly at his last words, and he threw his head into his hands, his fingers clutching at his hair as he stared at the ground.
Hermione took in his hunched figure, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "Harry…" she whispered.
"I just wish…" he started, breathing heavily. "I wish that…"
She waited on baited breath for him to continue.
"I wish it was me instead," he choked out.
Hermione felt her heart stop. "No…" she said shakily.
"Why couldn't it have been me?" he repeated, ignoring her.
"Harry, no…" she pleaded uselessly.
"I walked into that forest prepared to die, but then somehow came out alive. Everyone else, though? They weren't prepared…not like I was. They weren't a bloody horcrux, they weren't 'Masters of Death'," he said scathingly. "They were normal, innocent people!"
"But me? I WAS THE LUCKY ONE!" he shouted suddenly, with such disgust in his tone it was as if he had literally spit the words out. "The Chosen One! The Boy-Who-Lived!"
He paused, still breathing heavily, and then looked up into her eyes again.
"The hero…" he declared with a hatred that made his voice shake.
Hermione stared back at him with her eyebrows creased in sorrow.
"Tell me… how is that fair?" he begged in a broken voice.
"I don't know," she admitted in a strangled tone as tears slipped from her eyes.
"Goddammit!" Harry cried out through clenched teeth. He threw his glasses forcefully to the ground, and immediately brought his hands to his face.
Though he made no sound, Hermione could tell he was crying by the way his upper body shook, and the sight only made her tears fall faster.
She brought her hand up to his hunched back and proceeded to rub it gently, knowing that no words could possibly bring him comfort right now. On and on, she moved her hand in soothing circles, acknowledging neither time nor space, focused only on her efforts.
She didn't know how long it took for Harry's shaking to finally subside. He remained in his bent position for a while afterwards, and Hermione was at a desperate loss as to what to do.
"Harry," she tried, gently. "Harry, look at me, please."
Sensing that he felt ashamed at his display, Hermione carefully removed his hands from his face, and held his head up to look at her.
She could physically feel her heart constrict at the sight of his bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He immediately tried to turn his head away, but Hermione remained resolute.
"Harry, look at me," she repeated. "Everyone needs to break down sometimes. You can't hold everything in forever. It'll eat away at you and make you feel even more miserable."
"What's the point?" he said thickly.
"Of crying, what's the point?" he explained at Hermione's questioning look. "It's not like I feel any better."
"Well, it's not always about feeling better," she responded, bringing her hands down. "We cry for the same reason we laugh, Harry. For release."
He didn't reply, but merely leaned back against the bench and stared out into the darkness, using his sleeve to wipe at his eyes, occasionally.
Hermione glanced sideways at him. "Can I tell you something?" she asked.
He looked at her, then nodded.
"That moment when—when Hagrid carried your body back from the forest…" She paused, feeling the same sense of dread wash over her at the memory. "We all thought you were dead."
Again, she paused, wringing her hands together anxiously. "I never want to feel that way again… Not for a long, long time."
He continued to stare at her.
"Do you have any idea how devastated we all were?" she blurted out, piercingly. "I felt like—like my heart was ripped out of my chest. I was empty and miserable and shocked and angry and just…just devastated!"
"Oh, Harry…" she uttered defeatedly, slumping her shoulders. "How can you say that? How can you say that? How can you sit there and tell me that you wish it was you?"
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight. "No…" she breathed. "No…"
"Hermione…" Harry mumbled faintly.
Before he could say anything else, though, she threw her arms around him and enveloped him in bone-crushing hug, as if afraid he might disappear if she didn't hold on tight enough.
Images of Hagrid carrying a dead Harry flashed before her mind's eye, making her insides twist and churn.
Her fingers clutched the back of his shirt, pulling him even closer and not caring for one second that he was very much bewildered.
Don't ever leave me, she thought, wildly. Please don't ever leave me.
"Please…" she whispered aloud. "Please don't ever leave…"
"Hermione," Harry tried again, attempting to pull her back so he could look at her. He stared intently into her eyes. "You're crying."
"No, I'm not," she denied stubbornly, wiping her eyes.
"Why are you crying?" he enquired, his voice filled with concern.
Hermione scoffed at his obliviousness. "Because I don't want to lose you!" she answered desperately, trying to make him understand.
A look of surprise flitted across his face, as if he couldn't believe something like that could ever cause her tears.
"Forget the Chosen One, forget the Boy-Who-Lived, forget all of that garbage. You are human. And you deserve to live and be happy just as much as anybody else," she said, grasping his hand firmly in hers. "And I know that it's going to take time for you and all of us to heal. But I need you to realize, Harry, that your life is worth so much more than you believe!"
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again, shaking his head slightly.
"What is it?" she asked, gently.
Harry looked like he was struggling to find the right words. "It's just—I don't really…" he began, making vague motions with his hands. "I don't—I don't know how."
Those simple words cut straight through Hermione's heart, and she was suddenly overcome by the strong desire to hold Harry in her arms like a small child and chase all his demons away.
She wondered briefly whether he'd ever been held by anyone. Whether anyone had ever brushed his hair back or kissed his head or told him how much he was loved.
Had anyone ever told him that they loved him? Anyone besides the parents that he couldn't even remember?
Hermione's heart ached deeply at the thought. But as she took his hand once more, she knew, now, what she had to do.
"All it takes is time," she finally responded, to which he nodded reluctantly.
"But, Harry, listen…" she added, looking into his face.
He stared back at her with a curious expression.
"I want you to know that…you're my best friend and you're one of the most important people in my life," she said seriously. "I love you, Harry. I need you to know that I love you."
Hermione spoke these three words knowing that he would interpret them the only way she wanted him to right now: as a love between friends. Between two people who had been to the end of the world together and back. Who cared for each other and supported each other and were willing to die for each other. There was nothing romantic about it, yet it was just as deep and strong and pure.
Harry stared blankly at her for a moment, and she knew by the look on his face that these words were foreign to him. He seemed to ponder them for a long time, as if they were some complex riddle. But it was a riddle that was slowly becoming easier to understand.
"I know that, now," he confirmed at last, albeit with some hesitance.
Hermione smiled warmly at him. "Good," she stated, simply.
"Yeah…good," he agreed, gazing at a point in the distance with his eyes unfocused.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked after a moment.
Leaning back, Harry sighed heavily. "Well…do you suppose that's enough emotional upheaval for one day, or what?"
"Probably enough for a lifetime," Hermione confessed.
"I wonder if it really helps," he mused, turning his head to face her. "Am I going to be miraculously less screwed up in the morning?"
Hermione pursed her lips in a McGonagall like fashion as she looked at him.
"Just a question," he shrugged.
"For the most part, no," she answered honestly. "Not tomorrow."
"Next Thursday, then?"
"It's going to take time, Harry," she said, ignoring him. "More emotional upheavals, more sadness, maybe some anger. Only you know what's buried deep inside of you. And you just have to…dig it all up."
"And what happens if I don't?"
Hermione wrung her hands together. "Well, erm…according to Healing Grief, Finding Peace, the more you try to bury a particular emotion, the more you actually end up having thoughts and feelings about it," she stated. "So it becomes sort of...counterproductive."
Harry let out a small chuckle. "You've been reading books about this?" he said, looking up at her.
"Well, yes," she replied uncertainly. "But to be honest, most of them are complete rubbish. They don't really outline what to do when your best friend comes home after fighting in a war against an evil dark wizard."
"Shame, that."
Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "The most important thing, though, is—well, that you know you're not alone, right? I'm here…always."
"I've noticed," he replied softly, giving her a small smile.
She smiled back in full, feeling her insides tingle with warmth.
"You really don't have to do all that, though," he said in a serious tone.
"Do what?" she asked.
"Read all those books."
She shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it's not like I mind. I mean this is me we're talking about."
Harry smiled to himself. "Of course," he said. "But I appreciate it, nonetheless."
"Hey, can you do me a favour, though?" he asked, suddenly.
"Sure, what is it?"
"Can you, er, find my glasses? I can't see a blasted thing, right now," he admitted, squinting his eyes in the darkness.
She couldn't help but giggle in response.
"Oh, sod off," he said.
"Do you want them, or not?" she asked, crossing her arms in a superior fashion.
"I do very much, yes," he replied.
Hermione bent down to retrieve them and noticed a crack in one of the lenses which caused her to smile fondly.
"What?" Harry asked, noticing the look on her face.
"They're broken," she stated, simply.
"Yes, I can see why that would be cause for happiness," he responded.
Hermione gave him a look. "It just reminded me of the countless times I had to fix these because you couldn't be bothered to learn the spell," she said, throwing them at him.
Harry caught his glasses deftly as a wistful smile appeared on his face. "But you just do it so well," he insisted.
She clucked her tongue in annoyance. "It's a very simple wand motion, you know. I can teach you right now, if you want," she offered.
He stared at her from his languidly slouched position on the bench, and raised one eyebrow.
"I'll take that as a 'sounds like a great idea, but maybe next time, Hermione'?"
"Took the words right out of my mouth."
Rolling her eyes, she tapped the lens with her wand and repaired it with one fluid motion.
"Good as new," she said.
Hermione placed the glasses carefully on his face, her fingers brushing his ears in the process. She was surprised to find that they were somewhat cold despite the pleasant evening air, and had to fight the bizarre urge to feel them again.
Shifting her gaze up to meet his, she was, as always, thrillingly drawn to his emerald orbs.
God, they are so beautiful, she reflected, feeling her heart hammering in her chest.
Okay, look away…look away before you do something stupid.
But they're just so green…
Come on, you can do it, just look somewhere else, anywhere else.
But—
"Thanks," Harry said, pleasantly, effectively breaking her out of her reverie.
Hermione cleared her throat, moving far enough away from him that it didn't appear too obvious. She remained silent for a moment, mentally scolding herself.
"So, do you think we should start heading back now?" he asked.
"We probably should, yes," she replied, not looking at him.
They remained mostly quiet on the trek back, both wrapped up in their own individual thoughts. When they reached the back door of her parent's house, however, Harry placed a hand on her arm to stop her.
"Thanks, by the way," he said somewhat awkwardly.
Hermione shrugged in response. "I didn't do much, Harry."
"You did enough."
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear for lack of an intelligible response.
Harry simply smiled at her in return, but it was that warm kind of smile that she loved. The one he used only once in a while and that made her feel like she was the most important person on the planet.
After a few seconds of silence, he was no longer smiling, but still looking at her with such warmth in his eyes that it caused her breathing to speed up.
Then suddenly, three things happened at once.
Harry leaned down to place a soft kiss on her cheek.
The back door swung open with a loud "There you are!"
And Hermione and Harry both turned deep shades of crimson.
She stared up into the jovial face of her father, feeling utterly mortified. She wasn't sure what was causing her face to heat up more, the overly curious look on her dad's face, or the fact that—
Harry just kissed me!
Sure, it was a simple peck on the cheek, but…
Harry just kissed me!
Okay, slow down. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
I don't care HARRY JUST KISSED ME.
Yes, we're definitely taking this too far…
She wasn't sure when it happened, but as Hermione looked to her right, she noticed Harry was just about as far away from her as the small porch allowed, and that his face was still sporting a vivid blush.
"Whatchya doooin'?" her dad asked, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.
"Nothing, Dad," Hermione replied tightly.
And it was the truth. No matter how much she didn't want to admit it, there was nothing sinister about a friendly kiss on the cheek. Sinister in a father's eyes, anyway. And although the spot where Harry's lips had touched her skin was still tingling pleasantly, she was willing to bet that his intentions were completely innocent.
"What took you kids so long? We were starting to grow worried."
Hermione looked discreetly at Harry who was still standing there quietly and with his complexion back to its natural shade of, well, pale.
"We got lost," she said in mock frustration, not wanting to admit the real reason they had taken so long.
Harry shot her a quick grateful look that thankfully went unnoticed by her dad.
"Couldn't you just teleport back here?"
Hermione rubbed her temples tiredly. "Okay, first of all, we don't 'teleport', we apparate," she explained. "Second of all, yes we could have, but we figured…hey, what's life without a little adventure? And third of all, are we done with the interrogation? Harry and I would like to come inside now."
He looked at the pair of them somewhat suspiciously for a moment, before stepping aside to let them in.
Once inside, Mrs. Granger immediately rushed over to them with relief written clearly on her features.
"I knew it was silly of me to worry, but you were gone so long, and I'm a mother, so it's only natural, really…"
Her mum continued to babble on as she led them all to the sitting room, but Hermione was momentarily pulled back by her dad.
"Yes?" she asked slowly.
He cleared his throat. "Was there any…hanky panky going on tonight between you and Harry that I should know about?"
She gaped openly at her father. "What—why would—are you—?" she spluttered. Taking a deep breath in, she decided to start over. "What on earth gave you that idea?"
"Wait," she said suddenly, putting her hand up. "Don't answer that."
"Oh, honestly, you're being childish," he chastised.
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"Look who the child is now!" she said petulantly.
"Still you."
Hermione groaned loudly.
"All I'm saying, dear, is that, well, you did take an awful long time on that walk of yours. And you seemed mighty close just now on the porch, as well…"
"My God, Dad, I told you we got lost," she said huffily. "And what you saw back there was a simple, friendly peck on the cheek. Between friends. No 'hanky panky' whatsoever."
Her father crossed his arms, eyeing her shrewdly for a moment.
"And you're sure nothing happened in that tent during all those months?" he asked suspiciously.
"Oh for the love of…" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."
"Or maybe you're just evading the question," he whispered conspiratorially.
She was about to stalk away, before she stopped and turned back around.
"Okay, you know what, humour me for a second," she smiled. "What would you do if I said that we did take part in some…hanky panky? Hmm?"
A look of extreme discomfort passed over her father's face.
"Well, let's see…first I'd kill him," he reasoned, earning a glare from his daughter. "And then…well…"
"Then?"
"This is all hypothetical, of course?" he reaffirmed.
"Of course."
He appeared to be in deep thought for a moment. "Right, well then I'd castrate him," he concluded with a pleasant smile.
She scoffed loudly, turning on her heel and walking away from him.
"And then I'd be happy for you," he called after her, amusement lacing his tone.
When Hermione entered the sitting room, she spotted her mother placing a full plate of biscuits in Harry's one hand and a large mug of tea in the other.
"Er…thank you, Mrs. Granger," he said.
The older woman nodded. "You just eat up, dear," she smiled warmly before walking back into the kitchen.
"I think my mum's trying to fatten you up," Hermione declared as she took a seat next to him.
"Really, what gave you that idea?" he remarked as Mrs. Granger walked back in with large piece of chocolate cake and set it down in front of him.
"Just this crazy theory I have," Hermione replied. "You know, it's funny. I don't seem to be getting any dessert."
"Here," he offered, shoving a biscuit in her mouth.
She let out a muffled cry before shoving Harry roughly in the shoulder, but he immediately let out a small yelp as steaming tea spilled onto his trousers.
Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, looking around for a napkin. "Here!"
She put his mug down on the table, and then brought the napkin to his jeans in an attempt to wipe the spot dry. It was only when she placed her hand firmly on his thigh that she realized that her hand was…
Placed firmly on his thigh…
Okay…
Er…what was I doing again?
Handling his firm thigh…wait, no…
"Hermione," Harry stated, interrupting her thoughts.
"W-what?"
"It's fine, I can take it from here," he insisted.
No…her mind protested meekly.
"Oh right, sorry," she said, handing over the napkin.
"Did Harry have a little accident?" a loud voice announced.
Hermione could hear Harry groan to himself as she looked up at her dad.
"I accidentally spilled tea on him, okay?" she clarified.
Her father clucked his tongue dramatically. "Got lost in his eyes again, did you, dear?" he asked, winking at her.
Hermione gave her dad a death glare, but was saved the trouble of responding by the reappearance of her mother with tray of scones for Harry.
"I don't know when you two were planning on returning home, but I think it's best if you stay the night. We can discuss all the rest of the details in the morning," Mrs. Granger offered.
"Of course," Hermione agreed.
"There is the small matter of there only being one guest bedroom, though," her mum stated, looking between the two.
"I can sleep anywhere, it's fine," Harry replied, immediately. "Hermione can take the bed."
"I will not," she responded, stubbornly. "Harry can take the bed."
"You both can take the bed," her dad suggested, innocently.
"Dad!"
"David!"
"Mr. Granger!"
The older man held his hands up defensively. "Just a suggestion."
"Well, in any case, if Harry wants to be the chivalrous man, then you can't deny him that, Hermione," her dad pointed out as if it were obvious.
Mrs. Granger sighed. "He's right. There's no point arguing with men on matters of chivalry, dear," she told her daughter. "It'll only cause you mental anguish."
Hermione huffed in annoyance. "Fine," she agreed grudgingly.
I preferred Dad's suggestion, anyway, she thought slyly as she headed up the stairs with a smirk on her face.
"You're sure you don't want me to take the couch?" Hermione asked uncertainly. "Because I wouldn't mind it at all. I mean it's just silly, really. Who says that men always have to sacrifice the better sleeping arrangements? I, for one, think it's simply unfair. In fact—"
"Hermione," Harry cut her off. "Just go to sleep."
She scoffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "Fine. But just so you know, if we were staying here another night, it would be me on the couch and you upstairs."
"I know, I know," he replied, giving a giant yawn and waving her away.
He brought the blanket all the way up so that only his black mess of hair was showing.
"Goodnight, Harry," she whispered with a small smile on her face.
He mumbled something incoherent in response.
Hermione flicked the lights off, and turned to head up to bed. At the top of the staircase, she ran into her mother who had an amused smile plastered on her face.
"What?" Hermione asked, with one eyebrow raised.
Her mother only smiled wider.
"You have it bad, dear."
A/N: Getting better at the update time, yes? Hopefully the next chapter will come out even quicker :o Thank you guys soooo much for all your feedback for the last chapter. You are awesome and wonderful and everything good in the world. I really really hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was long and tiresome on my part, but always fun to write nonetheless. Let me know what you think, good things, bad things, any things! Thanks again for reading and I hope you have a stupendous day :)