AN: This story turns a year old today. Thank you for sticking with it. Happy Valentine's Day, and yay for Champion's League! Hopefully my team can win tonight.
Chapter Twenty-One: The Last of the Real Ones
Harry couldn't shake the uneasy feeling as he made his way to the compartment he would be sharing with Neville and Luna for the trip back to London. He didn't want to leave Hermione behind, but he got the sense that this was something she felt she had to do, for whatever reason. She would fill him in through her letters, or he would learn about it when he returned to school. Somehow, he just had to trust that she knew what she was doing.
When Harry arrived at the designated compartment, only Neville was inside. "Luna is on the train, right?" he questioned as he entered and dropped down onto the soft cushioned seat opposite his friend. He was pretty sure he'd seen the Ravenclaw climb onto the train, even though he'd been distracted by Hermione's dangerous mouth and eternal eyes.
"She is," Neville assured him. "She's just doing... things."
Harry took the fact that Neville couldn't meet his gaze to mean something. "Things? What things?" He was met with silence. "Neville? Where's Luna?"
"Somewhere."
"Somewhere where?"
"Somewhere."
Harry blinked. "Is she doing a Mosstrooper thing?" he asked. No response. "Does this thing have anything to do with Ron Weasley?"
Neville shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Neville."
"Harry."
Feeling oddly defeated, Harry sighed heavily. "Is she doing something bad?"
"Or good, depending on how you look at it."
He sighed again. "Aren't you just so tired?"
Neville looked at him curiously. "Every day," he said truthfully. "I'm exhausted."
"We really need a holiday, don't we?"
"We really do."
Harry turned his gaze towards the window, taking in the scenery speeding past, and Neville did the same. The two of them were still sitting in silence when Luna made her return and, as much as Harry wanted to ask the question, he just couldn't. He didn't actually want to know, which was very unlike him. Maybe he was just missing his girlfriend.
Luna sat down beside him, rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.
"Did you make it good?" Harry asked, unable to resist.
"It's Hermione approved," she said; "what do you think?"
Harry heart twisted at the mention of Hermione, though he didn't dwell. "How long?"
"Just you wait until we get back, Harry," she said. "Truly, nobody is ever going to mess with you ever again."
Harry was inclined to believe her, because Luna was probably more livid about the entire ending of the war games than he, Hermione and his mother combined. Hermione told him that it would do them both good to sit down and talk about it, but he wasn't entirely sure what to say to her. Somehow, he just knew they would find their way to the topic of Neville and how Luna didn't feel comfortable asking him to be her date to the Slug Club Party... because of Harry. He thought, at least. He had a feeling there was something else going on; something he knew but wouldn't allow himself to acknowledge.
Because now he had to deal with an apathetic Neville, a scheming Luna, a secretive Hermione, an unknown family situation, and he was just so tired. He really needed a holiday, but even he knew he couldn't afford to lay about the entire Break. Something was coming; something he couldn't put a finger on or even remotely understand, but it was coming, and he had to be prepared. Sirius and his mother had to make sure he was ready for when it came. They had to be ready too.
They all did. The Order, the Ministry, the students... the entire world.
Harry let out a breath, his body relaxing as his eyes slipped shut. He revelled in the soft weight of Luna against him and the soft tapping of Neville's foot on the carpet, almost lulling him into slumber. As much as things continued to change all around him, moments like these mercifully stayed exactly the same. These were his two best friends and, whatever happened in his life, they would always mean the world to him. So, yes, he had to be ready because, even though he couldn't be sure how or why he knew it, it would be up to him to protect them.
Somebody had to.
If Hermione believed that the festive season would be any different before his mother and Sirius were officially together, she was mistaken. If anything, the entire experience was less weird than Harry imagined it would be. Sirius and his mother really didn't act any differently towards each other or towards him, but Harry got the sense that there was something important that they wanted to talk to him about.
Well, Sirius did.
Harry was home for all ofthree days before Sirius seemed to work up the courage to broach the topic he'd been toying with for quite some time - years, really. He was forced to wait until Lily was out of the house and Harry was awake and focused enough for a serious conversation about the future of their family.
Sirius found the teenager in the living room, absently flicking through channels on the television. He looked amazingly relaxed, stretched out across the couch as if he didn't have a care in the world. Well, to the untrained eye, it definitely appeared that way, but Sirius couldn't mistake the slight crease in his forehead, which he imagined was either to do with Hermione Granger or Voldemort himself.
Harry'd returned to Surrey different somehow, though Sirius wasn't sure why or how that could be. Okay, he reasoned it was probably to do with the war games but it was something more. He'd come home and demanded more lessons, specifically related to protection, deflection and healing. Well, Lily had to help him with the last part, but Sirius was already making plans to up their training. He suspected Harry might have one of those feelings about what was surely to come, and he wanted to be prepared.
"Hey," Sirius said, moving into the room and dropping down into an armchair. "What are you doing right now?"
Harry absently sat up, dropping his feet to the ground. "Nothing," he said. "Why?"
"Well, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."
Before Harry could give him his full attention, the sound of the phone ringing startled him, which made Sirius laugh. Harry shot him a glare before he jumped up and went to answer the phone in the foyer. It was probably his mother calling anyway, possibly to tell them that she was running late or something.
It wasn't.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Harry?"
He immediately tensed. "Granger?"
She let out a cry that sent a shock wave through him.
"Granger?" he asked, panicked. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong? Hermione, what happened?"
"Is it me, Harry?" she asked, her voice catching. "Am I the one who makes them stay away?"
At the sound of that, he made the decision: he was going to see her, whether she liked it or not. But. Where was she? She couldn't be at Hogwarts if she was calling him on the phone. "Talk to me, Granger," he said, his tone of voice surprisingly calm. "Are we talking about your parents?"
She hiccupped. "They wrote to me a few weeks ago, some time after my birthday, not that they remembered. They mentioned that they'd be coming home for Christmas, and they wanted to spend it with me."
"Oh, babe, why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to get my hopes up," she admitted quietly. "That always leads to disappointment."
Harry was pacing now, trying to keep calm.
"We wrote for a while. I told them all about the work we've been doing, and my father gave me some pointers about the war games," she explained. "I even felt like their kid for a moment; like they were paying enough attention to be proud of me."
His heart was breaking. God, it ached for her.
"I thought, you know, they would like to know how the games went," she said sadly. "Why do I keep doing this to myself, Harry? Why do I keep trying, keep believing, when the whole damn world already knows that I'm not worth it?"
"Don't you dare say that, Hermione Granger!" he practically hissed, suddenly frustrated that he was here, and not there. "You are so worth it. You are worth the great big world and so much more."
She was fully crying now, her sobs penetrating his heart.
"Is there something wrong with me?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Did I do something so horrible that they just can't see past it? I just don't understand why they can't just love me? Is it so unthinkable to love me?"
"No, it's not," he told her, his voice rushed. His panic was getting the better of him. "It's not you, Granger," he told her. "It's them. They're the ones who are incapable of love. It has nothing to do with you."
"But it has to, Harry," she argued, unable to see reason in her state of distress. "It's me, Harry. It has to be."
"No, it's not," he repeated, more conviction in his tone. "I know it, Granger. I know it."
"But how?"
"Because I love you!"
Oh yeah. Harry Potter was in a full-blown panic. She just didn't sound... right.
"God, Hermione, I love you so much," he continued. "I tried to keep it inside; I tried not to overwhelm you with it; I know you know that but you and your beautiful brown eyes wormed your way into my heart and it was bursting to get out. I love you. I love you, and I care about you and I want you to be happy. Please, just, believe me."
"Harry," she said, her voice sounding strangled in her throat.
"There are so many people who love and care about you," he pushed on. "Heck, even Ginny loves you, Jack, Ron, Neville, Luna, all of us. My mum loves you, sometimes more than I think she loves me."
She was silent for the longest time that Harry was convinced that they'd lost connection. "You're ridiculous," she eventually said. Deflection at its best. At least she was somewhat back to acting like herself. He'd take deflection any day if he didn't have to deal with whatever that was before.
"And Sirius," he added, his voice catching. "Granger, don't you get it? You are so loved. So very loved. We're your family. Right now, your parents don't matter. You do. To me, and to the rest of us."
She sniffed.
Then, throwing caution to the wind, Harry said: "Come spend Christmas with me."
"What?"
"Right now," he added. "I should have been more forceful before, but just pack up your things and I'll come get you."
"What?"
"Please," he practically begged. "Come spend Christmas with us. You are so loved here."
"Harry?"
"I mean it, Granger," he said sternly, refusing to take 'no' for an answer. "Gather your things and I will come and fetch you. We want you here. I want you here with me."
She was silent on the other end of the line, and he just knew that she was considering it. That was a start, at least, and, if he knew her as well as he claimed he did; he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"You wouldn't be imposing," he said, before she convinced herself that this was a bad idea. "My mum was even asking me when you're coming to visit. So, now you can come visit and stay. You'll have your own room, of course, and you'll get to be with us for the holidays." The last thing he wanted was for her to be alone. He'd even prefer it if she went to the Burrow or to Jack's than spend her Christmas alone wherever she was. "Please, Hermione."
She let out a breath. That wasn't fair. He knew that she wouldn't be able to say no when he brought out her first name like that. The boy played dirty. "Okay."
His eyes widened, and he was suddenly glad that she couldn't see him. "Okay?"
"Okay," she repeated.
"Okay," he echoed. Then: "I'm on my way."
If Harry was surprised when Hermione told him she was actually in Oxfordshire and not at Hogwarts as she originally told him; he didn't say. When he hung up the phone, he raced upstairs to fetch his coat and wallet. He reasoned that he'd take the Knight Bus to get to her. He didn't want Sirius to be around when they had the inevitable conversation he and Hermione were bound to have.
After a rushed goodbye to Sirius, Harry was sprinting out of the house to the sidewalk, his wand already ejected from its holster and held out in front of him. The Knight Bus arrived almost immediately and he struggled not to recoil from the sight of it. And, he supposed, the smell. He hopped on, mumbled a greeting to Stan and settled himself in what could only loosely be referred to as a seat.
Harry braced himself, asked for his destination, and then they were off. He'd planned to use the trip to think about what to say when he got to Oxfordshire but he was too busy trying not to end up on the other side of the bus. He'd never been to Hermione's house before, and he wasn't sure what to expect.
But, like Surrey, her neighbourhood seemed so... normal.
The house was large, white in colour with a bright red door at its front. It seemed so unlike Hermione, but then so like her as well. As he walked towards the front door, he started to feel nervous and he wasn't even sure why. This was Hermione.
No.
This was a Hermione Granger on the edge of something.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry knocked once, twice, three times before the red door opened to reveal the most beautiful, teary-eyed mess of a girl he'd ever seen. His eyes softened at the same time that his heart smiled.
"Oh, Hermione," he breathed, immediately stepping forward and wrapping her up in his arms.
Hermione's sobs returned immediately and she pressed herself tight to him, as if she could somehow crawl into him and stay protected. She felt him squeeze her tighter as he shifted them out of the doorway and shut the door with his foot.
Harry'd seen her tears before, but not like this.
Never like this.
"Granger," he whispered, kissing her hair and running his hands up and down her back. "Talk to me."
Whether she couldn't or she wouldn't, Hermione rather pressed kisses to his neck while squeezing him hard enough to hurt. Here was this human being whom she absolutely adored; who was here, and she wasn't going to let go anytime soon.
"Hermione," he tried again, though he didn't dare try to release her. He just knew she wouldn't respond well to that.
She waited a beat before she spoke, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her breath hot against the skin of his neck.
Despite the situation, Harry had to smile. "Oh, crazy girl, what on earth could you possibly be sorry for right now?"
"Dragging you all the way here for something so stupid."
Harry bristled. "Firstly, you did not drag me anywhere and, secondly, this isn't stupid." He rubbed her back one more time before he made the move to release her, surprised that she actually allowed him to. He just wanted to see her.
Hermione's hands reached out to touch his face. "You're here," she said.
He put his hands over hers. "I'm here."
"You came."
"Of course I did."
She shook her head as if she were trying to wrap her mind around the truth of that. "I missed you," she whispered.
"Not as much as I missed you, that's for sure," he said seriously. "Now, do you want to tell me what you're doing here instead of being at Hogwarts like you said you were?"
Hermione had the decency to blush, before she practically launched herself at him, her mouth covering his with the sole intention of distracting him while she formulated a suitable explanation for trying to hide the fact that she wanted to give her parents another chance from him. Of course, she spent an immeasurable amount of time trying to psycho-analyse her own decisions, but it was just too exhausting to deal with the plethora of confusing emotions she was feeling about her parents.
Harry let her distract him.
There were hands and tongues and Harry didn't even know what day it was anymore. She pushed him back against the the front door, her hands desperate in their want to undress him. To touch his skin; to feel his warmth.
"Granger," he murmured, sounding breathless.
"Hmm?" she sounded, pulling away to look at his flushed face.
He smiled warmly. "Not that I'm complaining, but you're being a terrible host."
"Right," she said with a laugh. "Would you like a tour of the house?"
"I'd love one."
She kissed him one more time, and then pulled back, grabbed his hand, and led him into the living room. "This is the living room, through there is the kitchen," she said, pointing to a door. "There's a dining room in there, a study. You've got the second living room." Tugging on his hand, she led the way upstairs. "Spare room here, bathroom, parents' room, and this is mine."
Harry could barely take it all in before he was pulled into Hermione's bedroom.
Hermione's bedroom.
His girlfriend's bedroom.
Despite himself, Harry felt his body start to heat up.
Even though it was her bedroom, it didn't feel very lived in. It felt temporary, as if she'd never truly allowed herself to call it home. Harry guessed that going to boarding school didn't really help with that, but it was still depressing to think about her. Really, besides her wall of books, the room could have belonged to anyone.
"I'm pretty much done with my packing," she said, moving towards an open tog bag on the end of her bed. "Just my toiletries left."
Harry nodded, suddenly unsure what to say. This entire house felt empty, and it broke his heart knowing that she'd spent a few days in this place by herself. There weren't any decorations up, and it didn't feel at all festive. It didn't feel like a home, and it just reaffirmed his resolve to take her with him. He would show her a true, family Christmas, full of love and joy and happiness.
"Well, finish up," he said. "We're expected for dinner."
"When?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Uh, six thirty."
She checked her watch. "Hmm."
"Granger," he said, asking the question. "What?"
She raised her hand and crooked a finger, beckoning him over.
He stayed put. "What are you doing?"
"I have you alone in my house, and we're not expected anywhere for two hours... what do you think I'm doing?"
Harry couldn't help his grin. "Oh, I see how it is," he said. "This is why you dragged me all this way."
"Are you complaining?"
"Never," he murmured, before he rushed at her, his heart leaping at the sound of her excited shriek. She managed to dodge his initial lunge but Harry grabbed her waist and pulled her against him, causing them both to stumble and collapse on her bed.
Before Hermione could even complain, Harry's lips were on hers, silencing her. Hermione sighed into the kiss, relaxing into her mattress as the delicious weight of Harry's body settled down on her. She lifted her hands, cradling his face and looking him in the eye.
"I'm so glad you're here," she murmured breathlessly.
"Me too," he said, nipping at the skin of her neck, suddenly very keen on proving it to her.
"It's going to be okay," Harry said, taking hold of her hand and attempting to lead her through the front door of the house. "They already love you, you know that."
"I do know that," Hermione said softly. "But, I mean - "
"I love you," he whispered. "Now, come on, they're expecting us. Don't want to keep mother dearest waiting, now do we?"
Hermione tugged on his hand to stop him. "Can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Tell me the truth; do you really want me here?"
"I've always wanted you here, Granger," he told her seriously.
"Are you sure?"
He tugged her closer, absently placing a kiss against her temple. "I told you I've never been more sure of anything in my life, remember?" He smiled softly at her. "I mean what I say, and I say what I mean."
She breathed out, relaxing slightly. People who did that were difficult to find, and she was determined to hold onto this one.
Harry started them walking again, through the door and into the foyer. He could hear voices coming from somewhere further in the house, and that was where he led them after closing and locking the front door.
"Mum?" he called out.
"We're in here," Lily called back, her disembodied voice coming from the kitchen.
Harry picked up pace, tugging Hermione along, suddenly looking forward to having his girlfriend here for the holidays. "I hope you don't mind," he said; "I brought a visitor." He was beaming widely as he pushed open the kitchen door to find both his mum and Sirius bustling around the kitchen, preparing dinner.
Lily Evans dropped the dishcloth she was holding when she spotted Hermione, her face splitting into a wide grin. "Finally," she said, moving towards the young couple. "Welcome home, Hermione," she said, pulling the young witch into a hug. "I'm so glad you're here."
And, really, Hermione had no choice but to believe her.
Lily Potter didn't usually embarrass her son - that was more Sirius' job - but she was doing a good job of it. After dinner on Hermione's first night in Surrey, Lily sat both teenagers down and explained her rules. They would be sleeping in separate bedrooms, and there would be absolutely no fooling around under her roof.
"Mum," Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Please stop."
"As long as you know," Lily added.
"We know," Harry grumbled. "Now, please can I show Hermione to her room, and we can somehow try to forget that this conversation ever happened?"
Lily rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "By all means, off you go," she said. "I'll make hot chocolate."
Harry shot her a look, before he rose to his feet and dragged Hermione to hers. "Come on," he said, lifting her tog bag easily. He led the way up the stairs towards the bedrooms. "This is the bathroom," he said, indicating to a closed door on his right. "My room is this one on the left," he said, gesturing in its direction; "and this is where you'll be sleeping."
They walked into a simple room, purple and white in colour scheme, with two single beds, a small secretary desk and a tall, wooden wardrobe. Guest rooms generally weren't personal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that even this room felt more lived in that Hermione's own bedroom.
"I know it's nothing fancy," Harry said, nervously running a hand through his hair as he set her tog bag down on one of the beds. "The bed isn't as big as yours, but we can push them together if you want," he offered, unable to look at her.
"It's perfect, Harry," she said, moving towards him. "Please, don't worry about me."
"Don't you get it, Granger," he said, shaking his head. "All I do is worry about you."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he said with a shrug. "It kind of comes with the territory, you know? Being in love with you and all that."
Hermione couldn't resist kissing him. It was a quick one, particularly after the lecture they'd just received from his mother. If she hadn't found Harry's blush and indignant expression so amusing, she would have been utterly mortified by Lily's assumptions about their physical relationship. "Show me your room," she said when she pulled away, smiling widely at him.
He suddenly felt nervous again. "You're not allowed to laugh," he warned her.
"I would never," she said quickly, practically baulking at him. "Why on earth would I laugh?"
He just took hold of her hand and led her out of the room. They crossed the passage to his bedroom and walked through the open door, Harry absently flicking on the lights at the switch. Now, Hermione'd thought about what his room would look like, but this wasn't it. She wouldn't say she was surprised, but there was a part of her that was a little taken aback by the sight of it.
One of his walls - the one housing the window - was painted a dark blue, and another wall was covered in posters. Every kind of poster imaginable, really; from famous paintings to movie posters to posters of famous footballers. It was just so Muggle that Hermione couldn't help her smile. She secretly loved that he didn't shy away from his Muggle roots, which made her feel more comfortable and just prove to her that he truly was the one for her.
"You're smiling," he said, wary of her reaction.
She said nothing as she moved further into the room. Of course, he had quite the book collection as well, supported by a pretty large bookcase. His desk was a complete mess, loose pages littering its top and open texts hiding the light brown wood. His bed was roughly made, as if he'd just thrown the duvet over his mattress in a rush. She wouldn't go so far as to say the room was messy. No. It was just lived in. That was it. This room had life. Harry Potter lived here.
Her eyes shifted to his bedside table. "Oh," she said automatically. "Is that - "
He laughed nervously. "Well, I mean, I have a picture of my mum at school; it kind of makes sense that I would have you here, doesn't it?"
She moved towards the framed picture of herself, finding that she didn't even recognise the person looking back at her. Was that really what she looked like? "Where did you get this picture?" she asked.
"Colin," he said. "The boy may be borderline obsessed with Jack but he still takes pictures of other people. Surprising, isn't it?"
She smiled fondly, thinking about the excitable Fifth-Year. "I'll have to get one of you from him," she said.
"Better make it a good one, Granger."
"Of course," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Everyone has to know just how handsome my boyfriend is."
He lifted his chin and puffed out his chest with the sole intention of making her laugh. He succeeded, the sound filling his heart and his brain, warming him from the inside out. "I'm so glad you're here."
She dropped her gaze, flushing instantly. "You keep saying that."
"And I keep meaning it, so you should just accept and believe it." At the shake of her head, his face split into a wide grin. "I mean, I could be persuaded to prove it to you."
She stared at him for the longest time, her gaze holding his. Something was happening but she wouldn't be able to explain it. Was this it? Was this what falling in love felt like? How was she supposed to know? How did Harry know?
"Harry? Hermione? Hot chocolate," Lily shouted from downstairs, breaking the spell.
Harry just smiled at her. "She makes the best hot chocolate," he said. "With the little marshmallows and everything."
She couldn't help her giggle. "Lead the way, Mr Potter."
He held his hand out for her to take, and she did so with absolutely no hesitation. She felt calmer, more loved than she had in days, and she knew it had everything to do with this truly special boy, who could set her on fire with just one heated look. This feeling she was feeling; it had to be love, right? It couldn't really be anything else.
"Harry," she suddenly said, stopping him.
He looked back at her, his body relaxed and his eyes happy.
"I - " she started. "Uh, I'm really glad I'm here too," she said.
He grinned at her. "What did I tell you?"
Hermione couldn't remember ever having a family Christmas. Sure, her parents had bought her more presents than she knew what to do with when she was little, but they'd never sat around the Christmas tree with mugs of hot chocolate and just talked. They never told stories; never teased each other and never laughed without abandon.
It was such a shock to her system, and all she could do was marvel at it.
There was so much laughter, so much happiness and love in that house that Hermione didn't even know how to handle it. Harry had no idea how lucky he was. Truly. Sure, he could complain about his abandonment and shunning, but what he gained in his mother's love, and Sirius' unwavering presence; he was probably the luckiest boy on the planet and he didn't even know it.
Or, he did.
She couldn't be sure.
Christmas Day came and went, and Harry kept her occupied and distracted enough that she didn't even think about her parents. He was so present, so Harry that Hermione was suddenly so sure about him that she didn't even know what to do with the overwhelming feelings. How did people handle all of it? Really, how did Harry?
They exchanged small Christmas presents, a woolen scarf for him and a book for her. She didn't want anything more than his presence and his love and his obvious strength. Lily and Sirius had no such qualms, and they showered both teenagers in gifts - books and stationery and even jewellery. Hermione was overwhelmed but Harry stayed close to her side, reassuring her that this was just how things were in this family. Which she was now and would always be a part of. She had to hold back tears at the sound of that, and the two of them sneaked kisses under the mistletoe when nobody was looking.
From Luna and Neville, Hermione received a set of journals, which, Harry now knew, would be used for Mosstrooping purposes. Really, he created a monster in Hermione and, if his mother thought he was bad, she clearly knew nothing about how Hermione Granger's mind worked. Whatever was awaiting Ron when they returned to school... there was a part of Harry that even felt sorry for the redhead.
But hey. Right now, Ron Weasley wasn't his problem.
Despite the rocky start to the holiday, it was turning into Hermione's best one yet, and Harry was inclined to agree. He just hoped he could do something, anything, to make it even better for her. Well, he doubted he could make it any worse.
At least he was here.
"So," Harry said, dropping down onto the couch beside Hermione. "There's something I have to tell you."
Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help her ridiculous panic that stemmed from years of rejection at the hands of her parents. Did he want her to go? Was he taking the invitation back?
"There's this party," he said, oblivious to her inner panic. "It's a New Year's party at the University. We kind of go every year."
She just looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
"I mean, if you don't want to go, I can totally stay home. But, I mean, it could be fun, you know? Getting all dressed up, dancing to lame songs, even sipping champagne, as we know you're wont to doing."
She giggled. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
"Never."
She reached for his hand and entwined their fingers, squeezing tightly. "I'd love to go," she said. "If you're asking."
"I'm asking."
"Then we're going."
He beamed at her, bringing their hands up and placing a kiss against the back of her hand. "I love you," he whispered against her skin.
She leaned into him and kissed him quickly. His mother was in the other room. "There's only one problem," she said. "I don't have anything to wear."
He raised his eyebrows. "Here, or at all?"
"Here," she said. "I kind of just packed to flee; not to celebrate."
Harry swallowed audibly. He didn't like that sentence at all. "Do you want to go back to your house to find something?" he asked. "Or are we going shopping?"
She laughed. "We?"
"Well, you and my mum, actually," he said. "I'm not going anywhere near shopping for dresses with my mum. I think I'd cry solid tears."
"You really are a drama queen, aren't you?"
He nodded, smiling cheekily. "And I totally own it."
She kissed him again, letting her lips linger. "I'm pretty sure I have something in my cupboard," she told him. "Just, uh, will you come with me to look?" she asked, suddenly nervous.
He nodded without hesitation. "Of course." Then: "Are you going to model for me?"
"Wouldn't you be so lucky?"
"I would," he agreed.
This time, returning to Oxfordshire didn't require the Knight Bus. Hermione was able to Apparate them both from the backyard of the Surrey house, and the two of them spent an entire afternoon going through the many dresses Hermione's mother bought for the daughter she didn't even know. Harry lounged on her bed, fingers threaded behind his head as he just watched, halfway mesmerised and doing his level best to stay rooted to the spot.
She started off shy - disappearing into her cupboard to change - but, by the second hour, she was just removing dresses in front of him, and it was taking all of his control not to launch himself at her and tell her to attend the party in just her underwear. Because, yes, that would go down very well.
"I like that one," Harry suddenly said when she slipped on a particularly form-fitting red dress. "That's the one."
Hermione studied herself in the full-length mirror. "You think?"
"I do."
"Because you look amazing," he said. "And I find that I can't wait to take it off you."
Hermione blushed a deep red, and she had to turn away from him to hide it. She wondered what Sirius would think of Harry's advances now. Really, neither of them should have ever been worried. Their relationship - both the emotional and physical side - was definitely progressing. With time; with age.
When she looked up, Harry was grinning at her. "But, well, for right now, you could take it off yourself," he said.
She shook her head. "You're incorrigible, Mr Potter."
He sat up, his smile barely faltering. "I'm just trying to love you, Granger," he said, sounding more serious than his facial expression suggested.
Hermione was still struggling with the act of letting him.
"Dance with me," Harry said, grinning mischievously.
Hermione was quick to shake her head, suddenly very aware of the many people in the ballroom at the university where Lily Evans was a prominent professor. Hermione hadn't really known what Harry's mother did for a living, but she wouldn't say she was surprised. Lily Evans seemed the sort of person to further her education until she was furthering others'. The position suited her in a way that made Hermione question what she was going to end up doing with the rest of her life. What was she built for, and how long would it take her to figure it out?
"No," she said firmly, as if the head-shake wasn't enough.
It clearly wasn't, because he bat his eyelashes at her. "Please?"
"I'm not good at - " she started, but he cut her off.
"Seriously," he said, trying not to roll his eyes. "It's not a contest, Granger. I just want to hold you."
Hermione blushed as if on command.
"What do you say?"
She bit at her bottom lip as she nodded, putting out her hand. "Lead the way, Mr Potter."
Harry took hold of her hand and led the way to the dance floor. He kept them near the edge because the centre looked overwhelming. And, plus, it was where his parents were. Really, he was sure that the world could explode around them and the two adults wouldn't even notice; they were so caught up in each other.
Harry twirled her once, and then pulled her close, his hands moving to rest at her waist. Without prompting, she slipped her arms around his neck, a smile framing her face. Really, Harry wouldn't have been able to look away from her even if he tried.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, and pulled her closer.
They danced the slow songs, and danced a few of the fast ones. The music was generally bad but neither of them minded. They nibbled on snacks, sipped at champagne, and tried their best to act like the teenagers they were desperately trying to be. It wasn't difficult. If Sirius and his mother could do it, then so could they.
When midnight rolled around, it was actually a surprise to Harry. He immediately stopped dancing as the countdown rumbled around them, his gaze honing in on the most perfect face he was sure he'd ever seen. He fully understood his opinions on the matter were objective, but he stood by his convictions. Hermione Granger was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, and he was so desperately in love with her.
"Hi," he breathed.
Hermione's own movements stilled, and her eyes met his.
The world fell away.
Gently, Harry lifted his right hand and cupped her cheek, a small smile dancing across his lips. This was his life now, and he was determined to hold onto it as tightly as he could.
When the countdown ended and midnight officially struck, Harry leaned down to kiss her, wishing her a Happy New Year without having to use any words, just his lips, tongue and teeth. He sank into the kiss, deepening it and trying to convey his deepest feelings. Really, he would have kissed her for all her worth, but a tap on his shoulder made him pull away and turn to the culprit.
He came face-to-face with someone he didn't know; a boy who was smiling coyly. "Dude," the boy said, grinning knowingly. "Get a room."
Despite herself, Hermione laughed out loud before burying her flushed face in Harry's collar.
Harry looked at the boy for the longest time. Then: "Got it."
The boy walked away, and Harry leaned back so he could look at Hermione's face. "Hey, you," he said. "What are you giggling about?"
Her smile slowly faded as her eyes met his. "We could, you know?"
He frowned. "We could what?"
She swallowed thickly. "Get a room."
His eyes widened in surprise. "What?"
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
She stood up straight, her right hand moving to run through his hair. "Do you want to get out of here, Harry Potter?" she asked, her voice low and steady. "We could go to my house. We could - "
He raised his eyebrows. "We could what?"
She blushed. "Please don't make me use the words, Harry," she said testily. Then: "We're not having sex, if that's what's worrying you."
He stared at her for the longest moment. "It's not that," he finally said. "I, just, are you sure?"
She stepped back and reached for his hand, her fingers entwining with his. "Let's go, Harry."
The boy really didn't need to be told twice. He let her lead him out of the Hall and out into the foyer. For a moment, she hesitated, trying to decide where in the vicinity it was best to go to, in order to Apparate to her house without anyone seeing them.
"Bathroom," Harry whispered.
Bathroom it was.
Hermione pulled him into the women's bathroom, shut the door, and pulled him close by wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Hold on," she murmured, and Harry's own arms tightened around her. Again, he didn't have to be told twice.
A moment later, they were gone, only to appear in the darkness of a broken streetlight near Hermione's house.
Harry stumbled slightly; still not used to Apparation. Really, he didn't think he would ever get used to it. Hermione was the one to steady him, before she grabbed hold of his hand and then started running towards the house.
Harry could only marvel at how light she seemed, her laughter sounding happy and childish as she practically skipped towards the red front door. His girlfriend was skipping. It was a stark contrast to the girl he'd picked up from this same house just over a week ago.
They were already kissing when they made it through the door, blissfully unaware of what they were stumbling into. Hermione's fingers reached for the buttons of Harry's shirt, and he used his foot to slam the door shut, lips on her skin and hands exploring the curves of her body. His brain was seconds away from shutting down; his body taking over.
Right until the moment they were both made aware of the fact they weren't alone.