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by luuvjonah

Haha

7. 5 veces que tuvieron

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Clasificación:

Maduro

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Categoría:

H/M

Aficionado:

Harry Potter - JK Rowling

Relaciones:

Hermione Granger/Harry PotterLuna Lovegood/Ron WeasleySeamus Finnigan/Decano Thomas

Caracteres:

harry potterHermione Grangerluna lovegoodRon Weasleydecano tomasseamus finniganpadma patilMarrón Lavanda

Etiquetas adicionales:

armoníasitio web de citasEpílogo de Harry Potter Qué epílogo EWE5 veces tropocontenido sexualAmigos a los amantesAlcoholIntegrando el mundo mugglePelusa y humorPelusa y obscenidadReunirsetensión sexual

Idioma:

Inglés

Colecciones:

Celebración 2K para Harmony & Co.

Estadísticas:

Publicado:2019-07-31Terminado:2019-07-31Palabras:14940Capítulos:6/6Comentarios:102Prestigio:606Marcadores:175Golpes:8158

eHarmony

frumpólogo

Resumen:

Las cinco veces que Harry y Hermione salieron y la única vez que tuvieron una cita.

Notas:

¡Estoy tan emocionado de que Harmony & Co. haya alcanzado los 2000 miembros! ¡Gracias a los administradores por organizar este evento súper secreto! Me divertí TANTO escribiendo esta pieza que se suponía que solo sería de 6k y... ahora es mucho más grande que eso. XDD

¡Mucho, mucho amor a mcal por leer alfa este fic y animarme a continuar con todas mis preocupaciones! ¡Eres una estrella de rock y te adoro!

Descargo de responsabilidad: No tengo nada familiar en esta historia. Harry Potter pertenece a JK Rowling y eHarmony pertenece a alguien que no soy yo, pero ¿quién podría dejar de usarlo para una historia de Harmony?

Capítulo 1 : Almuerzo

Texto del capítulo

Deslizar a la izquierda.

Desliza a la derecha.

No hay coincidencias para Hermione Granger que Magi-Tech pueda proporcionar.

Ella ha probado mucho; Muggle Match, Muggleborns Only Dot Com, OK Muggle, Gryff-Tinder. Ha tenido no menos de veintiséis citas en la extensión del Reino Unido y no ha encontrado a nadie que despierte la más mínima pasión en ella. Son todos iguales. Dockers, polos, mocasines, barbas; cada hombre con el que ha salido es una copia al carbón del otro. Ninguno de ellos tiene perspectivas laborales serias. Ninguno de ellos puede manejar a un futuro Ministro de Magia. Algunos de ellos tienen una integridad cuestionable y más de uno se ofrece a pagarle una noche en su piso.

Un caballero fue lo suficientemente encantador como para ganarse una segunda cita, y luego le preguntó si consideraría darle las bragas que llevaba puestas. Hermione Granger declinó cortésmente y más tarde se encontró vagando por el Londres Mágico con una pinta de helado en lugar de hincarle el diente al delicioso bistec mediano que anhelaba desde hacía una semana.

Está a punto de renunciar a los sitios de citas de aplicaciones cuando alguien le llama la atención. Un Harry Potter, El Elegido, su mejor amigo, sonriendo en una foto que parece haber sido tomada frente al Ministerio de Magia en Italia. Se ve feliz, incluso encendido. No es el auror hosco y ocupado en el escritorio que está acostumbrada a ver todos los días para los almuerzos de trabajo.

Él es, Merlín no lo quiera que ella lo crea, en forma.

Ella nunca había pensado en él así antes. Nunca escudriñé la curva de su mandíbula o la barba incipiente de su barbilla. Ella nunca lo miró a los ojos como si pudieran contener algo más que amistad en su mirada verde. Es extraño observar esta foto de naturaleza muerta de su mejor amiga y pensar en lo que podrían llegar a ser, si funcionan románticamente y si ella está dispuesta a interrumpir su amistad con sentimientos más profundos.

¿Su cabello siempre ha lucido tan pícaro? No, siempre ha sido desordenado y caótico, pero ¿elegante?

Hermione chilla y desliza la aplicación en su teléfono de abajo hacia arriba. Ella no puede contemplar esto. No, es completamente inapropiado. Entonces, decide ignorar que ha visto algo y decide que nunca, jamás, se lo mencionará a Harry tampoco.

Ignorar la cara de Harry en una aplicación de citas resulta imposible.

No solo está en todos los sitios de hijos de muggles en los que ella está registrada, sino que también está en eHarmony. Está en un equipo de fútbol, está en forma y parece completamente nacido de muggles.

Está tan jodida.

Todo el fin de semana, estuvo pensando en cómo expresar su interés en el perfil de Harry. Si simplemente desliza y espera su respuesta, se volverá loca. Si ella le envía un mensaje, la hace demasiado vulnerable. Si ella se acerca a él, parece bastante desesperada. Al final, tiene un perfil completamente nuevo en eHarmony para Jean G., un asesor policial en Londres. Hermione agrega algunos encantos de glamour a su foto de perfil y pone su perfil en vivo.

Su dedo se cierne sobre el botón "DI HOLA" en el perfil de Harry. Si hace esto, nunca podrá retractarse. Hay una medida de engaño en su plan, nada nefasto, por supuesto, pero ciertamente es cuestionable. Ella solo quiere saber si puede sentir algo por él sin poner su amistad con Harry en juego. Si no, no necesita ser más sabio.

Hola. El saludo sale de sus dedos y se muerde la comisura del labio antes de finalmente presionar enviar.

Aparece una elipsis. Está escribiendo de inmediato. El corazón de Hermione salta a su garganta. No, esta es una muy mala idea. Ella nunca debería haberle enviado un mensaje. Está a medio segundo de que el pánico borre su cuenta cuando suena el teléfono.

Hola, hermione. El aleteo de su corazón es tan rápido que está segura de que está a punto de desmayarse. Sigue escribiendo. No sabía que también estabas usando sitios muggles.

Él sabe. Él sabe que ella está usando sitios de citas. Eso significa que ha mirado su perfil. Eso también significa que ha pasado por alto su perfil. Le duele por alguna razón y mira su teléfono con el ceño fruncido.

¿Almuerzo? Se lee como sus notas diarias a su oficina. ¿Por qué nunca se habían enviado mensajes de texto antes?

Sus pulgares se mueven por la pantalla. Nos vemos en diez.

Se alisa el cabello salvaje y encrespado mientras se acerca al pequeño café de la esquina que han llamado suyo durante la última década. Hermione mira por la ventana y suspira. Por supuesto, él ya está sentado adentro en su mesa de dos sillas, un croissant y un té corto frente al asiento de ella. Harry sonríe con esa sonrisa sincera que está segura de que encuentra atractiva ahora. Ella saluda y se lanza al café, el calor enrojecido en su rostro.

"Entonces." Harry se pasa los dedos por el flequillo pegajoso de la frente. "¿Armonía electrónica? ¿Los magos ya no son suficientes?

Hermione suspira y pellizca un trozo de su croissant. "No es que no sean suficientes. Es solo que espero demasiado".

Le gana una risa. "¿Hermione Granger, Héroe de la Guerra Mágica, espera demasiado de su vida amorosa? Nunca."

Ella tira el trozo de croissant en su frente y hace un ping en su cicatriz.

"¡Oye!" Se ríe y agarra las migajas escamosas de donde caen frente a él y las arroja a la esquina de su plato. "Me parece que la dama protesta demasiado. Eth. ¿Cuál es la redacción adecuada allí?

"Bien." Ella lo considera cuidadosamente mientras saca la palabra. Está vestido de manera sencilla, una camisa de algodón muggle y jeans. Está tan atento como siempre, siempre con el borde de una sonrisa descarada en su rostro. "Hamlet en realidad dice: 'Creo que la dama protesta demasiado'. No todas las palabras necesitan que se les agregue 'eth', ¿sabes? Y no estoy protestando, tu sarcasmo con respecto a mi vida amorosa no es apreciado, muchas gracias".

"Considérame educado en inglés antiguo, entonces". Harry sorbe su té.

"Inglés moderno temprano". Hermione se mete un trozo de croissant en la boca.

"¿Cual es la diferencia?"

Ella balbucea. ¿Cómo podría siquiera imaginar que Harry, de todas las personas, es la persona con la que debe pasar el resto de su vida? ¿Cuál es la diferencia entre el inglés moderno y el inglés antiguo? Es como preguntar la diferencia entre muffins y croissants: hay diferencias . ¡Hay!

"Tengo que volver al trabajo", dice finalmente y arroja unas cuantas libras sobre la mesa. Harry intenta protestar, pero ella odia cuando él paga por ella. "Te veré en la oficina, ¿sí?"

"Oh… está bien. ¿Lo que acaba de suceder?" Ella puede sentir sus ojos siguiéndola mientras se va, pero no se atreve a mirar atrás.

¿Qué está pensando? ¿Hermione Granger y Harry Potter? Terrible combinación.

Amigos, eso es todo.

Pero, el latido de su corazón le dice lo contrario.

Capítulo 2 : Bebidas

Notas:

¡Mucho amor a mcal por su brillantez continua y por ser un alfa maravilloso!

Texto del capítulo

"Entonces, le dije, Harry—" El brazo de Ron se enrolla alrededor del hombro de Harry y lo atrae hacia su torso. "¡Le dije que la amo y ella en realidad dice que también me ama!"

Su mejor amigo pelirrojo es un desastre de risas y cerveza. Deja ir a Harry después de un momento y se aplasta contra la chica en cuestión. Una Luna Lovegood, quien, sin beber una sola gota de alcohol, parece fuertemente influenciada por algo . Presiona un beso en la mejilla con hoyuelos de Ron y le sonríe amablemente a Hermione.

"¿Cómo van tus citas, Hermione?" Luna pregunta con la familiar calidad sin aliento de su voz.

"Er-" Hermione se mueve hacia su teléfono, pero lo deja en su bolso. Ella no va a comprobarlo de nuevo. Ella no es. Su último mensaje aún no se ha leído desde hace días y no se atreve a leerlo. "Creo que he dejado de usar los sitios web y las aplicaciones, en realidad".

"¿Tiene?" Las cejas de Harry se juntan. Él se inclina hacia ella y adopta una expresión de profundo escrutinio que Hermione le devuelve con el ceño fruncido.

"Tengo." Ella asiente y envuelve su diminuta mano alrededor de cualquier bebida afrutada que Ron le haya traído del bar. "¿Sabías que me propusieron sexo tres veces en la última semana?"

Harry se ahoga con el líquido ámbar de su pinta. Tose y se limpia la boca con el dorso de la mano. Con los ojos llorosos, se vuelve hacia Hermione y frunce el ceño. "No me dijiste eso".

"Bueno, no es algo de lo que quiera hablar, ¿verdad?" Hermione da un sorbo a su bebida, vacía el vaso en tres rápidos tragos de su pajita. "Nunca sé a quién tomar en serio en esas plataformas y estoy cansado de perder el tiempo".

"Los tipos son repugnantes", asiente Ron y acerca a Luna a él. "Excepto Harry y yo, por supuesto, ¿verdad, amor?"

Creo que Hermione necesita otro trago, Ronald. Luna insta a Ron a salir de su mesa y él está muy feliz de ir a tomar otra ronda de la barra. "Creo que voy al baño de damas. Puede que me tome un tiempo y también hay una larga fila en el bar".

Los ojos de Hermione son redondos como platos mientras observa cómo la sonrisa de complicidad en el rostro de Luna desaparece mientras sus largas y pálidas piernas la llevan lejos. Harry se ríe a su lado y trata de ocultar su creciente sonrisa detrás de su mano. Hermione no puede evitar unirse a él y poner los ojos en blanco hacia el techo.

"Entonces, ¿rompiste algunos corazones esta semana?" Harry le sonríe y ella le pellizca el costado.

"Me gusta pensar que en realidad promoví la experiencia individual". Su tono es burlonamente altivo, la nariz en el aire y la boca fruncida.

"Bruja cruel", bromea Harry. Su brazo se envuelve alrededor de la cabina detrás de sus hombros. Se relaja y está completamente a gusto. "Entonces, ¿estás fuera de eHarmony ahora?"

Hermione se encoge de hombros y hace girar la pajilla en su bebida. "Es el único que he dudado en eliminar".

Las cejas de Harry se elevan. "¿Oh? ¿Alguna razón en particular?"

Ella examina su rostro. Él está pescando algo y ella no está segura de qué es. Los dedos de Harry están en la parte carnosa de la parte superior de su brazo, lentamente y apenas allí, subiendo hasta el hombro desde el codo. Ella ignora la piel de gallina en su antebrazo.

"No", dice finalmente cuando Ron se acerca con las bebidas. Harry no se mueve. "No hay ninguna razón en absoluto".

Hermione agarra la bebida que Ron desliza hacia adelante y comienza a sorberla. Puede sentir que su cara se sonroja por la atención que Harry le está prestando y es un territorio completamente nuevo. Nunca había sido tan coqueto antes, nunca expresó ningún interés en absoluto. Y odiaría pensar que él solo se está comportando así porque está en un montón de sitios que generalmente se usan para ligar, todos menos que Hermione los use de esa manera, aparentemente.

"Deberías reducir la velocidad, amor". Los dedos de Harry no la han dejado y están trazando patrones en su piel. Están callosos por todo su trabajo con la varita como auror y ella trata desesperadamente de mantener sus pensamientos inocentes.

Ella lo ignora y se traga la bebida de todos modos. El vaso golpea contra la mesa. Se muerde el labio mientras Ron la mira.

"¿Otro?" Ya se está escapando de la cabina cuando le dice que sí. "Traeré lo que pueda cargar, ¿sí?"

Harry se ríe a su lado y ella no se da cuenta de lo cerca que están hasta que siente el ruido de su pecho a su lado.

"Pareces nervioso".

Por supuesto que ella está con Harry presionado tan cerca. ¿No tiene idea de lo que le está haciendo? El fuerte olor a colonia fresca, la voz áspera de él junto a su oído, la calidez del licor y su cuerpo creando la tormenta perfecta para sus hormonas.

"No lo soy", miente y fuerza una sonrisa. "Tienes razón, creo que me quedaré con eHarmony por un tiempo".

"Suficientemente divertido", Harry bebe su cerveza con la mano libre y sonríe alrededor de su labio, "Esa es la única que me quedo".

"¿Alguna razón en particular?" Hermione tira su cerveza y toma un trago.

"No." Lo roba de nuevo con una sonrisa. "No hay ninguna razón en absoluto".

"El baño de las chicas está hecho un desastre", la voz flotante de Luna interrumpe el concurso de miradas en el que se encuentran. Ella no se da cuenta. "Creo que tienen una infestación, pero no puedo decir si son duendes o-"

"Bien." La forma larguirucha de Ron aparece de nuevo en la mesa y lleva cinco bebidas afrutadas. "Después de esto, estás aislado. Tengo una noche divertida por delante y no incluye limpiar tu enfermedad.

Encantador, Ronald. A pesar de su tono, Hermione sonríe y toma un trago. "No puedo recordar por qué no funcionamos".

"Lo llamaste cerdo misógino cabeza de algodón cuando te pidió que tuvieras hijos y te quedaras en casa con ellos en lugar de seguir tu corazón en la política". La adoración de Luna por su novio realmente endulza el tono real y el volumen en el que Hermione había dicho esas palabras hace tantos años.

"Y dijo que eres una vaca mandona y egoísta porque le pediste que mantuviera su trabajo en el Ministerio para que no te vieras mal cuando te presentaras a Ministro". La sonrisa de Harry es extravagante. Prácticamente está rebotando.

"Correcto", susurran tanto Ron como Hermione al unísono. Hermione ofrece su vaso en aplausos. "Para tomar decisiones apropiadas y adultas y eliminar la toxicidad de nuestras vidas".

"¡Escucha Escucha!" Ron choca su pinta contra el vaso de ella y ambos tragan hasta la última gota de sus labios.

Los labios de Harry rozan su oído. "Si sigues chupando ese cubo de hielo, tendré que acompañarte a casa de inmediato".

Él inclina su barbilla con un dedo y fuerza su mirada a través de la habitación. Un par de ojos oscuros la observan atentamente. Rompe el hielo entre sus muelas y rompe su mirada. Harry se ríe y la bocanada de aire contra su piel le parte el pecho y los brazos con piel de gallina. Está decidida a creer que es la frialdad del hielo.

-Hermione, ¿estás bien? Luna se inclina sobre la mesa y cubre la mano de Hermione con la suya. "Pareces sonrojada".

"Bien, estoy bien. Creo que me iré a casa ahora.

Tiene que obligarse a apartarse del lado de Harry y abandonar la cabina sin mirarlo a los ojos. Es difícil alejarse, pero ella no… ella no solo quiere tener una relación borracha con su mejor amiga. Él trata de llamarla, pero ella agita una mano detrás de su espalda y deja atrás el resto de sus bebidas, junto con sus mejores amigos.

Va a borrar eHarmony cuando llegue a casa.

Capítulo 3 : Bailando

Notas:

¡Más amor por mcal, el alfa extraordinario! 3

Texto del capítulo

Por supuesto, ella no se atreve a eliminar la aplicación. En cambio, pasa una noche entera revisando los diversos perfiles de redes sociales de Harry. ¿Quién es él, fuera del mundo mágico? Harry Potter, rico hombre de negocios que disfruta del fútbol y las artes marciales. Le gusta el karaoke, el baile y los pubs pequeños donde todos se conocen.

Hasta ahora, Hermione creía que Harry solo vive una vida mágica. Ella está muy equivocada.

Tiene un barco, un barco al que llama Félix Felicis. Porque Harry es descarado y siempre supera los límites de lo que es aceptable. Él marca la línea entre lo mágico y lo muggle y ¿no es eso lo que ella siempre ha querido?

Ha practicado puenting y paracaidismo y ¿cómo es que nunca se dio cuenta de que cuando él viajaba por trabajo, también exploraba el mundo? Hermione pasa foto tras foto de Harry en un lugar nuevo y emocionante. Su perfil de Facebook dice "Next Up -- Ecuador" como si esto fuera algo que hiciera todo el tiempo. ¿Y quiénes son todas estas personas de las que es amigo? ¿Y por qué nunca supo que él tiene toda una vida muggle?

Y... ¿por qué no la ha incluido a ella, su mejor amiga nacida de muggles?

Es el amanecer cuando finalmente cierra los ojos. Su alarma suena implacablemente. Se despierta con dolor de cabeza y una piedra en la boca del estómago. Ella realmente no conoce a Harry y si solo hubiera prestado atención a lo largo de los años, tal vez no estaría tan sorprendida de saber que él se había ido y se había convertido en algo más que Harry Potter: El Elegido.

Se sienta en su pequeño comedor a desayunar y bebe té. Su teléfono está entre sus dedos y se cierne sobre la pequeña aplicación, debatiendo si borrarlo todo. Claramente no está tan enfocada en sus relaciones personales como debería. Hermione no necesita estar saliendo, necesita reafirmar las relaciones que ya tiene.

Ella asiente para sí misma. "Bien, Granger, solo presiona la X y termina con eso".

Aparece una notificación en la parte superior de su teléfono. ¿Te sientes bien hoy?

A pesar de todo, ella sonríe hacia su teléfono. Como vómito en un día caluroso. ¿Tú?

Tomé dos botellas de cerveza. Tenías dos botellas de vodka. Estoy más preocupado por ti.

Ella ríe. Pensé que estabas eliminando esta aplicación.

Los puntos aparecen durante mucho tiempo y luego desaparecen. Tres veces, antes de que finalmente responda: Pensé que también estabas eliminando esta aplicación. ¿Libre esta noche?

Cita caliente esta noche, me temo. Ella borra ese mensaje. No lo siento. Ella borra ese también. ¿Para qué?

No tarda más de un milisegundo en responder. Gala de conmemoración de los aurores. Buena sesión de fotos para ti.

¿Tiempo?

Media 7, cena a las 8. Enviaré la dirección más tarde.

No sé… Borrar. ¿Es esto realmente una buena idea? Borrar. Te veo allí.

Son las ocho menos cuarto cuando finalmente entra en el vestíbulo de un lujoso salón de eventos. Ella lo ve de inmediato; cabello no menos caótico pero con un vestido elegante, tiene que convencerse a sí misma de no darse la vuelta y huir. Está vestido con un traje azul marino, una camisa blanca planchada debajo con un chaleco de un hermoso tono plateado que combina con su vestido. Ella no tiene tiempo para preguntarse cómo supo él que ella usaría plata, ni cómo es capaz de hacer coincidir su corbata con el estampado de cachemira de su vestido.

Se acerca a ella desde el otro lado del vestíbulo, pasos lentos y medidos que la hacen sentir como si fuera una presa. Sus ojos verdes, normalmente brillantes, se oscurecen bajo el espacio tenuemente iluminado. No puede evitar morderse la comisura de la boca y juguetear con las manos.

Harry se para frente a ella, con las manos en los bolsillos. La forma en que sus ojos la recorren desde el cabello recogido hasta los zapatos abiertos en sus pies se apoderan de su corazón. Ella se olvida de respirar y él sonríe y es apuesto .

Ella está en tantos problemas.

"Te ves--" los gestos de Harry vagamente hacia su persona. Sus ojos se detienen en la esbelta longitud de su cuello expuesto. Lleva puesto el collar de plata que él le compró para Navidad. Su sonrisa se ensancha. "No hay palabras".

"Me lo llevo."

Hermione le tiende la mano y él las junta. Harry la conduce por el vestíbulo hasta una sala brillantemente iluminada con cientos de mesas. Rostros familiares se sientan alrededor de la mesa que elige y Harry saca su silla. Cuando él lo empuja, ella jura que sus dedos se deslizan sobre la parte posterior de su cuello.

Ella trata desesperadamente de mantenerse enfocada. "¿A quién conmemoramos esta noche?"

Dean Thomas se inclina y susurra: "Es el aniversario de la caída del Ministerio".

Hermione gira su rostro hacia Harry. Está avergonzado, arropado en la mesa y con las manos apoyadas en las rodillas debajo del mantel.

"¿No podrías haberme advertido?" Ella le susurra lo más bajo posible y de repente se siente terrible por tratar de vestirse de manera tan provocativa. "Oye, Hermione, este evento es para los Caídos en la guerra y tal vez quieras mantener la exposición de los senos al mínimo".

Sus labios tiran hacia abajo, al igual que sus ojos. Ella lo golpea en el brazo. Él se sobresalta y sus ojos saltan de nuevo a los de ella. "Eh, lo siento. ¿Quieres que transforme un jersey para ti?

"Puedo transfigurar mi propio suéter, Harry, Cristo en una bicicleta". Quiere golpearse la cabeza con la mesa o correr al suelo y ponerse los pantalones deportivos y comer una pinta de helado porque eso es lo que hacen los adultos.

Él se ríe y ella quiere golpearlo. "Entonces realmente no estoy seguro de lo que quieres que haga, Hermione. Aquí hay chicas que visten mucho menos que tú.

"Consolador." Ella lo mira. "Creo que las redes sociales te han vuelto demasiado descarado para tu propio bien".

"¿Medios de comunicación social?" Sus cejas se juntan. Y luego su barbilla se sacude y una sonrisa se arrastra hacia arriba y parece que lo sabe todo detrás de esos estúpidos ojos verdes brillantes. "Encontraste mi página de Facebook".

La cabeza de Hermione cae contra el mantel blanco. Hay un ruido sordo. No esperaba que estuviera hecho de madera maciza, así que gime. La mano de Harry encuentra su espalda y la frota con pequeños círculos mientras se ríe de ella.

"Podría haber... echado un vistazo", murmura en la mesa. Él empuja su cabeza hacia atrás y ella estalla en llamas al sentir su mano en la base de su cráneo, envuelta en su cabello y animándola suavemente a levantarse. Le dan ganas de golpearse la cabeza contra la mesa, más fuerte esta vez. "¿Desde cuándo eres un aventurero?"

"En algún momento de lo que debería haber sido nuestro séptimo año". Él le sonríe cariñosamente. Su mano todavía está en su espalda, el pulgar frotando círculos concéntricos contra el suave material plateado de su vestido. "El camping me habló".

"¿En realidad?" Los ojos de Hermione se abren como platos, nunca lo ha dicho. "Pensé que lo odiabas".

"Bueno", se ríe, pero ella puede decir que él está realmente interesado porque sus ojos se iluminan y su rostro adquiere esa expresión de 'Me he llevado a Felix Felicis y nada puede detenerme ahora'. "Pensé que también lo odiaba, para ser honesto. Pero si eliminas la huida por nuestras vidas, comer hongos silvestres que podrían haber sido venenosos y ser atacado por una dama serpiente poseída, en realidad fue agradable estar en la paz y la tranquilidad del desierto.

"¿Y te sentiste así en el Bosque de Dean?" Una ceja se arquea sobre uno de sus ojos delineados con rímel. "Porque todas las quejas que hiciste--"

"Fue por las circunstancias y no por la aventura". Harry le da un asentimiento superficial. "Cuando el DMLE me envió a Egipto justo después de pasar por la iniciación, fue cuando supe que quería viajar alrededor del mundo. Estar al aire libre. Hacer más en las comunidades".

"Tú... no te estás tomando el pelo, ¿verdad?" Hermione traga.

Realmente nunca supo que Harry tenía tal vena de aventurero y... ¿cómo lo había extrañado todos estos años? El horror de que continuamente se da cuenta de que no conoce a su mejor amiga debe cruzar su rostro, porque Harry tiene su mano en su rodilla y se inclina hacia ella y la nivela con una mirada que la hace sentir expuesta.

"Quería algo para mí ", le dice, obviamente adivinando correctamente lo que está pensando. "No le dije a Ron ni a mis socios en el DMLE, Hermione. Quería algo que fuera mío".

Él parece preocupado, desesperado por que ella lo entienda. Sus ojos recorren su rostro, por la forma en que su mandíbula tictac, la forma en que su garganta se balancea, la preocupación en sus ojos. Ella exhala, una exhalación larga y constante que promete que está llena de todas sus propias ansiedades por ser una amiga terrible.

"Aprendí yoga". Es lo mínimo que ella puede ofrecerle. Algo para ella . "Y tenía un MySpace. Así que aprendí el código básico. Y desarmo computadoras en mi tiempo libre".

Su labio inferior cae y su mandíbula cuelga abierta. "¿Te volviste un nerd de la computadora?"

Hermione se encoge de hombros. "Estaba tratando de aclimatarme al mundo muggle nuevamente porque no quería perder esa conexión con mis padres. Resulta que los circuitos tienen sentido para mí".

Los labios de Harry están tan arriba de su rostro que sus ojos se arrugan en las esquinas. Él niega con la cabeza. "De alguna manera eso no me sorprende en absoluto".

Algún tiempo después, después de la cena y los discursos, Hermione se encuentra mirando a varias parejas que flotan en la enorme pista de baile. Hay un cuarteto de cuerdas que toca hermosas canciones que nunca antes había escuchado. La gente visita aquí y allá durante toda la noche y ella se ríe con ellos y está triste con ellos. Sin embargo, ella es la que más observa a Harry. Es encantador, un poco descarado y sarcástico, pero con una brillantez real que le hace reír. Ella no sabe por qué nunca se dio cuenta de lo fácil que es para él estar en el centro de atención.

Ella todavía lo está mirando mientras él habla con Kingsley. Tiene un trago en la mano y hace gestos, se inclina y sonríe en los momentos adecuados. No puede evitar sonreír ante la interacción. Entonces sus ojos se vuelven hacia los de ella y la atrapa mirándolo fijamente. Harry se excusa de Kingsley y deposita su bebida en una bandeja que pasa.

Mientras se acerca, se desata los puños uno a la vez y rápidamente se sube las mangas justo debajo del codo. Se detiene justo antes de llegar a ella y le tiende la mano. Ella sigue sus líneas, las profundas venas azules que corren por el interior de su sorprendentemente bronceado brazo, y finalmente llega a su mirada.

"¿Bailar conmigo?"

Ella ya tiene su mano en la de él antes de que termine de preguntar. Él la conduce a través de la multitud de parejas y se detiene cuando está cerca de la mitad del piso. Hermione se muerde el labio, insegura de cuán íntimo va a ser esto: ¿colocará su mano en su cadera o la enrollará alrededor de su espalda o levantará una mano? Está nerviosa y de repente aterrorizada de que sus palmas comiencen a sudar y ¿ha hecho tanto calor en este edificio toda la noche?

"Deja de parecer tan aterrorizado y pon tu mano alrededor de mi cuello". Harry la acerca, mantiene su mano y envuelve la otra sobre su cadera. "Correcto, ¿has bailado alguna vez antes?"

Ella piensa que es la primera vez que se siente inadecuada con Harry. De alguna manera, se siente tan pequeña a su lado. Y le preocupa pisar sus pies.

"Por supuesto que sí", le susurra ella y él se ríe. "Tu mano está justo encima de mi trasero, Harry. Estoy nervioso."

Él la acerca más, su pie no tiene otra opción que interponerse entre los suyos. Su cadera presiona contra él, sus piernas corren a lo largo de las de él. No deja espacio, absolutamente ningún espacio entre ellos. Y, absolutamente sin duda cuáles son sus intenciones.

Los labios de Harry están sobre su oído. Ella puede escuchar cada pequeño sonido que se le escapa. El murmullo de su excitación, el zumbido de la atracción que golpea a través de su pecho.

"¿Alguna vez piensas en el Bosque de Dean?"

Hermione levanta la cabeza desde donde había estado casi probando contra el pecho de Harry. Sus rostros están tan cerca que nunca antes había estado tan cerca de él.

"Probablemente más a menudo de lo que debería", admite. Sus dedos se retuercen en el pelo de su cuello.

"I don't dwell on the hunt or the snatchers or what I could have done differently." His eyes are staring somewhere over head that she can't see. "I think about us, so young and alone."

Hermione swallows. Those are all the things she tries not to think about. He carries on anyway.

"Ron couldn't understand, could he?" His voice is a little hard, as if he's transported back all those years to that argument that shattered the safety around them. "His whole family hung in the balance and we — you and I were alone."

"Everyone experiences the war differently." His eyes snap to hers and there's a fire there that she's never noticed before. "I just mean, we share something special because of it, and Ron had his own burdens to bear."

"I feel guilty sometimes." His confession rings quietly between them and his hand curls harder into her hip. "I was happy to have that time with you. I'm glad that we grew closer because of it."

"I am, too," Hermione whispers with a small smile.

"Good." He returns her smile with one of his own.

"Good." She doesn't even know if she's said it loud enough for him to hear.

Their lips are closer now. His eyes dart to her lips and back again. The music stops. Or, perhaps she just can't hear it anymore over the thrum of her heart raging in her ears.

His kiss is soft. Testing. Savoring. Slow. He lays the hand he's holding around her neck and trails his hand to her hair. His fingers wind in it and pull her closer, tilting her head back as he deepens the kiss. Still languid, still experimenting.

But absolutely perfect.

A camera flashes and they break apart. Both are pink faced and shy when their eyes lock again.

Their friendship will never be the same. But, Hermione finds that she's okay with it at the feel of Harry's arm winding around her as he escorts her off the dance floor.

Chapter 4: Twister

Notes:

mcal deserves so much praise for helping me through this chapter. 3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"If you just lift your arse—"

"Put your foot this way—"

"Ugh, hands go— here."

A moan. A grunt. A peel of laughter.

"Twist your hips and—"

"No, not like that. Ow! Ow, motherfu—"

Four bodies crash to the ground in a heap. Curses fly, laughs ring out. Padma Patil is cackling and sipping at a large glass of red wine. Seamus is at her side slapping his knee as he watches the quartet in the middle of the room fall over into a heap on top of a Twister mat. Hermione watches them with a smile because despite that her arm is pinned beneath Harry's neck, she loves the sound of her friends' laughter more than anything in the world.

"It was right foot on blue, you muppet," Harry hisses at Dean, who is on the floor in fits. "How did you expect to get to blue from under Lavender's arse?"

"Listen, it was safer for my marriage to go under Brown's arse than to try and crawl over The Chosen One," Dean chuckles with his hands over his face.

Seamus raises his beer in salute. "Hear, hear. Speaking as a party to the marriage, I can confirm. Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor isn't exactly who I fancy trying to remove from my husband's thoughts tonight."

"Oi, come on!" Harry grumbles as he extricates himself from the pile of bodies. "Hermione, tell them—"

"Oh no, Harry," she smirks as she scoots across the floor on her butt. Hermione folds her feet in a cross style and reaches for her drink on the closest table. "Seamus is right. Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor shouldn't also be a homewrecker."

"But I'm not even gay!" Harry is on his feet, vehemently defending his sexuality. "And I'm not a homewrecker and I'm not a bachelor and I'm not eligible!"

Hermione grins into her tumbler and glances to Padma, who uncrosses and recrosses her legs at the knee. Lavender practically seats herself on Hermione's lap and giggles into her shoulder. Dean and Seamus are pressed together at the base of the sofa and sharing a beer.

Padma leans forward on her crossed knees, a cheeky smile in Harry's direction. "Not eligible? Who is she, then?"

There's a small, covert look shared between Hermione and Harry. So discreet, in fact, that Hermione wonders if they didn't share it at all. Harry rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. Hermione's heart is lodged in her throat.

"That's not what I meant," he grumbles finally and snags his drink. It's emptied in record time. "I meant that the article is bollocks — Rita's stories always are."

"Oh, never mind. Harry's great and all and I'm sure he'll make a wonderful, straight boyfriend to someone one day." Lavender rises to her knees, tips her drink all the way back, and slams her glass on the table. "I've heard enough of his love life. Let's play another round."

"We'll make it more interesting!" Seamus runs from the room and everyone watches as he returns with a bottle of vodka and six shot glasses. "A drinking game. Anyone lands a hand on red, we all take a shot."

"For the record, this is a terrible idea." Hermione takes a glass that Lavender passes over. "Who spins this time?"

"Lavender and I will tag team," Padma says with an odd gleam in her eye that Hermione refuses to question. Padma plucks the vodka from Seamus' hands — before he can cast a spell to set it on fire — and fills everyone's proffered shot glasses. "The Chosen One and The Golden Girl versus the UK's Power Couple."

"Damn right," Dean grins and plants a loud smacking kiss against Seamus' cheek.

"I'm very bendy." Seamus stands on one side of the Twister mat, opposite Hermione. He's trying to intimidate her with mock-feral looks, but it falls short because he's Seamus and is as gentle as a pyromaniac butterfly. Dean agrees with Seamus and Hermione shakes her head. "I've a double jointed—"

"No, no," Harry jumps in with a nervous laugh and a glance to Hermione, who is trying to keep her amusement hidden behind a twitchy smile. "What you do in the bedroom is none of our business."

"Your trash talk is terrible," Hermione mumbles out of the corner of her mouth. It earns her a nice, echoing laugh from her friends, except Harry who glowers at the colorful mat at their feet and allowed far too much time to pass before coming up with a viable clap back — utterly proving Hermione's point. "Padma, what's first?"

The sound of the spinner fills the room as everyone waits. Padma laughs and turns the spinner board to Lavender, who squeals.

"Drink up, mates!" She thrusts her shot glass into the air and then pounds back the vodka. Everyone follows suit and the entire room is filled with the sound of various gagging noises. "Who decided vodka? Ugh."

"Don't forget to move to your spots," Padma reminded them with a sour pinch of her lips; the vodka must be a shocking change from the wine she's been sipping all night. "Right hand, red."

It starts simply enough. Hermione places her hand on the furthest dot to the right and Harry places his hand on his closest red dot. Padma wolf-whistles; Hermione's butt is in the air as she's bent over at the stomach in front of her and Lavender. Lavender complains that she doesn't have a decent view and Harry mocks personal affront at the insinuation that his arse is not a delightful view.

Seamus and Dean each have hands between where Hermoine and Harry place theirs. And then the game gets complicated.

"Right foot, green!" Padma's voice calls out to them and Hermione groans.

Green is all the way on the opposite side of the map. She shimmies her body around the side of the mat, taking care to keep her right hand on red, and lets her foot slide onto the green dot.

Seamus and Dean are bent over like two bridges over the mat. Harry and Hermoine rest on the short ends of the mat with strange gaits as they balance one side of their bodies.

It only gets worse.

Several spins later, Hermione's left hand rests on yellow and she's sure that her muscles are going to ache the next day. Harry's face is pressed against her hip as he tries to plant his left foot on the same blue dot she aims for. Dean and Seamus are twisted around one another. Padma and cackle when they spin another right hand on red.

"How are we supposed to drink like this?" Hermione grumbles against Seamus' calf. She can feel it shaking from the muscle strain. She's sly as she applies just a little bit more pressure than is necessary to encourage him to topple over.

He does. And the room laughs as Hermione, Dean, and Harry all try to keep their balance in the wake of Seamus' limbs crashing between them. The three non-players each walk around the mat and give the players a shot. Vodka sloshes everywhere, so the mat is slick and damp and smells of gasoline.

"This is dangerous," Harry mutters against the skin of her hip. She tries desperately not to react to his warm breath on her cool skin.

"You can surrender," Dean says with a brilliant smile on his face.

Harry readjusts his hold on the various colored dots and shakes his head. His glasses tumble onto the mat. "Bugger."

The game finally ends several spins later. The Golden Chosen Ones are declared the winners after Dean smacks his face into the mat while trying to climb under Hermione's legs. Hermione's left leg is overtop Harry's right arm and Dean's foot kicks her right leg out from where it was over his.

There's another pile of bodies, but Hermione barely notices the ache in her muscles as Harry's head lifts up. Right between her jean-covered legs. She breathes sharply through her nose and blushes a deep pink. Their eyes meet and Harry flashes her a grin.

"See my glasses anywhere?" He rests his cheek against her inner thigh and Hermione's breath hitches in her throat. "Hermione? Hermione?"

The vodka slams into her mind like it hadn't been before. Her vision is wonky, her face is flushed and it's awfully hot in her flat. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and all she can focus on is the way that Harry's lips move, twitching against the rough material of her jeans.

She's so buggered.

"Got them!" Dean hands the glasses to Harry and toes Hermione's hand with his foot. "Hermione? Are you there?"

Dark fingers snap in front of her eyes and she shakes her head to clear the mounting desire. Dean laughs when she finally breathes and asks him what they were saying.

"The Boy Who Lived and Thusly Always Loses His Glasses lost his glasses again. They were under your hand, which, by the way, is at a strange angle and—"

Hermione lifts her wrist and waves it back and forth. "Seamus isn't the only one who's double jointed."

And just like that, the tension dissipates.

Harry buries his face into her shoulder, laughter bubbling up and rumbling in his chest. She follows his laughter and falls backward in her fits. After several moments of The Case of the Recurring Giggles, silence befalls them once more. Hermione's hands are out to her sides and Harry's head rests on her stomach.

Since when did they touch so much?

She glances up to Lavender who wears a sort of smile that makes Hermione uncomfortable. She lifts her hand and motions something -- Hermione can't make it out. A swoop, a caress, and then her hand is through her hair as she darts her eyes between Hermione and Harry. Hermione almost gasps out loud when she gets what Lavender is trying to tell her.

Her hand rests on top of Harry's chaotic hair. It's so soft and thick, she wonders how he manages to keep the frizz from it on humid days. Somehow, Hermione ends up looking like her hair is trying to take over a country when there's the smallest bit of moisture in the air. But not Harry; his hair is utterly straight, though a mess of chunky locks stick out. Her fingers curl against his scalp gently and she stiffens at the sound of pure content that issues through his lips. His eyes close behind his glasses and he snuggles further into her stomach.

"Who was responsible for movie night?" Seamus asks from somewhere above Hermione. Probably on a sofa, definitely with Dean curled around him.

"Padma," Lavender laughs as she says it and the room makes a collective groan. "She promised it's good!"

"Oi, you lot force me into silly rom-coms and—" Padma mock-shudders, "that one really horrible movie where they sing and dance and everyone knows the words to the spontaneous songs."

"Hairspray was a delight ," Dean argues. "It's classic. You have terrible taste."

"Hairspray was—" Seamus stops immediately and Hermione assumes it's because Dean gave him one of those 'don't you dare side with Lavender Brown over me' sort of looks and he didn't. "So, what's the movie tonight, Padma?"

"Hatchet." Padma tosses the disc case to Dean who starts the movie. "American slasher film that came out last year. Parvati hated it — it's got to be brilliant."

Merlin above, she wants nothing to do with another slasher flick. Every single time it's Padma's choice, Hermione ends up having nightmares and sleeping with the lights on for days. One time, she actually forced Harry to sleep in her room just in case.

He did manage to check under her bed and behind her shower curtain.

Psycho really did a number on her.

So, she takes a deep breath and scoots herself into a sitting position, jostling Harry in the process. Her back is against Lavender's legs and Lavender drops a fleece blanket over her head. Hermoine laughs as she peels it off and uses it to cover herself while Harry maneuvers himself next to her. He steals half the fleece for himself and presses himself as close as possible to Hermione, who suddenly lost her ability to breathe.

Lavender mutters a charm under her breath and all of the lights in the room go out. Dean ferries out three bowls of popcorn. Hermione steals one of the bowls because Harry is a notorious popcorn hog. She places the bowl on her lap as the credits for the movie start to roll.

She knows she's in for a treat in the first few minutes of the film. It's a dark and stormy night, men fish in the bayou. Eerie music plays. And even though it's not the scariest dialogue or setting in film, Hermione settles in close to Harry. An alligator suddenly jumps into the screen and Dean, Hermione, and Lavender all screech. Harry, Padma, and Seamus all laugh at them. Dean shoves a pillow into Seamus' face and Padma shushes them all so that she can concentrate on the movie.

The vodka mixed with the other drinks she's had all night create a delightfully fuzzy feeling in her brain. Worse, though, is that her reactions to the movie are heightened. Her whole body is buzzing with anticipation for the next scare and she can hardly keep her legs from bouncing in front of her.

Harry's hand touches the side of her leg and she jumps. Her hair whips to the side and smacks him in his stubbled face. He uses his free hand to move the wild locks from her shoulder and then he pops a handful of popcorn into his mouth with a cheeky grin.

With her heartbeat in her throat and anticipation speeding through her veins, Hermione takes a breath and tries to focus only on the movie and not on Harry's hand as it crawls over her leg again. After several jump scares and some disgusting gore, Hermione is hit with a reprieve as the movie lightens. She's lulled into a sense of relief and happily stuffs her face with popcorn and rests her head on Harry's shoulder.

Everyone settles in and the room is absolutely silent except for the movie. Hermione hears faint snores coming from somewhere on the sofa and she assumes it's Seamus as he's usually the first to fall asleep during the movie. When Hermione cranes her neck to the sofas to see who is still awake and watching, she catches eyes with Lavender who jerks her head in Harry's direction and makes a rude gesture with her hand. Hermione snaps her eyes back to the movie with a blush high on her cheekbones.

Harry chuckles at her side thanks to a line in the movie and she feels the vibration down to her very core. She's overcome with him; his nearness, the smell of alcohol, popcorn, and his spicy cologne, and the slight noises that he makes that only she can hear.

The atmosphere in the movie quickly moves from lighthearted to horror and Hermione can't help but snuggle into Harry further. He empties the popcorn bowl — honestly, she's only had one handful — and uses his wand to put the bowl out of sight. He adjusts the blanket over top of them, wraps one arm around her shoulders so that she's as close as can be.

Thunder claps in the movie and when she jumps, Harry simultaneously places a hand on her thigh. Every time Hermione jumps or gasps or moves in any way at all, Harry's hand moves higher. Suddenly, she's not gasping or moving because of the movie anymore. His fingers find her denim-covered apex and she's holding her breath.

"Is this okay?" His breath tickles the hairs behind her ear. "I've wanted to touch you so badly all night. Can I, please?"

She nods, barely, and doesn't take her eyes off the telly.

So, he does. He presses against the blue jeans where she's sure to be warm and wet to the touch. And he moves his fingers — three of them — slowly against the crux of her jeans. She can't help but jerk her hips, seeking out the friction he's building so deliciously slow. A puff of breath from her lips mirrors the same breath Harry lets out against the pulse point on her throat.

Someone shrieks. Harry jumps away. Hermione's left wanting, but he doesn't try anything again. They're still settled against one another and his hand is holding onto her tightly, thumb running small circles around the skin on her arm. At some point, she falls asleep and wakes up to loud credits rolling on the screen.

"Everyone took off," Harry whispers into her ear. "They all said thanks for hosting this month and I promised them I'd get you to bed."

Hermione's eyes are bleary. The drinks she had barely register anymore, but there's a warm thrum pulsing through her still. She looks to Harry, who's holding her close, and smiles sleepily at him.

"Stay for another movie?"

She watches the muscles in his throat jump before he nods. He pushes up from the ground using the sofa as leverage and reaches a hand down to her. Hermione finds their favorite — A New Hope — and pops it into the player. As the credits come up and those familiar words roll across the screen, Harry settles down into the side of the sofa and beckons her over to him. New territory, as they usually sit on different cushions, at least. She doesn't hesitate and cuddles right against him.

Hermione glances up to find Harry looking down at her. His eyes dart to her lips and she watches him duck closer. She has only a second to close her eyes and their mouths meet, slowly and deeply all at the same time.

She can kiss him for hours, if he'll allow it. His hands slip through her hair and he tilts her chin at just the right angle so that their noses are out of the way. And then he dives in, tongue caressing hers and encouraging her to play this languid tango that leaves her heart hammering and breath unsteady. Her hands curl into the cotton fabric covering his chest and when she nips at his lower lip, he makes a desperate sort of noise in the back of his throat. Somehow, she ends the night underneath him with his hands up her shirt, stroking the skin of her torso, and his knee between her thighs.

Before they go any further, Harry pulls away and places sweet kisses over her cheeks and on her forehead.

"Not tonight," he says against her neck, settling in beside her. "I want to be sober when I finally get to have you."

"But—" She even yawns as the words try to form in her throat.

Harry chuckles beside her and wraps her up in his arms. "Sleep now. We always have tomorrow."

Notes:

A small note to say that Hatchet is an actual movie that I watched just for this fic. It was... well. Padma has horrible taste in movies. XD

Chapter 5: Breakfast

Notes:

mcal is the best, much love to her and her alpha skills!

Chapter Text

Sunlight filters into her living room and she slowly begins to feel her muscles as they come to life with her. There's an awkward pressure on her hip and she's restricted in her movements as she tries to sit up. It's not until she hears the pathetic groan of a person next to her that the previous nights' activities flood her mind.

She's beet red when she glances down at Harry to find him staring up at her. He's got a doofy smile on his face, a groggy look in his eye, and his hair is in chaotic tangles all over his head. Hermione thinks her hair probably hadn't fared much better overnight.

"Morning," he says with a rasp and moves so that he's sitting up beside her.

"Morning," she breathes in return, cheeks absolutely on fire. She pushes her hair out of the way of her face and straightens her twisted shirt. "Tea?"

"Mm." He leans in and presses the palm of his hand to her cheek. Harry guides her in for a sweet, quick kiss. They stare at each other, only a slight distance apart, for a long moment, and then Harry breaks out into a sleep grin. "Wanted to break the ice and make sure you knew that it wasn't the drink last night."

"I never once thought that." She smiles and starts to move from the sofa, when Harry's hand circles her wrist and pulls her back down to him.

He's over her in a heartbeat. His lips devour hers and push for more. He doesn't give her any time to question it and she's glad. Her hands dig into his hair and tangle at the roots. His body is pressed along hers and his knee parts her thighs. She should feel smothered by the weight of him, but it doesn't register. Instead, she moans when he threads his fingers through her hair and grinds his hips against hers.

The sound she makes spurs him on. He places one hand between her jean-covered thighs and his hips jerk against her with the same pace that his hand moves. Hermione's back arches and she seeks out more pressure from him. The internal chant more, more, more is on repeat in her mind. The soft pleas that fall from her lips are swallowed by his tongue.

Her movements are erratic and she's pulling his hair too hard, but he's not complaining. Instead he presses his fingers harder against her and nips at her bottom lip. He swipes his tongue over them, soothing them where they're swollen and red. When he leaves her mouth and travels down, the noises she makes fills the room.

There isn't enough friction between her legs. She's trying, grinding against his hand to seek her release, but he keeps her on edge. She whimpers in an attempt to appeal to Harry — let her come, please, Merlin, let her orgasm snap — but he laves his tongue over the pulse point in her neck and carries on with maddening pressure and pace.

She thinks she's going to lose her mind when his hand leaves the heat between her legs and travels slowly up the length of her stomach. He lifts her shirt as he goes and doesn't stop until he pulls the cup of her bra down. His thumb swipes over her hardened nipple just before his mouth closes over it. The noise that leaves Hermione borders on deranged with her need of him. She feels his smile against her breast and yanks playfully on his hair.

Harry's knee is against her center and his hips rut against her thigh. This is it, she thinks, she's going to release and her mind is in instinct mode — seeking that moment of relief and wild pleasure — and she's moaning thinks like 'please' and 'more' and 'Merlin, Harry, fuck me.'

And so he does. Their clothes fly around the room in a flurry of cotton. A lamp falls over somewhere but Hermione doesn't care enough to fix it. Harry's in the middle of the sofa and he encourages Hermione to straddle his hips. She sheathes him without wasting a second, his hands hold firmly onto her hips — she's sure there will be fingerprints for days — as he guided her movements. Slow, then fast, and slow again, and she's aching from the need to find release, but he won't let her take it too quickly.

"Harry, please," she begs him and jerks her hips forward and back and he takes her nipple into her mouth and chuckles around it. "Stop teasing."

"I'm not teasing." He says between nibbles. "I'm reveling."

Hermione groans and tries to encourage him by raking her nails lightly over his chest. It doesn't work. She changes her tactics. As he guides her slowly over him, up and down in a vexing pace, Hermione's hands crawl down the sides of his torso. Her hands wrap around his and she encourages them up and up and finally over his head. She holds them there and presses her lips to his smirk.

In control now, Hemrione lets loose and takes what she needs from him. He meets her thrust for thrust as she bounces on top of him. She pants against his lips and she's sure that there's not enough oxygen shared between them. But, she doesn't care — doesn't care at all — as she races toward her climax.

"Fucking—" Harry groans against her lips, her teeth catch his bottom lip. " Yes , God, Hermione—"

And she cracks. Her body spasms and she's not moving of her own volition; her hips jerks and her legs tense and she's mumbling gratitude and hysteria and she can't breathe, but it's glorious.

Her hands finally release his and Harry wraps his hands around her waist. He kisses her gently as she rides the waves of her orgasm.

"You are fucking incredible," he whispers against her cheek.

She laughs, a breathy thing that leaves her lungs with such effort that she can hardly hold herself upright. Her legs are jelly and her brain is mush. Harry pushes her chaotic hair away from her face and peppers her with kisses as he removes himself from inside of her. He holds her to his lap for a few moments longer and then lets her crawl to his side. Her chest still heaves and her vision finally clears when he stands up, stark naked, and searches for his clothes.

Hermione likes Harry like this; unapologetic about who he is or what he appears to be. She watches his body, the way his back dimples by his spine, the curve of his arse, the thickness that had been inside of her only moments before. He's gorgeous and she's momentarily bereft when she realizes that she's never noticed.

"You're quite fit," she tells him as he pulls his jeans over his boxers.

Harry runs a hand through his hair rather pointlessly. His grin is everything. "You're not panicking."

She smiles a small thing when he tosses his cotton shirt to her. Hermione pulls it on, talking at the same time. "No, I'm not. Turns out, this feels right."

He stares at her as she stands only in his shirt. If she's not mistaken, his eyes are darker as they rove her body from head to toe and linger for a second longer where his shirt barely caresses the tops of her thighs. Harry walks to her and takes her face between both of his hands. He kisses her deeply and she has to pull away before they fall onto the sofa and get lost in each other again.

"I'll make breakfast," he says finally, as if that's not what he wants to do at all. "And then I suppose I should be off to work."

"It's Sunday," she reminds him and tries desperately to keep her voice level and not disappointed. She knows he's an auror and his schedule is erratic.

"Believe me, I'd rather be here. I've promised to have my records caught up tomorrow." He smiles as she rolls her eyes. Of course he's behind on his paperwork. "I've always been shit at paperwork."

"Alright." She dances away from him, lest she tries to convince him in ways that are entirely inappropriate. "Breakfast and then I'll keep myself company for the day."

Harry groans as he catches her meaning. "You're killing me." He tries to reach out for her but she tuts and keeps just out of reach. "Tease."

Her smile is brilliant as he dashes off to the kitchen. It's not long before she hears the sound of cracking eggs and a sizzling pan. She uses magic first to clean herself and then to tidy up the room, fluffing pillows that Seamus squished with his head, and levitates all of the dirty glasses and beer bottles into the kitchen. Harry has set her up with a large mug of tea and so she sits at the table in nought but his tee shirt and sips at it.

She's able to watch him discreetly as he cooks. Toned arms, surprisingly tanned skin, and the bones of his hips just visible over the top of his jeans. When he turns his head over his shoulder, he spots her staring and smirks.

"Something you like?" Cheeky git.

"Have you been working out?" She traces the sinew in his shoulders with her eyes.

"Auror training." He shrugs as he dishes out scrambled eggs onto two plates. "Rock climbing, too."

"You're really into travel now." Hermione grabs her fork as he sets the steaming eggs in front of her. "Your profile on eHarmony — I never realized how many things you've done."

He shovels his food in and swallows before opening his mouth. It's a trait Hermione can appreciate. "Still a lot more to do, if you're interested."

"I am." She chews on her bottom lip. "Just — you're…"

His brilliant green eyes snap to hers and he doesn't take the bite of eggs that hovers near his month. "I'm what?"

"Living such a full bachelor life," she says after measuring each word. "Are you sure there's… space… for me?"

His fork clatters onto the plate. He tries to form words once, twice, and three times before he finally forces them out.

"I will always have space for you." Harry stands and moves across the table where she sits. His fingers lift her chin. "I have wanted you for so long — so long. And there's no power on this earth that would make me give you up now that I finally — finally have you."

She's caught off guard. Never once did she have a clue that Harry wanted her for more than a friend. Not once. Her confusion must be apparent because Harry chuckles and encourages her to stand up.

"Since when?" Hermione asks him as he tangled their hands together at her sides.

"When I found your eHarmony profile." He smiles sheepishly and runs his thumb over her knuckles. "It's the first time I felt jealous. Someone was going to get a part of you that I'd never — and it made me think for ages on you and us and then I realized…"

He lets the sentence linger for too long. Hermione squeezes his hand. "Realized what, Harry?"

A nervous laugh leaves him. "No one holds a candle to you."

She melts. Her heart nearly flutters right out of her throat. She doesn't have a chance to respond; his lips are on hers and they're insistent and firm. Harry unwraps their hands and takes her by the hips, lifting her onto the kitchen table. He stands between her legs and plants his hands on either side of her thighs.

Hermione pushes the plate of eggs right by her arse out of the way, but it flies off the table. The sound of the crash is all that's needed to spur on the moment.

Harry's jeans are down around his knees in a heartbeat, his hands are wrapped around the band of her knickers and pulls them down and off her legs with no effort at all. He buries his face between her legs and fills her with two fingers before she has a chance to catch her breath.

The second she starts to grind against his face, he pulls away despite her whimpering protests. She doesn't have to wait long before he's sheathed inside of her. His head is on her shoulder and he's panting against her neck. He's railing her like a man possessed and she's trying to hold on tight to his arms as she the table rattles beneath her.

It's the quickest, hottest shag she's ever had. Hermione's calling his name when his fingers press against her sensitive clit and then she's over the edge and shaking within moments. He's loud, a feral groan as he thrusts into her once, twice, and finally three times. He stills, tense beneath her hands, and laughs against her neck.

"Sorry," he mumbles against her slick skin. "I couldn't— you're so damn beautiful and I just—"

He can't catch his breath and she relates. She's not sure her voice would work if she tries, so she grabs him by both sides of his face and kisses him with every ounce of passion she can muster.

When they're thoroughly snogged, Harry helps her off the table and even casts a cleaning charm on both of them.

"I better go," he says regretfully, and moves a chunk of her hair behind her ear. It doesn't stay and they both laugh. "I'd like to take you on a proper first date tonight."

"Proper?"

"We've done lunch and drinks and game night," He clarifies, using his fingers to count them off. "But I haven't properly wooed you yet."

"Woo?" She smirks and raises one eyebrow as if to mock him playfully. "We've shagged twice in an hour. If that's not wooing—"

"Dinner tonight, perhaps some shagging?"

She thinks to tease him more, but the hopeful light in his eyes stops her. Hermione nods her head once. "Alright. Owl me with the details."

"Oh no." Harry shakes his head. "I'll send the details over eHarmony as I've wanted to do since I first saw your profile."

"You're not deleting it?" It shocks her; it's crossed her mind here and there to delete the app and she plans on doing just that later this afternoon.

"Not until I see this through." He's earnest and certain and she's struck with a sudden realization.

She'll never tire of seeing the way his face lights up, not ever.

After Harry leaves, the delivery owl for her Daily Prophet nips at her finger for a treat. Hermione's in such a giddy mood over Harry and their blossoming relationship, that she coos to the owl and gives it an extra piece. Nothing takes the smile off her face, not until she sees the morning headline.

The Boy Who Lived Falls For The Brightest Witch of Her Age.

Hermione balks at the bold, blocky font. Leave it to Rita Skeeter to keep them in the spotlight. She flips to the article and almost chokes on her tea.

In conclusion of a saga that started thirteen years ago, I can proudly say that I was right when calling into question the feelings of one Hermione Granger and her tragic hero, Harry Potter.

Tragic. Had she not been there for the war and written article after article about Harry The Faker, the mental boy who sought attention because he's an orphan and sad and — ugh, it makes her blood boil. Hermione folds the paper angrily and tosses it into the bin.

As if sensing her rage, Harry messages her on eHarmony. She smiles like an idiot down at her phone and manages to slosh tea all down the front of her shirt.

I miss you already.

Her fingers move faster than the words appear on the screen. Come back then.

I wish I could. There are still a lot of places in your flat I'd like to have you.

Even though he's nowhere to be seen, Hermione's face is bright red. Her eyes are squinted under the she's force of her grin. It takes her so long to try and formulate a response that Harry tacks on another message that leaves her hot and bothered.

Kingsley came into the office just as I remembered having my face buried between your legs. He asked why I wouldn't stand from my desk…

Three dots appear on the screen. She waits, holding her breath, until a small chunk of text pops into their chat box.

Percy saw a bruise you left on my neck. I can feel the scratches down my back. And all I can think about is taking you to bed and keeping you there with me all day.

She's so turned on that she chews the inside of her cheek. Tingles everywhere, from the roots of her hair where she can still feel Harry's fingers digging in, down to her — well, that hasn't stopped tingling all day.

She tells him as much.

It takes him five minutes to apparate to her flat and have her divested of all her clothes. He spends the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon making good on his promise to have her in various places in her flat.

Work be damned.

Chapter 6: The Date

Notes:

I couldn't have done this without mcal — all the love to her for being a star and working with me on this piece. 3

Chapter Text

Lumos is the brilliant brain child of Padma and Parvati. It's a beautiful restaurant, nestled secretly among muggle London, hidden in plain sight. It's cozy, dimly lit, and a progressive meld of magical and muggle industry.

Harry opens the door of the restaurant and escorts Hermione inside with a hand on the small of her back. They're greeted by a stout wizard with a round, smiling face, and he immediately seats them in a quiet corner of the large dining area.

She is used to sitting opposite of whomever she dates, but not Harry. He's sat right at her side in his pressed black button up, watch on his wrist, and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He's managed to do something with his hair that keeps it from looking flyaway, and the facial hair on his face is trimmed along his jaw.

Every girl in the restaurant makes eyes at him. Hermione included.

"Good evening — oh! Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, oh Merlin!" A tall and lean server wearing white and black, crisp clothes, stands at Hermione's side with a brilliant and embarrassing grin. "Can I get an autograph or — I have this copy of the Daily Prophet, can you sign it?"

Hermione's eyes are wide as the moon itself as she watches the poor man fumble all over himself. Harry's face is flushed and he's staring pointedly at his empty bread plate.

"Er, sir?" Hermione addresses the server kindly, and nearly falls over.

"Garamond Quiggly, Miss Granger," he informs her proudly and extends his hand to shake. "Ray for short, if it pleases you. My friends call me Quig, but I wouldn't dare assume that someone of your caliber—"

"Ray." She presses her hands flat against the table, trying to ground her growing annoyance to something so that it doesn't fly out of her mouth. "If it pleases you , Harry and I are enjoying some much-desired private dining. Would you mind awfully bringing us a bottle of your best red wine and a basket of bread?"

Ray stands with an open gob for longer than necessary and mutters an enthusiastic apology before flying off toward the kitchen. Hermione watches him as Harry chuckles at her side. His hand finds hers and squeezes it gently.

"Poor lad didn't know what he was getting into with you, did he?"

"Honestly." Hermione sighs. "I didn't mean to frighten the poor man, but who does that? I blame Rita for dragging our names to press again."

"It's what she does." Harry shrugs. "Could do without the attention, but I suppose I'm used to it now."

Hermione is about to open her mouth and detail the reasons why it's unfair that Harry has to endure this public torture, but Ray is back at their table with a bottle of deep red wine and all the carbs Hermione could wish for.

"I apologize for my outburst before." His eyes dart toward the kitchen and back again. "I've been informed that it was rather disrespectful of me to—"

"It's fine, Ray," Harry says gently. "We'll sip our wine for a bit and then order, if that's alright?"

"Yes, sir, absolutely, sir." Ray uncorks the wine and pours a small measure into Harry's glass. "Would you like to taste it before the lady?"

Harry snorts and Hermione loses her mind.

"For Godric's sake, Ray, I can decide whether or not I'll like wine without some bloke giving his opinion to me first!"

Ray panics. The wine bottle slips from his hand and it lands bottom down on the floor next to Hermione's feet. The spray of red goes everywhere. Hermione jumps up and screeches as it lands all over her white dress.

"Oh, fuck, I mean—" Ray drops to the ground and picks up the bottle. He sets it, half emptied, on the table between Harry and Hermione. "Merlin, I'm sorry! I don't know why — I'm so sorry, Miss Granger."

"Ray, what are you doing?" Hermione eyes him warily and the hand clutching a white cotton napkin as it nears her bust.

"Cleaning up, oh! Oh, fuck— I mean, shit, bugger!" Ray is about three seconds from fainting as the curses continue to stream unwittingly from his lips.

Harry breaks down into full fits of laughter. Hermione's eyes shoot daggers at both of them. He tries to offer Hermione what she assumes is an apologetic smile, but it fails. Hermione uses her wand to siphon the wine from her dress and then excuses herself to the loo.

When she returns, the world has righted itself. Harry has filled up their wine glasses, there's a piece of fluffy bread on her plate, and her menu is cracked open to the entrees. She sits down and folds her napkin over her lap. She sniffs at her wine and takes a nice, long gulp.

"He's beside himself," Harry chuckles at her less than sympathetic eye roll. "Aw, come on, love. It's not every day that he gets to wait on — what did Rita say? — Britain's Power Couple?"

"Dean and Seamus are going to be so put out," she giggles, feeling the weight of the evening melt away. "I suppose my exposure to our part in the war is extremely limited to people who have known us for years. You're right."

"Pardon me?" Harry's eyebrows furrow and he's smiling playfully down into his wine glass. "Could you repeat that last bit?"

She kicks him softly beneath the table and he grabs her knee and locks his hand around the bare skin he finds.

"Fine, fine. You're right." She puts a hand up. "Don't make me say it again."

"Twice is enough to last me a lifetime," he quips with a cheeky smirk. He doesn't remove his hand as he reaches for his wine and sips it. "Did you know that there's a vineyard in France owned by Veela?"

"Is there?" She's distracted by the way his thumb slips feather-light on the inside of her thigh. Not high enough to be inappropriate, but definitely enough to bring a pink stain to her cheeks.

He jerks his chin. "I didn't care for wine until I visited during a trip for the DMLE. I'd like to take you there."

Higher, his thumb climbs and his hand inches along with it. It reaches the hem of her little white dress and stays there, making sure she can feel every little drum of his fingers.

She swallows too much wine and coughs hard. So hard that her face, already pink from Harry's touch, turns red under the force of her lungs. Harry is worried in an instant, offering her water and a napkin — anything to help.

"Fine," she rasps around the intense tickle in her throat, "down the wrong side. I'm fine."

He rubs circles on her upper back until the spasm stop altogether. "Alright?"

Hermione nods and swallows some of the water he's offered to her. "Sorry. I was distracted."

"Too distracted to swallow?" He's teasing her and the color on her face hasn't lessened. "I like it when you blush, you know?"

"Well, I like it when you touch me," she whispers back to him and takes his hand from her back and places it on her thigh again.

He's caught off guard as his eyes widen a fraction, but he recovers quickly and resumes the soft caresses against her skin. They relax back into comfort when Ray appears at the table again.

"Are you ready to order?"

His excitable tone grates on Hermione and she practices counting to ten in her head. He's grinning at them with anticipation, practically pushing his cheeks into his eyes. Hermione takes a deep breath.

"Whatever the chef recommends, please." She has never eaten in a place that melds magic with muggle and so she's open to anything.

Harry follows suit. "The lady demands an adventure, Ray."

Ray practically bounces. "Yes, right, coming right up!"

And then he's off again, thankfully.

"I didn't know you were so open about the food you eat." Harry takes a small piece of bread and pops it into his mouth.

"Yes, well, I do eat a lot of takeaway and I'm always looking for something different." Hermione doesn't bother with the bread. She's lushing on the wine, though. She'll need it to get through Ray's torrent of hyperactivity. "In the Creature department, we have to deal with a lot of foreign ministries and so I've developed a taste for non-traditional cuisine. Unfortunately, bangers and mash doesn't quite do it for me every day of the week."

"Huh." Harry swirls his wine around thoughtfully and then takes a long sip. "Despite how well we know each other, I'm constantly surprised by you lately. First, I find you on several dating websites, then find out about your long dating history, and then—" he ducks his head down so that he's whispering directly in her ear, "I discover that you're the best shag of my life."

The smile is on her face before she can try to stop it and her head cants toward the table as she stifles a laugh. He's chuckling right at her ear and his fingers tense lightly on her thigh. The moment is so incredibly intimate; from the outside, they probably appear like a flirty couple who truly adore one another.

And it's true. Harry's flirting — actually flirting with her, Hermione Granger.

Hermione puts her hand to his chest and leans into him, a flirty smile on her face. "It seems I wasn't the only one holding out, Potter. You're quite good."

"Good?" Harry pulls back, mock affront on his face. "The way you said my name earlier on your kitchen table was definitely better than good. "

She doesn't know what to say to that, because it's utterly true. And she's instantly brought back to the moment, a blush flashing across her nose and dusting her cheeks. He knows what she's thinking because he's got a wolfish smile on his face that lights his eyes and seizes her heart.

It continues until their food shows up and the back of Hermione's head aches from the sheer force of her never ending smile. Harry is situated so close to her now that their elbows touch. Every time he whispers near her ear or touches her hand with his, her heart speeds up. She's never had so much attention directed at her before and Hermione thinks she can become addicted to the way he makes her feel.

The server sets down a delicious smelling dish between Hermione's assortment of flatware. It's rich brown in color and the waft of savory meat fills her senses. She wonders where the magical infusion happens, but before she can even form a full thought, the roast potatoes on her plate crack open to reveal a buttery center.

"Brilliant," Harry whispers at his own plate and glances at hers to watch the mushrooms melt over the top of the beef.

"The chef is proud to present to you filet mignon with cipollini onions, basted with wild mushroom sauce, and a lovely fig—"

Hermione drops her fork just as it slices into the meat. Her eyes are round as she pushes back from the table.

"Fig?" She's panicking. Is her throat closing? Or is her mind playing tricks? "Did you say fig?"

Harry grabs her hand, brows pinched with worry. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm allergic to fig!" Her volume earns their table the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

"I didn't know!" Ray's high-pitched squeal of an apology rings through the restaurant. He swipes the food away from Hermione's seat and levitates it back to the kitchen. "Oh, Merlin, I almost killed The Brightest Witch of Her Age. Oh, Merlin and Circe and Morgana."

Ray is hyperventilating. Harry is trying and failing to not chuckle at her side as Hermione sucks in deep breaths. She wouldn't die, not really, but she doesn't fancy having hives during her first official date with Harry. Still, she doesn't have the capacity to calm Ray down and so she watches him carry on in spectacular fashion.

"Hermione Granger almost died on my watch," he heaves through heavy breathing. "Oh, Garamond , she survived He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but not your fine dining! Padma is going to fucking— oh, Helga, I'm sorry, Padma will kill me for this!"

She's fine, she hadn't actually taken a bite of the food, but Ray's hand finds her forehead anyway. He checks her temperature, runs a magical diagnostic on her to ensure she's not having indirect-contact reactions. Harry isn't helping as he points to her neck and asks Ray if he thinks this spot — nonexistent, she might add — is a hive or indication of her airways closing. He's messing with the poor server and Ray is having an absolute meltdown.

"Ray!" Hermione grabs his face between both of her hands and forces his eyes to her level. His mouth is open, eyebrows high on his forehead over wide eyes. "I'm fine, Ray. Deep breaths with me now."

And she leads him in patterned deep belly breathing to keep him from fainting on the ground in front of them. When Harry suggests that Hermione's face is starting to look purple, Hermione knocks his knee with hers.

"Right, good, Ray. In through your nose and out through your mouth." Hermione shows him again and watches as his chest rises and falls with hers. "Good. I'm going to let go of your face now and you're going to go back to the kitchen and have some chocolate, alright?"

He nods with his face still stuck between her palms. He's pale and sweaty and if she wasn't so concerned with keeping him conscious, she'd probably find it quite funny. Especially with Harry's shaking shoulders rocking against her.

Ray slowly ambles away from them and Hermione allows her head to fall into her hands. "Nothing is going right tonight."

Harry's hands wrap around her wrists and pulls her hands away from her face. He has an amused smirk on his face when she finally meets his eyes. "I haven't had such a good time on a date in —ever."

She snorts through her nose and shakes her head. "Maybe it's a sign, Harry. It shouldn't be like this, right? We should be somewhere natural and with Ray and the food and choking on the wine — maybe it's the universe's way of saying that we shouldn't pursue this thing between us."

His hold on her wrists tightens the slightest bit. His eyes flash, concern suddenly overtaking the joy that had been there only moments before. He kisses the inside of her wrist gently and shakes his head.

"I disagree." He places one of her hands on his heart and winds his fingers through the other and places it on her knee. "I've had enough of signs and fate to last a lifetime. I think — well, we've gone through puberty and a war and maybe this is just a chance for us to finally get to know each other through the irony of life. No pressure."

She lets a shaky breath loose. "No pressure? I changed my knickers four times before finally coming to see you. That's a lot of pressure, Harry."

He grins at her, just positively beams. "Clearly there's too much pressure on getting it right." His hand leaves hers and his fingers dance up her thigh and back down to her knee. "Honestly, I hope you settled on no knickers at all."

Hermione laughs and shoves at his shoulder playfully. "You really don't think this is a sign we should just — stay friends?"

Harry gives an emphatic shake of his head, hair flopping with each movement. "Merlin, no! I don't need to have the perfect date with you to know I want to marry you one day."

"Marry? Marry !" Hermione squeaks the words with eyes as large as moons and an erratic heartbeat that threatens to dislodge itself from her chest. She's sure the entire restaurant can hear the thundering noise and she holds her breath to try and calm herself. "Harry, I — I don't, I mean, I do, but we haven't really — except, I suppose we've known each other for — and, oh, Harry , it's not that I don't love you, it's—"

She lets a breath loose and presses her hand over her heart. The last thing she wants to do is look at Harry, but she forces her eyes to his and tries desperately to return his stare. He's smiling so wide and his eyes are positively sparkling behind his glasses. She can't reconcile it; marry Harry? Her best friend? After one date wherein everything has gone wrong? He can't be serious, he can't .

"You're going to hyperventilate if you don't allow yourself to breathe," he tells her with the edge of laughter caressing his lips. "I didn't mean that we should get married tomorrow or even a year from now, love. Just that, well, I'm certain that I want to marry you one day — bad dates or not."

It works to calm her a little, but she's still seized by the thought that he's so open about his intentions and has no concern at all belying his happiness. His hand winds around hers and he pulls her hand to his lips. The sweet, feather-soft kiss on her palm sends her head into another tailspin. Harry Potter, best friend, Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World, The Chosen One, is in this — whatever it is — for the long haul. He wants more and she's… is that what she wants one day? And what if it doesn't work? Is she willing to risk her friendship, her best friend, to try?

"Harry." She pulls her hand away from him and wipes her palms on her bare knees. "I don't know that you understand who I am. I'm extremely hard to live with — ask Ron. He barely lasted a month in my flat. My hair — it clogs the drains, I leave feminine products everywhere." She peers over at him to see what face he's pulling, but Harry is just smiling at her without a care in the world. She huffs and carries on. "I can't cook. You know this. I have to order takeaway more often than not. I hate — loathe — horror movies and I know that you like them, but I just — they're shockingly terrible movies, Harry."

Harry's shoulders rise and fall as he tries to hide his mirth behind his hand. Still, he doesn't interrupt her. That should be her clue to stop talking, but she doesn't.

"I want to be Minister of Magic," Hermione demands, as if that's going to sober him up. It doesn't. "My work always comes first and I never come home before the sun goes down. There are so many things wrong with the world and I want to fix them and that takes dedication and long days and so as far as children go—"

"Hermione."

"I mean, it's not that I don't want them, of course." Hermione's eyes gaze off into the distance and she's lost to her ramble. "I haven't actually given it much thought, really. They require so much work and I'd be a terrible mum if I never actually saw my child because I'm busy trying to fix the werewolf laws and—"

"Hermione." Harry snags her hand again and yanks on her gently. "Love, come back to me?"

She stutters and blinks. Marry him? Hermoine swallows around a thick lump in her throat and finally brings her eyes back to Harry. "I— oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."

His grin is brilliant as he pulls her closer. "There's nothing you can say that will stop how I feel for you, Hermione. That was a good effort, but short of declaring your love for Padma, I'm afraid you're stuck with me for life."

She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing at all. Instead, she's caught by how earnest he is and how his certainty dances off his tongue with all the steadiness of an acrobat. His thumb caresses her hand and his lips are so, so close to the corner of her mouth. If he's trying to make her forget all of her worries, he's doing an amazing job.

"We're good together," he whispers. His breath ghosts across her lips. "I want to give this a proper go. Yeah?"

Harry's eyes snap to hers and they're so close that she can see little flecks of dark green around his irises. What she wouldn't give to be half as sure as Harry. There's so much that can go wrong, so much that she can lose if this doesn't work for any reason at all. Ron walked away from her because of her ambitions, which come before everything. And Harry likes to travel, he likes to get away and live life and she's — well, she has dreams and aspirations and while she'd love to travel with him, her first priority is her future.

Hermione chews on the side of her lip. Harry isn't closing the gap between them, he's close and he's smiling and it's oddly unnerving to have his warmth envelop her while her brain works through all the ways in which her entire world could crumble around her if this thing doesn't work.

"Stop smiling," she begs him quietly. Her top lip nudges his bottom lip and she sucks in a sharp breath through her lips.

"Sorry," he whispers back as his eyes dip along the curves of her face. "I think I'm winning."

She can't stop the little laugh that leaves her. "Winning what?"

"Your pro-con list." Harry tilts his head back and the space is all Hermione needs to clear the static that's taken over her mind.

"You can't win a pro-con list," she insists.

"Firmly disagree."

And then his lips are on hers and he's pulling her body against his and damn the patrons of the restaurant because his chest is practically vibrating under her fingertips. There's a flash somewhere in the distance that she barely makes out through her eyelids. She's sure she hears Ray gasp in their vicinity. Someone is clapping gleefully at a far away table.

Hermione's resolve cracks. She places her hands on either side of Harry's head and holds him firmly to her lips. After several beats, she pulls back and they grin at one another.

"See. I won."

She refuses to acknowledge that he's right. "Take me home, Harry."

They apparate straight into her flat. Harry wastes no time at all; he presses Hermione against her door and attacks her neck with open-mouth kisses as his hands travel her body and remove the clothing she'd worked so hard to perfect before their date.

A trail of clothes leads to her bed where they lay breathless and wrapped up in one another. Harry's hand threads through her curls as she rests her cheek on his thrumming chest. The worries of the night are muted as Hermione basks in the feeling of being completely sated. She draws little patterns on his chest with the pads of her fingers.

Hermione never did agree to date Harry, much less marry him. She left that on the table at the restaurant and refuses to unpack it here and now. Instead, she settles on one commitment she can surely give him until she's ready for more.

She reaches over Harry to her nightstand and grabs her phone. He stares at her with a notch between his brows and watches as her fingers fly over the screen.

"What're you—?"

She shushes him and shows him the screen where eHarmony glares back at them. Her finger hovers over the "cancel subscription" button. Harry's grin is everything as he reaches for his own phone and does the same.

"On three?" He asks her with electric excitement in his voice. "One — two — three."

Hermione's finger presses too hard into the screen, but it's done. Harry's lips crash lightly onto her forehead and he places both their phones back onto her nightstand. She's filled with a lightness she hasn't felt in months. No more dating sites, no apps, no expectations. Instead, she's lying in bed with her best friend, her boyfriend , and, though she won't tell him until she's ready, her forever.

Fin

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