Disclaimer: All rights to JKR.
A/N Welcome to my new story! It is kind of a rewrite. Hopefully, you all enjoy it.
The Burrow buzzed with a joyous cacophony. Three years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the scars, both physical and emotional, were slowly fading. Tonight, the air crackled with a different kind of energy - the exhilaration of victory and the camaraderie of a community that had faced the darkest of times and emerged stronger. Laughter spilled from open windows, fairy lights twinkled merrily from every corner, and the aroma of Mrs. Weasley's legendary roast wafted through the worn yet welcoming house.
Harry, perched on the edge of a creaky armchair, felt a familiar knot of unease twist in his stomach. His gaze danced around the room, landing on Ron, who was regaling with George with a wildly embellished account of their first encounter with Aragog. A wry smile touched Harry's lips, a flicker of warmth amidst the churning anxiety. But the smile quickly faded as his eyes met Hermione's across the room.
She was laughing, or rather, attempting to stifle a yawn with a hand that glittered with an unfamiliar ring. Beside her sat Gareth. Ronald had christened him "Gareth the Groan" the moment the Ministry weasel (as Ron affectionately called him) had taken up residence in Hermione's life. Tall and impeccably groomed, Gareth possessed an air of practiced charm that did little to disguise the smugness in his pale blue eyes. His laugh, a high-pitched bray, jarred against the warmth of the Burrow's atmosphere.
Hermione, ever the composed one, caught Harry's gaze and offered a tight smile. It didn't reach her eyes. Those pools of warm brown, usually alive with intelligence and humor, were shadowed with a faint weariness. Harry felt a pang of sympathy – a sentiment quickly overshadowed by a surge of anger directed at Gareth, whose arm had wrapped possessively around Hermione's shoulder moments earlier.
He looked away, the knot in his stomach tightening. In six days, he would be leaving for a discreet Auror mission. Six months in isolation, cut off from the world, tasked with gathering intel on a suspected resurgence of dark magic. The mission itself wasn't the problem. It was the leaving. Leaving Ron, leaving Ginny, leaving... Hermione.
He swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm Butterbeer, the taste as bitter as his mood. The Burrow, once a haven, now felt like a stage where everyone played their assigned roles. Ron – the jokester, Ginny – the supportive friend, Hermione – the happily-attached Ministry employee. A bitter taste coated his tongue. Was that what Hermione truly wanted, to be Gareth's appendage, her vibrant spirit dimmed by his suffocating presence?
Suddenly, Ginny appeared beside him, a knowing glint in her hazel eyes. "Lost in thought, Potter?" she teased, her tone laced with concern.
"Just… thinking," Harry mumbled, grateful for the distraction.
"About the mission?" she asked, her voice softening.
He nodded, unable to meet her gaze. "It's the isolation, Gin. Six months with no contact. It feels…"
"Weird?" she finished the sentence for him. "Like they're shipping you off to some wizarding Alcatraz?"
"Something like that," Harry admitted, forcing a smile.
He glanced at Hermione again. Gareth was now regaling a group with a story about a particularly tedious paperclip incident at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione, her head slightly bowed, was doodling absently on a napkin.
"He's a total bore, isn't he?" Ginny whispered, her voice low enough to avoid prying ears.
Harry chuckled, the sound hollow. "A real champion bloke, that Gareth."
They both knew it wasn't true. They had seen the way Hermione used to light up at Harry's jokes, the way her eyes sparkled during their late-night study sessions. Now, there was a hollowness in her demeanor, a forced acceptance in the way she interacted with Gareth.
The music shifted, a slow, melancholic waltz filling the air. Harry watched as couples began to sway on the dance floor, a longing twisting in his chest. He longed to ask Hermione to dance, to hold her again and feel that familiar warmth that only she could bring. But the possessive hand on her shoulder held him back.
Suddenly, as if sensing his gaze, Hermione looked up. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, the years seemed to melt away. There was a flicker of recognition, a question hanging in the air. Then, just as quickly, she averted her gaze, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.
A wave of frustration washed over Harry. He knew he shouldn't be feeling this way. Hermione was with Gareth. Yet, there he was, wishing for something he lost long ago.
The music swelled, and Ginny nudged him playfully. "Go on, Harry," she said with a wink, "before the Gits claim every dance."
Harry hesitated, then, with a determined glint in his eye, he made his way towards Hermione. Gareth, momentarily distracted, didn't notice Harry's approach. Harry stopped in front of Hermione, a hesitant smile playing on his lips.
"Mind if I steal you for a dance?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at Gareth, who was now engaged in a conversation with Luna Lovegood, blissfully unaware of the exchange happening beside him. A flicker of nervousness played across her face, quickly masked by a polite smile.
"Actually," she began, her voice barely audible, "Gareth and I were just discussing—"
"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron's voice boomed from across the room, "don't be a spoilsport! Let Harry have this one dance before the Git claims exclusive rights."
Gareth shot Ron a withering look, but his protests were drowned out by the chorus of agreement rising from the others. Hermione couldn't bring herself to object. With a sigh, she turned to Harry, a hint of apprehension in her dark eyes.
"Alright, Harry," she said, offering her hand, "one dance."
As they joined the slowly swaying crowd, Harry felt a strange sense of victory, laced with a bitter awareness of the circumstances. He held Hermione's hand in his, her touch sending a familiar warmth through him. They danced in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice barely a whisper above the music. "I suppose you heard the news," she said, staring intently at their intertwined fingers.
"About you and Gareth?" Harry asked, his voice low and neutral.
She nodded, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "We got engaged last week. He surprised me with a trip to Goblins and a rather...ostentatious ring."
A wave of nausea washed over Harry. He forced a smile, the gesture feeling brittle and strained. "Congratulations, Hermione. That's… fantastic news."
Her eyes searched his face, her expression unreadable. "Is it, Harry?" she asked softly, a tremor in her voice. "Do you think so?"
The question hung in the air, an unspoken plea for his validation. Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. He knew it was wrong, selfish even, to wish for something he couldn't have. Yet, the truth burned on his tongue, raw and unfiltered.
(Flashback)
A sudden gust of wind ripped through the tattered tent, sending shivers down Hermione's spine. They were huddled together for warmth, their breaths misting in the cold night air. Days of relentless searching for Horcruxes had taken their toll, leaving them both weary and on edge.
"Do you think we'll find them, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He looked at her, his emerald eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the small fire. "We have to," he said, his voice low and firm. A beat of silence passed, then he continued, his voice even softer, "We can't give up now."
Their faces were inches apart, their gazes locked in a silent understanding. The firelight danced in Hermione's eyes, turning them molten gold. Harry felt a strange pull towards her, a yearning he couldn't quite explain.
He leaned forward, their lips almost brushing. The air crackled with unspoken emotions. Then, a twig snapped in the distance, shattering the fragile moment. Ron's voice rumbled from outside the tent.
"Harry? Hermione? You two alright?"
The spell broken, Harry and Hermione pulled apart, a shared sense of awkwardness settling between them. The near-kiss remained unspoken, a secret moment tucked away in the folds of their shared journey.
(End Flashback)
The memory flooded back to Harry with a startling clarity. He met Hermione's gaze, a storm of emotions brewing in his chest. He longed to tell her the truth, to confess the feelings he'd kept buried for years. But the image of Gareth's smug face rose in his mind, a stark contrast to the vulnerability he'd witnessed in her eyes.
"Honestly, Hermione," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady, "I'm happy for you. You and Gareth… you seem happy together."
Her smile faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. "Do we, Harry?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Before Harry could respond, notoriously inept on the dance floor, fumbled with his feet. He stepped on Hermione's toe, eliciting a yelp of pain. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, blushing furiously.
"Seems like Potter needs some lessons," Gareth said loudly, his voice dripping with condescension. "Maybe I could give you some pointers sometime, eh, Hermione? Show you how a real dance is done."
Hermione flushed crimson, her discomfort painfully obvious. "Gareth, please," she pleaded, her voice strained.
Harry's temper flared. He spun around, his emerald eyes blazing. "Leave it, Gareth," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Gareth scoffed. "Oh, come on, Potter, don't be a sore loser. Just because you can't keep up with the—"
Before he could finish his smug remark, Ron materialized at Harry's side, his face flushed. "You wanna say that again, Git?" he boomed, his fists clenched.
The tension crackled in the air, threatening to explode into a full-blown brawl. Sensing the escalating situation, Hermione squeezed Harry's arm. "That's enough, both of you!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a sharp edge of authority.
Gareth, momentarily silenced, looked between the three of them, his pale blue eyes flickering with an uncharacteristic nervousness. He cleared his throat, adjusting his tie with an air of false bravado.
"Well," he said, his voice lacking its usual arrogance, "perhaps I should, uh, retire for the evening. Early start tomorrow, and all that."
With a hurried goodbye to Hermione and a pointed glare towards Harry and Ron, Gareth disappeared into the throng of guests, leaving a tense silence in his wake.
"Finally," Ron muttered, punching Harry lightly on the shoulder. "About time the Git left."
Harry couldn't help but agree. He looked at Hermione, hoping for a relieved smile, but her expression remained guarded.
"Honestly, you two," she said, her voice tight with frustration. "Couldn't you have just ignored him?."
Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but Ron beat him to it. "He was the one being a git, Hermione! You didn't need him defending you."
"I didn't need either of you getting into a brawl with him," she retorted, her eyes flashing. "He'll be my husband soon, you know. You'll have to learn to get along with him."
Her words struck Harry like a slap. Husband. The word felt like a foreign object in his mouth. He understood her point – Gareth would soon be a part of their circle, but the thought sat heavy in his stomach.
Ron scoffed. "Husband? That's an idea!"
Hermione's jaw tightened. "That's enough, Ronald!" she snapped. The fire in her eyes surprised them both. Here was the fiery Hermione they knew, hidden beneath a facade of politeness for Gareth's benefit.
"Maybe I just need some air," she muttered, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey from a nearby table before anyone could react. With a toss of her bushy hair, she stormed out of the Burrow and into the cool night air.
The silence of the party was defining, luckily Luna's voice broke this, her eyes gleaming with an otherworldly wisdom. "Someone should go after her. Firewhisky and a full moon can be a potent combination, even for the most level-headed witch."
Harry didn't hesitate and took off at a jog, following the path he knew Hermione would take. The woods of the burrow were familiar territory, yet tonight they seemed shrouded in an unsettling darkness. The wind whispered through the leaves, sending shivers down his spine despite the warm spring night.
He finally spotted Hermione by the edge of the river, her silhouette outlined against the luminous surface of the water. A half-empty bottle of Firewhisky sat beside her on a moss-covered rock. Unlike the Hermione he knew, the one who used logic and reason to navigate life, she seemed lost, her head thrown back as she stared at the moonlit sky.
Harry approached cautiously, the crunching of leaves announcing his arrival. Hermione turned, her face illuminated by the moonlight. He noticed the tell-tale shimmer in her eyes, she was likely already pissed. It was a side of Hermione he'd rarely seen, if ever.
"Hermione?" he called out softly.
She flinched at the sound of his voice, then turned to him, a watery smile playing on her lips. "Harry," she slurred, her voice thick with alcohol. "Fancy seeing you here."
"I followed you," Harry admitted, his voice laced with concern. "Are you alright?"
She shrugged, her posture unsteady. "Just… needed some air."
Harry hesitated, then sat down beside her on the rock, a safe distance away. He wasn't sure how to approach this, how to navigate this unexpected vulnerability in his usually composed friend.
He began cautiously. "We shouldn't have started something with him It's your life and if you want Gareth-"
Hermione cut him off with a sharp laugh, a harsh sound that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
"Gareth," she began, the name tasting bitter on her tongue, "he's… ambitious. Driven. But…" she trailed off, her voice thick with unspoken emotions.
Harry waited patiently, his gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the river. He could sense her struggle, the storm brewing beneath the surface. Finally, she spoke again, her voice barely a whisper.
"He's… predictable, Harry. Safe," she admitted, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone. "He wants a wife, a quiet life, 2.3 children… everything neatly planned out."
She laughed, the sound brittle and devoid of humor. "It's everything I said I wanted, wasn't it?"
Harry, unable to keep from laughing, a harsh, humorless sound that mirrored her own, reached for the abandoned Firewhisky bottle beside her. He took a deep swig, the fiery liquid burning a welcome path down his throat before sending a wave of bubbles erupting through his stomach. Man, that stuff worked fast. The laughter died down, replaced by a heavy silence that hung thick in the air.
"Six months, huh?" Harry finally said, his voice raspy abandoning Hermione's previous topic of Gareth. The Firewhisky had loosened his inhibitions, making the words tumble out with a reckless abandon he wouldn't have dared sober.
"Six months," Hermione echoed, her voice laced with a bitterness that mirrored the taste of the Firewhisky. "Half a year with no contact. No way to know what's happening. Not that you'd tell me anyway, would you, Harry?"
Her words stung. He knew she was right. The mission details were classified, top secret. But the frustration in her voice, the accusation in her eyes, hit him hard. Did she really think he wouldn't trust her, his best friend, his…
He stopped himself short. Best friend. That's all they were, right? A comfortable lie they'd both been clinging to for years.
The Firewhisky emboldened him. "I can't tell you everything, Hermione," he admitted, his voice low and rough. "But trust me, it's important."
"Important?" she scoffed, throwing back another swig from the bottle. "Everything's always important with you, Harry. Saving the world, fighting some unseen enemy. But what about the rest of us? What about the people you leave behind?"
Her words were a dam breaking, unleashing a torrent of emotions Harry hadn't even realized he was holding back. "It's not that simple, Hermione," he said, his voice thick with frustration. "Don't you think I don't want to stay? Don't you think…"
He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, but the fear of rejection held him back.
Hermione, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, seemed to sense his unspoken thoughts. "Don't you think what, Harry?" she challenged, her voice trembling slightly. "Don't you think what?"
The Firewhisky fueled his courage. He took a deep breath, his gaze locking with hers. "Don't you think," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "that maybe… maybe this whole Gareth thing is a mistake?"
The words hung in the air, a bombshell exploding in the quiet night. Hermione's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise followed by a dawning realization. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Harry didn't know who initiated the kiss, but it happened with a sudden, desperate urgency. Their lips met in a messy, drunken collision, fueled by years of unspoken longing and the potent Firewhisky. It was a kiss filled with a raw honesty they'd never dared to express before.
Their hands explored each other with an urgency that surprised them both. Buttons came undone, shirts pulled over heads, a tangled mess of limbs. The cool night air sent shivers down their spines, momentarily forgotten in the heat of their passion. The damp earth beneath was a stark contrast to the fire burning within them.
"Hermione–" Harry started.
She cut him off responding eagerly, her arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled her closer.
Sunlight filtering through the leaves woke Harry with a jolt. He sat up, his head throbbing, and the events of the previous night flooded back in a sickening wave. Shame washed over him as he surveyed his surroundings, the empty Firewhiskey bottle was next to him as well as his discarded robes. He scrambled to his feet, his clothes rumpled and damp. He called out for Hermione, his voice hoarse, nothing but birds and wind.
With a heavy heart and a pounding headache, Harry stumbled back towards the burrow, anxiety and fear looming in his chest. What had they done?
A/N: Please leave a review!