Getting drunk may not be the answer. Inhibitions were very much needed while being aboard his uncontrollable emotional rollercoaster. It was currently taking him on more wild turns than the Gringotts minecart. Harry knew what he was doing was very cowardly and very much against his usual reckless 'act first think later' mentality. Yet what he was doing was also the wise move, the Slytherin counterto his Gryffindor bravado. He needed to think, really think about what he was doing. He came too close to destroying his most precious relationship in his life, caught in the moment as felt almost weightless, but then the unspoken rule wrenched him away from that forbidden ' what if' that she just dangled in front of him.
He had to get away before he did something both of them would regret. The whole wedding business was getting to his head. The urgent need for her affections to soothe the old hurts of the past had made him reach out for her, that was it. He was just seeking out comfort. He wasn't thinking of Hermione in that way, he couldn't.
Why not?
The question snapped at him as he found himself back at the table. He could see Hermione's name card next to his. Had it always been obvious? Had their close relationship always been a prelude to something more? Was the whole wedding coincidence some scheme put into play by powers outside their control to make them see that which they'd been avoiding?
The question remained. Why not? Why couldn't they be together? They obviously got on very well with each other. While they had their disagreements, they always resolved them with grace. The way he was feeling around her was testament enough to how attracted he was to her. He couldn't even use the excuse of Ron anymore, not when he and Hermione had broken up for good, their trio splintered into two unequal parts. Harry was firmly in the fragment with Hermione, still yet to really patch things up with his best mate.
So what was it? Fear? Was he scared to commit?
Harry sighed. Now really wasn't the time to have a mental breakdown yet he knew Hermione better than anyone. There was no way they were getting away from what just happened outside. She'd want to talk about it. She'd put him in a bodybind if she had to.
He snatched up his half-drunk glass of white wine from the table that he'd been trying to make his way through from the bottle on the table. He dodged Mrs Polkiss who looked about to attempt more unpleasant simpering about how marvellous his Aunt Petunia was. He had no patience left, his composure all over the place. He was lucky he wasn't smashing glasses in his wake with how turbulent his magic felt.
He found himself caught up in the throng gathering over to the dancefloor. He stood, blinking confusedly as he wondered what he was doing there. Then when Dudley led Monica onto the shiny wooden surface, it twigged. The first dance.
Oh shit, shitting shit! Harry glanced around the room, immediately picking out the interested stares that had latched onto him the moment he brought himself up to the edge. He'd completely forgotten that dancing was all part of the wedding scene. He kept inwardly cursing, wishing he'd had the foresight to not plant himself at the front where everyone could see him. How was he supposed to avoid getting on the dancefloor himself without coming away as the antisocial asshole his relatives were making him out to be?
He had a front row view of the Dursleys, unfortunately for him. Monica and Dudley made a good couple, that much was clear, but Vernon and Petunia looked comical in comparison. Vernon had puffed himself up, his red face shining with sweat as he clapped his meaty hands together, applauding his son and daughter-in-law. Petunia was, of course, crying again . Harry was surprised she hadn't collapsed from dehydration from the amount of moisture she was losing.
The DJ in charge of the evening's entertainment put on the track that the newlyweds planned to dance to. Harry had no clue what it was, being very out-of-touch with muggle music. It could easily be something that came out when he had been living with the Dursleys and he wouldn't have the foggiest. He just tried his best to act as normally as possible. A challenge when he spotted Hermione in the corner of his eye moving to join her parents. He kept his eyes firmly rooted in front, watching his cousin taking his bride in his hands and revolving slowly on the spot. Harry nearly snorted at the dancing. While he was by no means a fantastic dancer himself, he could at least make it through a ballroom without crippling his partner. Being a diplomat meant he had to attend his fair share of balls and as his name was often on the top of the guest list, he couldn't sit out of the dances. Lessons had been a must when he started to take his public role seriously.
The problem was he knew Hermione could dance too. They had the lessons together - with Ron too, of course, and Ginny, Luna, Neville and others. The shiny war-heroes needed to be able to blend in with high society to put on a good show.
Harry sipped his drink, watching in increasing boredom as Dudley and Monica just spun around in a small circle, swaying a little in time to the music. He tried to listen to the lyrics of the song and when it reached the chorus, Harry blinked in surprise.
"Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey…"
He had no idea that Dudley was romantic and the song definitely sounded romantic. He tilted his head to the side, considering his cousin thoughtfully. As he did, he absently brought his free hand to touch the white rose that he had pinned to his lapel, matching the rose on Dudley's suit and the flowers in the bridal bouquet. There was a secret meaning in the choice of flowers, one that Dudley and also Harry had kept to themselves. He suspected that Petunia had figured out why they were wearing roses. He'd be very surprised if she hadn't considering that it was the namesake of her own mother. Harry and Dudley both paid tribute to the grandmother that neither of them knew and shared with the matching roses they wore - Rose Evans.
The song reached a climax, the lyrics washing over Harry.
There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say
You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain…
Harry looked up to where the DJ had set up his equipment. He grew curious at the song choice, wondering if it had been Dudley's choice if it was being sung by a man to a woman. The song came to its close, the last words staying with Harry as he stood still, not really seeing the scene in front of him.
Now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey.
He jumped as applause struck up around him. He couldn't clap while holding his glass so he just tapped his hand. His thoughts had cycled back to Hermione, to the way her face looked as the sun illuminated her face, the sheen on her lips, the warm glow captured in her eyes. A light had shone out from the gloom indeed.
As a more energetic song followed the first dance, enthusiastic members of the party rushed to join the bride and groom on the dance floor. Harry used the rush to expertly dodge notice, retreating away from the activity. He found himself heading towards the bar, noticing a few of the more socially awkward members using the same opportunity to avoid dancing and being swept up in the frenzy. The lady he spoke to earlier was still at the bar. She smiled at him as he approached.
"Another pint of bitter?" She asked him as he made it to the bar before the other gents could catch her eye. Harry hesitated, his gaze shifting to the bottles behind her.
"A whiskey, no ice."
Harry knew it was a terrible idea, especially as he could already feel himself under the influence as it was. All he had left were terrible ideas. He heard a soft chuckle at his elbow, looking over his shoulder to see Dr Granger joining him.
"Did you leave your dancing shoes at home?" Hermione's dad asked him as he moved to stand beside him.
"I should ask you the same thing," Harry said, raising his voice a little to be heard over the music. Dr Granger smiled. "What are you drinking?"
"I'm not. I'm the responsible driver, but this was a good excuse to get away from all that," he replied, nodding over to the dancing. "I danced at my wedding and that's enough for me."
Harry chuckled as he accepted the whiskey from the lady at the bar, reaching behind him for his wallet.
"Drinks are paid for by the family of the bride," the lady told him.
"Huh, okay," Harry gathered his glass up, "that's awfully nice of them."
"Ah, you always see it during weddings. The parents of the bride and groom are trying to outdo each other with their grandiose gestures… trying to win the game of 'who spent the most money on what'."
"Hmm," Harry looked over to where he could see his aunt and uncle making an attempt to dance. He choked a laugh into his glass at the sight of Vernon jiggling on the spot. "Well, my uncle would probably bankrupt himself just to come out on top."
"You- oh right, the father of the groom is your uncle," Dr Granger said, then turned, giving Harry a thoughtful look. "He's, ah, an interesting fellow, isn't he?"
"He's many things… and I'm not sure 'interesting' is one of them," Harry said diplomatically, then raised his glass to Dr Granger. "You'll need some of these if you want to get through his idea of engaging conversation... and socially appropriate jokes."
"I'll stick to the water… and the sidelines."
"Wise - see you," Harry said, stepping away before he came across as too familiar. Dr Granger's resemblance to Hermione was too strong, his eyes the same brown. Harry spotted some people out on the terrace. He figured that retreating away from the greater throng was a wise choice.
"Ah, Harry, over here!"
Harry looked around, a little baffled to hear his name being called out by an older woman. As he stepped outside, he saw who was calling him. He groaned to himself. Mrs Polkiss was waving at him and to his utmost dismay, she wasn't alone. If he had to guess, they were the assembled mothers of Dudley's 'gang'. From the way a couple of them looked distastefully down their noses at him, they all had been fed Petunia's unflattering stories of him over the years. He glanced around, stuck. If he ignored them, he'd just confirm their negative opinions of him. Going over to talk to them, however, meant stomach more of their deluded drivel about the Dursleys.
Though… Harry did have the gift of the gab and confidence that he very much lacked as a child. Perhaps there was a little fun to be had. And he did need the distraction. Harry stuck his hand in his pocket, carrying his whiskey over as he sauntered over, tossing his head a little. He caught the attention of some of Monica's friends who were taking the time to smoke by the picnic tables. From the way they ducked their heads together, he had their attention.
"Hello again, Mrs Polkiss," Harry greeted with his most charming smile, one that Gilderoy Lockhart would have been proud of. He nodded his head at her companions. "Ladies."
He was being utterly ridiculous, and he knew it, but it was extremely satisfying to watch the dislike shift into confusion as he appeared before them as a well put-together young aristocrat rather than a scruffy lay-about. The sharp cut of his suit, the richness of his accessories and the conscious effort on his self-grooming was in strong contrast to how he'd appeared as a teen, loitering about Little Whinging and looting bins for newspapers.
"Petunia didn't say that you would be attending the wedding," one woman with a rather noticeable mole on her chin said, "you're her nephew, yes? Harry Potter?"
"That's me, yes," Harry nodded, looking over to her with a tilt of his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure we've met… and if we have, I would have been pretty young at the time."
Mrs Polkiss reached forwards, placing her hand on his arm as she looked simperingly at her friends.
"Harry here was saying at the table over dinner about how he travels all over the world with his job. He works in the Foreign Office."
One of the women let out a derisive snort under her breath, her eyes sharp and cold as she looked at Harry in disdain. Harry then looked at her, vaguely recognising the woman. He had a feeling that she may have babysat him and Dudley when they were very young. The name escaped him.
"I didn't know that the Foreign Office hires people with a criminal record," she snidely said before sipping her wine. Harry's smile turned lethally sharp. He reached back for his wallet. Part of being the Supreme Mugwump of Great Britain gave him some muggle powers of his own - one being diplomatic immunity. Harry had a diplomat's passport and official security clearance with the Ministry of Defence so he could attend visits at number 10 Downing Street with Kingsley on meetings with the country's leader about magical affairs.
"You must be misinformed if you think I have a criminal record," Harry said politely. "While it's true that I got into a bit of trouble when I was younger, I since then had that offence removed once I became legally emancipated. I even received compensation for that miscarriage of justice, though it doesn't change the fact that I was put through that ordeal in the first place."
There was some truth in his words. He did have to stand before the Wizengamot to clear his record after the war for the Ministry as he had broken a number of laws though he was cleared for each of them. He also did receive compensation.
"Your aunt has a very different story."
"I know," Harry smiled as he drew out his wallet, opening it in front of them. He took out his official ID, holding it out for the snide woman to inspect herself. "Here, I don't know if you've seen one of these before, but it's my security ID for Her Majesty's Government. I assure you, it's real."
All the women were staring at the plastic card in his hand. From the eyes that he saw widening, they got a glimpse of the distinctive coat of arms of the United Kingdom embellished on the card along with the holograms that made it difficult to counterfeit. Mrs Polkiss let out a tittering laugh, patting Harry's hand again.
"I'm sure Yvonne wasn't accusing you of lying, Harry."
Yvonne… Harry narrowed his eyes at her, his smile turning practically lupine. He remembered her then - Petunia's friend.
"Perhaps you all should know by now to take whatever Petunia and Vernon say with a pinch of salt," he said instead, returning his card back to his wallet. "I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you earlier, Yvonne. I remember you stayed over the house once or twice to look after me and Dudley. I'd say it's a pleasure, but I can tell that you think the same of me now as you did then when I was a small defenceless child… which is to say, not a lot."
Her face flushed on command and Harry knew then that he had won the exchange by a country mile. By saying as much, he reminded her that she had witnessed his abuse first-hand and kept her silence. Shocked gazes roved over to Yvonne rather than him at his words, his play having achieved its purpose. Satisfied that he had destabilised the lies surrounding him, he turned to Mrs Polkiss, giving her a polite smile.
"Enjoy your evening," Harry said before the silence grew any more torturous. Mrs Polkiss's hand dropped from his arm as he pulled away, throwing back his glass as he downed the rest of his whiskey. Satisfaction swelled inside him, all too aware that the silence continued after he had gone.
Recover from that, Aunt Petunia.
Hermione sought her mum's much needed counsel in the one place she could be certain would be safe from an awkward encounter with Harry Potter - the dancefloor. True to form, the moment that the floor was open for all the dance, Harry expertly slid away. A number of hopeful gazes followed him to the bar, but he had zero intention of dancing. Relying on Harry's strong aversion to putting himself on the line for ridicule, she clutched her mum's hands and pulled her into the throng. Dancing with her mum wasn't a suspicious activity - shouting to be overheard was, however, far from ideal. Her mum wasn't expecting her show of suddenly extrovertedness, but appeared happy enough to be dragged off to Dancing Queen by Abba.
Before Hermione could even bring her racing thoughts into words, Monica suddenly shrieked as she rushed towards them, joining in. Hot on her heels was her mum and a few other female family members swept into the fray. Flushing at her backfired plan, Hermione was forced into fake enjoyment as she tried to recall how to attempt a socially acceptable 'dance'. It had been a while since she'd attended any sort of party, much less one where there would be dancing. Ron must certainly detested dancing of any sort so she either had to sit out the frivolity with a sullen partner or dance on her own.
Dancing with Harry simply was out of the question - even as friends. He never asked her for a dance and she never expected one.
As if reading her mind, her mum nudged her the moment the song changed, pulling her off to the side.
"Already lost your man, have you?" Her mum asked her, raising her voice over the next song. Another pop song that Hermione vaguely recognised from the odd school disco as a child. Hermione frowned at her mum, not in the mood for the teasing. She then bit her lip and leaned in for what she hoped was a fairly private conversation.
"He's not-."
"Hermione, darling," her mum began, levelling her with a very stern look, "Harry has always been your man. Even when he's acting like a total stranger."
Miranda Granger nee Baxter raised her hand up to cup Hermione's face. She leaned in, swaying them both in time to the music.
"You're both scared of getting hurt - Heaven's knows you've both been through so much - but if you keep denying yourselves happiness, you'll end up hurt anyway. For once in your life, don't do the smart thing. Do the careless, reckless thing because if you don't… you'll always regret letting that chance slip through your fingers."
Hermione blinked at her mum, looking cautiously around the dancing guests around them. When she didn't respond to her mum's counsel, the song playing decided to fill her silence for her.
My loneliness… is killing me.
And I…
I must confess, I still believe…
Shaking her head disbelievingly, Hermione drew back from her mum a little. "Are you really giving me relationship advice to Britney Spears?"
"Apparently I am," her mum beamed at her just as Britney delivered her famous 'hit me baby one more time'. "Should I wait for a more appropriate song? Somebody to love, maybe?"
"Okay, maybe let's not wait for Queen ," Hermione interceded, then sighed, taking her mum's hand as they just stepped in time to the pop song while Monica's friends sang rather loudly - and awfully - to it. "We nearly kissed outside… before the first dance," she then blurted out so she didn't have to listen to the off-pitch shrieking.
"And you just left him?" Her mum stared at her, stunned.
"Actually, he left me and, well, we couldn't miss the first dance… you told me I need to focus on our family and not get distracted with Harry!" Hermione said indignantly. Her mum shook her head.
"Forget what I said. Get distracted… find him and go somewhere private. No one's going to notice that you're both missing. Gerry in his great wisdom paid for the bar… everyone's going to be too drunk to notice anything."
Glancing over to the bar, Hermione noticed that a fair number of guests had elected to make use of the bride's family contribution to the event. She then caught sight of her dad amid the throng, though he'd decided to find a small table to settle himself down and watch safely from the side with his glass of diet coke. He was perfectly happy keeping himself far from the noise, content to just watch others make fools out of themselves. At the sound of some sudden shouting at the bar, some sort of drinking chant, Hermione's brows furrowed. From the sounds of it, the groom's party were on a fast-track to do just that. Harry very much wasn't drinking with his cousin or his friends. In fact, Hermione had no idea where he was.
"Hermione!"
Monica suddenly appeared in her vision, her beaming face taking up her full view. She appeared determined to dance, giving Hermione no option to refuse as her hands clutched her elbows, pushing herself between her and her mum. Hermione caught her mum's deeply amused expression before blonde curls and white mesh blocked her vision again.
"Pleeease tell me you hit it off with Harry. Amanda was just saying that you were both outside talking… and, wow, I really hope you both have a dance together."
Fat chance of that, but thanks. Hermione thought to herself while she put on a smile, feeling her mum's smug 'know-it-all' smirk burning at the side of her.
With Monica's attention upon her, Hermione couldn't escape the dancefloor. Gritting her teeth at the awkward situation, she copied her mum and danced along to whatever was playing next.
Her feet were soon throbbing. Harry hadn't returned from his expert escape and Hermione found her mood worsening.
She needed a drink.
"Harry! Haaaarry !"
From the foghorn-level volume Monica achieved trying to get his attention, Harry would have to be as deaf as a post to not hear her. Hermione's attention snapped over and she wasn't the only interested party. He appeared to have attempted to slip in unnoticed. He held an empty glass, his reasons for returning more than obvious. Monica charged at him, her skirts rustling as she singled out her next victim, plucking the glass out from his hand. He stood still, gaping at her, as she gripped his wrist and led him onto the dance floor. The moment his shoes touched the sprung wooden boards, there were cheers amid the dancers. All the voices feminine as the bride tugged the unwilling recipient into their throng.
Harry steadied himself, staring at Hermione with wide open shock as he discovered himself right in the middle of the dance floor in front of her. Multicoloured lights flickered behind him, the disco set up shimmering in the background while the tracks changed. A melody Hermione recognised picked up and she groaned aloud as opening notes introduced a very familiar love song. For Harry's eyes to widen in recognition, it had to be popular indeed for him to know of it. Of all the songs to start playing while they found themselves face-to-face, caught in Monica's machinations, it had to be My Heart Will Always Go On.
Monica lost interest in them as she went on a new mission to drag her husband back to the dance floor. She abandoned them both where she'd set them like her dolls. Hermione could see the vultures edging closer to Harry, ready to pounce on him while he gaped at her like a fish out of water. Before either of them had a chance, Hermione closed the distance, looking up at him.
"Dance with me before this looks weird," she near-hissed at him. Harry blinked quickly and before she could say anything more, he brought his arm around her and they started to revolve slowly in time to the song.
"How does this look any less weird?" Harry asked her tightly once she noticed the disappointed faces flashing past as they circled around. "We're meant to be strangers, Hermione. Now it's like… some weird 'love at first sight' thing."
"Or it could be just two people, dancing together-."
"-who just met today ," Harry said through gritted teeth. Despite the noise around them and the activity, Hermione could hear him very clearly. She stopped noticing who was watching, instead feeling the rhythm of the song, the melody, the rapturous voice. She moved in time with Harry, their steps changing as they both paid attention to the beat of the song and adjusted.
"We never danced together before," Hermione remarked, "not even at Bill and Fleur's wedding… or the Yule Ball."
"You know why."
"It can't have been just because of Ron," Hermione said angrily, more for herself than for Harry.
"Does it even matter anymore?"
Did it matter?
They spun together, eyes never leaving each other's faces as the song started went into the chorus.
"This is a really dramatic song," Harry said, sounding a little uncertain, "isn't this the one from that film with the big boat?"
Hermione snorted out laughing. "Yes, Harry, it's about a famously large boat that sunk in the Atlantic Ocean. Thousands died."
"Huh, that doesn't sound remotely romantic."
"It is, trust me," Hermione insisted, her heart skipping as she looked up at Harry, his face partly shadowed and so very close to her own. "The main characters meet onboard and fall in love. They also dance together… a little like this."
"Oh? And do they live happily ever after?" Harry asked teasingly.
"Well… no, but it is romantic when they are together… and not, you know, drowning," Hermione bit on her lip, "I'll concede that the whole sinking part does put a downer on their relationship."
Harry then laughed, the sound making her heart leap again. "Well, at least the song is romantic."
"Actually, it's about loving someone who died so…"
"Great… so our first dance together is to a song about death. Lovely." Harry said, rolling his eyes, his hand upon her back shifting as he moved her closer to him. As more of their bodies came into contact, Hermione automatically rushed to fill the pause.
"It's about love overcoming all obstacles… including death", she found herself explaining, just having to provide the crucial context. A brief look of surprise flittered over Harry's face before he looked down at her thoughtfully. For the second time that evening, Hermione gazed into the depths, trying to gauge what was going on behind them.
"Oh… I see."
Their pace changed as Harry took the lead. Hermione stepped back into his hold, moving in sync as she followed his steps. She shifted her hand hold in his as they moved into the next phrase of steps, their lessons taking over while their brains were otherwise occupied.
"This rather goes against the unspoken rule," Harry then said as he performed a slightly sloppy turn, getting his left in front instead of his right. He corrected himself, stepping around Hermione so they started moving again in the tight revolutions they'd learned for ballroom dancing.
"What?" Hermione frowned at him, confused.
"The rule," Harry looked at her and her eyes met his as they moved without thinking around the dancefloor, unaware of anything else. "We never speak of it, but we both know it's there. We keep each other at arm's length and always have. Since Hogwarts… since… the tent…"
The music began to dim away as well as Hermione latched onto Harry's voice. She clutched at his hand.
"The wall…" She murmured.
"Wall?"
"We have this wall between us," Hermione went to explain, staring intently at Harry, hoping he'll understand. "A mental block that makes us never go… too familiar. We tease, we flirt, we cuddle… and all sorts of things that normal friends don't do but we never… take things further."
"That's right," Harry agreed, his eyes never leaving hers as he turned again. He shifted his stance, telling Hermione that he wanted to twirl her. She smiled, stepping back as Harry smiled, lifting his arm so she could spin under his arm and switch positions. Harry's hand was ready to touch her back and lead them back into the dance, just as they'd been taught.
"I think… that's starting to change now," Hermione said softly as they moved slowly together. She leaned into his hold as he steered them around in their safe space, moving together in sync.
"I think so too," Harry said, his voice just audible over the music. The song began to fade, the haunting melody the only sound for the moment before it trailed off.
Loud applause rang out. A couple of whistles pierced the moment with shrill discordance. Hermione immediately jerked back from Harry, nearly stumbling, as she realised with a wrenching shock what they had just been doing. From the open look of shock on Harry's face, he hadn't noticed what they'd been doing either. Around them, the dance floor had cleared a space so they could move together properly. The other dancers had stopped and watched as they took a spin on the floor, dancing together as if they had rehearsed it.
Hermione looked past Harry, her attention immediately drawn to her mum who clapped the most enthusiastically, her eyes glittering… with tears. Harry recovered first, reaching out and grasping her hand suddenly. Before she could react, he raised her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers, as he lightly kissed the back of her hand.
When he lowered her hand, her arm dropped as if deadened. The clapping calmed down as a gawping Dudley side-lined Harry.
"You know how to dance? "
Monica leapt for Hermione, beaming with joy. "That was so beautiful. I had no idea… how did you do that? Did you know he could dance?"
Beset with questions, Hermione could only glance over at Harry as the next song played. The other guests had lost interest, most of them had at least. Just past where Hermione's mum stood, wiping at her face, were two thunderous faces - one which was turning an alarming shade of puce.
Not thinking, Hermione turned away from Monica, seizing Harry by the arm. Without giving the bride and groom any explanation, she dragged a bewildered Harry Potter from the dancefloor before his uncle exploded.
"Wait! Hermione, where are you going?" Monica called after her. The surprised gathering parted before her, including a number of livid girls who had very obviously wanted to do to Harry exactly what she was doing.
Harry's hand suddenly tightened around hers. He no longer dragged behind her, instead picking up his pace as he started to move with greater urgency as Monica made chase. Harry pushed his shoulder forwards, carving them a way out onto the terrace.
Once they emerged, Harry spun around, then he looked at her. Just with that wild look alone, Hermione knew exactly what to do. It was time to follow her mum's wisdom. No more smart thinking. No more over thinking. In fact, no thinking at all. The moment warranted recklessness. Their game was up, their companionship too strong to last the ruse. It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was the wall and its crumbled ruins.
She bent down, gripping the straps of her shoes as she removed each one. Holding them in her hand, she gave Harry a very simple instruction.
"Let's get out of here!"
Grinning that ridiculous, boyish smile, Harry took her hand once more. Instead of leading her into a dance, he led her across the terrace. Her feet squeaked on the wet floor, but she kept up with him, her own smile spreading as joy erupted out of her, liberated. Euphoria exhilarated her as she laughed, the wildness of their spontaneity thrilling her. Neither Monica or Dudley were following them, but Harry still ran with her, crossing the lawn to move out of sight behind some trees. Behind them, there were some shouts and cheers. Hermione didn't care. All she cared about was the man leading her away.
When they lost sight of the club house behind the trees, Harry slowed down, laughing. When he stopped, Hermione crashed into him, hugging him tightly as she wanted to do from the moment she saw him. Harry caught her, his body bouncing with his sounds of mirth.
"I think it's safe to say… that the cat is out of the bag," Hermione gasped out between her laughs.
Catching her breath, Hermione dropped her arms from where she had hugged Harry so fiercely. Hidden amongst the trees, it was dark, the lights from the party not reaching them where they were obscured by thick oak trees and shrubbery. Twigs and gravel mixed in with the dirt under her feet, but she didn't care. She swayed a little as she stared up at Harry, watching his shadowed face as he stared back.
It hung between them once more - that distance. Not much remained of the barrier that held them back, not anymore. Harry's breathing was loud, whether shallow from exertion or something else, it was hard to tell. Hermione lifted her hand up to her breast, her fingers lightly touching her skin where her heart raced wildly behind her ribs. Harry's eyes followed the movement, darkened in the gloom where they had been so bright previously in the sun. They held the same intensity.
The energy began to change, tension building like static. Harry's stillness made her think of the calm before the storm… or like a leopard about to pounce. He didn't speak… but he didn't need to. Euphoria morphed, childlike joy maturing, changing… as the fluttering Hermione felt in her heart started to pulse lower, building in tempo with every breath that left her.
"They're all going to think that we ran off to have some time alone," Hermione said while her thoughts were far from the party and the people who were likely discussing their unexpected romance.
"Isn't that what we're doing?" Harry asked, his voice deep… and different.
"I… wasn't thinking that far ahead," she admitted. "I wasn't thinking at all."
"Right," Harry murmured, "I'm not thinking much either… which is a problem because if neither of us are thinking, we could easily make a mistake."
"It's a risk, certainly," she agreed, her fingers still brushing over her chest, "but we're Gryffindors. We dare to take risks where others don't."
She dropped her shoes to the ground, the thud sounding hollow on the earth at their feet.
"Either that or we've had too much to drink."
Harry hadn't blinked since she released him. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
"We've been avoiding this for too long, Harry," she said as her courage pushed her towards him. Just one step, her foot snapping a twig as she approached. "We both clearly feel the same way about each other. Continuing as we are… denying what is so obvious… who does it benefit, really? It's not us."
"Maybe it is. Maybe… we're scared of getting hurt and hurting each other," Harry still didn't move, his attention fixed upon her. "What if we end up like you and Ron… and it ruins what we have?"
"It wouldn't," she shook her head, "because I know… you would never do anything to intentionally hurt me."
"Hermione…" Harry sighed, moving then, taking his single step towards her. "It's what I'd unintentionally do that worries me."
"I know… and that's why it's always been you," she moved closer. "It just took a push from Fate to make me see what I've been so blind to miss. It's not those trousers that make your arse look so divine or the cologne that you've put on today that makes me feel out of control. It's not even your eyes… or your smile. It's your heart. It's the most beautiful thing in my life… and I wish it was mine."
Harry's eyes were wide. He let out a gasp of surprise.
"I thought I saw you staring at my arse earlier."
"It's rather hard not too," she admitted, then ruefully bit her lip. Harry's gaze tracked her movements, watching her with enrapt attention.
"I can relate," Harry said, his voice taking on a huskiness as he started to lift his hand up towards her. He hesitated, but then closed the distance. His fingers lightly brushed her cheek, going up to where a strand of her hair had come free from the many clips she'd used to secure her stubborn curls in place. He gently went to tuck it behind her ear. His fingers ran down her cheek, the touch so tender. She breathed in, feeling beyond his touch as his magic left a tingling track down her skin. Slowly, he went to touch her lip.
"If I kiss you now, there's no going back. We leave the people we were behind and become something new… because this isn't going to be some fling. We're not going to wake up tomorrow and just go back to how we were before today. This will change everything."
Hermione parted her lips, staring deeply into Harry's eyes, the pulsing in her body increasing in tempo.
"I'm not afraid," she breathed out, "Harry, just kiss me."
His fingers moved down to her chin, lightly pinching as he angled her face upwards. Hermione's hands found themselves on Harry's waist. She beheld the moment when he changed. From friend to more . When Harry's lips pressed against hers, Hermione knew that it was all meant to be. No walls… no rules. Just them, the two of them, as it should have been from the start.