It's A Small World

by Aeyliana

As if Harry needed another surprise from Fate. As it turns out, his cousin, Dudley, has an unsurprising entrance to the magical world aside from Harry. No one could expect that it came from his fiancee... who also happens to be the cousin to Hermione Granger. Maybe the happy coincidence can make two stubborn people see the obvious.

2. Black Sheep

It was March by the time Harry stopped putting off the reunion that he couldn't avoid. It was five months after he and Hermione had their earth-shattering surprise of their muggle roots coming together in a union between their cousins. His arrival was expected and that, in a way, made him feel all the more on edge. His first port of call was Arabella Figg's house. Begrudgingly, he subjected himself to being a brief guest in the dingy house where he used to be babysat by the mad old woman. Thankfully she didn't make him look at all the photo albums of her cats for old time's sake. He stomached a couple of biscuits along with a glass of orange juice he was certain was out of date before leaving.

Harry Potter only made his return to Privet Drive after he plucked all the cat hairs off his smart suit trousers. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd gone to the effort to dress up for the occasion. Whatever he wore, he was going to be poorly received. He did look unrecognisable compared to the scruffy vagrant that he resembled during his summers, even more so compared to the sad, lonely orphan who had been shunned by an entire neighbourhood. That same neighbourhood appeared exactly as Harry remembered and he hated it.

Steeling his nerve, he made his reluctant way to his childhood 'home'. Could he even call a place where he had never been welcome a 'home'? He didn't have a single pleasant memory about the place, no fun anecdotes to share over a pint or any fond stories to reminisce over. Pulses of hate flickered through his thoughts as he brought himself closer and closer. He kept his head down, not wanting to assess his surroundings and flood his mind with too many bad memories before he forcefully saturated himself in them.

Harry stopped at the drive, lifting his chin to look at the house. His initial observation was that the lawn needed mowing. Amused at his own trail of thought, Harry forced himself to look to the upstairs window. Sure enough, there were still holes in the brickwork where there had been bars bolted over the bedroom window in an effort to prevent the occupant from escaping. He drew in a breath, clenching his hands briefly, then marched the last steps. He gritted his teeth as he came up to the front door, his eyes resting on the polished number '4'. Sucking at his lip, he raised his hand and rang the doorbell.

"What the fuck am I doing?" Harry asked himself quietly as the bell trilled in the hallway.

He closed his eyes at the sound of thumping footsteps, inwardly hoping that it would be Dudley who answered the door. The security chain rattled, the door wrenching open. Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, relieved that he wasn't welcomed by the purpling visage of Vernon Dursley.

At least not yet.

Dudley held the door open for Harry to enter. Begrudgingly, he did. As if magnetised, his gaze at once zoned in on the small door under the stairs. Dudley didn't speak, closing the door behind him. Harry could feel his hands shaking so he put them in his pockets, tearing his stare away from the epicentre of his childhood trauma. Slowly, he breathed in, leaning on occlumency techniques to keep under control. He squared his shoulders as if preparing himself for a duel. He sighed, looking up at Dudley who made the small hallway appear even smaller with his broader shoulders and height over Harry.

"Shall we get this over with then?" Harry asked, his voice low as he spoke under his breath. He knew all too well how thin the walls were in the house. He glanced over Dudley, frowning a little when he took in his jeans and t-shirt, not having gone to the same effort as Harry with his smarter attire. Harry needed to make a point, even going so far to wear polished brogues. He drew the line at wearing a tie, however.

Dudley stood mutely, staring at the door that led to the living room, his mouth opening to speak and answer. His face was flushed and from the tense silence Harry could sense coming from the rest of the house, things hadn't been going very well before his arrival. They were only likely to get worse once Harry entered the picture.

Ever the Gryffindor, Harry stepped into the line of fire. He passed Dudley, sighing, the floor creaking under his foot. The same floorboard that always creaked. He hesitated for a moment, his muscles almost freezing involuntarily. He pushed through the pain, grasping the brass door handle, and entered the fray.

His appearance caused a small scream. Out of all the over-the-top reactions he had triggered during his lifetime, it wasn't the most ridiculous. Hasty hands slapped over the mouth that emitted the sound of shock. Petunia Dursley muffled her reaction, her eyes almost bulging as she stared at him from where she sat on the sofa.

With some difficulty, Vernon Dursley got to his feet. The sofa creaked as he stood. He groaned and grunted as he did, using the arm of the sofa for support. Over the eight or so years since Harry last saw the man, he had evidently aged. His hair had thinned considerably, combed back from a glaring receding hairline. His moustache was completely grey. He appeared to have shrunk a little, though Harry wasn't sure if that was because he had grown taller. Vernon straightened, sniffing with clear dislike, his gaze ranging up and down Harry, his scrutiny just the same. Harry waited for the scathing criticism but instead, a muscle throbbed on Vernon's jaw. He stiffly looked past Harry to where Dudley had stepped in after him.

"You changed the wallpaper in the hallway," Harry said, startling even himself. He didn't know why he blurted out the small talk. The many lessons he had in social etiquette in preparation for his position as the British representative in the International Confederation of Wizards had cut in before he could stop himself. It appeared the training he needed to meet with world leaders applied to dealing with his only living family.

Before anyone could respond to his lame comment, Petunia then shakily got to her feet. Unlike Vernon, she was exactly as Harry remembered her. Perhaps there were a few wrinkles but Harry's attention was fixed on her as she looked at him. He was suddenly reminded of the look in her eyes when he sent them on their way before fleeing Privet Drive. Her hands had dropped from her mouth as she stared at him right in the eyes. She clutched at her cardigan as she drifted towards him, not blinking.

"You've grown up."

It was her voice. Harry saw her mouth move. Yet it wasn't the sharp, harsh tone that invaded his nightmares at times. It was hushed and shocked. Dudley brushed past Harry as he moved towards his mother. Dudley's hand touched her elbow, a light but supportive touch. A horrible, unwanted feeling then wrenched through Harry. It made him want to turn on his heel and run. The pain almost robbed him of breath. He took in a steadying breath, enforcing his mental defences.

"Hello, Aunt Petunia," Harry made himself say, his voice coming out just as hushed as hers. He swallowed and swept his gaze to the senior Dursley. "Uncle Vernon."

Vernon huffed angrily, his face rapidly flushing. His eyes were narrowed, nostrils flaring. Harry tilted his head to the side, frowning at the display. He could see Dudley frowning similarly in the corner of his eye. Petunia's eyes still hadn't left his face. He knew precisely what she was staring at. He'd started the day with taking a measured dose of Vision Sharpening Potion to temporarily correct his eyesight. It wasn't something he often did, as he'd worn glasses for so long, he felt odd without them. Yet he intended for the purposes of his visit to his relatives to have his resemblance to his mother on full show. He knew his eyes were striking, just as his mother's had been, and they had Petunia's attention.

"We share the same blood… me and Harry," Dudley said as he shifted from his mother to look firmly across at his father. "That means something to me even if it doesn't to you. So I'd like it if you'd maybe tone down the hate. Monnie's noticed that you never talk about Harry. I can't ever talk to her about why and she does ask questions. I have to lie about my own family!"

Of all those present to first raise their voice, Harry wouldn't have put money on it being Dudley. He stifled his surprise, all traces of the brief amusement he felt gone. The full seriousness of the situation suddenly settled on Harry. He then followed Dudley, demonstrating for all to see that they were a united front.

"No amount of nasty lies can hide the fact that I was here for years. Oh, you can spread stories around to make yourselves out to be the victims. How it was so good of you to take in an orphan. How I repaid your kindness by being ungrateful and causing trouble. You can tell Marge that you packed me off to some correctional school which didn't work because I ended up falling to crime anyway. Tell all your neighbours that the boy you tried so hard to keep on the straight and narrow brought you nothing but shame. All of that doesn't change the fact that Dudley knows the truth. He knows that I was the victim."

A lifetime of bitterness and resentment turned his voice icy. Harry didn't need to raise his voice. Each word was venomous, almost hissing out of him as if he was speaking in parseltongue. He watched as Petunia's face drained of blood, seeing her almost swoon as if about to faint.

"Because of you, he has to keep up this stupid pretence that I'm some reformed criminal to explain why I'm out and about in society and not locked up like the wild nutjob you make me out to be."

Harry took a step towards his aunt. She flinched back, her elbow slipping out of Dudley's reach. Harry could feel his magic tingling at his fingertips, responding to his anger. It remained under his control, not lashing out as it would have done when he was younger. He narrowed his eyes at Petunia, not finished with her just yet.

"And before you even start to say that you had no choice because you couldn't tell people the truth, you know for a fact that families are given cover stories to explain their children's absences when they go to Hogwarts. Your own parents did it for your sister. "

Dudley turned sharply, moving slightly so that he was between Harry and his mother. At the sight of him stepping in to shield her from a fuming wizard, Harry drew in a slow breath, acting to restore his composure before he blew something up in the house. Again. Harry met his gaze, feeling a little guilty for taking over. He hadn't made the trip to the Dursleys' so he could tear into his childhood abusers. He was there for Dudley's sake to find a way to make sure their discord didn't ruin things any more than it already had. That meant Vernon and Petunia had to accept that Dudley wanted Harry in his life.

"The thing is I'm going to have to tell Monnie at some point," Dudley said once Harry had fallen silent, "because I can't keep lying to her. I don't want to anymore."

Petunia looked aghast. "You can't tell her. It's not allowed."

"Actually, when they're married, she'd count as my family so she'd be allowed to know about magic," Harry said quietly. As expected, his mention of the 'm' word had Vernon jumping and growling in anger. Petunia's eyes snapped over to the window, wide as she looked for any signs of anyone overhearing him. Harry rolled his eyes at their reaction. "You need to get over this hatred of magic because there is a chance that any grandchildren you have could end up like me."

"Wh-what?" Dudley spluttered, mouth dropping open. Harry shrugged.

"We don't really know what causes magic to spring up naturally in muggleborns. There's no real pattern, but there's always a chance of it happening to any child - whether they have magical parents or not. Just as there's also a chance of someone being born a squib like Mrs Figg."

Vernon cracked then, stomping up to Harry. "You don't get to show up here after years and sprout your unnaturalness without a care under my roof!"

"Dad, stop it," Dudley snapped at him. He flashed a scowl at Harry, "and tone it down, would you?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Harry's temper flared as he rounded on Dudley

"No. I will not because he has to get it into his thick skull that it's wrong to hate someone for something they are born with."

"How dare you!" Vernon raised his hand, poking out a stubbing finger. He moved to jab it into Harry's chest, making an attempt to intimidate. "After everything you brought down on us!"

It took all of Harry's self-control to not draw his wand and defend himself. He stood his ground, glaring back at Vernon as the man stabbed his finger into his chest. Dudley lumbered over, moving to pull his dad back. Harry raised a hand, warning him back.

"This needs to happen, Dudley," he said to his cousin. He then met Vernon's furious gaze coldly. "You don't get it, do you? It's not me that Dudley's ashamed of being related to. It's you. You might have convinced the whole damn neighbourhood that I'm the black sheep of the family, but Dudley knows I'm not the problem. He knows you're an abusive piece of shit and he's embarrassed by you."

Petunia gasped dramatically, giving a swoon again. Dudley didn't go to her aid that time, not while he was too busy gaping at Harry in shock. Vernon jutted his face into Harry's, so close that Harry could see the mottled pattern of the rosacea across his cheeks.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

His bellowing voice was just as loud as Harry remembered. He had to recoil back but still got a face full of hot breath and deafening rage. Vernon tried to shove Harry back, but discovered that at twenty five years of age, Harry was much more solid than he had been as a teenager. He was also a lot more dangerous as a fully-fledged wizard, a grown-up child soldier who had become a veteran before he was twenty. From the abject fear that bleached the faces of Dudley and Petunia, they both hadn't forgotten that fact unlike Vernon had.

"What are you going to do if I don't? Throw me out?" Harry said coldly back, his voice eerily quiet in the wake of Vernon's explosive temper. "Call the Police?"

Dudley thawed out of his shock, almost stumbling as he came to separate the two of them. This time, Harry didn't stop him. He took a step back so Dudley could move between them.

"You get him out of my sight right this second, Dudley. I will not have it!" Vernon yelled at his son.

"No, dad!"

"Dudley, please!" Petunia then rushed to her son, as always scrambling to stop a tantrum before it erupted. He snatched his arm away from her as she came to placate and calm things down.

"I don't know why you keep pretending that it's normal to be like this. It's not," Dudley turned on his mum, "Harry's right. I am embarrassed. D'you think Monnie will think it's totally fair that when we were younger, I had two bedrooms and Harry had to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs? I can't show my future wife any photographs of my childhood because I'd have to explain why the cousin who I lived with isn't in a single one. Not even at Christmas or birthdays. I'm sure she'd love to hear what presents he got."

Dudley broke off from his tirade, breathing heavily. His face was bright red. He flung an arm back towards where Harry stood, utterly gob-smacked as Dudley stood up for him.

"Harry should hate my guts for what I was like to him when we were kids! I made his life hell and I enjoyed doing it. You let me do that… you let me hit him all the time and get away with it… and don't even get me started on what you did to him."

Harry stepped in then. He sighed, reaching up to grasp Dudley's shoulder as she moved to his side.

"Don't," he said quietly. Vernon stared at Harry's hand on his son's shoulder, aghast. His shock only mounted when Dudley didn't shrug it off or tell Harry to back off.

"Wh-what have you done to my son?" He demanded, his face starting to enter the dangerous levels of puce. "What twisted hocus pocus-?"

"Enough, Vernon," Petunia then sharply cut across him. Vernon gaped wordlessly at her. "You know he's not allowed to use it. "

"That was true when I was underage," Harry said with an arched brow, levelling a look at his uncle, "but now you have no idea what I could do to you and get away with it. The Ministry wouldn't bat an eye. Not anymore when they answer to me. "

It was time for him to put the fear of God into his uncle, time for his icy hate to taint his tongue. Harry stepped forwards, advancing on Vernon Dursley who had the good grace then to remember exactly who Harry was.

"I could erase you from existence, wipe away any trace that you ever lived, remove every memory and expunge the very name Dursley from human history. Unlike you, my threats aren't empty, because the truth is the persona that you've been spreading about me is nothing compared to how dangerous I truly am."

The temperature in the room rapidly dropped, the shadows in the room deepening as if the light shrunk away as Harry's hate spiced his voice. Magic reverberated through the air, emanating in a cold pulse that Harry once could sense coming from Albus Dumbledore in the rare times he witnessed him truly angry. From the whimpering mewl that escaped Vernon as he stumbled back, nearly falling onto the coffee table, Harry knew he'd asserted himself at the top. He held the power in the room.

Stiffly, Harry turned his head to look at his aunt. She appeared to be close to passing out. He drew in a breath, pulling his magic back under his control. Warmth flooded into the room suddenly, causing the Dursleys to collectively gasp in relief. Calming himself down enough to speak civilly once more, Harry inclined his head in a mockery of politeness to his aunt.

"Now we've got that out of the way, maybe it's time for a cup of tea?"

---

Often, Hermione found herself unable to decide which job mattered the most to her. Was it her position as the youngest Head of the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? Or was it her role as Harry Potter's nearest and dearest friend? Both filled her with equal amounts of frustration and joy. They were fulfilling in their own ways, incredibly taxing in others. It had been a while, however, since being Harry's best friend gave her something to complain about. The heart-stopping moments of receiving the news that he'd been attacked or was missing had blissfully stopped since he resigned from the Aurors two years ago. She had hoped that he'd not trigger a minor breakdown again.

After working late to clear the reports on her desk before the weekend, she strode through the empty Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. It wasn't until she had ascended enough levels to pick up a phone signal that she knew something was potentially wrong. Her phone buzzed four times in her handbag. Curiously, she fetched her phone while striding towards the Apparation zone. She clattered to an abrupt halt when she saw that she didn't just have one missed call from Harry but four.

Hermione quickly analysed what she was dealing with. If there was something urgent, Harry would use a Patronus to contact her. Granted, Harry rarely sent his patronus to the Ministry for any reason other than a dire emergency due to the amount of attention it would cause. His Patronus was as famous as he was. He also hadn't left her a message. He knew all too well about the signal black-spot in the Ministry, especially in the lower levels where she often found herself. He knew why she wasn't answering, so that didn't explain why he was trying to get hold of her when he knew she'd be unreachable.

Sighing, she headed over to the fireplaces, leaning back against one of the grates as she called him back.

He didn't pick up.

" The person you just called is unavailable… " The automated female voice spoke in place of Harry. Hermione hung up, staring down at her phone. She checked Harry's missed calls. The first one had been shortly after two in the afternoon, then the next an hour later, the third had been at six and the last one had been an hour ago.

Even though she had no real reason to be, she was worried. Harry knew what she was like where he was concerned and so he knew she'd react exactly as she was to his mysterious calls and then zero response. From where she was standing, she had two options. Either go home and try to call him again or go to his house and check on him. She knew she couldn't do the first option, not with the second as a choice. While she could be overreacting, there could also be something wrong. The absence of a message could be Harry's inability to ask for help factoring in, but he had gotten better over the past two years to be open when he needed to see a friendly face.

Deciding that it was best to just go over to his house and see what the fuss was all about, she fixed the destination in mind. With a twist of her heel, she jettisoned herself into the suffocating darkness that was the space between reality. Emerging back into the material world, she reappeared outside of Harry's cottage.

The lights were on in his living room so at least she knew he was home. Sighing out her nose with frustration, she strode down his paved path to the front door. She leaned a little to the side, looking through the window to see if she could see him but the curtains were drawn. She used the knocker, the sound immediately causing Oscar to start barking. Hermione was about to put her wand away when she hesitated, listening. No footsteps. No sign of Harry coming to the door. Oscar continued to bark excitedly. She heard him bounding up to the door. His claws scrabbled on the other side, eager to greet the guest. She waited a few more seconds before knocking on the door more firmly.

Still nothing. Frowning, Hermione stepped off the path to approach the window, trying to peer through the gap between the curtains. She wrapped her knuckles against the pane of glass.

"Harry?" She called out. "Are you okay?"

Her heart was starting to race with renewed anxiety. There was a chance, a possibility, that he'd gone for a nap. He could be in the bath or on the loo. There could be many reasons why he wasn't answering the door. Or… he could be hurt, unconscious, held captive, missing or worse. As he was Harry Potter, all those things were likely and had happened before.

She headed back to the front door, seizing the door handle. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. That was very unlike Harry. Oscar hopped up to bark happily at her as she stepped inside, alert as she held her wand out, entering the threshold.

"Where did you leave Harry, boy?" She asked the westie as she shut the door behind her. Oscar didn't answer, just panting happily as his tail waggled.

It didn't take her long to find him. He was in the living room, passed out on the sofa. The cause rested on his chest where it rose and fall with his steady breathing. A bottle of firewhiskey. Sighing heavily, Hermione strode over to him. He didn't stir, even with her in the same room. She pointed her wand at him.

" Reenervate ," she snapped curtly, furious with him. Harry lurched awake violently, sitting bolt upright. The bottle dropped from him, landing with a dull clunk on the floor. He clumsily grasped about for his wand, his eyes wide with fear for the briefest of moments before he saw her.

Realisation washed over his features, his mouth dropping open. Intense shame burned in his eyes. He slapped his hands up to his face.

"Oh shit… shit… I'm sorry I called!"

The shaking in his voice had Hermione at once lowering her wand. She inwardly berated herself for her lack of tact. It wasn't the first time she'd found him passed out drunk.

Something had happened to really set off his trauma for him to go so far as to self-medicate. She immediately hurried over, dropping down on the sofa next to him. She glanced down at the bottle on the floor. Only a quarter of it remained.

"Don't be sorry," Hermione said softly, reaching to rub his arm. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have woken you up like that."

"I don't want you to see me like this," Harry mumbled into his hands.

"It's okay, Harry, it's me. Nothing's going to make me turn away from you," she said as her heart started to clench painfully. "I want to help."

He sighed, the sound achingly sad, as he lowered his arms. Hermione looked at his face. His skin was flushed pink, but what worried her the most were his eyes. He didn't look at her, gaze angled downwards, riddled with shame. She could see his neck had flushed along with his face, his embarrassment radiating off him.

Oscar then bounded up to them. Hermione jumped, not having seen him flash past. Harry quietly brought his hand down for Oscar to sniff and nuzzle against before he automatically started to stroke him around the ears.

"You should be mad at me too," he said to his dog before glancing quickly in Hermione's direction. "I was fine. I was in control until… I wasn't. I got home after taking him for a walk and just… went straight for the bottle. I knew it was a mistake. I knew I was opening up Pandora's Box, but… I didn't know what to do. I called you and… obviously, you couldn't pick up. I didn't… I don't have…"

Harry's voice choked as he struggled to speak. Hermione's heart ached at the look on Harry's face. He looked up at her then, his green eyes haunted.

"I don't have anyone else to talk to," he whispered, "not about this."

"About what, Harry?" Hermione whispered back, carefully reaching forwards to take one of his hands. His hand was limp in hers and clammy. "What is it? What happened?"

Harry's gaze dropped from her face, looking down at their joined hands. His breathing became ragged, pain rippling over his features before he looked away, closing his eyes.

"I did it," Harry said, still keeping his eyes closed as his brows knitted, "I went back… had the family reunion."

Hermione gasped, clutching his hand then. Harry's lips pushed together again, his face tilting further away from her.

"You spoke to your Aunt and Uncle?"

Her question received a heavy sigh huffed out of Harry's nostrils in response. He opened his eyes, squeezing her hand back. He lifted his other hand from where he was petting Oscar, pinching his forefinger and thumb together, leaving a small gap between the tips.

"Yeah and I came this close to burning that house down," he said, demonstrating that he'd been close indeed. He dropped his hand down, miserably casting his gaze downwards. "I don't even know what it really achieved, going back… other than bringing up a whole load of stuff that I've been doing my best to forget."

Hermione rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb, studying him carefully. Harry's childhood was one of the topics that they avoided talking about. It was painfully apparent to her, especially as she got older and could better comprehend how their different upbringings affected them as adults, that Harry had been raised in an abusive environment. With the wedding between their cousins approaching, Harry had brought up a few things that he never had done before. Mostly about the difference between how he and his cousin were treated. While she knew that the Dursleys mistreated Harry substantially, she hadn't fully appreciated what harm it had done to Dudley as well. It was remarkable for both young men to come away as the people they had become despite the conditioning they received.

"Do you at least think they'll not cause a scene at the wedding now that you've talked to them?"

Harry peered across at her, frowning a little but then he nodded.

"Yes, but only because I had to resort to threats. Force is the only language that a man like Vernon Dursley understands," he said wearily. "No amount of reasoning will convince him that nobody likes a bigot or that Monica's family aren't going to be impressed by his narrow-minded world view. I think Dudley's more worried about Monica's reaction when she finds out just what sort of family she's marrying into."

"Well, he can't help who his parents are." She said meaningfully, causing Harry to smirk a little. He appeared to have calmed down, his face settling down to a paler shade. "She's marrying Dudley - not his parents."

"It's all part of the package though. Just like me," Harry shrugged, "the 'Black Sheep'. At least I can get away with being in the background. Just the estranged cousin with a criminal record."

Anger blitzed through Hermione at Harry's casual mention of the ridiculous lies his relatives spread about him among their peers. Lies that made it difficult for them to decide how they were going to interact during the wedding… or reveal to Dudley and Monica both how they knew each other. Had Petunia and Vernon Dursley made out that Harry attended a boarding school for the gifted in Scotland, which was what her parents told her family, they could openly go together as friends. Instead, they had come up with a horrible story to further the abuse of their nephew, making out that he'd been incarcerated from a young age for petty crimes at a school for delinquents. She couldn't understand how anyone believed such a thing when Borstals had phased out of use. St Brutus's Centre had closed down in the earlier eighties when Harry was a toddler.

It just proved the herd mindset of a community that believed what it wanted to believe. People who turned the other cheek, looking away because getting involved wasn't their business. Better to believe that the orphaned boy was a troublemaker rather than a victim. The Dursleys deserved to be put behind bars themselves.

"I can't believe you're going ahead with that charade," Hermione said tightly. "It's not right."

"I don't care what they think about me," Harry said shortly but he didn't meet her eyes. Hermione sighed.

"I do though," she said, bringing her hand up to his face to gently cup his cheek. His eyes flicked up to hers then. "These aren't random strangers to me, Harry. We're in this together by some twist of Fate. I'm not going to dismiss them as just some muggles that we'll never see again. My family is going to be fed these lies while my best friend has his name tarnished by his family."

His true feelings fought behind the stubborn apathy he attempted to put on. Pain. Deep seated pain that had led him to drinking so much, he passed out. She sighed softly, lowering her hand from his face. She leaned towards the table where there was an empty glass. Taking up her wand, she vanished the traces of whiskey from the glass and then filled it with water. She passed it to Harry who silently accepted it, drinking slowly.

"I hate it when you do this," she said as he drank. He flashed his eyes over at her questioningly. "You can't help yourself, can you? You never put yourself first. It's so ingrained in you that you almost actively seek out pain like a masochist."

Harry frowned, anger flaring to life. He lowered the emptied glass.

"I'm not a masochist, Hermione."

"Then why are you doing this? You don't owe your cousin a damn thing. I know you say that he didn't know any better, but now it's no excuse for him to let you compromise on his behalf."

"He's at least trying," Harry said sharply back, "and yeah, maybe it's a little too late, but it's something. It's more than I ever had before from him and I'm not going to turn it away out of spite."

"He made you go back to the place you hate the most for his benefit," Hermione argued firmly. Harry didn't snip back immediately, though he opened his mouth to retort. He closed his eyes briefly, turning his head away from her.

"He didn't make me do a damn thing," Harry said carefully, his voice level and controlled. "I walked into that house willingly, knowing what I was going to see and what I'd be reminded of. As much as I wish I could forget it, I can't. Neither can Dudley. At least for me, I can say a fond farewell after this wedding business is over and never see them again. He can't. They're his parents and he's stuck with them. And, well, I feel sorry for him."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, her anger fluttering out of her once more, "you truly are too kind for your own good."

"I wouldn't know about that," Harry said dryly, opening his eyes to glance at her sheepishly, "I did threaten them into compliance after all."

"For a good cause," Hermione said quietly, looking at him closely. Harry then suddenly brought his hand up to his mouth as he retched dangerously. His gaze flickered up to hers.

"I should… take a sobering potion," he said thickly.

"Do you have one?" Hermione asked, agreeing with him.

"Y-yeah. You should be able to summon it from the kitchen."

She did just that. A moment later, a bulb-bottomed bottle shot towards them. Even drunk as he was, Harry's hand snapped up and caught the bottle without so much as a flinch.

"Bottom's up," Harry said as he wrenched out the cork and gulped down the potion.

Thirty minutes later, they were down in Harry's kitchen. Harry sat morosely at the small table that he managed to cram into the small space, hunched over in one of the farmhouse chairs. Hermione had adamantly told him to not move from the chair as she made them something to eat. When he tried to help, she resorted to magic, sticking him to the chair.

"Where the fuck is my wand?" Harry grumbled out after a few minutes sulking at his situation.

"You tell me," Hermione snipped back from where she was warming up some tinned chicken soup. Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "We'll find it later. Just keep drinking water."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to watch Harry. He hadn't said much since downing the sobering potion, only just recovering from the violent vomiting episode that the potion induced. She soon had transferred some soup into a bowl for them both, knowing the way around his kitchen as if it was her own home. When she placed his bowl in front of him, Harry frowned and glanced up at her. She smiled, and for some reason, she found herself running her hand over the top of his head.

Her gaze went back to Harry's face. He was staring at her. He pressed his lips together for a moment before reaching for the bowl, touching the ceramic.

"Thank you for coming," he said, holding her gaze, "it was stupid. Getting drunk. I know… I know better than that."

He screwed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them and reaching for the spoon Hermione provided for him. He looked up at her, his eyes holding a familiar haunted look. Hermione sighed, putting down her own bowl of soup on the table so her hands were free. She pressed her hands against Harry's face, cupping both his cheeks.

"It's okay, Harry. You've always been there for me and I'll always be there for you."

Harry's eyes widened at her words. He smiled at long last.

"Yeah… I suppose that's true."

---

The following morning, with it being a Saturday, had Hermione with a free day to spend liberated from her responsibilities at the Ministry. It also meant that she could stay the night at Harry's and not rush off early to make it to London before the morning surge in the Atrium. Harry didn't conceal his gratitude upon finding her in his kitchen that morning, fixing up herself some toast. The first thing that caught his attention was how she was dressed in a pair of his own pyjamas, not having brought any night clothes of her own when she hurried straight over from work to check on him. He laughed softly, bemused that they were so comfortable around each other, Hermione didn't hesitate to borrow his clothes without asking.

Her hair was loose, uncontained in a cascade of warm brown curls. The sun was out, streaming through the window to catch the highlights in her hair, some strands almost honey-coloured. Harry often found himself transfixed by Hermione's hair. It had so many textures and tones, not just one like his own dreary black hair. He noticed it more and more often as they traversed through their adulthood, observing the different ways she tamed it and the styles that she tried out. There was just something so Hermione about her hair, something that was unique to her. He wasn't entirely sure if it was normal to fixate on a feature that his best friend had. Was admiring her appearance inappropriate? It wasn't as if he was staring at her curves that weren't quite hidden by his pyjamas. His slight size meant his clothes fit her snugly enough.

"I thought I'd make myself something to eat before heading home," Hermione told him as he made his appearance known, "if I thought you were up, I would have made you some."

"That's okay. You've been my carer long enough already," Harry said from the doorway, leaning against the frame while Oscar joined him. Harry looked down at the dog, sighing. "I should take this rascal out for a proper walk down to the village. Did you want to join us or do you have plans?"

Hermione had just bitten into her toast as he asked the question. Harry put a hand up. "Oh, sorry, you're eating."

She cleared her mouth enough to speak. "It's alright. Um, I need to sort some bits at my place, but I can come back after lunch if that's not too late?"

"No, that's perfect. Besides, you should probably get dressed. We don't want the residents of Godric's Hollow to start spreading rumours if they see you in my jammies."

Hermione near-snorted in laughter at his comment, making him feel a strange sweep in his stomach. She covered her mouth as she tried to eat while laughing. He always liked making her laugh. Hermione only truly let her hair down when in his presence, not taking herself too seriously as she had to for her job. He had noticed that she was happier since fully ending things with Ron. Though it saddened him that they had to go to such lengths, he knew it was for the best - for all parties involved. Him included.

"Aren't we already having a secret love affair?" Hermione asked jokingly once she cleared her mouth properly. "It's hard to keep up with what they're writing about us."

"I don't know. We probably have five children by now that I keep hidden away on my privately owned island."

"Hmm… children would ruin your 'bachelor with a dog' appeal that you have set for yourself."

Harry crossed his arms, huffing in feign offence. "I didn't get Oscar so I could have a talking point when dating."

"It works though."

"Clearly not as I'm still single," Harry said, then sighed when he saw her triumphant smile, "and that's not me admitting to anything. You told me that I should get a pet and considering that you're pretty much always right, I did as you suggested."

Hermione laughed again, holding her toast hovering in front of her mouth as her eyes gleamed.

"Since when do you do what people tell you to do?"

Harry grinned, the warm sensation he felt in his stomach rising upwards.

"I have a problem with authority. Not friendly advice," he said casually while enjoying himself as he flirted. His smile slid a little as he realised that he was flirting. With Hermione. While she was wearing his pyjamas in his kitchen. "Oh shit, are we flirting?"

"Of course. We always flirt," Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, "Why do you think Ron gets so pissed off when we do this?" She flicked her piece of toast, using it to indicate them both. "When we bounce off each other?"

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Harry unfolded his arms while Hermione took the moment to finish her toast. He took in the scene before him properly, realising exactly how it would look to an outside perspective. He had been joking about her being in his pyjamas, but it did appear that they were having an affair. He brought his hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

"Oh… right," Harry said slowly, "is… this normal?"

Hermione boggled at him as she finished her toast.

"What about our relationship is normal, Harry? I'm closer to you than anyone else… so much so that neither of us can be with a partner without them getting jealous." He gaped at Hermione. She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't look at me like that. You know it's true."

"But…" Harry started to think of something to say to contradict her, yet nothing came to his aid. "We've always been like this, haven't we?"

"More so now than we have ever been," Hermione said hesitantly, chewing on her lip for a moment, "now that we can relax a bit more around each other. You in particular are more open since you left the Aurors. A lot less guarded around me."

Harry tilted his head a little to the side, considering her for a moment. It was a fair assessment considering the pressure he had to deal with when living up to his reputation every day. Life was much more straight-forward now that he could start to enjoy it. Then when he was made the youngest ever Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, he had an excuse to travel and see more of the world. All he really had to do was attend monthly conferences in different Ministries of Magic around the world. He fluttered in and out of the British Ministry whenever he was needed to take his seat as a warlock in the Wizengamot. Otherwise, he was practically retired at twenty five.

"Is that a way of saying I'm not as emotionally stunted?" Harry asked her, surprised that she would outright tell him as much.

"You're a lot more intune with your emotions, I suppose," Hermione thoughtfully observed, now tilting her head a little as she gave him an assessing look in return. "And no, that's not me saying that I thought you were 'emotionally stunted'. Repressed, maybe."

"Lovely," Harry incredulously rolled his eyes, "because that's so much better."

"It is. You actually let me help you now," Hermione said softly, pushing herself off from where she was leaning against his kitchen counter. "Even though your episode with the firewhiskey yesterday was irresponsible and unhealthy, you did reach out for help when you were struggling. I'm proud of you."

She crossed the distance, suddenly standing right in front of him. Oscar excitedly moved to her, his leg waggling as he vied for her attention while failing to get Harry's. He let out a small yap, but neither Harry or Hermione looked down, both staring into each other's eyes.

"I'm not entirely sure if being a drunken, emotional wreck is something to be proud of," Harry said quietly after a moment, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and unsure with how to react to her compliment. He wasn't sure what was going on between them at all.

Or maybe he did. Because he did notice her curves under the pair of pyjamas she was wearing. He spotted the toast crumbs on the shirt, not finding the mess distracting but oddly endearing. He wanted to brush them off but they were resting on her breasts. He couldn't think about her breasts though because of the unspoken rule. They flirted, they hugged each other, kissed each other on the cheek, and slept over each other's houses. Hermione wore his clothes. Yet they never took it beyond what was deemed as still platonic.

"No harm was done," she calmly pointed out, appearing unaware of the sudden conflict going on in Harry's head. She smiled warmly at him, then stooped down to stroke Oscar before he started to play up. Harry brought a hand up to rub his head, dazed.

"I'll leave via the fire," Hermione said once she had given Oscar enough attention to keep him happy. "If my neighbours see me heading into my flat in a pair of man's pyjamas, there definitely will be rumours."

"Sure," Harry said faintly before mentally shaking himself back into his body, "you know where the floo powder is."

A few moments later, Harry was alone in his house with his dog. Left with a bunch of confusing thoughts, he set about making his breakfast while nursing a slight erection.

He was definitely thinking about Hermione's breasts.