In spite of Mardi Gras being an eye-opener, it wasn't as if time stopped for the Granger/Longbottom/Lovegood house. Life had to carry on.
.
That included school and work and internships. Dates.
Late-night calls by phone and Floo.
Personally offended owls from whatever corner of the globe Luna might be studying in at any point in time, staring at them through the windowsill.
Early mornings where any of them could be dragging themselves through the front door (or at any other weird hour after dark.)
Exasperated debates over what color to charm the walls.
Further discussions on why they should—or shouldn't—turn their home into a small nudist colony. Even if there were things like privacy charms and wards.
Regular reminders that they have magic, Hermione, and there are spells for reheating the shower water.
More regular reminders that there are such things as silencing spells and to, for the love of gods, use them.
Failed kitchen experiments that caused a unanimous house rule that banned Neville from cooking.
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Spring soon turned into summer and on a rainy Saturday morning that straddled the autumn line, a Eurasian Scops owl turned up bearing an envelope from the Holyhead Harpies' star Chaser, Ginny Potter.
The poor little thing face-planted into a bowl of owl treats the moment it was freed from its burden.
Standing at the kitchen counter, Hermione had to set her steaming coffee mug down. She scanned the letter and opened the refrigerator door. A picture of Luna asking her boss and mentor, Rolf Scamander, a question while petting a spotted mooncalf by the Nile went ignored in favor of the caramel creamer.
She scanned it a second time. Without looking up, she wordlessly summoned the sweetener. Pigwidgeon didn't appreciate the sudden floating bag over his head.
On the third pass, Hermione aimed a swish-and-twist motion with her wand at her wet hair. Once it was back to its naturally inflated state, she hurried to shove a few exceptionally unruly strands out of her face and abandoned her brew.
The existence of three gold-tinted tickets made the dreary clouds outside her window seem a little brighter.
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Rounding the counter, Hermione happily waved the envelope toward the sitting room.
Luna, floating toward the ceiling on a charmed skateboard with a palette, three paint brushes sticking out of her bun like mismatched chopsticks, paused mid brush stroke. Neville's light green button-down managed to get by unscathed despite the streaks of color on her cheeks.
Neville himself paused at the edge of the hallway. With a tacklebox in one hand and a fishing pole propped on his raincoat-clad shoulder, he had to huff out a breath to get his bangs out of his face. A quick glance around the room made him ask, "What? Did I miss something?"
Luna made a contented hum. "Not much. Ginny finally decided to write."
Neville relaxed. "Okay then. Well, I'm off—"
"Wait!" Hermione said quickly. "Before you go—"
The bright lure on Neville's fishing pole sagged.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Who wants to go to a Harpies game in Norway?"
"You want to watch quidditch?"
"Of course she does, Nev," Luna answered without missing a beat. Her tongue poked out at the corner of her mouth while she intently focused on her overhead painting. "She never misses a match when Harry's there. Although, I think it would be a good idea to bring rain boots."
Neville looked down at his feet, blanched, and retreated to their room.
"Don't forget your wand holster! And your nose ring!" Hermione threw in, leaning forward to peer down the hallway. "The piercing will close up if you don't keep wearing it!"
Shuffling sounds followed from the end of the hall. "Thanks!"
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Hermione shook her head and went to write out their thanks… and drink her coffee. While she was thinking about it, she called back to Luna, "You do know I also want to support Ginny, right?"
"I don't doubt it," a whimsical voice soothed. "But if it were me, I would be more excited to see my best friend. That's why I know you are too."
Taking refuge in the little bit of privacy the kitchen gave her, Hermione silently fingered the worn hem of the stolen Gryffindor jersey brushing her mid-thigh. Harry's shirt was a little smaller on her now than it was when she was eighteen.
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Luna was right. She usually was. With that thought in mind, Hermione bit her lip and dug around in the catch-all drawer for a pen just in time to hear the sliding glass back door open.
The action was like cancelling a silencing charm for a moment, the rain sounded so much louder, until it shut again.
For the life of her, Hermione did not understand why Neville liked fishing when the weather was dreadful.
She supposed there were some things she would never comprehend.
.
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The sentiment was reinforced a week later outside a Norwegian quidditch stadium. The day after talking to Neville and Luna, Hermione realized that it was her who needed rain boots. And a coat.
She also realized too late that fifty-nine degrees felt much differently now than when she lived in England. It didn't help that there was a large body of water nearby.
So that left Hermione scowling at her reason for traveling across the world, alone because Neville and Luna had things to do at the last minute, whilst looking and feeling like a drowned cat.
That same individual was currently doubled over with laughter.
She shivered and reached for her wand. "Not. Funny. Harry."
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Harry, who was every bit as drenched as she was, shook his head, still laughing. Only he didn't resemble a swamp monster. Harry just looked like… Harry. Only a little older.
The only difference was that his hair grew out a little and his beard was more pronounced. He could have easily just stepped off the pitch.
He took off his trench coat and, with all the warmth of a miniature sun, draped it over her shoulders. "It really is."
The irritating wizard tugged her closer, holding her tightly to him. His strong arms around her immediately became a shield against the world.
And just like that, every tense muscle in her body melted against his. She squeezed him back with all the strength she had.
Hermione nudged the modern camera hanging from his neck aside and grumbled at his remarkably warm, toned chest before settling on, "You're a prat."
His chin settled on the top of her head. "At least you didn't hex me."
.
The buzz of hundreds of chatting people filing into the stadium around them didn't matter. His humor at her expense, her embarrassment… none of it meant anything at all.
"Give me a few minutes to get past being so bloody happy to see you."
Even though a woman's perfume mingled with the scent that was uniquely his—she assumed it was Ginny's—everything she'd missed was here.
"Deal," he murmured. "Because I'm really happy to see you, too."
Hermione felt his grin when he kissed the top of her head.
This was home.
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"When did you take up photography?"
"About six months ago. I saw it while I was out visiting Dudley. Thought about Colin and well, you know. It seemed right."
"I'm glad. He would appreciate it."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought her brain must be waterlogged because this hug felt different, though she couldn't pinpoint how.
It made sense that they would hold each other a little tighter. Linger a little longer. They hadn't seen one other in more than a year.
Hermione's fingers tried to grip the back of his rain-soaked shirt but ended up digging into his solid back.
She quickly let go.
.
But Harry didn't seem so keen on parting just yet. Lacing his fingers through hers just like they had done a million times before, he gestured toward the stands. "Let's get inside."
She quickly nodded, but not without casting a warming charm on both of them. Harry shook his head at the ground and tugged on her hand.
Hermione frowned. "What is it?"
Jostled around by person after person trying to get to their seats, Hermione took hold of Harry's arm. He squeezed her fingers in return.
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
They moved jerkily through the crowd, inching closer together with every shoulder bump and 'excuse me' toward the stairs. Some people moved. Others grumbled.
All very normal responses for normal people.
Hermione peered up at Harry's profile through the water droplets on her lashes. Despite the hair sticking to his skin and the subtle gaze that hadn't stopped scrutinizing everything for more than a moment, there was a strange uptick in his corner of mouth.
"Nothing important."
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She was about to insist that his thoughts were, in fact, important when they went to move through another pocket of people halfway up to their box.
They were stopped by a tell-tale gasp of recognition.
"It's Harry Potter!"
Hermione's spine stiffened. Harry's jaw flexed.
Deafening murmurs, squeals, and obnoxious requests for autographs erupted around them. Camera flashes tried to blind them.
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"Come on, Harry," Hermione ordered around the spike of adrenaline in her veins. Her wand shot into her hand, though it remained hidden under her sleeve. She squared her shoulders and faced them all down with a hard glare.
" If you don't mind," she ground out at the building mob. "Move."
Hermione pulled her best friend along without waiting for anyone to actually do as she said. After the first few shoulder taps and unnoticed confundus charms, they started getting the message.
"Hermione," Harry hissed, "You don't have to do this. It's fine."
"I do," she said harshly, though it wasn't directed at him. Stomping into the box right below the Norwegian Minister of Magic's, she added, "And it's not fine! Not by any definition of the word! People still don't seem to realize that gawking at others like they're circus animals is abhorrent, rude, inconsiderate and just plain—"
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Hermione's angry steps were halted when it suddenly felt as if she were trying to drag a sack of bricks without the aid of a Featherlight Charm. Harry had stopped moving.
The rain slowed to a light drizzle.
"Hermione. Swe…" He cleared his throat. "Look at me."
Her whole tirade died on her tongue. She couldn't believe what she heard—almost heard.
.
The pitch smelled sweeter, like freshly mown grass. Storm clouds that bordered on midnight black moments ago lightened to a silvery gray.
In all the time Hermione Granger had known Harry Potter, she didn't think that there were many other moments, if any, that he had ever looked at her with such grateful exasperation.
There was something soft in the curve of his lips that erased every coherent thought she might have had but one. "Harry?"
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He pointed a wand at her temple. She calmly waited.
A moment later, they were both dry. If there was ever any doubt, it vanished along with the overinflation of her hair—and the increased chaos of his.
Then an overexcited voice boomed over the entire stadium. "WELCOME, to the Quidditch World Cup final! Starting today's match is our very own Karasjok Kites—"
The stadium exploded in a prideful roar. Harry's mouth was moving but Hermione couldn't understand a word.
"What?!"
The commentator then drowned everything out again. "Versus England's Holyhead Harpies!"
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Hermione glared at the Commentator's Box and cast a 'muffilato' around them. With a huff, she turned her attention back to Harry, who had already taken his seat.
She took the spot beside him. Adjusting her purse to perch on her lap, she asked, "Now, what were you saying?"
He shrugged and fixated on the field. The Norwegian players were flying out to take their places. "Just that you shouldn't let them get to you. That stuff is just part of how life is."
Hermione's lips pursed with doubt. While she was sure he really did feel that way, his sentiment didn't quite ring true. She opened her mouth to say so, but he flashed her one of his trademark half-smiles.
The kind he sent her when he wanted to change the subject.
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"Do I want to know what's in the bag?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well," the wizard trailed off. "That's not your normal bag. And you did threaten to kill me about a half dozen times."
Hermione shoved him and laughed. "Harry! You should know better."
"I'm just saying!"
"Well, if you must know," she said, rummaging through her purse, "I actually did bring you something."
Harry's eyes widened. "What?"
"Honestly," Hermione sighed. "Did you really think I was going to pass up the opportunity to properly give you your birthday gift?"
.
She pulled out a small rectangular package and an even smaller bag.
"Hermione, you didn't have to…"
Her eyebrows shot up in warning. She determinedly grabbed one of his hands. Her trembling fingers brushed over callouses that reminded her of an old English cottage and a scar carved into his skin under duress by his own hand.
I must not tell lies.
Hermione placed them on his open palm. "I know it isn't much, but I couldn't let your birthday pass you by without giving you something. Don't open the bag until you get home, though. The items in it are charmed. They're a bit more lively than anticipated."
Harry's lips tightly pressed together in amusement.
Hermione groaned. "Nothing deadly, no hexes, or anything harmful. I swear. It's just… both things are to… add to your existing collections at home. Open the square one. You'll see what I mean."
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Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ginny zooming onto the field with all the grace of an angel despite the 'Harpy' label on her yellow robes.
Half the stadium was already on their feet. They clapped, stomped, cheered, and cat-called the all-female team.
It wouldn't have surprised Hermione in the slightest if the majority of it was for the wife of the man beside her.
Judging by the shadows beginning to seep through into his features, he made the same observation.
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"Let's just be here for them as best we can," Hermione soothed. "That's all we can do, really."
"It's not that," Harry said, fidgeting with his present. His attention snapping back to it, he held it up and said, "Thank you for this, by the way. I mean it. I didn't expect…"
Hermione squeezed his arm. "What's bothering you?"
He chuckled darkly and gestured around them. "Does it sound sick to say that I sort of miss the war?"
Hermione sat back a moment to really think about it. "What do you mean?"
A hand roughly messed up his semi-dry locks. "I just… everything, Hermione. Everybody's just here laughing, cheering, living. And yeah. That's everything we fought for and that's great. But they're living, and I… don't know how to do that. At least when we were fighting, things were simple, you know?"
Harry sighed, carefully placing his gifts on the armrest like the most precious glass and put his head in his hands. "Every decision we made was about survival. If we did something right, or at least half-decently, we lived another day. If we fucked up, we died. And honestly, for me the choices were simpler because I never expected to live this long."
.
Hermione's stomach dropped completely out of her body. She wanted to get out of her seat; to hold him just like she did all those nights at Grimmauld Place, but she was torn.
It was just as he told her a year ago. He looked totally lost. Her heart cried out in protest.
"Oh, Harry."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," he whispered.
A red-and-yellow blur zipped across the field.
Hermione let out a heavy breath and settled for folding her arms over her stomach. "You live. You keep living and you do what you think is right. You chase your dreams and if you're not sure what those are, create some."
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Emeralds and chocolate glanced at the pitch.
Ginny scored a goal for the Harpies. The crowd cheered wildly, so Hermione applauded along with the rest of them and made a point of waiting until they calmed down to make a confession of her own.
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"And if you can't do it for yourself, do it for the people you love. Do it for me, too, while you're at it because honestly, I wouldn't know what to do in a world that didn't have you in it."
Harry's chest shuddered. "Is that what you're doing?"
"Sort of?" Settling back in her seat, she crossed her legs and truly thought about it for the first time.
Hermione stared at the transparent barrier that kept them all dry. "I figured out a long time ago that society tends to value my brain more than anything else, really. Much more so than my feelings, ideals, or even my past accomplishments. It's why I decided to pursue medicine."
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The crowd "Oohh'd" and recaptured the pair's attention. Norway's Seeker just barely missed being hit by a bludger. Ginny zipped out of the way as well.
Hermione and Harry both winced.
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"You know that I care about you, right?"
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Norway scored a goal. The score was 50-10.
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"I do, and I thank you for it."
Harry's brows furrowed in thought, his fingers working to unwrap the square package. "No, Hermione. I mean it. I'd add you to the family tapestry if I could."
Hermione smiled wryly. "I know, Harry. I told you before; you're the only one I believe when you say that. Although, I'm sure if it were possible to adopt someone who isn't an orphan, much less an adult, your father would have done it for Sirius and Professor Lupin."
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The red-and-yellow blur scored another goal. From the looks of it, Ginny also took the opportunity to yell at someone across the pitch.
The referee was getting involved.
Both Gryffindor alumni watched the field closely to see which team would end up taking a penalty.
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After a few minutes, Harry picked up where they left off. "Can you imagine?" he said softly, his eyes never leaving the field. "A dimension where it was possible?"
The brown-eyed witch let her head loll to the side and watched her best friend blindly unwrap his present. "Hmm. A world where we're Harry and Hermione Potter. Would I still have to harass you to finish your paperwork?"
The paper finally came off to reveal a stack of four burned CD's, complete with handwritten lyrics for them. Harry's fingers froze. "Yeah. Most definitely."
Hermione panicked. "Do you not like them? I just thought since you were accumulating a rather large music collection, and you were always talking about how you wished you didn't have to buy an entire album for one or two songs, I'd just compile a few discs containing just your favorites—and, well, I did throw in a few of my own on that last one, but only so you'd have something new to listen to..."
Green eyes snapped to brown. "This is brilliant, Hermione. Breathe! I appreciate it. Really."
She sagged in her seat. "Thank goodness. I was worried for a minute there."
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The Harpies were up 100-70. The quaffle got passed between four different players. Norway took possession of it. Someone speculated about possibly seeing the snitch.
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Harry's sights were glued back onto the increasing tension on the field. "No shit."
Hermione grabbed the wrapping paper, crumbled it up, and threw it at him. He casually swiped it out of the air without looking.
"You actually reminded me that I brought something for you, too."
"You did?"
"In my coat pocket."
Inside was a compact. Her eyes tightened, thinking, until she opened it. Recognition dawned.
It was a communication mirror.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, which started to turn red. "It's connected to mine. I had some help from Lavender, figuring out how to make it small enough for you to carry around. But since I won't see you again until Christmas I just thought… you know. It might save you on some long-distance calls. And it might help with all the times you kind of sound like a robot."
Hermione beamed. She knew exactly what he meant. "This is lovely! And needed. You sound robotic sometimes, too you know."
"Glad to solve that problem, then. Happy early birthday, Hermione."
"Happy early birthday, Harry."
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Settling back in to watch the game, Harry had one more question. "What's in the bag you told me not to open?"
"Well, you know how you whinged for ages about not being able to find the little figures of Blastoise and—"
The wizard sat straight up in a panic. "No."
A slow, evil grin spread over Hermione's face. "Pika—"
Harry clamped his hand over her mouth. "We swore never to mention it. Taking that secret to the grave, remember?"
Hermione's muffled teasing, matched only by his playful glare, was cut short by an unfamiliar voice.
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"Miss Granger? Hermione Granger?"
Harry swiftly moved his hand as both heads swiveled toward the source.
A gaudy blonde reporter who could pass for Rita Skeeter's younger sister stood at the edge of their box. The way she twirled a Quick Notes quill was downright nauseating.
Both war veterans leapt to their feet, but Harry was faster. The sweet and slightly dorky former jock was gone and, in his place, stood a soldier.
Danger rippled through his very magic.
He stepped in front of Hermione protectively, silently ordering her to stand back. Every step he took toward the reporter was a predator sizing up its prey.
"Hermione isn't available for any interviews," he said lowly, an unspoken threat layered in every word. "Not now, and not until she says she's ready to give one. Got it?"
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The reporter didn't even get a chance to give her name. She scampered off with all the speed of someone who'd just been on the receiving end of a stinging hex.
When he turned back to her, the Man Who Conquered let out a ragged sigh and became just her best friend again. "Fuck, I hate those leeches."
"Leeches?"
He shrugged it off. "Yeah. They suck out your happiness. Your privacy, your secrets if they can get them. All for their personal gain. Leeches."
Hermione rubbed the side of her arm awkwardly, her cheeks warming for the first time in… she didn't know when. "That makes sense. Thank you, Harry."
"Hermione."
"Yes?"
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He blew out another ragged breath and roughly shook his head, like he was trying to banish a thought.
Cheers and boos mixed together all around them. A bludger zipped past their box, a blur one could only assume was a Beater following closely on its trail.
The gust of wind it created blew a large bunch of brown frizz straight into Hermione's face. She sputtered, batting her hair out of her vision.
Suddenly Harry stopped, lifting the camera around his neck. He toyed with it. Turning it over in his hands a couple of times, he looked back up at her and asked, "Would you mind if I wanted to take a picture of you?"
She thought he was about half mad, but wanting to know where he was going with this, cautiously conceded.
"Only if you're in it."
The visible relief that washed over him made her think she was on the right track. Whatever track or kick he was on right then.
.
They tried taking the picture side-by-side, with her arm around his waist and trying to help him keep the camera level. Their height difference made the whole thing awkward. Harry called Hermione a shrimp, which earned him a smack to his side.
They tried taking one with her standing in front of Harry and him taking the photo that way, but every one he took resulted in one of their faces being partially cut off.
In the end, Hermione, determined to get this done right, stood on the stadium seat and climbed on Harry's back.
Harry wasn't the only one laughing at the ridiculousness of her being latched onto him like kid getting a piggy-back ride.
"What good is being vertically challenged if I can't make full use of it?"
Harry gently tapped her temple with his. "You just like being able to see over my head again."
"That is neither here nor there," she sniffed. "I plead the fifth."
Harry snorted. "Say what now?"
"Never mind."
Broad smiles broke across their faces again while they were nose-to-nose, and that was the moment that camera clicked.
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As Ginny's fans cheered her on for scoring another goal while both Seekers were still hunting for the snitch, everyone gasped on the edge of their seats—especially Hermione and Harry, who nearly dropped his camera—when a stream of vomit hit the ground.