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Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione breathed in the soft summer air as they walked hand in hand back to their home. It had been a while since they had an afternoon out to themselves, and it felt good to enjoy each other’s company outside of the house.

The day drew to a close moments later, and the sun had dipped below the horizon as they arrived at the front door of the Potter family cottage. They stepped into their home together, sporting lazy smiles, and awaited the excited greeting they knew was coming.

As was expected, a great Irish wolfhound bounded over to them while wagging his tail and panting with unadulterated happiness. Harry was quick to brace himself for the attack of licks and kisses from the dog.

“Hey, boy,” he greeted his pet, softly petting and scratching its mane. “What have you been up to?”

It took Harry a moment to register the fact that his wife hadn’t greeted their dog with the same affection. He looked up at her askance, finding her staring at a pile of clothes next to the recliner chair he’d bought from himself.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked her while still petting the hound.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione turned to him, face icy in a look that he knew all too well, and leveled her gaze to their pet. “What’s wrong is that this damned dog found my uniforms to use as a blanket again.”

Harry got a confused expression before turning to the pile of clothes, ignoring his dog’s soft whines for attention, and looking closer. Sure enough, he noticed that it was indeed a pile of his wife’s healer uniforms. The white ones specifically.

“Shepherd,” the exasperated wizard chastised immediately afterwards.

The dog settled down, knowing full well being addressed by name meant that he was in trouble. He sat at attention while Harry sighed at him and shook his head disappointedly.

This was now the umpteenth time that the dog had found his mother’s uniforms and used them as his personal blanket. Harry and Hermione had honestly lost count. The creature always seemed to find the clothes no matter where they were hidden.

Harry stood up with the same disappointed expression on his features, and decided he wasn’t going to try and calm his wife this time. He’d been the one to settle her down from lecturing and punishing their pet, but that couldn’t happen now. 

“Shepherd,” Hermione glared at the hound, “how many times are you going to keep doing this? I need those clothes for work, and I can’t keep having to wash them because of you ruining them.”

Had it been any other time, the wizard would have laughed at his wife speaking to their pet as though he was a human who could understand them. It was hilarious, but he knew better than to let his bemusement show. 

Maybe her way of discipline would work. Merlin only knew that his hadn’t. All of his efforts to hide the uniforms had sadly failed. Perhaps a lecture from the brightest witch of her age, just like the ones he himself had gotten, would do the trick.

“This isn’t nice,” said Hermione in a voice that reeked of disappointment. “It’s not funny, and it’s not cute. You do this every time, you see mummy get annoyed every time, and you still do it. And now you’re sitting here looking sad because I have to lecture you.”

A chuckle escaped Harry, but he was quick to cover it up with a fake cough before forcing a serious look onto his face. His heart melted at the sad look he saw on Shepherd’s face though. It was both somewhat funny and saddening at the same time.

“You know exactly what I’m saying right now too. Of course you do.” Hermione shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. Her frustration was practically radiating off of her. “You know that I’m mad at you right now. I can see it on your face, and I know you know that you’ve done something wrong.”

She wasn’t lying about that. It was clear as day that the poor dog knew it was in trouble, but even more than that, it seemed like there was a genuine look of regret on his face. Harry got the sense that any future instances of his wife’s uniforms being used as a doggie blanket were snuffed out.

“So this is the first and last time that I’m going to tell you this,” Hermione furiously gestured to the pile of clothes as Shepherd looked at it then looked back to her, “do not touch mummy’s uniforms again. They’re not for you, and they’re not your blankets.”

Harry couldn’t help but wince as she delivered the admonition. The sheer authority behind it would make any human cower, much less a dog. He didn’t say anything to her though. With any luck, he wouldn't have to face the music of his wife’s lecture like his loyal pet was doing right now.

“That being said, Shepherd,” she pointed to a spot in front of the sofa, “you are on timeout until I call for dinner. Go and lay down there now. And don’t move a muscle.”

There was no protest from the hound as he did as was told. Unlike the many other times where he dutifully obeyed a command, however, this one was far more expressive. 

Again, Harry had to keep from laughing at it all. It took an ungodly amount of effort to not even smile when Shepherd plopped down on his belly and settled in to lie down. The sadness and shame that poured off the creature could not be ignored.

“Was I too harsh?” Hermione turned to him with worry shining clearly in her amber eyes. “Oh dear, I feel like I hurt him now.”

The turnaround from disciplinarian to soft mother from her nearly gave Harry whiplash. He had to laugh at her after that, but instantly settled down when she swatted his shoulder. 

Raising his hands in surrender, he told her, “Relax, love, he’ll get over it. And I think he actually understands not to touch those uniforms now. Give him some time to stew on what he did wrong, and then you can go back to doting on him.”

“But what if he gets scared of me now? What if he thinks I don’t love him anymore? What if he thinks we’re going to give him away?” She fired the questions like a barrage of spellfire at him.

“He won’t even think about any of that after you feed him and play with him again. Trust me,” he replied with a touch of firmness laden in his voice.

“Fine.” Nothing in her voice convinced him that she was even close to being okay with everything.

Harry decided to think of solutions for the quandary he was now in. He thought about everything for a good moment until the solution came to him like a bludger. How hadn’t he thought of it before?

“Alright, babe,” he shot a calming smile at his wife, “here’s what we’ll do. We’re keeping him on timeout until dinner tonight like you said you would, and we’ll go pick up some extra uniforms tomorrow for you. That way, he can keep the ones he’s using. Sounds good?”

“Brilliant, we'll even build a bed for him using them,” Hermione enthusiastically told him in return. She was practically bouncing with excitement.

“Sure thing, love. Let’s go get changed and get dinner started now.”

Chapter Text

“Marry me.”

Harry instantly winced as he heard the words settle into the air between him and Hermione. He didn’t even know how he’d managed to think of those two words, much less blurt them out just like that. 

But he knew they were genuine. He knew the words like he knew the back of his hand. They were the verbalisation of everything he’d been feeling for the past month. Maybe even the past three years.

And so, like the Gryffindor he knew he was, he exercised the bravery that was synonymous with his house. He’d already said what he had to say. No going back now.

“Marry me,” he almost hungrily pleaded to his girlfriend. Her widened eyes along with the hint of a surprised gasp from her did nothing to give him pause. “Marry me, Hermione.”

“Harry?” She looked at him as though he had grown two heads. “W-What are you… saying?”

“I want to marry you, Hermione. I want you to marry me. I want to be yours. Your husband, your man, the father to your children. I want that more than anything. I’ve wanted that more than anything since as long as I can remember.”

By the end of that declaration, he was panting for a breath like he’d just gotten done with a quidditch match. He didn’t know how he’d managed to get all of it out in one breath, but he knew it had needed to be said. And he was grateful that he had.

“Just say yes, Hermione. Marry me, please.” The desperation within him practically dripped off of every word spoken.

It felt like an eternity passed before his girlfriend finally settled down from her momentary shock at him. When she did, he braced himself for her answer as she looked at him with an expression of deep thought on her gorgeous features.

Then, a small smile spread across her lips. That was all the answer he needed. He knew that smile. He knew it better than he fucking knew himself. It was the one reserved for him and him alone. It was the one that let him know just how much she loved him.

“Yes, Harry. I’ll marry you.”

Chapter Text

On the rare occasions Harry wasn’t home on the weekends, it was likely because some bastard criminal had reared their ugly head. That was the case now, and he’d handled it with practiced ease. Then came the paperwork and all the legalities with it.

So that was how he found himself in his office having to carefully read through every document pertaining to investigation and subsequent arrest before signing off on them for the DMLE. It was horrid work. Really, it was.

And that was without mentioning that it had taken him away from spending precious weekend time with his wife. No use complaining about that now though. In a way, he wasn’t too put out by it.

Hermione had taken the opportunity to finally agree to a night out with her girls, Ginny, Susan, Luna, Lav, and Pav. She’d previously stated they were too wild for her and that she would rather stay home with him, but she had no excuse now not to take them up on their offer.

He’d made sure that she would go and have fun without him tonight. That was the least he could do given that everything had lined up perfectly with the girls wanting to go out and him having to go in for work. Harry was kind of glad for that bit of happenstance.

Merlin knew even a couple as in love as them needed some time to have fun without each other in any way they could. It was what was healthy. Not that he was the go-to guy on what a healthy relationship was. He was just following Hermione’s lead.

Shaking his head to refocus himself on the paperwork at hand, Harry sank back into the documents only to then be interrupted by the familiar sight of a corporeal otter bounding into his office. He cocked his eyebrows at that scene as his mind went haywire trying to figure out what was going on.

A voice he recognised all too well played out from the translucent creature. It wasn’t his wife’s though. Rather, it belonged to the feisty redhead that was his wife’s self-proclaimed best girlfriend.

“Oi, Mister—hic—Head—hic—Auror, we’ve got… your little wifey with us because you finally let her out of the house,” a mass of cheers and excited shouting could be heard at that bit, “and we’re going on the run tonight—hic—so you’re going to—hic—have to catch us if you can. But you won’t—hic—so, toodles.” Roaring laughter erupted after that as the patronus began to dissipate.

The wispy otter faded from view after that, and Harry had to take a moment to process what exactly he just heard. Clearly, Ginny was drunk off her arse. And it was clear too that the rest of the girls, including Hermione, were just as drunk. He knew what he had to do.

Just as Harry rose from his seat to go round up the girls and take them home, one of his younger aurors burst into the room looking as pale as a sheet. He instantly stiffened up in worry at the young man, mind going a mile a minute as to what had caused such a reaction.

“You busy, Boss?” The young auror, Alastair, asked him in a short breath. 

“What’s wrong, son? I was just leaving to handle… something,” Harry answered back kindly to ease his subordinate’s tensions.

“Oh well, I just thought you should know that there were some reports coming in from Hogsmeade about a… erm… gaggle of women wreaking havoc in the streets.”

Harry winced. That sounded far too coincidental to the message he’d just received from Ginny. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed and looked back up to Alastair. 

“Did anyone recognise those women?” He inquired, hesitant as though he didn’t want to hear the answer.

It was now his subordinate’s turn to wince. That was all the answer the Head Auror needed. The young man cringed at him before saying, “Well… y-yeah. They… said they saw your wife and all of her friends.”

“Of course.” Harry smiled wryly to himself. This was going to be quite the material to use on his ever-so prim and proper wife.

“I’m guessing you were about to leave to handle that?” Alastair asked, though he was really telling him.

“Indeed,” a long suffering sigh left Harry, “you can go now, son. Looks like I have a gaggle of women to round up.”

Chapter Text

As Harry begins to feel the lag of sleep leave his mind, he thinks on the previous nights events. Did Hermione officially end whatever odd mating ritual Ron and her had been doing since 3rd year? Had she actually chosen him for him, and not just the mission? Harry's mind was barely processing at half speed as he opened his eyes. 

Harry suddenly bounces off the bed his back hitting the floor. As he looks up, over the side of the bed, it wasn't some animal or Death Eater that he saw when he opened his eyes, but Hermione Granger, who apparently had been sitting by his bed, watching him sleep.

"Bloody hell Hermione. Bit of warning before you scare a bloke half to death. "

Acting as if she hasn't heard him, Hermione stands and begins walking towards the kitchen, it is then that Harry sees what she is wearing. Nothing, from the waist down. Her long toned legs are on full display and the shirt, which Harry notes clearly says: Potter, on the back does nothing to hide the firm rear end covered in a light black thong.

Hermione turns her head as she continues to walk with a defined sway to her hips. “Come Harry, I've made breakfast. We have a long day ahead of us in moving the tent so Ron can't find us and.... we need to talk." With that, she gives a little wiggle to her hips, causing her firm ass cheeks to bounce and Harry swears he can hear the slight chuckle as Hermione disappears into the kitchen. 

What a way to wake up indeed.

Harry finally sits down to eat the meager breakfast Hermione was able to throw together given their short supplies. Slowly taking a bite of what had to be the last of the eggs, he finally gives himself time to process what was going on.

Looking to Hermione, his eyes once again take note of his quidditch Jersey that barely covers the bushy haired bombshell's stomach. "I don't think I've seen that jersey since 3rd year. I remember losing it and having to get Professor McGonagall to get me another. "

Hermione lightly blushes as her eyes look deep into Harry's. It's within those chocolate orbs that he sees it, determination. 

"Several months ago I made a decision I regretted the moment I did it. I knew that what me and Ron had was surface level romance. I think he did to, but neither of us wanted to admit it. "

Harry thinks on the words Hermione has said and in truth, he can relate. He had pursued Ginny, knowing deep down somewhere in himself that it wasn’t the real thing. A thought occurs to him now as he thinks about that. 

In barely a whisper, Harry asks, "How did you know your feelings were surface level?”

To Harry's surprise Hermione doesn't hesitate. "Because I know what the real thing feels like."

With that, she collects the dishes and once again leaves him with a head full of questions.

Chapter Text

“It’s two in the morning, Headmaster,” Harry told the white haired man standing beside him. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.”

“Would you rather be here at the Burrow with your friends, or back with your relatives right now?” Professor Dumbledore responded in that perennially gentle but firm manner he was known for.

The teenaged wizard had no response for that. At least, he had no response that wouldn’t prove his headmaster right. He settled to concede the point. “Fair enough, Professor.”

“Most excellent, my boy. This is where I leave you now then. I trust you can find yourself in the house in short order,” the old man amusedly replied.

Harry didn’t realise what was just said until he turned around, ready to ask the headmaster if he was being serious, and saw the man disappear in a swirl of apparation. He was left alone in the field just a ways off from the Burrow as a curse left his mouth.

“You can’t be serious, old man,” the teenager muttered to himself.

What responsible adult would leave a sixteen year old in the middle of a field at two in the morning? Apparently, Professor Dumbledore would. Add that to the list of weird things the old man was amenable to doing.

There was no use complaining about his situation and cursing the old man though. Harry just pursed his lips, and decided to get going on his way to the Weasley family home. He felt like a right arsehole to be dropping in on them so late, but it really wasn’t his fault. 

“Maybe they’re not all asleep,” he noted to himself once he saw what he thought looked like light from the kitchen of the house.

A sigh of relief fell from Harry as he continued his impromptu hike towards the house. At least, he was getting a decent workout with his new rucksack slung onto him. He had decided to ditch his usual trunk in favour of the sack because it helped him get some more exercise.

Over the summer, because his relatives had made a pointed effort to ignore him and let him do what he wanted. He’d swiftly taken that opportunity to work his body out and build some muscle into his wiry frame. It had been a good summer, all things considered.

He felt like a new person. The grief for his godfather was still ever present, but Harry liked to remind himself that the man would be proud of him for trying to better himself over the last few months instead of wallowing in his sorrow. Sirius would approve of all the changes he’d put himself through.

That was why he didn’t mind the walk to the Burrow with a ridiculously heavy rucksack as much as he ought to have. In a perfect world, he wouldn’t have to do it in the dead of night though. Thank his wonderful headmaster for that bit.

In any case, the time passed quickly enough as he made the trek. The front facade of the Burrow greeted him in short order, and he received proof that at least one person was indeed up and sitting in the kitchen. Maybe Dumbledore had informed the Weasleys he’d be coming.

With a slight smile on his face, Harry softly rapped on the front door. He was glad to finally be back with his friends again. Just because he had a nice summer exercising and building himself back up from his grief didn’t mean that he hadn’t woefully missed his two best friends.

                                      ———

Hermione couldn’t recall the last time she woke up in the middle of the night in a fit of restlessness. Then again, Britain was experiencing a heatwave unlike any other. No amount of cooling charms from her wand seemed like they would last long enough to get her through the night.

Resigning herself to her fate, the witch decided to leave her bed and go get a drink of cool water. That had to help her. She slipped out from under her covers before carefully padding out of the bedroom so as to not disturb Ginny, her roommate at the Burrow.

She took the same amount of care as she walked down the hallway and stairs, not wanting to wake anyone up with her footsteps. How the heck they were even managing to sleep through this interminable heat, she didn’t know. Merlin bless them.

It didn’t take Hermione more than a minute to be sitting at the dinner table with a full glass of water in front of her. She downed it in one gulp, greedily savouring the cool freshness it offered, and prepared to refill it.

As soon as she stood from her seat, however, a knock on the door startled her out of her skin. It was a damn miracle she had managed to keep a hold of her glass. The ruckus it would have caused if she had dropped it in surprise… she didn’t want to think of that.

But wait, who on earth could be at the door in the middle of the night? 

Hermione drew her guard up immediately. She gripped her wand tightly, and debated whether she should wake the rest of the Weasleys up. The Death Eaters could and would attack at any moment. They had no care for time and place.

The more she thought about it, however, the witch asked herself if any would-be attackers would knock on the door before, well, attacking. She couldn’t drop her guard though, and maybe she also didn’t have to disturb the Weasleys from their slumber.

And with how long she was already going through the scenarios in her head, the hypothetical attacker just outside the door would have likely already made their room. There was no need to lose her mind with panic.

Taking a quiet but deep breath, Hermione summoned her courage and stepped towards the door. She kept her wand at the ready, making sure she could get at least one spell off in case of a surprise attack, and tiptoed up to peep through the small window at the top of the door.

What she definitely wasn’t expecting was the unbothered face of one Harry James Potter waiting on the other side of the window. A million questions flew through her mind in an instant. The most prominent one though, was how in the hell her best friend was at the Burrow right now?

Hermione swung the door open without a second thought. She thought there would be no more surprises waiting for her after that, but then she got a look at her best friend’s completely different and… fit… body.

When did all of this happen? Harry was taller for sure now. Before, she never had to crane her neck and look up at him. Now, she did. He was at least around six feet now. And he was now more leaner too. Gone was his thin and wiry frame. There were deep and delicious crevices along his biceps and even on his forearms.

What. The. Heck.

“Hermione?” His familiar voice broke her out of her blatant ogling of his body.

“Harry,” she found herself responding, throat suddenly parched like she hadn’t seen water in weeks. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she fought to get herself under control.

“You…erm… mind letting me in?” He asked with that damn signature lopsided grin of his plastered on his face.

She stumbled over her words, barely managing something in the range of ‘yes’, before stepping aside to let him enter. Even the way he walked into the house after that was enough to leave her utterly gobsmacked. He walked with confidence. Like he was proud of himself. Proud of his new body, more like.

“How come you’re the one waiting up for me?” Harry questioned after setting his rucksack down. She hadn’t even realised how effortlessly he’d carried the large bag on his back until she heard the thud from it hitting the floor.

“What?” Hermione replied with her own question. It seemed like her vocabulary was strictly limited now to ‘what’ and ‘Harry’.

“What do you mean? Dumbledore didn’t tell you all I was coming tonight?” He inquired again.

For Merlin’s sake, didn’t the guy know she was struggling to even think right now? Much less speak, for that matter. 

The witch could only nod her head to the negative in answer to his question. Try as she did, she couldn’t stop herself from eyeing her best friend up some more. His clothes were finally fitting him as intended now. Curse them for doing that. 

His t-shirt hugged his body… deliciously. The sleeves were nice and coiled around his biceps. And his jeans… that was something else. They sat on his waist perfectly. She just knew they accentuated his rear oh so wonderfully. Gods, what the hell was wrong with her?

“Hermione, are you alright? You look… not alright,” Harry told her. She truthfully didn’t know how long she’d been silent for. It had clearly been long enough to make things awkward between them though.

Finally finding the last two of her remaining brain cells, Hermione managed an answer. “I’m fine, you’re just—I mean I’m just… very hot.”

That made Harry chuckle lowly at her. Since when was his laugh that deep and rumbly? What she wouldn’t give to feel his chest vibrate when he laughed. Damn. She really had to reevaluate some things.

“Not coping well with the heat, eh?” He jokingly retorted, sweeping a hand through his messy hair.

“Yeah, when did you get so hot?” The words sat in the air for a grand total of one second before the witch realised what she’d just said.

Any hopeful wish that her best friend hadn’t heard her clearly was dashed when he cocked his head at her, confusion mixed with surprise on his features. He didn’t say anything, and she was quick to stumble into an attempt to correct herself.

“I mean, when did the… weather… get so hot? It’s the middle of the night and it’s still so hot, and then you’re suddenly hot—here, and… it’s been a long night.”

Nearly every bit of willpower in her body had to be employed to make sure Hermione didn’t face palm in front of Harry. She had already embarrassed herself enough to him. She’d made a right fool of herself. But it was really all his fault.

He had no right showing up at the Burrow at two in the morning looking like that. It was like he’d taken everything that was conventionally attractive and simply molded it onto himself. And given how attractive he already was, it was so bloody unfair of him to do that.

“Wow, you’re really not handling the heat wave well.” He was offering her an olive branch of sorts now. A bit of humour to try to distract from the sudden awkwardness.

No, I’m just really not handling you well.

Hermione left that response in the back of her mind as she absently straightened herself up. It hit her that she was in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that Mrs Weasley had given her to sleep in along with a pair of cotton knickers. As if things couldn’t get worse for her.                        

If she didn’t make a quick escape soon, no doubt Harry would see the effects he was having on her if he wasn’t already noticing the imprint of her hardened nipple through her shirt. Judging from the way he made it a point to avert his eyes from her though, he had definitely noticed.

Funny how she was hot and bothered now for a whole different reason. She didn’t know what she was going to do to get rid of the sudden coil in her belly, but she knew she had to do something.

“We’ll talk more in the morning then, Harry,” Hermione nearly smacked herself for how embarrassingly squeaky her voice sounded, “it’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired. Not to mention the heat too.”

He didn’t hesitate to take her up on that offer of escape from this wholly compromising situation, much to her delight. “Yeah, I think I’ll head up to Ron’s now. Knowing him, he won’t wake unless I drop my whole bag on his head. Should make for a nice surprise for him in the morning.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Hermione easily replied.

She thought they had moved past the awkwardness now after that, but then Harry bent to pick his rucksack up. Her eyes were treated to the sight of his biceps flexing against the sleeves of his t-shirt as he oh so easily picked up the heavy bag and slung it over his shoulders.

“After you.” He motioned for her to lead the way back up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Hermione felt like she was shot out of a bottle with how swiftly she turned and began walking to the stairs. Any chance of getting sleep tonight was surely gone. She had too many questions now. Too many things to reevaluate about her best friend.

Before she could retreat back to Ginny’s room, however, she was compelled by some kind of primal instinct to get one last eyeful of her best friend. He hadn’t yet begun walking, and had been watching her go up the stairs. 

The moment she looked back at him, he immediately snapped his face away like she’d struck him. And even in the dim light, she could see his cheeks were clearly coloured in with a blush. What was that about?

Her confusion didn’t last long as she felt how far her shirt had ridden up her bum from her walking up the stairs. Harry had clearly gotten treated to an unintentional show of her rear, if his reaction was anything to go by. 

Maybe it was only fair for that to happen. After all, Hermione knew she herself had been shamelessly ogling him like a piece of meat from the moment she laid eyes on him tonight. It was fair for him to get a chance to do the same to her.

When he made the move of subtly adjusting his jeans around the crotch, thinking that she wouldn’t notice, the witch smirked to herself. She could work with that. Things were turning out better than she expected now.

He was clearly as attracted to her as she was to him, and had definitely been thinking along the same lines as her. The colour on his cheeks plus the sudden tightness he was trying to deal with in his pants was proof enough. That made some things more permissible.

All of her regrets about not getting any sleep for the night began to dissipate. Hermione knew exactly what she was going to spend the rest of the night doing now. Thank goodness for silencing charms and the fact that Ginny slept like a rock. 

Chapter Text

“On your left.”

Harry smirked to himself as he sped past his impromptu running mate for the umpteenth time since the morning started. The poor guy was actually putting up a great fight, but there was really only so much he could do when running with a super soldier.

He figured it was only a matter of time before the man dropped out of the run altogether, and made the snap decision to do a few more laps around the park before finding him. It wasn’t often he found someone worth having small talk with.

If he had to guess, the man was an ex-Auror like him. The discipline along with the outfit he wore gave off that notion. It was nice to see someone like him out in the wild. There weren’t too many like them anymore.

Harry sprinted around the park for three more laps before coming to a stop when he noticed his running mate resting under a tree. The man was visibly panting for breath, groaning in exasperation when he saw him ambling over to him.

“Need a healer?” Harry quipped, a wry grin on his face.

“How about a new pair of lungs? And some legs too with that,” the stranger quipped back at him. He shook his head with fond resignation afterwards. “Mate, you just did like thirteen laps around this whole park.”

“Only thirteen? Must have gotten a late start,” he shot back to his new running buddy. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you did. Why don’t you take another lap as punishment then?” The man made an exaggerated motion of looking around the park in search of him. “I feel like you just did. I’m assuming you did.”

“How long were you with the Aurors for?” Harry finally decided to validate his hunch.

“Eight years, but now I work with the mind healers helping others like me.” There was more than a bit of pride in the man as he gave that answer. “Name’s Dean Thomas.”

“Nice,” he acknowledged before offering his hand to help his new friend up, “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Really? You don’t say,” Dean jokingly retorted after being helped to his feet. “Must have been quite the shock for you to come home after the whole coming out of stasis thing.”

Harry snorted at that. “Took some getting used to for sure.”

“Can’t imagine being in your shoes. You must miss the good old days, huh?” The former Auror asked him with a note of sympathy.

Though he didn’t like the sympathy, Harry found himself enjoying the bit of conversation with Dean. “It’s not so bad. Food’s a lot better for sure. Back in my day we used to boil everything. There’s potions now that we didn’t have back then too. And those new info-terminals, such a big help.”

“Listened to any good music since you've been back?” Dean questioned following a small laugh.

“Can’t say I’ve had the time to. Why? Got something for me?” Harry replied with curiosity.

“Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus,” his friend confidently listed off. “That’s got some songs I think you’ll vibe with. Real mood music.”

Pulling out the small notebook he always carried with him to document his findings in the new world, Harry nodded at the man in front of him. “I’ll add it to the list.” 

His wand’s communicator, a new advancement that came at the turn of the 21st century, vibrated after he finished writing in the notebook. He sighed to himself. No doubt that the minister had yet another mission for him.

“Alright, Dean, it appears that duty’s calling. I’ll see you around,” said Harry before offering his hand for his new friend to shake.

Dean took his offer, and then gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Good meeting you, let me know if you’re ever interested in coming by where I work. I’m sure the boys, and the nice girl at the front desk, will appreciate me a little bit more if I got Captain Potter to make an appearance.”

“Oh, I definitely will.” He wore a genuine smile on his face as he said that. He would look forward to that visit down the line.

Just as Harry was getting ready to disapparate back to his flat for his gear, however, he was greeted by another of his friends appearing in front of him. She landed gracefully after the familiar swirl of apparation disappeared, her face already set in that signature teasing smirk of hers.

“Hey, you two, you know how to get me to the Vault? I’ve got to return an ancient relic,” she quipped at them as her way of greeting.

“Very funny, Hermione.” Harry huffed while Dean let out a low whistle behind him.

“How you doing?” Dean feebly attempted to flirt.

“Hey,” Hermione coyly said in return.

The exchange was promptly left at that before she disapparated with Harry in tow. They landed back into the sitting room of his flat a second later with him nearly tumbling to the floor. He had never quite gotten used to apparating, especially when it was spontaneous.

“Did you really need to come get me yourself? I don’t need a babysitter, you know,” he told his companion after steadying himself.

“I don’t know, most of the ninety year old people I see always have a caretaker with them.” She was almost daring him to say something else. Her wittiness was unmatchable, and she knew it.

There was just one thing though. Harry never backed down from a challenge. Not many people knew the real him, the man behind the hero of the first wizarding war. Not many knew how much of a smart arse he could be.

“I think you’re just here because you want to watch me change.” He shot a shiteating grin at her before promptly turning to head to his room while pulling off his sweaty shirt.

He was modest, but he wasn’t a fool. The serum had truly endowed him with gifts most men would sell their souls for. It allowed him to go from a skinny little beanpole into a monument of conventional masculinity. And sometimes, he liked to show that off to his normally apathetic partner.

And also, he’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t developed a sort of attraction to her over the last year they’d spent together as partners. How couldn’t he? She was part of a very short list of people who saw him for what he was. A man out of time trying to find his way in an unfamiliar world.

“Arrogance doesn’t suit you, Captain,” Hermione snarkily bit back at him.

“Not arrogance,” Harry called as he retrieved the rucksack containing his gear. “Just stating the obvious.”

“What’s obvious is that you’ve got cabin fever, Captain Potter,” she met his gaze with an impish smirk after sidling into his bedroom, “you’ve been cooped up in isolation for too long. I think it’s high time you take me up on that offer to let me help you find someone.”

“You make me sound like I’m some sort of virginal sex fiend.” He had an inkling that the rest of the conversation from this moment on would be very telling. 

“At least one of those things is true,” Hermione hit back with her eyebrows teasingly cocked.

“Trust me, they’re not.” The retort flew quickly from his mouth because he couldn’t wait to deliver it. She had walked right into the set up.

“Is that so?” Her eyes narrowed at him with something that he knew to be displeasure burning behind them.

That was the payoff Harry was hoping for. He played his excitement down, staying cool and calm as he put on his baselayer, and shrugged his shoulders. “I think I’d know if one of them wasn’t true.”

Hermione’s eyes shot daggers through him, and if he hadn’t known her as well as he did, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she couldn’t care less about what he’d just revealed. But Harry knew better.

“You not being a virgin doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is you getting back out there beyond just going for morning runs,” she tried to explain. He could tell it was a weak attempt to deflect from her displeasure.

“And I don’t need your help to do that.” Harry challenged her to argue with him. She chose not to, and instead huffed at him. He knew her better than she knew herself. She never wilfully backed down from anyone or anything.

“I’m sure you don’t.” The slight notes of bitterness and pain in her voice threw him off. 

Fuck. He hadn’t meant to imply that he didn’t need her. He very much did. It was the way she went about wanting him to need her that was off putting for him. She was so damn stubborn. So bullheaded. And so blind too. 

“Look,” Harry swept a hand through his hair, “I’ve already got my eye on someone, alright? I just need her to figure herself out before I can make a move.”

Before she could jump to conclusions about whoever his mystery girl was, he made a point to meet her eyes steadily with a meaningful look plastered across his face. She realised instantly who his mystery girl was.

“Do I know her?” Hermione’s voice audibly squeaked for a second before she cleared her throat.

“Not as well as you think you do.”

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t know how he’d made it back home after the sun had set with the darkness of night blanketing the world thereafter. The day had exacted a heavy toll on him. He’d never been so tired, so brutally and utterly exhausted before. And worse, there was no amount of rest or relaxation that would cure him of it.

He stepped inside to the home that now would solely be occupied by him, and just barely managed to wave a lazy hand to turn on the lights. He collapsed on the couch thereafter with the exhaustion sinking into his very bones. All he wanted to do was to sink into the void that was left for him.

Yet, all he could do was just stare at it hoping that something would be looking back at him. As much as the void belonged to him, he wasn’t the one occupying it. No. The void held the only thing that made his life worth living, and yet, he couldn’t go and retrieve it. How cruel.

As he sank deeper into his misery, a sudden knock at his door startled him into alertness. He drew his wand out of instinct more than anything, unsure if he even wanted to defend himself if the person knocking at the door was some kind of threat.

Another knock came as he rose to his feet guardedly. Harry was smart enough to figure that whoever stood behind the door would not knock twice if they wanted to cause him harm. It was almost disappointing. No, it was completely disappointing.

A meagre sigh fell past his lips before he began the tiring walk back to the door. It felt like even the simplest of movements were sapping his strength. Still, he trudged through to open the door and found a strange but not quite unfamiliar face staring back at him with a sombre smile.

“Harry Potter,” the elderly man greeted him, sympathy laced within his voice.

“Aren’t you the owner of the Magical Menagerie?” He confusedly inquired of the man.

“That I am, Mister Potter,” the elderly gentleman nodded his head to which Harry did the same, “I will keep things short since I feel you’re in no mood for conversation right now.”

“That I am, Mister Griffin.” Harry motioned to the man to get on with the reason for his visit afterwards.

“A few days ago, I was given a letter with a request to deliver two things to you. This is me fulfilling that request.”

Mister Griffin stepped away to the side to lift what looked like a kennel into his arms. Harry noticed the slight bit of rustling that came from within the small cage along with a sealed letter that was tied to the top of it. Questions upon questions started to run through his mind.

“This feisty little creature now belongs to you, Mister Potter. For more details, you can read the letter,” Griffin informed him before handing the kennel over to his grasp. “Good night, Harry, and I offer you my deepest condolences.”

Harry gave another respectful nod of acknowledgement to the older man, and bade him goodbye as he inspected the apparent ‘gift’ that was given to him. He returned to his couch thereafter to make sense of what had just happened.

Before he could get to the letter, the kennel’s resident woke up and immediately began living up to its description as a feisty little creature. Harry quickly unlocked the door to let it out, and was greeted by a ginger half kneazle with a pudgy face and a whole lot of attitude.

The damn thing’s face was set in a perpetual scowl, and he was fluffy as one of those feather dusters. His body was quite large as well. He figured the creature was at least a few pounds overweight, and that thought made him chuckle for some reason.

After appraising him for a moment, the half kneazle shot him a look that screamed as though it considered him worthy of being its owner. Again, Harry smiled. There was a lot of personality in this little creature. He loved that a lot.

He petted the animal softly, and then returned his attention to the enclosed letter left behind. There had to be more information on who this little guy was. He gently opened the letter before beginning to read the message left behind within it.

Dear Harry, 

Someone once told me that grief is just love with no one to receive it. It’s a message that resonated with me from the moment I heard it, and I’m sorry that I’ve left you in this position where that message is now true for you. I’m sorry that I’ve left you with so much grief, with so much love and no one to receive it.

That is why I’ve decided to give you this. You still need someone in your life to love, Harry, so start with this little guy. His name is Crookshanks, and he likes kippers. 

I love you, Harry James, and now that I’ve found my peace, I want you to do the same until the day comes when we reunite in the next great adventure.

Love, your best friend,

Hermione. 

Chapter Text

“Do you kill people for money?”

Harry bristled at the question he’d spent years trying to make sure would never come out of his wife’s mouth. She stared at him, chocolate brown eyes filled with complete bitterness and hurt, leaving him powerless to do anything but give a faint nod to her.

Seeing her so clearly hurt because of him filled him with a rare type of anguish. He’d never wanted to hurt her. Everything he had done was because of her. For her. For them. For his family. Her and his beautiful godson. She had to understand that, right?

At his mute expression of apology and confirmation of all of her suspicions, she fixed him with a defiant look. “Do you kill people for money?” 

She wanted to hear him say it. To admit to his sins out loud. Wouldn’t even allow him the luxury of at least not having to speak the words into existence. He had half a mind to nod again and walk away, but her bitingly cold gaze froze him in place. He was powerless under her eyes.

“Yes.” 

Harry made an exasperated face at himself for how easily he’d folded under pressure from his wife. So much for being the world’s deadliest assassin. 

“Say it,” she commanded him, voice cold enough to freeze over hell.

This time, Harry resolved to stand firm. She’d gotten what she wanted. There was no need to rub it in his face the way she was. He wasn’t about to let her have her way this time. What was done, was done. She couldn’t change anything about who he was or what he was.

“Say what?” He blithely replied without an ounce of emotion.

His wife wasn’t having his show of force though. She marched towards him, and stood eye to eye with him unflinchingly, daring him to blink. He did. Fuck.

“Say the words.”

Again, Harry visibly showed his displeasure before grinding his teeth together and sighing. In a breath, he whispered the words she wanted him to say. The words that would likely spell the end of his marriage.

“I kill people for money.”

She cuttingly chuckled at him. Damn if that didn’t make him afraid unlike anything else had done before. He could handle her anger, he could handle her bitterness, but her laughing? No, that meant she was verging on resignation with all of this.

“What was that, Harry? I can’t hear you.” She smiled at him in a way that both angered and annoyed him as she mockingly said those words.

“I kill people for money,” he ground out to her once more.

“Say it again,” she sharply demanded in return like she couldn’t believe he actually had the gall to say those words to her.

That made Harry exhale in bitter amusement. Did she think this was funny? Or was she just trying to demean him? Either way, he wouldn’t let her have the satisfaction of seeing him feel ashamed for his… line of work.

“I kill people for money.” He wore a tight smirk after nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders.

There was no hint of humour in her eyes as they welled up with tears. Fuck. FUCK. He hadn’t meant to hurt her again. Harry abandoned his unbothered facade right away, reminding himself that his wife would never belittle or demean him for anything.

This conversation wasn’t her trying to call him a piece of shit. This was her showing her disappointment in him, his betrayal of her, for having lied to her face for so long about the work he did. That wasn’t them. Lying to each other. No, that wasn’t him and his wife. It never had been until… 

“Listen to yourself, and say it again.” Her words were now more cutting than they’d ever been.

It fucking hurt to see her like this. It was enraging. Even more so because it was his fault. Harry just wanted to be done with this so he could spend the rest of his life working to make it up to her. But she wasn’t going to let him do that, was she?

“I kill people for money,” he repeated, this time with audible frustration backing the words. 

“Again.” The prompt flew from her mouth before he even had a chance to recover from the weight of his repeated confession.

Fucking hell, why wasn’t she letting this go now? How many times did he need to say it? Harry wanted so badly to be angry at her, but the voice in the back of his mind reminded him that it was he who put himself in this situation. The one who deserved his anger was himself.

And it was with that boiling fury at himself that he looked his wife dead in the eye, and said those cursed words yet again.

“I kill people for money.”

It wasn’t enough for her. She was grinding her teeth now too, the words making her seethe with a brilliant fury that he was sure had never once been directed to him until now.

“Say it again!” She hatefully spat at him.

“I kill people for money!” He spat back just as hatefully at her.

“AGAIN!” Her roar threw him off-kilter for a split second before he swiftly recovered as his own hateful fury finally boiled over.

“I KILL PEOPLE FOR MONEY! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR, HERMIONE?” Harry barked back without hesitation. A sick sense of satisfaction filled him when she flinched at him, and he bent his face down until it was inches from hers. “IS THAT ENOUGH? IS IT ENOUGH?”

Only silence was her response. Her eyes were left widened at him in shock. She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. Like she didn’t fucking know him. Seeing that only made Harry more bitter. More furious.

“WELL, IS IT?” He barked at her again before pulling away to take a sharp breath.

Minute after eternal minute passed in silence as they stood apart from each other. They remained unmoving, him refusing to even look at her, while his anger eventually gave way to regret and then shame afterwards. Any chance he’d had of saving his marriage had likely just been shot to hell.

Harry wallowed in the heavy silence with the acceptance that Hermione was surely done with him now. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear seeing her walk away from him for good, but a part of him felt like he had to see it. As a reminder of sorts. An albatross to hang around his neck.

He braced himself for her eventual dismissal of him, of their marriage, and finally mustered the courage to look at her. She was waiting for him to meet her eyes, he figured after finding her staring at him when he looked back up to her.

“It’s not enough, Harry, but now we can have a conversation,” were her only words to him.

With that, she turned on her heels to leave him standing alone in the shadows of their darkened room.

Chapter Text

Hermione had enjoyed quite a few absolutely wonderful nights of sleep since Harry’s arrival to The Burrow five days ago. It was amazing what a little bit of… self-care… could do to help one sleep. Thank goodness for Harry and all of the changes he’d gone through during the summer.

She remembered the first night she’d seen him in his new body quite vividly. It hadn’t left her mind even once. And since then, she had been treated to multiple sights of him in and around the house. The witch wondered what she’d done to deserve such good luck.

Her best friend had become an absolute hunk of a man. Not only that, but he also seemed to now have just as keen of an interest in her as she did in him. Quite a few times, she had caught him looking at her the same way she knew she looked at him.

They were doing this little dance around each other. Like some kind of mating ritual. Eyeing each other up, assessing the other, and making it a point to get as close to each other as possible. It was a touch scary if she was being honest, but the attraction definitely outweighed the fear.

Harry wasn’t just her best friend anymore. Something had shifted. He couldn’t fill that admittedly little box of simply being her platonic best friend anymore. Hermione didn’t want that, a fact she knew was true for certain from her reaction to seeing Ginny hovering around him.

Just the thought of Harry with another girl was enough for the witch to be filled with bitterness, bile, and hurt. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let that happen. If she did, she’d have to be an idiot. He was already making it clear the attraction between them was mutual. All she had to do was be a little more decisive with him now.

And she had a plan to do just that. She was going to stake her claim on him, and she was going to get a little payback for every time in the last five days that he’d made her beside herself with attraction to him.                   

With that in mind, she rose out of her bed to begin her morning routine for the day. Ginny was still sound asleep as she was a late riser. Most of the house outside of Ron seemed well awake though. Hermione hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long to get the bathroom for herself.

She slipped out into the hallway, and softly ambled over the bathroom door. Turning the knob and finding it unlocked, the witch breathed a sigh of relief before swinging the door open. The sight that greeted her after that nearly made her faint.

There was Harry Bloody Potter drying his face, and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers to cover his modesty. 

Oh. Dear. Merlin.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes were blown wide in a mixture of shock and desire. This was the first time she’d seen Harry shirtless since he’d arrived a few days ago, and dear Gods… it had to be some kind of sin that he chose to wear clothes and hide his body from her.

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” he exclaimed, drawing her attention back to his face. He’d been shaving. The stubble he’d been growing was now gone. “Forgot to lock the door, I’m sorry.”

Oh there was nothing he needed to apologise for. In fact, the only thing that needed to be done was her expressing gratitude to him for granting her the opportunity to see him like this. Wow. Just wow. 

Her eyes were drawn back to his toned chest and down to his newly defined abs as though by magnetic pull. She absently licked her lips when a droplet of water rolled down his breastbone into the seam between his six pack. Maybe another session of self-care would be needed.

“Hermione?” Harry called out to her. The confusion in his voice alerted her to the fact that she hadn’t said a single word since barging in on him.

“Erm… sorry,” it took a Herculean effort for her to move her eyes back up to meet his face, “you really should lock the door, Harry.”

“Honest mistake, though I really didn’t think anyone else would be up this early.” He shrugged before drying off his damp face some more.

“Well, I am, and…” Hermione trailed off after realising she had nothing more to say.

“And what?” Harry prompted. His lips pulled into a teasing smirk afterwards. “Just be glad you didn’t walk in on Missus Weasley or Mister Weasley.”

That thought made her cringe. She shook her head to get it out of her head immediately. “Please don’t ever put that image in my head again.” 

“Will do,” he was still smirking, “and I’m done here. It’s all yours.” He slid past her with a light chuckle, and she subtly moved into his path just to feel his bare skin on hers. Merlin, she was desperate. “Just remember to lock the door.”

“Or what?” She challenged him in return before she could think better of it.

“Or I might just come barging in on you.” He threw the words back over his shoulder as he headed back to his room with Ron. 

Bloody hell. 

Thoughts of what could happen if he did walk in on her set Hermione’s body aflame. Damn that boy. No, damn that man. Gods, how many more times was she going to have to take care of herself before they headed back to Hogwarts?

                                         ———

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Hermione was feeling much more like her usual pragmatic self after the incident with Harry earlier in the morning. The time had come for her to execute her plan as the Weasleys and them were heading to Diagon Alley to check out the grand opening of Fred and George’s new store.

If Harry thought she would let him off easy for everything he’d been doing, he had another thing coming. She was going to leave him completely breathless by the time she was done with him today. And it was going to start with her dress.

Normally, Hermione dressed modestly. She had no care nor wanted to ‘doll’ herself up. It was too time consuming for her. She always made sure to do enough to make herself look presentable and even good, but never completely dressed up.

Until today.

Her outfit of choice was a simple floral print and strapless sundress that she had never once touched until today. It had been a gift from her mother as part of an effort to get her to be more outgoing. Looks like the woman had gotten her wish. If this was her being outgoing, Hermione didn’t know what was.

As for her hair, well, that was another issue. Ginny had recommended using Sleekeazy’s to at least tame the mass of curls into something more manageable, but the witch wasn’t too keen on it. She figured her hair would look better if worn down with her sundress.

Harry didn’t seem like the type to like when her hair wasn’t ‘natural’ either. She thought it would actually turn him off of her if she put too much product in an effort to tame her naturally wild curls. It was that final thought that led her to abandon Ginny’s recommendation altogether.

After a few more touches to get herself looking just right, it was a bold and confident Hermione that stepped out of her bedroom. Harry Bloody Potter wasn’t going to know what hit him. Served him right.

She had to contain her excitement as she descended the stairs into the sitting room once she heard his voice. He was already there. Yes, she couldn’t wait to catch him off guard like he’d done so many times to her. It was what he deserved.

That didn’t end up happening. Hermione’s plan was shot to hell the instant she found Harry. There he was, fitted t-shirt hugging his broad shoulders and chest, relaxed jeans hanging on his hips, and a bloody backwards ball cap on his head. 

What. The. Absolute. Heck.

All of her work to knock his socks off, literally all of it, was moot. The damn bloke had put barely any effort into his own outfit, and he still looked like Merlin’s gift to witches. How did he even acquire such a chiseled jawline with those high cheekbones? What sorcery was that?

So much for the first bit of her plan. Hermione kept her eyes trained on Harry as she moved to join his conversation with Mister Weasley. He caught notice of her soon after, turning to her with a bright smile showing all of his pearly teeth, and damn if she didn’t swoon right there and then.

“Hey, Hermione,” he greeted before quickly and subtly taking stock of her outfit. “You look really nice.” 

Her mind scrambled for a response to that, but she was so unprepared for the compliment that all she could manage was some kind of squeaky sound and a shaky nod of her head. Mister Weasley excused himself thereafter to leave her alone with the man of her desires. 

“Hi, Harry,” she finally managed to muster out after what felt like an eternity.

“All set for Diagon?” He lightly questioned while she struggled to keep from staring at his biceps.

A mute nod of yes was her answer to that question. Even though they had been spending a lot of time in close proximity to each other since his arrival, she was still unable to resist being flustered by him. The damn guy was just too much for her teenage mind to handle.

“If you want to go do some shopping before or after we see Fred and George, I can come with,” Harry offered as they waited for the rest of the Weasleys.

Hermione didn't even try to analyse what his offer meant before she was already accepting it with a furious nod of her head. “That would be great,” she almost too eagerly replied to him.

“Brilliant.” He shot another wide smile at her that made her knees turn to jelly.

It was a miracle Hermione could hold herself up under the relentless assault of her best friend’s charm. She was torn between begging for Ginny, Ron, and Missus Weasley to show up, and begging that they give her just a bit more time alone with him.

“By the way, your hair looks really nice today too,” Harry told her, sending her reeling from his charm yet again.

This was too much. What was a witch supposed to do? At least, what was a witch supposed to do that didn’t involve snogging the daylights out of her best friend in the middle of their friend’s house?

Somewhere in the back of her Harry-addled mind though, she was reminded of her hunch that he wouldn’t like it if she threw too much product onto her hair to try to tame it. She’d been right. Sweet, sweet, vindication.

The rest of the Weasley gang finally came downstairs after that compliment, and Hermione was finally able to regain what was left of her senses. She still kept her focus on Harry, however, and noticed his eyes quickly dipping below the neckline of her dress before he pulled them back up.

Okay, so maybe her plan had worked a little bit. If that moment was anything to go by, her outfit had served its intended purpose. It was just that he was a lot better at concealing his reactions than she was. 

                                     ———

Fred and George’s new shop right at the heart of the alley was quite grand. They had clearly put a lot of effort into every little detail to make the shop as marvelous as possible. Hermione was proud of the twins. They had done spectacularly in becoming business owners.

But the lustre of it all quickly wore off for her once she realised Harry still hadn’t returned to her after they had separated to peruse the different sections of the joke shop. It wasn’t like they had an agreement to always stay by each other’s side, but still…

She hadn’t missed the looks damn near every teenaged witch, and some adult ones too, had been giving him from the moment he set foot in the alley. They would try to snatch him up as soon as they saw him alone, and Hermione couldn’t let Harry be put in that situation.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust his attraction to her, and it wasn’t like she thought he was shallow enough to accept advances from just about anyone who showed interest in him either. It was that she was worried he wouldn’t know how to deal with so much attention from a bunch of lustful witches.

Merlin bless him, he was still so completely innocent and naive. She owed to him as his best friend to help him navigate the waters his handsomeness had brought him into. And she also owed it to herself to give herself the best chance of being with him.

Her original plan had been to have them both see what the love potions Fred and George were selling smelled like. That wasn’t the case anymore. Now, Hermione made it her mission to find Harry, drag him out of the joke shop, and take him up on that offer to let him accompany her as she shopped.

She began her search for him right away, and it didn’t take long after that to find him. What she saw made her seethe. There was Ginny. And the Patil twins. And Lavender too. All surrounding her Harry like a pack of hyenas. 

They were laughing at whatever he said, and even Hermione knew he probably said something that wasn’t even close to as funny as they were trying to make it out to be. It made her boil. When Lavender reached to touch his bicep afterwards, the witch nearly ground her teeth to dust.

A growl rumbled through her chest before she furiously marched over to the group, and cut into the conversation with force. “Harry, there you are,” she sweetly greeted him as she glared at Lavender through the corner of her periphery. “You said you’d come with me to pick up a few more things from the rest of the shops.”

He turned to her, his eyes filled with gratitude at her pulling him out of the attack from the four girls who’d cornered him, and chuckled. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Hermione tutted with more than sick satisfaction. “I’m ready to go now if you are.”

Harry didn’t pay any mind to the rest of the girls as he nodded at her. The witch had to restrain every fibre of her being from smirking at them, and instead radiantly beamed at him. She wasn’t done yet though. Ginny and her friends needed to learn a lesson today.

“I am, let’s go,” he told her, matching her smile with one of his own.

“Good,” Hermione cast a faint sideways glance to the girls, “can you hold my purse? I need to tie my hair up.”

He did exactly as she asked without question. Hah. Tall, fit, handsome, and willing to do whatever she asked of him. The message to the girls was simple. He belonged to her. Him holding her purse was just a small cue that let them know who his affections were with.

After quickly putting her hair into a messy bun, Hermione didn’t retrieve the purse from Harry. She instead took his free hand in her own before leading him away from Ginny and her friends. He didn’t seem to mind that she was holding his hand, not that she’d ever been concerned that he would in the first place.

“Thanks for that,” he quietly murmured to her as they stepped out into the rest of Diagon. “Any longer, and I'm pretty sure they would have jumped me.”

“So you did notice how they were behaving around you,” Hermione stated more than asked.

“Hard not to, they weren’t exactly hiding it,” Harry retorted with a shrug.

“Right.” She tried not to seethe again at the thought of those… hyenas… preying on her man.

“But you didn’t have anything to worry about.” He chuckled at her once more.

That made the witch freeze in step. They’d been dancing around each other for a few days now, but those words were far from just another step in the dance. It felt like something else. An acknowledgment. A promise.

Hermione didn’t want to get carried away though. Maybe he meant those words some other way. Things like these were meant to be fully examined before any conclusion could be made. She’d be a fool to assume anything right now.

“What do you mean?” She had to ask him.

Again, Harry let out a low and soft chuckle that made a little knot form in her lower belly. 

“You didn’t have anything to worry about,” he repeated as his eyes bore into hers with an expression that showed her everything she wanted to see.

This was going to be a very good year for her.

Chapter Text

Hermione stepped back into the lab with a proud smile on her face once she saw Harry aimlessly walking about. He’d been too worried about catching the ‘villain’ of the week, a metamorphmagus who could take on the exact appearance of anyone in the world, and it was clear that he was getting antsy from the lack of progress in making a potion that would counteract the metahuman's powers.

Good thing she had finished the nullifying potion then. At least, she had finished a prototype of it. Though it wouldn’t be a prototype anymore once they tested it and it passed every benchmark she had laid out for it. But that was beside the point.

“Hey,” she brightly called out to him. 

He turned to her in surprise, having been startled by her, before his lips stretched into a soft smile. There was something different though, in the way he looked at her. She knew Harry well enough to know that she hadn’t ever quite seen his eyes colour with such… unfamiliarity… at her.

Not unfamiliar in the sense that he didn’t know who she was. More like, he didn't know who she was supposed to be to him. Did that make sense? No, that wasn’t the concern right now. She’d talk to him about it later.

“It’s all set, I just need to give it a few more tests to see if it actually works,” Hermione informed him.

“Err… brilliant.” There was a bit of uncertainty in his voice that she chalked up to him being genuinely surprised she was able to concoct the nullifying serum so easily.

He must have realised how disbelieving his voice sounded, and shot her an apologetic and somewhat awkward smile. Hermione returned a smile of her own at him, but had to motion for him to move away from the console he stood in front of because he seemed content to just stare at her.

This had been a new development over the last few days together. She’d catch Harry staring at her, seeking out her counsel more often, and going out of his way to make her smile every time they saw each other the last couple of days.

Again, however, that was something to talk about later. The priority right now was to catch the metamorphmagus they’d dubbed ‘Every-Man’. There was no telling what mischief the crook could get up to with his powers.

“So this… potion… is it going to permanently nullify his abilities?” Harry curiously asked behind her.

“No, it’ll take them away long enough for you to take him down,” Hermione absently answered him as the vial of serum began glowing.

“Oh… well, that’s good. I don’t need that much time anyway to take him down, you know?” He chuckled halfheartedly behind her. The joke was admittedly lame, but somehow still funny to her.

She turned back around with an amused expression only to bump right into his chest. He was standing so damn close to her that only a mere inch separated them. And again, there was that look in his eyes. She really would have to get to the bottom of his behaviour soon.

“What are you doing?” Hermione shook her head, playing the slight tension between them off with a laugh afterwards, and stepped past him.

His footsteps alerted her to the fact that he’d followed her over to the next workbench. She heard him take a deep breath before answering her question, "Something I should have done a long time ago.”

Before Hermione could even ask Harry what that meant, he spun her around to face him. Her eyes were blown wide with shock as her mouth fell agape, and… oh dear Merlin, he was about to kiss her. What the heck was going on?

The answer to that question never came because all of her thoughts were promptly stolen from her by the softness of his lips on hers. He kissed her so softly, so tenderly, that it was impossible for her not to melt into it. 

Only when she felt his tongue dart out to brush against her lips did she realise this was getting a little too hot and heavy too quickly. She forcibly pulled away from him, barely managing to call his name out. “Harry, what—mmph.” 

This time, his lips interrupted her with much more force. Her resulting gasp allowed his invading tongue entry into her mouth, and he quickly took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She was powerless under him, and a guilty part of her realised that she didn’t mind it all.

No one had ever kissed her like this before. This was pure passion, pure desire. Hermione sank into the exchange willfully this time, and let herself enjoy everything Harry was giving to her. 

It didn’t last longer, however, as the motion sensor at the entrance of the lab buzzed. Never had she hated someone like she hated whoever was interrupting this moment.

The kiss ended with both of them turning to see who was entering the lab, and her breath caught when she saw Ginny Weasley, Harry’s childhood friend and crush, of all people.

                                      ———

Two Hours Later:

Harry stood in front of the makeshift cell down in the basement of the lab, and stared at the metamorphmagus called Every-Man. The bastard was still wearing his likeness while looking at him with a smirk. There was something the crook wanted to tell him, and Harry wasn’t too sure he wanted to hear it.

“If it wasn’t for that damned redhead showing up at the worst possible time, I would have gotten a nice bit of trim from that little lab geek,” Every-Man mockingly told him while exaggeratedly showing his displeasure at having his moment stolen from him.

“What?” Harry dumbly questioned. This was all news to him.

“The lab geek, dumbass. Hermione, or whatever her name is,” Every-Man made a show of reminiscence as he lightly traced his lips with a finger, “she’s totally into you. Didn’t even hesitate to kiss me back when I kissed her as you.”

What the hell? Harry was left astounded by the revelation. There were so many things to unpack all at once. So many emotions to deal with. Confusion being the most prominent of them all. Every-Man had kissed Hermione whilst masquerading as him. That was sick. It was… borderline sexual assault.

Wait, Hermione had kissed him back. Or so he said. Could he really believe the words of a known crook? Bloody hell. There was only one person that could confirm those words. Shit, he needed to talk to Hermione as soon as possible.

But wait again, Every-Man had kissed her. The realisation of that finally set in, and Harry felt himself be filled with a searing jealousy. He felt something sting him because she’d kissed someone else. Granted, that person was cosplaying as him, but still… 

Merlin’s balls. He really had to talk to Hermione right away. It was all coming to him now. Every-Man had masqueraded as him before kissing Hermione, and she had kissed the bastard back because it was him he was cosplaying as. That meant something.

Though, Harry was still utterly enraged by the nerve of the metahuman to take advantage of his best friend like that. He had half a mind to enter the bastard’s cell, and beat him to a pulp. It wouldn’t change what happened, but it would feel good. Hermione wouldn’t want him to do that though. 

“You should probably talk to the lab geek, judging from that kiss, I think she wants a piece of you,” Every-Man goaded him, having easily figured out what was going through his mind.

“She’s not just a lab geek, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut for the rest of your time in here,” Harry icily threatened the metahuman before stepping away to go find his best friend.

                                         ———

After Ginny had so unceremoniously showed up to the lab, so many things had happened all at once for Hermione. The redhead had done some analysis on the footage they had of Every-Man, and then Dr. Riddle had stunned ‘Harry’ right next to them. 

As it turned out, the guy who had kissed Hermione in the lab was not Harry Potter. Go bloody figure.

Every-Man had shapeshifted into her best friend’s form before soundly taking advantage of her by snogging the daylights out of her while her guard was down. It was dirty. It was wicked. It made her feel… unclean. Not even three showers could get the feeling of uncleanliness off of her.

But what made it all worse for her, was the fact that she couldn’t even deny to herself that she hadn’t been into the kiss. She remembered everything she felt and thought as ‘Harry’ had kissed her as though they’d been branded into her mind.

It had all been a lie. The real Harry wasn’t into her like that. She was just his lab geek best friend. He would never know about the kiss either. And she wasn’t going to say anything. How could she? He had his eyes on Ginny, and Hermione was not going to get in the way of that.

That was why she was stuck on her couch in her fluffy pajamas eating her second pint of ice cream while watching some lame Hallmark movie on the television. She was allowed some sulking time after everything that had happened during the day.

And to think, a part of her was ashamed of herself for being so damn receptive to ‘Harry’ kissing her. She’d have practically shagged him right there and then had Ginny not interrupted them. That was the effect the real Harry had on her, and that metahuman bastard had manipulated that to use her.

Hermione took another dollop of her mint chocolate ice cream into her mouth, savouring the refreshingly cool sweetness of it, before a knock on her flat’s door startled her. Who the hell was visiting her at this time?

No one ever came to her flat. No one really ever cared enough to do so, and it wasn’t like she had a bunch of gentleman callers lining up at the door. Only three people knew where she lived. Harry, Dr. Riddle, and Neville.

Only one of those three could come calling at this time. She wagered it had to be Neville. With a self-pitying sigh, she rose to her feet and didn’t bother tidying herself up before stepping towards her front door. Neville was going to have to deal with her looking like a mess.

She swung the door open easily, fully expecting her lab partner to be standing behind it, only to again be startled out of her fluffy slippers by a very distressed looking Harry Potter. It was telling that he looked so disheveled despite his super speed allowing him to clean up within microseconds.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he apologised with sheer desperation painting the words.

Confused wasn’t even the word to describe what she was feeling. This day didn’t seem to have a bloody ending. How many more ridiculous occurrences were going to happen before the universe finally had enough of messing with her?

“What’s going on?” She hated how many times this same exact question could have been used during the day so far.

“About Every-Man,” Harry made a bitter face at himself, “I didn’t think the arse would stoop that low.”

“Oh,” was all Hermione could say.

Clearly, Every-Man must have bragged to Harry after his capture about how he’d kissed her in the lab. That made Hermione’s skin crawl. She needed to scrub her skin with the hardest bristle brush she could find.

“I should have caught him sooner.” Count on her way too honourable best friend to take responsibility for something he had no control over.

Stepping aside and motioning for him to come into her flat, Hermione replied, “Don’t blame yourself. All of it should be on me. I should have known you were acting out of character. As your best friend, I’m supposed to know these things.”

“What do you mean?” Harry turned to look at her, cocking his head adorably in confusion. 

“Come on, Harry,” she let out a sad sounding chuckle before shaking her head at him, “Every-Man was flirting with me, or at least trying to, before he kissed me. I should have known it was him disguised as you.”

“Because I wouldn’t do that?” He prodded her like a child who didn’t quite get what she was explaining.

“Exactly,” Hermione answered while trying to keep the ache in her heart from seeping into her voice.

“So he acted completely unlike me?” Harry prompted her again. At her affirmative nod, he continued, adding, “why did you kiss him back then?”

It was her turn to look at him quizzically. He was trying to get at something, but she didn’t know what it was. It seemed like neither did he for that matter.

“I just told you. I should have seen that it was him masquerading as you, but I didn’t,” Hermione explained in her trademark lecture tone.

“And that’s what made you kiss him back?” He questioned her again.

What was… oh. Oh. The realisation of what Harry was getting at hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. Her not knowing that it was Every-Man disguised as Harry had nothing to do with why she kissed him back. Actually, no. It had everything to do with it. But not in the way she wanted. 

Her silence was deafening as she struggled to come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why she had kissed Every-Man back when he was disguised as Harry.

“Why’d you kiss him back, Hermione?” Harry, the real Harry, finally asked her.

“…” Her mouth fell open to speak, but no words came out.

At her repeated silence, he stepped closer to her until she could feel the warmth radiating off of his body against hers. She was instantly reminded of how Every-Man had done the same to her, but knew that this was decidedly different. The warmth Harry gave off was unique to him and him alone. It comforted her, made her feel safe.

“Tell me why you kissed him back. Please, Hermione,” he practically pleaded with her.

She was suddenly overwhelmed by everything. His warmth, the question she didn’t think she should honestly answer, and the weight of everything that had happened during the day so far. Hermione pulled away to catch her breath in hopes of regaining some semblance of steadiness.

“Why… Why do you want to know?” She found herself asking Harry in return after a long and heavy breath.

“Answer my question first,” he retorted smoothly, brooking no room for argument from her.

Half of her wanted to turn tail and run, but how stupid would it be to run away from a human who could run at supersonic speeds? He would always find her. And from the look in his eyes, he wasn’t going to stop until she told him the truth. No matter what she did.

“I thought he was you,” she murmured ashamedly under her breath. It was probably too low for him to hear, but she hoped he did. She didn’t want to have to repeat herself.

“What?” So much for not having to repeat herself.

“I thought he was you,” Hermione repeated herself just a touch louder this time.

“That’s not enough.” Harry stepped towards her again and lifted her chin to make her look back up into his emerald eyes. “I need more, Hermione. Please.”

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” Tears started to fill her eyes as she spoke. Was he really going to make her admit to having feelings for him?

“I want you to tell me why you kissed him back,” he told her once more in return. 

Something bloomed in his eyes that she’d never seen before. A kind of desperate… no, it couldn’t be. Was it? Hermione was suddenly compelled to tell the truth as she lost herself in her best friend’s eyes.

“I kissed him back because I thought he was you, because I had—have—feelings for you, and because I wanted to believe you felt the same for me.”

There it was. The truth in all of its absolution. Hermione tried to brace herself for the incoming rejection from Harry, but couldn’t look away from his face. A myriad of expressions played across his features, too fast for her to process in her anguished state, before only one finally settled on them. 

Happiness.

He was happy. What the heck was going on? None of this made any sense whatsoever to her. Harry was happy. Her confession made him happy. Wait… her admission to having feelings for him made him happy. Did that mean what she was beginning to think it meant?

“You asked me why I wanted to know all of this,” Harry began telling her. He made sure he had her full attention before continuing. “It’s because I needed to know you felt the same for me.”

“W-What?” Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She couldn’t let herself. This was too good to be true. 

One look at Harry along with the feeling of his warmth cascading over her, however, let her know that this was real. No dream. No fantasy. The really real world.

“I’m so bloody jealous of that idiot, Every-Man, for having the guts to do what I should have done a long time ago.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands before bending his forehead to rest against hers. 

“Harry, what…” she went to ask only for him to silence her with a finger to her lips.

“Just listen to me and not that brilliant little mind of yours for a second,” he lightly chuckled to himself, “I have feelings for you too, Hermione. I don’t know when they started, but I know what I feel. I want you, all of you, every little bit of you that you’re willing to give me.”

“B-But… Ginny…” Hermione scrambled to protest.

“…is in the past. She doesn’t make me feel the way you do, she’s not the one I dream of every night,” he began to kiss her in between speaking as he planted his lips on her forehead, “she’s not the one that makes me want to be and do better,” another kiss on her cheek this time, “and she’s not the one whose smile makes me feel like I can outrun everything the world throws at me.”

When put like that, how could Hermione even allow herself to doubt his feelings for her? She tried to find a way, some kind of explanation as to why this shouldn’t be possible, but came up empty at every turn. She knew Harry. To love him was to know him. And she knew every bit of him.

He couldn’t lie to her. He would never lie to her.

“If only I could have said all of this before that bastard took advantage of you,” he mournfully told her. His head dropped low in shame. “I guess it was just what we needed though.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione lifted his face back up to look at hers, letting him see her perplexity.

“If he hadn’t kissed you while being disguised as me, you wouldn’t have kissed him back, and we would have never found out that we had feelings for each other.”

That sounded true for the most part. She couldn’t dispute that. Still, the witch would have liked for her and Harry to discover their feelings for each other without a creepy shapeshifter having taken advantage of her. As it stood, however, she couldn’t complain about anything else.

The realisation of what this all meant finally settled into Hermione’s heart. Harry felt the same for her. And he wanted her to be his. There was no Ginny holding him back, no fear of crossing the line between best friends and lovers. He wanted her as surely as she wanted him.

After the day she had, she was owed something good. And this was it, Hermione wouldn’t ask for anything else in her life. Her smile stretched wide below beaming eyes as she twined her arms around her best friend turned lover’s neck. What a wonderful afternoon this was turning out to be.

“Are you still jealous of our villain of the week?” She coyly asked him. Her confidence was soaring high as she finally allowed herself to give into her attraction to Harry in all of its intensity.

“Very much,” Harry answered in the same playful manner as her.

“Why don’t you show me how the real Harry Potter kisses a girl then?” Hermione’s bright eyes darkened with a mixture of lust and adoration. She wasn’t going to waste anymore time today. “And why don’t you go further with me than he ever will?”

He didn’t need any more encouragement from her after that. In a blur of motion, he lifted her into his arms and let her legs wrap around his waist before finally taking her lips with his own. The moment the kiss started, Hermione knew this was even more intense than anything she felt with Every-Man.

This was the real thing, and it put the fake kiss earlier in the day to shame. She could feel every nerve in her body be set alight. Could feel her brain chemistry being so dynamically altered. It was almost too much, but it was so bloody right. 

It wasn’t just raw desire and lust. It was passionate, it was loving, and it was the culmination of her and Harry finally coming together as one. It was perfection.

Chapter Text

Gryffindors charged ahead. 

Harry repeated that mantra in his mind until it felt like it was being burned into his brain like a branding mark. Gryffindors charged ahead. He belonged to the house of bravery and courage. The house that was synonymous with standing up to one’s fears.

And sure, it was easier to reflect the Gryffindor courage in literally any other situation except this one, but he couldn’t give up. Not now. He owed this to himself. And to her. Frustrating as it was. Selfish as it was. 

It was all his fault. Years spent waiting for the right moment. Countless nights and days telling himself that maybe she deserved better. That what had happened between them had been for the best because she deserved the best. And now it was almost too late.

Because she was here now, getting ready to hand the rest of her life over to another man. 

He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. At least not without saying his part. At least not without finally giving her the choice between him and her fiancé. Stupid and selfish as it was, Harry believed with all of his heart that he had to do this. 

“Don’t marry him, Hermione,” he steadily mustered out to her despite the racing in his heart. 

Tearful brown eyes stared back at him with disbelief and then fury colouring them. He knew what she was thinking. The nerve of him. The audacity of him to finally pull his head out of his arse on the exact day of her wedding.

He could see the exact moment her heartache turned to bitterness, and braced himself for her outrage. It was what he deserved for pulling some shite like this on her wedding day, but he resolved to stand firm and say his part.

“How dare you, Harry?” Hermione whispered to him, words sharpened like the cutting edge of a knife. “How dare you?”

Steeling his resolve, he inched closer to her just to show that he wasn’t going to back down. Not enough to invade her space, but enough to let her know he wasn’t going anywhere. The choice was going to be hers. Walk away from him or come with him. 

“Don’t marry him,” Harry pleadingly repeated. He knew how unfair and selfish he sounded, but he didn’t fucking care. 

“No, you don’t get to tell me that,” she shook her head almost manically at him, “you don’t get to say this. Not now. Not… ever.”

“You can’t marry him, Hermione.” He futilely tried to keep his voice from faltering under the weight of all of his emotions.

She let out a downright mocking laugh at him. Like he was the court jester providing some stupid entertainment to her. Like he was an idiot she just couldn’t take seriously even if she tried. It hurt him, but he’d come too far now to back down now.

“Screw you, Harry James,” she venomously spat at him, making him wince. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or cannot do. You don’t get to do anything after what you’ve put me through.”

“I know,” Harry acknowledged shamefully. Try as he might, even he couldn’t deny the truth. “I know I haven’t earned the right to even attempt to do what I’m doing now, but…”

“…but what? What could have possibly made you think that it was okay for you to show up today and tell me not to marry Neville?”

The words Harry wanted to answer her with became stuck in his throat. He felt himself being choked from the sheer enormity of them, and he desperately tried to force them out. Had he not treaded past the point of no return? He couldn’t let himself be stopped now. 

“Because I know you’d be lying to yourself if you married him.” He breathed an exhaustive breath after the words settled into the open air.

Once again, those gorgeous brown eyes that he’d loved since he was old enough to know what love was were filled with furious disbelief. Harry took a reflexive step back out of fear that she would actually slap him for saying that. Yet, as he read the burning emotions in her eyes, he saw something.

Maybe it was a trick of the light. An illusion created by his mind to show him what he wanted to see. Or maybe it was real. Maybe it was true. Maybe… he was actually seeing just the barest hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

“You’re delusional, Harry.” Hermione again coldly laughed at him. After her laughter settled just a moment later, she added, “You don’t know a damn thing. So get this through your thick skull, I am going to marry Neville, and I am going to be his wife.”

Those last words sparked the resentment within him. Just the thought of Hermione becoming a Longbottom was enough for his own anger to burst forth and overwhelm all of the other emotions he’d been so desperately trying to keep at bay.

“Really?” Harry asked her back in a tone just as biting and cold as hers. “You’d marry him and be his wife even though you’re still in love with me?”

Hermione had already turned back and began to head back into her dressing room when the question froze her in place. Until that moment, he hadn’t realised how close he’d come to losing her for good. If he hadn’t let his anger take control, she would have walked out of his life forever.

As it stood now though, he afforded himself another few precious moments with her. That filled him with motivation to keep pressing forward. He couldn't lose her. Merlin himself knew how bloody hopeless he was without her.

“What makes you so sure I’m still in love with you, Harry?” Hermione questioned him, again with pure venom, after rounding back to face him.

Any inhibition he had was long gone as he stood firm with resolve. He didn’t hesitate to answer her truthfully this time. 

“Because I’m still in love with you.” 

New confidence surged in Harry as those words left his mouth. He stepped closer to Hermione, closing the distance between them until the barest of margins separated them, and allowed just the faintest of smiles to grace his features.

Her lips trembled, her eyes watered, and he could finally see it as clear as day. The truth. She was still in love with him too. A part of him had doubted it, and that same part now seemed very stupid. The love between them hadn’t died. It probably never would.

But he knew his witch better than anyone else in the world. Even better than Neville Bloody Longbottom. She needed more. And when her anguish at his words and their truth gave way into anger, he braced himself for what he knew was coming next.

His head snapped to the side as her palm made contact with his cheek. It felt like that was the hardest she’d probably ever hit someone before. Even harder than Malfoy in third year, and that had been a full on punch. Yet, Harry cherished it.

Masochistic as it was to cherish the pain, the slap meant that she still cared. He was breaking through her defences until all she could do was desperately react out of fear and anger. Fear at how quickly she was falling back into him, and anger that he was making her do so. 

He let her pound on his chest after the slap, allowing her the opportunity to vent out all of the frustration he’d given her. It was only fair for him to do so. She threw her fists at his chest in a wild frenzy, and he took all of it without a word until she tired out.

“I gave you every chance,” Hermione finally began in a mixture of a sob and whisper. Her voice wavered as the tide of emotions crashed over her. “I have stood on my love for you for years, waiting for you to say something, and you choose to do so now?” 

Harry hung his head shamefully for a moment, but met her eyes afterwards. He’d already admitted to himself that he couldn’t have picked a worst possible time to come clean. It was true. He was selfish, he was an arsehole, and he was a fucking idiot.

But he was also hopelessly and madly in love with his best friend of eleven years. 

“No,” Hermione told him while shaking her head again in bitter fury. “You don’t love me, Harry. If you did, you wouldn’t do this.”

Fear rushed through him immediately after hearing that. He’d been settled from the belief that he was breaking through her defences. He’d let his guard down thinking that she was coming around. Now she wasn’t. What the fuck was happening? 

“Wait, Hermione,” Harry pleaded with desperation only for her to raise her hand at him.

“No, Harry. You’re only doing this because you can't stand the idea that I can love someone else other than you.”

Fear gave way back to fury for him. The audacity of her to say something as stupid as that. To minimise his feelings and make them look… fake. Harry smirked because he just knew deep in his heart that even she didn’t believe herself. 

“Deep down, Hermione,” he spoke up in as calm as a voice that he could manage, “you know that’s not true. You know me. Look into my eyes, and tell me to my face that I don’t love you. Tell me, and I’ll walk away.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, his witch stepped up to him and stared him down with deep resolve backing her eyes. Despite all of that, however, Harry didn’t flinch. She knew him just as well as he knew her. They were made for each other. There was no possible way she would ever be able to deny his feelings for her.

Seconds blended into what felt like an eternal wait while he watched her try to get the words out. She couldn’t. Of course she couldn’t. His witch never lied. Everyone knew how bloody terrible she was at it. And lying in general was one thing, but lying to him? Hah.

Harry made sure to keep his demeanour as stoic as possible despite the wealth of relief and confidence that flooded through him. Hermione’s inability to deny his feelings for her seemed like the nail in the coffin, but he’d learned his lesson just a few moments ago to not let his guard down.

“Just leave, Harry.” That was the only thing he knew she could say. A last ditch attempt to deny what she knew was and would always be between them. “Get out. Just leave me alone.”

“Say it,” was his only retort to her.

She didn’t need to ask him what he wanted her to say, and even still, she couldn’t do it. He knew he had her. The question now was how he’d play out the rest of this confrontation.

“Leave, Harry,” Hermione now begged him as her tears began to pour torrentially. “Please just go.” 

Fucking hell, seeing her in so much pain… fuck. He didn’t ever want that. Her broken sobs were cutting through him like a branding knife through skin. In all of his haste to get her to call off the marriage, he hadn’t realised how much of a toll it would take on her. 

Any longer he stayed here would only make it worse. He had to concede here. He had said his part. She knew the truth. The choice was now hers. And he didn’t need to be here, forcing his presence upon her so she could do what he wanted. No, he’d done enough.

The choice was hers. It had always been hers. He’d just been too dumb to give it to her until now. Maybe… this was all he could get. Perhaps it was too selfish to want her to come back to him simply because he was finally smart enough to allow her the choice to do so.

He’d gotten something today, and it wasn’t everything, but maybe it was enough. Maybe it had to be enough. They both knew now that the love between them hadn’t died. That had to be enough, right? Regardless of what she chose to do with that truth, the fact that it was known to both of them was enough. Right?

“Okay, Hermione,” Harry finally conceded. The choice was and had always been hers. His part in this story was over now. “I’ll go,” he sighed again in deep exhaustion, “I’ll leave, and I will… respect… whatever choice you make now no matter what.”

Saying that made bile rise in his throat, but he knew it was the right thing to say. That was undeniable. Fuck, did it hurt him to say it though. He was fighting against everything in his body telling him to just force his way through until he could get what he wanted.

Because that wasn’t him. Selfish as he was. Stupid as he was. Courageous as he thought he was. Harry Potter never demanded anything no matter how much he wanted it. 

                                       ———

Godric’s Hollow:

Years had gone by since Harry felt as morose as he did now. The last time he could recall himself wallowing in such a state of misery was the summer after his godfather had passed away. It made sense. Back then, he’d lost someone meaningful to him. Someone he cherished deeply.

Now it was the exact same. Perhaps even worse. He’d lost Hermione. The one real thing in his life that made sense to him, the person he had cherished more than anything in the world for years, was no longer with him. Go figure.

Hours had passed since he’d delivered his confession to Hermione. He didn’t really know how much time had passed, but he knew the sun was setting in all of its auburn and red glory. The wedding had likely finished by now. And even if it wasn’t, it was probably already past the point of no return.

Hermione had made her choice. She’d chosen Neville Fucking Longbottom over him. 

He respected her choice. Wasn’t that what he’d promised he would do? He did. Harry Potter always kept his promises. Even when it fucking hurt like hell. Even when it made him want to run far away from the only place he had ever called home.

Though, there was still a bit of comfort he could glean from all of this. Neville was a good guy. A bit shy, and a bit too soft spoken, but a good guy. He’d treat Hermione right. Everyone knew he considered himself the luckiest dude in the world for, as he well should have, for having secured Hermione’s heart. 

She’d be happy. Wasn’t that what mattered? It was. 

If all he wanted was for her to be happy, there was simply no way Harry could besmirch Hermione the choice of marrying Neville. That was all he could say. He kept telling himself that all he wanted was for her to be happy. Now it was time to stand on that. 

Not wanting to think about Hermione and her likely new husband, Harry busied himself by heading out to the garden in his backyard to begin potting a new plant that he’d been putting off on doing for a few days now. 

The day was hot even well into the afternoon. He stood in the yard with nothing more than his unchanged suit pants covering him, and savoured the afternoon heat beating down his back. It was actually kind of nice. It felt… real.

With how numb he’d been feeling since leaving Hermione’s wedding, the heat was actually welcomed by him. It reminded him that he could still feel things despite how numbing the pain of losing the love of his life was.

He got to work digging up the plant to be potted with his old shovel. Magic never really appealed to him in a setting like this. Some things just required the touch from one’s hands. It felt downright stupid to use magic for something as wonderful as gardening. 

As he shoveled the soil away, a sweat broke out over his skin. It was a nice feeling for him again. Funny how he was starting to cherish all of the little things now because he’d lost the woman he loved more than anything. He supposed it was just his mind reminding him that he was still a damn privileged person to be healthy and whole.

Even so, healthy and whole as he was, he wasn’t happy. He didn’t know if he’d ever be happy. Perhaps he’d find a way to be content in his life down the line. Happiness though… no, the possibility of that died when Hermione said ‘I do’ to Neville.

Harry continued his work until he was halfway through, and then his instincts picked up on something approaching him from behind. He spun around quickly, thinking that some stray creature had thought him a good target, only to find a vision in white beelining straight towards him. Could it be?

Not wanting to believe what he was seeing out of fear that it would only hurt him in the end, Harry made no move to approach the figure heading towards him. He stood rooted in place as his shovel dropped to the ground beneath him, and simply watched.

There was no room left for disbelief, however, when the figure marched right up to him and let him see her in all of her glory. It was her. Hermione. His Hermione. 

“You… you came?” He throatily asked, mind running a million miles a minute.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She dryly retorted with a shaky giggle following thereafter.

“You’re… here.” Harry really couldn’t find anything else to say. 

“Yes, I just said that. Where else would I be, Harry?” Hermione smiled at him this time. A genuine and real smile. A smile that he knew was reserved for him and only him.

Just like that, Harry’s brain managed to restart and start functioning as intended. A wild and downright maniacal grin stretched across his face. She was here. She’d chosen him. Not Neville The Arse Longbottom. She’d chosen him. Harry The Idiot Potter.

He swept her up in his arms like a madman, peppering kisses all over face until he was almost smothering her with his lips. In between every kiss, all he could chant was three words. “I love you.”

Melodious giggles fell from Hermione’s lips as he assailed her with his lips. The sound was music to his ears as he continued his relentless assault of kisses. She was here. She was his. He was hers.

Finally, when he couldn’t wait any longer, he cupped both of her cheeks in his hands and drew her in for their first proper kiss in years. Their lips met, and he was reminded of how paradisiacal it felt to have Hermione like this. This was heaven, and if he died right at this moment, he would die as the happiest man in the world.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered against her lips when they finally had to break their liplock. “I love you so much, baby, and I’m never letting you go again.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Harry James,” she told him in return, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.

“I promise, baby. I’m yours, and I’ll always be yours.”

He pulled her in for another kiss before realising that there was so much more he needed to do. Their lips only met for a few brief seconds before he separated from her and hurriedly waved his hand over them both. The possessive part of his mind was willing him through to his next move.

“What are you doing?” Hermione confusedly asked him. She was adorable when she didn’t know what was going on.

“Casting a notice-me-not over both of us,” he replied in a hurry as he slipped two fingers under the straps of her dress.

“Wait, why?” She batted his hand away before pressing her hand against his chest to still his movements.

“Because I’m not letting you enter our home in a wedding dress meant for someone else.” Harry knew he sounded like a caveman, but he didn’t care. The only dress she would ever cross the threshold to enter their home in was the one she would marry him in.

Hermione disbelievingly laughed at him. He had a split second of fear that she’d get mad at him, but it quickly disappeared when she fondly shook her head at him. Her expression said without words that he was an idiot, but he was her idiot.

“And what am I supposed to do with this perfectly fine dress?” She asked him in that signature bossy tone of hers that always drove him nuts.

“I don’t have anything against it, but I can’t let it be the wedding dress you wear to come into our home,” he truthfully responded with his lopsided grin still in place.

“Am I to assume then that you’ll have me wearing another wedding dress soon enough?” Her lips curled into a coy smirk as she slipped her fingers under the straps of the wedding dress herself.

Harry smirked when she easily slipped the entire thing off and it pooled at her feet on the ground, leaving her bare to his more than appreciative gaze. “Trust me, I’ll have you wearing another dress as soon as tomorrow if you let me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Potter.”

Chapter Text

“It’s the same thing again, isn’t it?”

Harry bowed his head low in shame. It was a question both he and his girlfriend knew the answer to. Sighing to himself, he nodded affirmatively only because he knew she at least deserved some form of an answer from him. She meant too much to him. 

And maybe… that was exactly why he had to finally listen to his head over his heart.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Hermione,” he brokenly confessed, afraid to meet the vibrant brown eyes that he’d once been so enamoured with since they were children.

“What do you mean?” Hermione cupped his cheek softly as she asked the question.

Unlike every other time he had felt the warmth of her touch, Harry didn’t lean into it this time. He couldn’t. If he did, it would make everything so much harder than it already was.

“I can’t get it out of my head, I can’t just stop thinking about it, about him, about you.” His voice wavered under the weight of his distress. A knot had grown in his throat as his eyes began to shine.

Hermione tilted his chin up, making him look at her, and cocked her head askance and in growing disappointment. It made the knot in his throat pull that much tighter until he felt like he could barely breathe.

“We’ve talked about this, Harry,” she tried to explain to him in as gentle a voice as possible. “I go where you go, remember? That’s how it is, that’s how it’s always been. Where you go, I go.”

“I can’t… allow that… anymore. It’s too much, he’s too much. I just don’t know what it says about me that things are so bloody horrible right now and I’m still holding onto you when…” Harry trailed off, breaking away from her searching gaze to regather himself.

“…when what, Harry?” Hermione prompted.

“What does it say about me that I’m still holding onto you when everyone I care about gets hurt or killed because of me?” 

A beat of silence passed between them while they steadied themselves. Hermione’s face began to settle into resignation. Resignation and hurt. Harry couldn’t bear to see that even though he knew it was necessary. He was doing the right thing. He believed that with all of his heart. Especially after Sirius.

“I thought what it said about you was that you loved me more than anything, I thought it said that you needed me, and that you trusted me.” She picked up again as the conversation resumed. Or maybe it was an argument. He didn’t know anymore.

“I do love you, Hermione, I do,” Harry made an angry face at himself when the tears he’d been holding back started to fall, “I trust you and I need you more than anything. I do.”

“And is that not enough? Why isn’t that enough?” Hermione questioned in the same soft and gentle voice she’d been using.

“Because… what if something happened to you, just like it did to Sirius, because of me?” The words made bile rise in his throat. Even voicing his worst fear nearly crippled him with terror.

At that question, Hermione made to give her response. Harry raised a shaky hand to silence her though, stopping her in her tracks.

“I cannot let that happen, Hermione. Not after Sirius, not after the Department of Mysteries, not with… him… still out there, and not with this bloody prophecy hanging over our heads. I can’t.”

It was as though an anchor was drawing Harry’s heart down as those words settled into the air between him and his girlfriend. He’d been trying to find any and every way out of voicing those very words since the year began, and now that he’d given in, the relief he’d been expecting hadn’t come. 

He leaned against the wall behind him to hold himself up, the weight on his heart beginning to drag the rest of his body down with it. Hermione stepped closer to him, and he dearly wished he wasn’t watching as her heart broke in real time. She pulled back some of her tears with a sniffle before cupping his cheeks in both hands.

“Listen to me, Harry James,” she thumbed away some of his own tears that had stained his cheeks, “I don’t care about that prophecy, or about you being the Boy-Who-Lived. That’s never mattered to me. What’s mattered to me has always been you. I love you, Harry Potter. That should be enough, no?”

Harry shook his head again. “It’s not about whether you care. I care. And I just can’t let myself be with you knowing what my destiny is. I can’t lose you too. I can’t.”

“So because you can’t lose me, we can’t be together?” Her eyes filled once more as he swallowed thickly. “How does that work, Harry?”

“I can’t, Hermione. I’m sorry, I… can’t.” Harry was all but resigned now. There was nothing left for him to say.

Hermione mirrored his expression. Her gorgeous features were coloured in with acceptance. He’d gotten what he wanted. This was what he wanted, right? No. It wasn’t. But it was what was right. That was what he convinced himself of. He had done the right thing. 

“Wow,” Hermione exclaimed in a frustrated breath. She scoffed at him afterwards. “You’ve done this to me again and again. I can’t keep trying to convince you, Harry. I’m tired. So I’ll give you what you want.”

No response came from Harry. He instead braced himself for what was coming next. It was almost funny, in a way, that he’d achieved what he’d been trying to do for months now, and was still horribly unprepared to face it with any semblance of courage.

“I break up with you, Harry. I break up with you.”