Chapter 3
III
He was beyond excited.
Harry Potter woke up on Tuesday morning and practically leaped out of bed. He hurried through getting ready and then practically sprinted all the way to the Great Hall, desperately awaiting the arrival of the mail.
The fact that he had to wait a further half an hour did nothing to dampen his mood. When the owls came flying into the Great Hall, he was already up out of his seat, ready to receive the journals. He was so excited; it was almost embarrassing, but he suddenly didn't care in the slightest. Hermione found it amusing, which was enough for Harry.
What Harry didn't expect was to receive a letter from a rather scary-looking, black owl. Harry took the letter from it carefully, offering it a piece of bacon in return.
"Do you know who it's from?" Ron asked from across the table.
Harry shook his head. "No clue," he said curiously. The journals arrived before he could open the letter, and then he was too distracted by his own excitement. He couldn't wait for Hermione to see them. Well, first, Harry had to look at them himself. What if they didn't come out right?
"I'm assuming that's the present for a certain someone," Ginny said, commenting on Harry's stupid smile.
"Oh, it is," he said. "I'm so excited for tomorrow."
Everyone could tell. There was no need for him to say it out loud.
"What about the letter, Harry?" Neville asked, reminding the green-eyed wizard about his first piece of mail.
Harry had to rip his eyes away from the wrapped up journals, and he picked up the letter, opening it cautiously. Unfortunately, his curiosity about receiving the letter quickly fell away as he started to read it, and Hermione could only watch as he seemed to close up right before her eyes. Before she could ask him what was wrong, he was standing up and bolting from the Great Hall, desperate to be alone in case he did the embarrassing thing and started to cry.
Harry searched the corridors for an empty classroom, his heart thundering in his chest. No no no! This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. No no no! Harry ducked into an empty classroom and slammed the door shut, equal parts angry and, well, heartbroken.
The thing was that he wasn't even surprised. It was too good to be true, wasn't it? How could he have even entertained the idea that he would get to have a decent Christmas with... with who? The godfather he didn't even properly know? The werewolf professor who spent twelve years staying away from him?
Harry felt cold, and numb, and he dropped to the floor in a heap, his back leaning against the cold wall. He dropped his head, his arms clutching his knees against his chest. He was shaking with the strain of suppressing his emotions. He felt so much like a child that it only made him angrier. How foolish had he been to believe that they would let him go to Grimmauld Place when they'd forced him to stay at Privet Drive for so long over the summer?
Somehow, Harry just knew that the reason he wasn't going to Grimmauld Place was the same reason that Dumbledore was ignoring him, and it made him rage. He held himself tightly in a ball, trying desperately not to let his magic overpower him, but he had been so looking forward to not being alone this Christmas, and then this! What was -
His anger dissipated quite suddenly.
Harry felt her warm fingers on the back of his neck, effectively ending his myriad of twisting thoughts. He felt smaller than he'd ever felt before, but the comfort of her touch kept him from completely falling apart. He was surprised by the angry tears he could feel on his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away.
Harry was startled by the deep concern in her eyes when he finally managed to look at her. Hermione Granger was kneeling at his side, one hand playing with the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck and the other clutching the letter he'd discarded once he entered the classroom.
"Did you read it?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
She shook her head.
So Harry told her what it said, and how he felt about it. She listened quietly, her eyes expressive and telling. He could see tears spring to her eyes at times, but she did not cry. He'd cried enough for the both of them. He'd cried for how unfair it all was, but it would always be what he had to accept, because he had nobody. These were the people who were supposed to care about him, and they were treating him like... Harry sighed. He felt so pathetic.
But Hermione changed all that when she finally spoke, saying words that both stunned him and filled him with the kind of warmth that seemed to melt away his icy cold anger.
"Come with me."
Harry blinked. "What?"
For a moment, Hermione didn't even realise what she'd said. Then, her mind clearer and more determined, she nodded and repeated herself. "Come home with me," she said. "Spend the holidays with me and my parents."
He just stared at her.
"I want you to," she added. "I won't have you be alone, Harry; not like this."
Harry felt more tears threatening to come. "I - I can't, Hermione," he said softly, thickly. "I won't impose on your family."
"You wouldn't," she rushed. "I'm sure of it. Please say you'll come. We'd love to have you. My parents will definitely want you to stay with us."
"Do you really mean that?" he asked quietly, too afraid to hope for yet another holiday plan that could possibly fall through as well. But she was different. Hermione cared about him.
"Of course, Harry," she said strongly, needing him to know. "We'll write to them during lunch, and then we'll talk to Professor Dumbledore after classes let out."
"What if he says no?"
She gently pat his knee, merely comforting him further. "Don't worry, Mr Potter; I'll convince him. There's no way that he'll say no."
He said no the first two times.
Albus Dumbledore couldn't, in good conscience, allow Harry Potter to leave the safety of the Hogwarts Castle when he knew what was out there. And, really, it wouldn't do to impose on the Granger family with such short notice.
The one thing that the Headmaster didn't anticipate was a truly determined Hermione Granger. She was ready with her counterarguments, even before Dumbledore was done explaining his own reasons for the decisions that he made.
Hermione told him that her parents already said that it would be okay - though they hadn't yet replied to the letter that she had sent with Hedwig - and that they would love to have Harry stay for the holidays. The second reason Dumbledore stated was quickly shut down by Hermione insisting that Dumbledore could cast all the necessary wards on her house himself, if he was so worried about Harry's safety.
And they'd managed to get Dobby to agree to stay on alert for them, and the eager elf would be protection enough, if only to provide a sure and safe escape plan, on the off chance that there was an attack of some sort.
"Well, it appears to me that you've both given this quite a bit of thought," Dumbledore said, seemingly forced into submission.
Until that point, Hermione had done all the talking, and Harry definitely wasn't about to start then. The problem was, well, that he sort of blamed Dumbledore for the fact that he wasn't allowed to go to Grimmauld Place anymore. And he blamed him for the treatment he was suffering at the hands of Professor Umbridge. Because of his own feelings, he didn't trust himself to address Dumbledore.
In fact, Harry was convinced that he would end up accusing the much older man of not caring about him.
Eventually, after receiving a response to everything he said; Dumbledore was forced into agreeing, which surprised both young Gryffindors.
"Really?" Harry asked, and Hermione nudged him to keep himself quiet.
"Indeed, Harry," Dumbledore said.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said quickly, getting to her feet. "When can we expect you?"
"I think I'll go tonight, Miss Granger," he said simply. "It's better that way."
"Oh, okay," she said, nodding. "Well, thank you." She clearly wanted to leave, just in case Dumbledore changed his mind.
Harry found it all rather amusing, but he managed to keep the smile off his face until Dumbledore finally dismissed them.
They'd just left the Headmaster's office when Harry did something he'd never done before, and drew Hermione into a hug tight against his chest. To say she was surprised would be an understatement, but she eventually relaxed into his embrace.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his breath warm against the top of her head.
"Don't thank me yet," she said against his chest, reluctantly pulling back to look at his face. "There are still my parents to consider." She took a deep breath. "I'm sure they won't say no but, on the off chance that they do; I'm going to sneak you into my bedroom regardless."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, is that how it works then? You just invite boys into your bedroom without your parents knowing?"
Hermione flushed a deep red that Harry absolutely loved. "You should be so lucky," she said, rolling her eyes. "My room is awesome."
Harry didn't doubt that.
"This is going to be so much fun," she declared as they started on their way to Gryffindor Tower. "You'll get to meet my parents, and see how not funny my dad is. It's actually sad, you know, but my mum and I just laugh to be polite. Oh, and you'll have Christmas lunch with us at my grandparents' house. Well, it's not really lunch. We normally eat at around four o'clock, because it always takes so long for everyone to arrive. But it's so worth the wait. My nan is a turkey genius. It's going to be great."
Harry could only smile at her enthusiasm. She was truly adorable when she got like this.
He only allowed himself to feel his own excitement when Hermione practically ran towards him at dinner later that night, a letter in her hand and her face giving away its contents. She didn't need to say the words out loud, but she did anyway.
"They said yes!"
After briefly explaining to their friends just what the two of them were on about, Harry settled in to his dinner, feeling calmer than he had all day. The journals were tucked away safely in his trunk, waiting to be inspected, and the most perfect girl was tucked into his right side.
Harry Potter no longer felt pathetic.
He thought they were perfect.
Harry Potter had to wait until after his roommates fell asleep to scrutinise the journals, and he was able to determine that they turned out far better than he anticipated. For a little while, he'd been slightly self-conscious of his own drawing skills, especially with Dean's obvious talents usually on display, but only Harry could draw what needed to be drawn for this gift to be as thoughtful as he needed it to be.
Harry ended up spending majority of Wednesday morning trying to come up with the perfect thing to write in a little note to be attached to the present. Even if he didn't sign it, he just knew she would know it was from him, so there was no point pretending.
His friends had all raised their eyebrows when he'd received another package that morning and, now that he was going home with Hermione; he didn't have to give the watch to her before they left on the Hogwarts Express, as he'd originally planned.
After their classes let out, Harry disappeared behind the curtains of his bed and studied the watches closely, surprised by how calm he felt. If taken the wrong way - which would be the right way for normal people - then the fact that they were a matching set could mean something, but they didn't. Not really.
Did they?
"Just write something," he said to himself. So he did. It was something simple.
Merry Christmas, Hermione. Hope you like them!
Love, Harry.
Of course, Harry agonised over the word 'love.' But then he decided that he did love her, in some way. She was his best friend and their relationship meant the world to him. She meant the world to him, and he wanted her to know.
By the time it was time to head to the Room of Requirement, Harry was a bucket of nerves. She'd gone with him to McGonagall's office so he could give his favourite professor a beanie and scarf set. The Gryffindor Head of House was emotional enough to slip into her deep Scottish accent, which had both Harry and Hermione smiling knowingly.
Harry ventured out alone to deliver his gift to Cho, and they'd talked for a few minutes. He felt awkward around her, and he suspected that it had something to do with how he felt after they'd kissed. After Hermione explained what the Ravenclaw could be feeling, Harry didn't want to make her year any harder than it clearly already was. So maybe this was it, and that was surprisingly okay with him.
Harry couldn't even bring himself to look at Hermione as they walked side by side. He felt nervous and excited at the same time, which wasn't exactly a new combination for him, but it was the first time he'd felt it with regards to Hermione.
When the Trio reached the room, there were already a few students hanging around, each of them holding a present of some sort in their hands. They were all different shapes and sizes, and Harry could practically feel their excitement. Harry made a mental note to tell Hermione that this was the greatest idea she'd ever had. Maybe he should have put that on the note.
Harry moved towards a corner of a room, closed his eyes, and wished for a Christmas tree. A moment later, the Room offered them one, and Harry was the first to pop his present under the tree. The other students were quick to follow suit, and Hermione gave him an appreciative smile when she set down her present. The question he'd been asking her near incessantly was going to be answered today, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
From what he remembered of her reaction to the name; it had to be someone special to her. He was uncomfortable with her having other special people, which was more confusing than worrying.
Once all the students in the DA were present and their gifts were tucked safely under the tree, Hermione started the meeting.
"I'm sure you're all eager to get started on the trading of gifts, but we thought we'd just work for an hour to make sure we all know what to work on over the Break," she said, knowing full well that only some would be able to practice their magic. "Also, when we get back, we're going to start work on the Shielding Spell, so do feel free to read up on it beforehand."
Harry and Ron exchanged an amused look, both of them knowing that practically nobody would read up on the spell. Hermione glanced at Harry in that moment, and caught his snicker.
She turned back to the group. "Also, to be able to receive your gift today, you're going to have to successfully stun Harry."
The raven-haired wizard's jaw dropped in surprise, and Hermione laughed. She was quickly joined by the rest of the group, and Harry forced a glare on her.
"Very funny," he commented dryly, though he couldn't hold his smile at bay for very long.
Hermione's smile didn't disappear. "So we'll work for an hour, and then we'll do presents."
It wasn't up for discussion, and the group quickly got down to business. Harry moved around, correcting wand movements and a few of the pronunciations. In the end, they worked for a little over half an hour before Hermione decided that, collectively, they couldn't wait any longer.
They gathered around the tree like the school children that they were, and Hermione stood in front of them while she explained how it was going to work. "The secret part ends here," she said. "We'll hand our present to our recipient, and then that person will hand their present to theirs, and so on until everybody has received a present. And then we'll open them all together."
Hermione looked at Ginny. "Gin, do you want to get us started?"
Ginny stood up and moved towards the tree. She searched for her present, picked it up and then carried it to Michael Corner. The Ravenclaw blushed and Hermione had to prompt him to get him moving. His present was for Angelina Johnson, who picked Terry Boot, who picked Lee Jordan, who picked Cho Chang, who picked Ron Weasley, who picked Neville Longbottom, who picked Ginny. Hermione had to get Luna to start another thread, and so on until there were only two gifts left under the tree.
"Does everybody have one?" Hermione asked.
"You don't, Hermione," Neville pointed out. "It looks like you and Harry ended up picking each other."
Hermione just stared at Neville, as if she hadn't heard him.
"Go on then," Neville prompted. "Exchange gifts."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, before she started to move towards the tree to retrieve her present. Her hands were trembling, and she hated that all eyes were on her. She wasn't even offered the chance to calm her breathing because she was made aware of the fact that Harry was retrieving his present as well, which she now knew was hers.
Harry's present was hers.
Hermione could barely keep it together. When she stood up with her gift, Harry was right there, holding out a beautifully wrapped gift. Hermione suddenly felt self-conscious. What if her gift didn't measure up to his?
"This is awesome," Harry said, pushing his gift forward. "We picked each other, Hermione. What are the chances of that?"
Before Hermione's mouth decided to sprout out the probability of such a thing happening, she thrust her gift forward, and they made the exchange. Why was he smiling at her like that?
"You could've just told me, you know?" Harry said quietly.
"And ruin the surprise; I think not," she said, thankfully finding her voice. "It was a lot of fun watching you squirm."
Harry just shook his head before he moved to sit down, and she settled in right beside him. She wanted to see his face when he opened his present, and she could only assume that he wanted to see hers as well.
Harry did. Desperately.
Hermione looked at the group. "Let's get started," she said happily. "And remember to thank your Santa."
From that moment on, the entire Room fell away. Hermione's sole focus was on the present in her lap and the boy to her left. In her periphery, she could see Harry delicately work the bow, and then slowly unwrap the paper. She was caught between watching him and opening her own present.
In the end, her curiosity to find out what he got for her won out and she quickly unwrapped the gift. As soon as her eyes caught sight of the first journal, she gasped. "Harry!" It came out as a high-pitched squeak, but everyone else was so focused on their own presents that, really, only Harry heard her. Thank goodness for small mercies.
"Do you like them?" Harry asked, looking at her, concern in his eyes.
"I love them," she said, beaming at him as she looked at the six journals with various different covers. "Harry, these are amazing! How? Just, how?"
Harry gave her his full attention. "Well, I had the pictures, essentially, cut into the leather."
"But where did you get the pictures?" she asked, clutching one of the journals to her chest. "This is amazing. They are amazing."
Harry felt himself blush. "Well, I kind of drew them," he admitted nervously.
Hermione marvelled at him, her eyes displaying the rush of emotion she felt for him. "You're amazing," she blurted out, and then turned a deep red. Redder than the scarf she was wearing. His scarf.
"Thank you, Harry," she said, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him. For some reason, Hermione returned the six journals to their wrapping. They were private, and she could tell that Harry wasn't comfortable with everyone knowing that he could also draw. He truly was a talented boy. It wasn't even that he was a wizard.
Harry was relieved to see her put the journals away, but then her eyes were on him, waiting for him to finish opening her present. Harry finished unwrapping his gift, and stared at the picture frame in his hands for a solid thirty seconds before Hermione got his attention. The picture was one of the three of them, standing in the falling snow, arms spread and mouths wide open. It was perfect.
She decided that she needed to explain. "After you told me about that day in the first grade, I had an idea and, when it started to snow after our snowball fight on Sunday; I had Colin snap a picture of the three of us. And then, well, I figured out how to catch the snowflakes, and so those are all real, enlarged snowflakes in the frame." She gently touched his forearm. "I wasn't able to get you to capture that moment, but I managed to capture this one for you. It probably doesn't mean the same as - "
"It's more," he suddenly said, cutting her off. "It's so much more, Hermione. Thank you."
"You got me all these wonderful notebooks, and I don't know; I feel like I should be getting you something more," she said, dropping her gaze.
Harry used his finger to lift her chin so she would look at him. "You already are, Hermione," he said simply. "I get to spend Christmas with you. Do you have any idea how great that sounds to me?"
Hermione just nodded, and then Ron was upon them, demanding to see what they'd received, and happily showing off his Quidditch Keeper gloves that Cho bought for him. Hermione stuck to the simple answer that Harry bought her journals. She comfortably showed one of them, which had an enlarged snitch and a broomstick - a Nimbus 2000 - encircled in flames.
Ron was the only one who understood the meaning behind the fire, but he made no comment. All in all, there was a rather decent spread of gifts, save for the parchment that Smith insisted on giving Colin. By mutual consensus, Harry, Ron and Hermione had bought Colin some picture developing potion and and some photo paper. The fourth-year Gryffindor looked like he would start to cry, so Harry quickly removed himself from the situation. Colin tended to get quite emotional whenever it came to Harry James Potter.
The DA hung around for quite some time, just chatting and enjoying each other's company and presents. Ron even managed to coax some of the boys into throwing conjured balls at him, so he could use his new gloves.
Harry mentioned to Hermione that he wanted to leave, and she told him that she would go with him. It was just what he wanted, and he was sure she could see the relief on his face. Hermione just smiled at him. They said their farewells, and then the two of them started on their way to Gryffindor Tower. Harry had the picture frame tucked under his arm, and he was already picturing where he would put it on the small table next to his bed.
When they reached the Gryffindor Common Room, they did not split up. Hermione, instead, followed Harry up to the fifth-year boys' dormitory. It wasn't her first time in the room, but she was usually in there with Ron and Harry; not just the raven-haired wizard.
Hermione watched as Harry cleared some space off his night table, and set the frame down, turning it to face his bed so he would be able to look at it when he was lying down. Hermione almost did a happy dance, but she rather just sat down on the edge of his bed.
Harry sat down next to her. "Quite the day, huh?"
Hermione nodded. "Have you finished packing?"
Harry dropped his gaze. "Honestly, I haven't started," he admitted. "I, uh, I keep thinking that you're going to change your mind."
"I'm not going to," she assured him. "Neither will my parents, Harry. So, you should probably get your packing done, or do you need some help?"
"I think I can handle it," he said, blushing slightly.
At that, Hermione stood up. "I'll leave you to it then."
Harry took hold of her wrist to stop her. "I said I can handle it, Hermione; not that I wanted you to leave. Just sit here and keep me company, will you?"
Hermione sat back down and let out a breathy laugh. "All right then, get stepping, Mr Potter. I don't have all day." She watched his face break out into a grin and then she was watching as he bustled about the room, packing his trunk. She shifted on his bed until she was sitting up against his pillows.
Harry couldn't even explain what he felt as he watched her get comfortable on his bed. She kicked off her shoes and then brought her knees up to her chest.
"Do you have a pen?" she asked.
"In the drawer," he said, bending to pack his shirts on one side of his trunk. Because of it, he missed Hermione's reaction to what she found in his bedside drawer. It was filled with all sort of things; things that Hermione would have to call trinkets. She spied several notes that they'd passed to one another throughout the years, a few wizard cards from chocolate frogs, an old hair ribbon of hers, a ticket stub from the Quidditch World Cup and so many other things that warmed her heart.
"Did you find one?" Harry asked, ripping her attention away from the contents of the drawer.
"Right here," Hermione said quickly, grabbing for a pen and shutting the drawer hastily.
Harry gave her a curious look before he smiled at the fact that she opened up one of the journals and started to write. She picked the journal that had a cover that was a picture of the aftermath of the mountain troll incident that solidified their friendship. There were a little Golden Trio standing innocently in front of Professor McGonagall with a troll lying flat on its back behind them, Harry's wand still stuck in its nose drawn on its cover. It wasn't exactly his favourite one, but he loved it nonetheless; especially seeing Hermione with it.
Harry continued with his trunk until he was satisfied it was sufficiently packed, with his clothes for the next day, and his pyjamas near the top. He stood awkwardly for a moment before he moved to sit down on his bed, right next to Hermione. He leaned into her and looked at what she was writing.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Hermione shifted the journal so he couldn't see the words. "I'm writing about today," she said, blushing slightly. "I've decided that this is going to be my new journal. My old one was almost full anyway."
Harry just stared at her, a little in awe.
Hermione seemed to catch herself, just realising what she'd said. "Oh, umm, yeah, I write in journals. Is that weird?"
He was quick to shake his head. "I think it's cool. How long have you been doing it?"
"Since I was eight."
Harry loved that there were still things that he could learn about her. "Do you write about every day?" he asked.
"I try to," she admitted. "I tend to go through two, maybe three per year, so these should last me quite some time."
Harry relaxed further into his pillows. "Do you ever write about me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Hermione glanced at him. She was definitely not going to admit to him that very few noteworthy things that had happened in her life since she met him were not marked by him in some way. Both the good and the bad things. Everything.
"You don't have to tell me," he said quickly, sensing her hesitation.
"Well, it's not that," she confessed, blushing a deep red. "It's just, well, it's a little embarrassing because all I've really written about today involves you."
Harry smiled at her, nudging her gently with his elbow. "If it makes you feel any better, if I did write in a journal; I would have written a lot about you as well. Probably all about you, actually."
That just made her blush that bit more.
"Will you read me some?" he asked. "If you want to, that is."
Hermione took a deep breath. "All right, but you're not allowed to laugh."
Harry made a cross over his heart with his finger, and then closed his eyes. "You have my word, pretty girl."
Hermione just stared at his face for a moment, momentarily floored by the perfect line of his jaw. Merlin. When had this happened to her? Why had this happened? He was Harry. He was her best friend. She was not supposed to be imagining what it would be like to touch his skin, or breathe him in.
Hermione cleared her throat. "'Lavender's scream woke me up this morning,'" Hermione began to read out loud. "'It was more like a squeal actually. Even though it was early, I wasn't all that angry because today was the day I would be giving Harry his present. I finally finished it last night, and I've been quite nervous around him since.'"
"I didn't notice," he commented, cutting in. "But that's probably because I've been deadly nervous around you as well."
Hermione giggled softly. "I didn't notice either," she admitted, and then started to read again. "Umm, I think I'll skip this part. Ah, here: 'Harry received another package this morning, which was confusing. He was smiling secretively all morning, and I swear he kept glancing at me.' Were you? Was I just imagining that?"
Harry chuckled. "I guess you'll just have to find out on Christmas morning."
Hermione flicked him with her finger. "Tell me you didn't get me another present."
Harry grinned, though he kept his eyes closed. "What if I told you that I got us a present?"
She frowned. "I don't know what that means."
Harry pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Hermione huffed, but made no more comment on it. She would have to buy him an extra nice present now. Why did he have to make it so difficult? Hermione read over her words some more, skipping the part where she went on and on about how nice it felt to have him looking at her. How embarrassing.
She eventually continued. "'I didn't realise how worried I actually was until it was time to start handing out the presents. Imagine my surprise when I learned that we'd ended up picking each other. I think that my gift doesn't really measure up to his.'"
"That's not true!" he said hurriedly, his eyes flying open. "I love your gift! I think it's amazing!"
She blinked in surprise. "Oh, uh, okay."
"Please don't think otherwise," he said strongly. "Your gift means so much to me. So much!"
Hermione gently touched his arm. "I hear you, Harry," she said gently. "But let it be known that I intend to get you another present, okay?"
Harry nodded. "Okay." They locked eyes for a moment, and Harry's heart started to race. She was so close, and she was so pretty.
Hermione broke their eye contact first, feeling overwhelmed by their proximity.
"Speaking of presents," he said, kicking his feet and moving to stand up. "Dobby!" he called out and, a moment later, the little elf appeared before him; grinning happily.
"Master Harry," Dobby said, already looking teary.
Harry waited a moment before he rushed to his trunk and pulled out a small, neatly-wrapped gift. He knelt down in front of Dobby. "I know you're going to be on call for us this holiday," he said softly. "But I don't know if I'll actually see you on Christmas Day, so I wanted to give you your present now."
Dobby blinked a few times. "For me?" he asked, his voice shaking.
Harry nodded. "For you, Dobby. You can open it now if you want."
Dobby hurriedly - and excitedly - opened the gift to reveal two pairs of mismatched socks and a knitted beanie. "Wow, Master Harry! Dobby loves, loves!"
Harry glanced at Hermione for a moment, and she was smiling widely. He looked at Dobby once again. "The socks are from me and, well, Hermione knitted the beanie for you," he explained. "See, it's even got holes for your ears." Harry helped Dobby place it on his head, and then the little elf launched himself at the wizard, suddenly sobbing as Harry gently pat his small back. Harry looked at Hermione over the top of Dobby's head and she looked soamused.
"Thank you! Dobby thanks you and Master Harry's Hermy!"
That made Harry laugh.
Hermione glared at him for a moment before she smiled at Dobby when he finally released Harry. "You're very welcome, Dobby," she said kindly. "I'm glad you like them. The hat really suits you."
"And it's red just like ours," Harry added.
It took a further five minutes to get Dobby to calm down fully, and then he insisted on bringing them hot chocolate from the Kitchens, for their date. Harry's eyes bulged at the inference, and Hermione blushed so hard, she had to bury her face in one of Harry's pillows to stop herself from screaming out loud.
That elf!
Harry hadn't even had the time to correct Dobby before he popped away, and then popped back with two cups of the warm beverage, and a plate of biscuits. If it wasn't a date before; it seemed like it was one now. Harry felt nervous for a few minutes, but then he remembered that this was Hermione. She was his best friend above all else, and that wasn't scary. They'd been together through so much, and he was absolutely certain that, despite what happened to them or however they grew, they would always be friends. This evening wasn't going to change that.
Though, what was terrifying - at least for the wizard - was that Harry decidedly hadn't actually wanted to correct Dobby.
And, frankly, neither had Hermione, but the boy wasn't to know that.
Chapter 4
IV
He was painfully nervous.
Harry Potter couldn't bring himself to sit still as he and his friends claimed an entire compartment in the Hogwarts Express on the way back to London. Hermione kept having to put a hand on his knee to stop him from bouncing it.
"Seriously, Harry," she said, eyeing him. "Calm down; there's nothing to be worried about."
Despite the assurance in her words and in her tone; he didn't quite believe her. There were so many things to be worried about. What if her parents didn't like him? What if they thought he was a bad friend to their daughter?
"Hey," Hermione said, cutting into his thoughts. "They're going to love you as much as I - " she halted. No. She was not about to bring that word into their friendship. Wow. What was she thinking? "They're going to love you," she concluded. "I just know it."
Still not truly believing her, Harry still managed to nod his understanding. Hermione believed what she was saying, and that was more than enough for him.
All too soon, the train was pulling into King's Cross Station. The six friends said their goodbyes in the compartment, because the Station was bound to be busy, especially this close to Christmas. People were on their way home for the holiday.
It took Hermione quite a while to spot her parents. Well, parent. "There's my dad, Harry," she said, leading them through the crowd. They hadn't managed to find a trolley, so the two of them were lugging their trunks behind them. Hedwig's empty cage was perched on Harry's trunk. The snowy white owl would meet them at Hermione's house.
And Crookshanks was back at Hogwarts, enjoying Christmas with Hagrid. The half-kneazle had blatantly refused to leave the Castle, and Hermione wasn't going to bend over backwards to convince him until it was completely necessary.
"Hi, Dad," Hermione said, rushing to greet a rather tall man with dark hair, significant stubble and rectangular glasses. They hugged for a moment, before Hermione was beckoning Harry over, ready to introduce him to her father. "This is Harry," she said; "one of my best friends."
Michael Granger couldn't help his chuckle. His daughter was very enthusiastic about the word 'friend.' "I've heard quite a bit about you, Harry," Michael said, putting out a hand.
Harry shook the taller man's hand. "It's nice to meet you, sir," he said politely.
"Oh, Harry, please call me Michael," he said, his tone friendly and light. "But if my wife asks you, make sure to let her know that I told you to call me Mickey."
Harry smiled at him. "So noted, sir."
Hermione looked relieved. "Where's Mum?" she asked her father.
"She went in search of a trolley a few minutes ago," he said, rolling his eyes. So that's where Hermione got it from. "She probably ran into an old friend or something," he said, shaking his head.
Hermione nodded her understanding. Harry just found it all rather amusing.
Michael moved to take Hermione's trunk from her. "Shall we?"
Hermione nodded, before she glanced at Harry to make sure he was okay. When he smiled, the three of them set off to locate Hermione's mother.
As expected, Hermione spotted her mother talking to two other women. Hermione looked at Harry and shook her head.
"It's always like this," Hermione whispered. "She's such a socialite sometimes."
That bit of news was surprising to Harry, and it must have shown on his face because she did the thing and rolled her eyes.
"I'll explain later," she said softly, cryptically.
"Oh God," Michael said over his shoulder. "If we don't put a stop to it now; she's going to end up inviting them over for dinner. All these strays that we keep picking up," he joked, gesturing towards Harry.
"Dad!" Hermione reprimanded, shaking her head and glaring at him.
Harry dropped his head, feeling his heart twist painfully. Was it too late to get back on the Express? He was sure that Hogwarts wouldn't mind having him back. He had known that this would be a bad idea.
Harry was surprised when Hermione took hold of his hand and squeezed his fingers.
"He's just kidding, you know," she said softly. "His jokes aren't funny though. We've been trying to change his sense of humour since I was little. It clearly hasn't worked." She squeezed his hand again. "We want you here, Harry. All of us. I promise."
Harry looked at her to see the truth in her brown eyes.
She absently leaned into him. "Come on, let me introduce you to my mum."
For a moment, they locked eyes, and then she reluctantly released his hand. She spent another moment hesitating at his side, before she took off towards her mother, who finally noticed the approaching trio.
Harry watched as Hermione was enveloped in a loving hug, before her mother pulled back to study her daughter carefully. Critically.
"Is everything okay?" Jane Granger asked in a small voice, looking concerned by the slight frown on her daughter's face. "What did Dad do?"
Hermione stepped closer to her mother. "Harry's already worried that he's imposing, and Dad's jokes aren't helping."
Jane just nodded her understanding as she stood up straight and looked at Harry. "Hello, Harry," Jane said happily. "My name is Jane."
"Hi, ma'am," Harry said awkwardly, waving slightly. "It's really nice to meet you! Thank you very much for allowing me to visit you."
"Oh, of course, sweetheart," she said, stepping towards him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and frowned at the fact that he stiffened at the contact. She glanced at Hermione, who gave a small shake of the head, and Jane dropped her hand.
Hermione was going to have to have a conversation with both her parents when they got home. Goodness, did everything have to be so awkward already?
"Why don't we get going?" Michael offered, speaking up. He dropped Hermione's trunk onto the trolley that Jane had managed to find. "It's doubtful we'll miss the traffic. You kids up for some dinner in the city?"
"Oh yes!" Hermione said quickly, taking charge for both her and Harry. The wizard was too busy lifting his own trunk onto the trolley. "Do you think we can stop by Diagon Alley quickly?" she asked, as they finally started on their way. "I think Harry wants to visit Gringotts to get some money."
Harry gave her a grateful look.
"That sounds all right," Jane said. "Do you feel like Italian?" She looked at Harry. "Do you like Italian food, Harry?"
Harry blinked, suddenly unsure how to answer. The truth was that he'd never actually had Italian food. Did macaroni and cheese count as Italian? He'd only ever eaten the hard crust of a pizza, generous leftovers from his relatives. "Umm," he mumbled. "Sure."
Jane glanced at her daughter again and was surprised to see the soft look of understanding and anguish cross her daughter's face as she regarded the boy walking next to her. They definitely needed to have a talk.
"Then we'll go to Bardelli's," Michael declared, knowing that it was one of Hermione's favourite restaurants.
Hermione practically squeaked from her excitement. "Oh, Harry, you're going to love it," she said to Harry, bouncing slightly. "They have the best garlic bread, I think, in the entire world! And they have these amazing mocktails, which are cocktails but without all the alcohol."
Harry smiled at her, feeling some of his unease fall away. "You sound like a fan?"
"Do I?"
He laughed lightly, and Jane was forced to acknowledge that it was a reassuring sound. There was just something about the teenage boy's eyes that told her that they'd seen too much, and it was a relief to hear him laugh.
It was quite a mission leaving the Station but, once they were all safely tucked away in the family car - which Harry noted was a brand new Mercedes E-Class - they took off towards Diagon Alley. Harry and Hermione made small conversation in the backseat, absently discussing homework and Hermione's mother's prize-winning dessert pies.
"She makes the best ones," Hermione said proudly. "There's this festival market kind of thing that goes up in a park near our house, and they have all these stalls where you can buy food and gifts and all sorts of merchandise. They have raffles, and competitions, and a carousel." She was rushing through her explanation for Harry. "Sometimes they've got live music playing, and a little zoo for the younger kids. It's really quite lovely," she said dreamily, before snapping back. "Anyway, on Christmas Eve, they have a pie contest, yeah, and all the women come out to have their most famous pies judged. Mum has won six years in a row."
"We're looking for lucky number seven," Michael said, sounding about as proud as his daughter.
"Maybe Harry will be our good luck this year," Jane said, smiling at Harry through the rearview mirror.
Harry blushed.
Hermione smiled at him. "And then, after the contest is over, they have a pie-eating competition. It's completely fascinating and disgusting at the same time," she commented, shuddering slightly. "There's this kid, Reggie, who's literally stick-thin, and he won last year. I wasn't there to see it, so I'm still not entirely convinced."
"Why would I lie about that?" Michael asked.
"Do I even have to answer that?" Hermione shot back.
Michael frowned. "You wound me, oh daughter of mine," he said, finally smiling.
Hermione laughed at his antics, shaking her head. Wow, she'd missed her parents.
Harry just observed it all with a content smile on his face. He listened as Hermione told her parents about the latest happenings of school. When she mentioned that she and Harry had ended up picking each other for Secret Santa, Jane went on a bit about the probability of that happening, which made Hermione blush.
And when Hermione explained what Harry bought for her; it was his turn to blush. They were both beet red by the time the four of them entered the Leaky Cauldron. Harry kept his head down, desperately trying not to draw any attention to himself. He gave Tom a small greeting, and then they were on their way.
Gringotts, thankfully, was still open, and Harry was able to visit his Vault without too much trouble. He took out a substantial amount of money, majority of which he had converted into Muggle Pounds. He guessed that he would be doing the rest of his Christmas shopping in the Muggle World.
The way that Hermione talked about Bardelli's; one might think she was exaggerating, but she definitely wasn't. Harry didn't have much experience eating in restaurants, but he was quite sure that this one was lovely. He and Hermione sat quite close together as they pored over their menus, quietly discussing the many meals.
"You can get anything you want," Jane said to them both, though she was really saying it to Harry. "I had the seafood pasta the last time I was here," she said. "Anita, Lucy and I stopped for lunch after Court let out last week."
Hermione leaned towards Harry. "My mum serves as an expert witness for, umm, dental identification in criminal cases," she explained. "Anita is her personal assistant, and Lucy is the prosecutor who regularly calls on her."
Harry just nodded, feeling slightly intimidated.
Hermione pointed at something on her menu. "I think I'm going to have the chicken today," she said. "With gnocchi. Oh, I love gnocchi."
Harry just looked at her, clearly confused.
"It's a type of pasta, Harry," she explained patiently. "It's potato-based. Very tasty. I'll let you try some."
He nodded. "Is, umm, spaghetti bolognaise too boring?" he asked quietly.
Hermione frowned. "Is it what you want?" After his nod, she smiled. "Then of course not. It's one of their signature dishes here."
"I know how to make it," he informed her. "Just, well, I've never really eaten it, and Hogwarts serves us very English food."
Whenever he mentioned things that related to the life that he'd lived and continued to live with his relatives; Hermione's heart broke that bit more for him. She didn't expect him to talk about it, but she always needed him to know that he could if he wanted to.
Once they'd placed their orders, Jane turned her attention to the teenagers. "So, Mick and I are working our last day before Christmas tomorrow," she said. "Do you think you two will be all right by yourselves?"
"We'll be fine, Mum," Hermione replied confidently. "We'll get started on our homework, won't we, Harry?"
Harry resisted the urge to groan. "Of course, Hermione," he said flatly, and both parents chuckled.
"She's a slavedriver, isn't she, Harry?" Michael asked. "It's why we love her."
Harry nodded, though he didn't voice his agreement. That would just give a name to a feeling he was yet to understand fully.
Jane spoke up next. "Will you be all right for lunch? There's leftovers from last night's dinner, but I don't know if you like Shepard's Pie." She looked at Harry. "Are you a fan?"
Again, Harry didn't know how to answer. If he were being completely honest, he'd have to admit that he wasn't a fan of mashed potato, but experience taught him to savour any and all food. Now, he couldn't exactly say that, could he?
Hermione saved him from a response. "We'll be fine, Mum," she said, seemingly ending all talk about food.
Conversation moved on to other things, and Harry enjoyed the lightness of it all. This was just an everyday family, talking about everyday things, and he was lucky to be able to witness it. They talked while they ate, joking about big and small things. It all put Harry at ease.
True to her word, Hermione had Harry try some of her meal, and she tried some of his. They enjoyed the other's so much that they made a mutual decision to trade dishes halfway through, which had the parents exchanging a significant look. Only someone who deeply cared about the other would agree to such a thing.
It was definitely proving to be an interesting holiday.
The drive to Oxfordshire took just over eighty minutes, during which both teenagers fell asleep in the backseat. They were both exhausted from the term as a whole, and the pasta surely didn't help. Jane had to shake them awake when they arrived at the Granger home, and they were both groggy and relatively unresponsive.
"I'll get the trunks," Michael told his wife, and then she ushered the teenagers into the house.
Harry tried to pay attention to where he was going, but he just couldn't. He was vaguely aware of being shown to a room that had two three-quarter beds. He saw flowers, and a lot of purple, before he was lying down, and someone was taking off his shoes. He was in this new, foreign place, and yet he'd never felt safer.
He felt a hand run through his hair, a small pat on his chest, and then the light went out.
Jane closed the door to the room in which Harry was probably already asleep, and went to her daughter's room to find her sitting on the edge of her bed, already dressed in her pyjamas. Truthfully, Hermione wasn't faring much better than Harry, but she was definitely more alert.
Hermione rubbed her eyes of sleep. "I don't even know why we're so tired," she said, yawning. But perhaps she did. They were tired; tired of dealing with people who didn't believe Harry, tired of dealing with Professor Umbridge and her hit squad, tired of having to self-study for Defence Against the Dark Arts, tired of teaching others... just tired of a lot of things, and tonight was the first time they could actually relax.
"Don't you?" Jane asked curiously, moving to sit down beside her daughter.
Hermione blinked. "I don't know," she confessed. "This entire year has been quite hard."
"How awake are you? Do you think we can talk?"
Hermione rubbed her hands over her face, yawned again, and then focused her attention on her mother. "I assume you want to know about Harry?"
Jane nodded.
"He made me promise to be honest with you," she said. "He doesn't want you not to know that his being here puts you in danger, because there's a depraved psycho-wizard who's decided that he wants to kill Harry Potter."
Jane frowned, but decided not to say anything.
Hermione balked at her own phrasing. Things went a little awry when she was tired, apparently. "Mum, you know that Harry is an orphan, and the relatives that he stays with aren't kind to him at all."
"Do they...? Did they...?" she asked quietly.
"I think so," Hermione said sadly. "I don't know if they've ever been truly physical with him, but I know that they aren't affectionate at all, which is why he doesn't really respond that well to being touched by, well, strangers. They starved him, so he looks at food in an entirely different way. He values it all, so there isn't much that he won't eat. For years, he lived in a cupboard under the stairs, and only received his own room after our first year, which really just turned out to be a fancy prison cell, because they locked him inside it. Ron and his brothers literally had to break him out before the start of our second year. Things have never been easy for him, but he still cares so much. About his friends, and our professors, and about - "
"You," Jane said softly.
Hermione fought a blush. "Last year, he was involved in this really dangerous tournament, and he saw some things; experienced things that have forced him to grow up faster than he should have. It's changed him somewhat. He's a lot angrier, and he internalises everything. I've tried to help him; to keep him with me, you know, but there are times when he goes out by himself to brood, and I just hate that he does that to himself. He blames himself for things that he has no control over, and I just - I just want to help him through it all."
"He's very important to you," Jane observed.
"Yes, Mum, he is."
Jane nodded, filing away all the information. "Okay, well, you should probably get some sleep as well," she said, standing up. "I'll have a talk with your father, all right?"
"Thanks, Mum," Hermione said, shifting so she could climb under the covers.
Jane started for the door, but stopped when Hermione called her name. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"Thank you for letting him stay with us," she said sleepily. "I'd hate for him to be alone this Christmas."
"Of course," Jane said, switching off the room's light.
"Oh, and Mum?"
"Hmm?"
"Don't be alarmed if you hear screaming coming from his room," Hermione said, closing her eyes and shifting until she was comfortable. "It's the nightmares. Between the two of us, we'll take care of it."
Jane was too surprised to formulate a response and, by the time she opened her mouth to speak; Hermione's breath had evened out, and the teenager was asleep. Jane just watched her daughter for a few moments before she disappeared from the room and went in search of her husband.
This was definitely going to be an interesting holiday.
He was too tired to dream.
Harry Potter's own exhaustion was all that saved him from a night filled with green lights and Cedric Diggory's cold, dead eyes. It didn't stop him from waking up at the crack of dawn though, and he panicked when he didn't know where he was. Thoughts of being kidnapped and walking out to find Death Eaters flooded his mind before he remembered the events of the previous day.
He was at Hermione's house. Her house, with her parents. He felt his body relax, and he rolled over onto his side. The room was still quite dark, but he could make out a few shapes. He could see another bed across from him, which made him curious.
Harry couldn't get back to sleep so he just lay in bed until he heard the first signs of life. Silently, he climbed out of bed, tried to flatten his hair, and then left the room. He wasn't entirely sure where he was in the house, but he followed the corridor towards the stairs, and then made his way down. It took him a moment more to find the kitchen, and then he was boiling the kettle for Hermione's parents.
Jane arrived to find a not-so-empty kitchen. She was surprised to find Harry, bed hair and all, poised over the toaster, just waiting for it to pop out. She spied freshly cut fruit, several uncracked eggs on the counter next to the stove and the butter ready to be spread on the toast.
"Harry," she said softly, not wanting to scare him.
The boy still startled, turning sharply and his eyes bulging. He blinked a few times before he smiled nervously. "Good morning, ma'am," he said, croaking slightly. "Umm, Jane."
"You're up early," she said, moving further into the kitchen. She wasn't sure how to go about finding out why he was making breakfast without making him think that he'd done something wrong.
Harry shifted awkwardly. "Uh, umm, how do you like your eggs?" he asked eventually.
"Oh, Harry, you know you don't have to do all of this," she said gently. "You're our guest, remember?"
"I know," he said vaguely. "But I don't know how else to thank you. This is the least I can do."
Jane was touched. "Okay, young man, but this is the first and last time," she said, smiling at him. "And I wouldn't mind a fried egg. But, when Mickey asks; we'll say that you already made it before I came down, all right?" She winked at him, and he grinned happily.
Michael Granger was about as surprised as his wife had been to find Harry Potter standing over his stove. His wife was hovering, watching closely in case the young wizard burned himself. Really, she needn't have bothered. Harry looked like a regular old professional, which confused Jane, and then angered her.
After a quick check with his wife, Michael asked for a scrambled egg, which Harry was only too happy to make. Once it was all ready, the three of them sat down at the kitchen table, but Harry wasn't eating.
"I'll wait for Hermione," he said, his cheeks reddening slightly.
"There's no telling when she'll wake up, Harry," Michael informed him. "If she's not up in an hour, you should just go ahead and eat something, all right? Or just wake her up."
Harry immediately shook his head. "I won't do that; she needs to sleep," he said hauntingly, and the parents exchanged a look. What atrocities were these kids going through at school?
"Okay, well, you should nibble on something then," Jane offered. "It might be lunch time by the time she opens her eyes."
Harry smiled. "I reckon if I were to get started on my homework, her Hermione senses would kick in and her eyes would fly open," he said teasingly.
Michael laughed, and Jane smiled.
Jane noted that he was a lot more open, even vocal, when he was comfortable, and she guessed that making them breakfast eased his mind slightly. There were things that she'd noticed the previous night, about the way he would lose himself at times, in a deep sadness, a quiet longing. She noticed him marvel at the little things, like Michael's teasing Hermione, or their asking for his opinions, like he wasn't used to being seen, or actually seeing family.
It was heartbreaking.
Jane told him to make himself comfortable and feel at home, before she and Michael left. She braved patting his shoulder again, and he seemed less surprised by it, but he did still stiffen.
"I'll call later to check on how things are going," she said. "I've left our office phone number by the phone if you need anything, okay?"
Harry nodded.
"And don't you start cooking dinner now, young man," she said, smiling at him.
"I can chop things for you, if you'd like," he still offered.
Jane relented, realising that he wanted to feel useful; like he was contributing in some way. "Just onions and tomatoes," she agreed.
"Done."
And then they were going, and Harry was locking the front door as instructed. The house suddenly felt so much bigger now that they were gone. Harry didn't immediately go upstairs. He returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up, and then he went exploring the downstairs. There were two living rooms, or lounges, a dining room, a large study - with about a million books - a scullery, and a door leading out to the perfect backyard. There was a large veranda with a sitting area, another dining table, and was that a pool table?
There was also a rather large pool, and some kind of jungle gym in the distance. It looked old, and Harry could just imagine little Hermione playing on it. The yard was quite large, with bright green grass peeking through the snow and trees a plenty. It looked like this family cared about the state of their garden enough not to pawn it out to teenage boys.
Harry didn't do much exploring when he went upstairs, mainly because he didn't want to wake up Hermione, and he didn't want to stumble into her parents' room by accident. He did, however, locate the bathroom, and he went for a nice hot shower, brushed his teeth and then got dressed. He tidied up his room, and was able to take it in properly in the light. It was themed purple, which didn't bother him in the slightest.
If he were being completely honest, he'd have to say that he rather liked it.
Once Harry was ready, he took out his Charms homework and then went downstairs to work on it at the kitchen table. He poured himself a glass of juice, and then proceeded to work until Hermione revealed herself.
It was almost two hours later when Hermione Granger finally rolled out of bed. She immediately went to check on Harry, panicked at the empty bed, and then rushed downstairs, only to find the wizard in question in the living room, watching a car show on the television. He didn't see her, and she let out a sigh of relief, before she turned and headed back upstairs to get ready.
The day itself was slow, and beautifully lazy. After the two of them ate breakfast, Hermione showed him around more thoroughly, taking him up her room. She'd been nervous, having him in there, but he was so nice about it, marvelling at all her pictures and posters, admiring all her ornaments and trinkets, and not commenting on her wall of books.
Harry truly loved her bedroom. It was just so Hermione, and he loved that it was her favourite colour. Even the walls were painted a pale green. Green.
Hermione had them work on their homework until she started on lunch. Together, they made some sandwiches and then wrapped up nice and warm to eat them on the back veranda. Harry made them hot chocolate in a thermos, mainly because putting it in cups would make it cold chocolate in next to no time.
They worked some more on their homework before Hermione suggested they stop. Harry made a big show of taking note of this monumental day, which made her giggle. She took them to the study so she could pick out a book to read.
"My parents buy new books all the time," she explained, perusing the shelves. "I get to read them when I get home."
Harry looked along with her. "Do you think they'd mind if I read one as well?" he asked quietly.
Hermione beamed at him. "Of course not! Do you see something you like, or do you want me to recommend something?"
Harry didn't know it then but he was about to ask a truly dangerous question: "Would you mind recommending something?"
Hermione spent the next hour going through all the books she thought he would love. She even dragged him upstairs to her room so she could go through some of her own books. Eventually, after much discussion, they both had suitable books to read - Hermione picked the first in one of her favourite series of books for Harry to read - and they settled down in one of the living room's couches, with festive music playing in the background.
They were quiet for the longest of time, before Harry decided to break it, something important playing on his mind.
"Say, Hermione?" he sounded, his voice a little shaky.
She turned to look at him, giving him her full attention. "What's up, Harry?"
He looked away for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed. She had a habit of doing that. Didn't she know how bewildering it was to have her full focus? "I know it'll probably be a lot of work, and you can totally say no if you want to but, well, I was wondering if, you know, we could - "
"We could what, Harry?" she asked, helping him along.
"I mean, I know I was pretty much asleep but, uh, well, I remember seeing a children's home when we were coming in, and I was wondering if we could, well, visit at some point. Whenever you're free, of course, if that's okay?"
Hermione regarded him for a moment, her heart breaking for him. "When did you have in mind?" she asked gently, and he brightened up immediately.
"Christmas Eve, some time," he said quickly. "I thought we could take some biscuits, maybe some sweets, and I could buy some toys," he rushed, getting excited. "They'd love that. I doubt they get many, if any, presents at all."
Hermione reached for his closest hand and squeezed it tightly, letting him know that she understood. Or she was desperate to try.
Hermione suspected that there were things that Harry experienced with his relatives that he wouldn't tell her, but her own educated guesses told her that the things he didn't tell her weren't good.
Harry squeezed her hand in return, grateful that he didn't have to explain the reasons why he wanted to visit the home.
"I'll have to talk to my parents," Hermione informed him. "We can even bake the biscuits."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Hermione?"
"What?" she asked innocently. "I can bake."
"Can you really?"
"I can follow a very precise recipe," she said proudly. "I think my Potions skills have proven that."
Harry just smiled. "Okay then."
Hermione did the mature thing and stuck her tongue out at him. "I can so bake," she said one last time, and then returned to her book as if the conversation hadn't even happened.
Harry watched her for a moment, smiled gently, and then returned to his own book. Harry enjoyed moments like this. Moments of silence, where the two of them could just exist in each other's presence. Neither of them had the need to fill the space with words, and Harry loved it. Really, he loved everything about being at home with Hermione. As much as he loved the Burrow; he preferred the quiet.
At a certain point, Harry left her to go to the kitchen, where he started on the onions and tomatoes. He placed them in separate containers, and then put them in the fridge. He didn't know what Jane intended to cook, so there wasn't much he could do. His eyes were red when he returned to the living room, and Hermione looked concerned until he told her the reason. Then she just slapped his forearm.
"You know you don't have to do that," she reprimanded gently.
"I want to," he said defensively.
Hermione sighed. "Fine, okay, but just remember that it's not expected of you, all right?"
Harry nodded. He didn't feel like returning to his book, so he decided to lie down. Hermione noticed what he was doing, and put a pillow against her legs for him to rest his head. He looked at her for a moment, asking the question. She just nodded, and then he lay down, propping his feet up over the armrest.
One day in and Harry never wanted to leave. Really, he never wanted to move from this position.
Harry was, however, forced to move when Hermione's parents got home. They happily greeted the teenagers, and Harry was even given his first Jane-hug that made him tense. Jane decided that it wasn't that he was against being hugged; it was just that he wasn't used to it. Between her and Hermione; the boy would end up initiating them by the end of this holiday.
Harry offered Jane his help in the kitchen, and she didn't refuse. She wanted to get to know this charming young man better. She had to, she suspected, because her daughter seemed quite taken with him. Jane trusted her daughter's judgment, but this was the first boy Hermione had truly shown any semblance of real interest in. Sure, she'd written about a Viktor, and maybe mentioned a Ron, but Harry was always in the forefront of her letters and her stories about school.
Jane ended up making a mild lamb curry, that had Harry a little fascinated. They ate it with white rice and a green salad that Harry made. Hermione was tasked with setting the table, and Jane nominated Michael to do the dishes afterwards.
"He's useless in the kitchen," Hermione told Harry. "Really, the only thing he does well, is soup. He's a master at it."
Harry knew that she said it because she knew that he liked soup. Loved it, actually, though she never did quite find out the true reason why. If Harry had a choice, he probably wouldn't ever tell her.
Once they were all settled down for dinner, Hermione mentioned Harry's idea of visiting the children's home, and Jane said that it was a brilliant idea. The praise made Harry blush and he ducked his head. The more Jane talked about it, though, the more Harry's confidence grew.
"We can get some things when we hit the shops tomorrow," Jane offered.
Harry spoke up. "I was thinking maybe some football balls, maybe some plastic goals. Cricket sets maybe, and some dolls," he listed, clearly showing that he'd spent some time thinking about it. "Colouring books as well, and crayons." He fell silent. "I, uh, I have extra money," he said quietly.
Hermione's shake of her head stopped either of her parents from protesting. It was going to take him more than a day for him to ease up. She'd forgot to tell her parents that, despite his hand-me-down clothes and relatively dishevelled look; Harry was incredibly rich. Even he didn't know how much money he had.
So it was decided. They would brave the last-minute shoppers on the last Saturday before Christmas, or die trying. Harry had to laugh at the way that Michael made it sound like they were about to do battle.
"It's a War zone out there, Harry," he said, smirking. "We have to be prepared."
"In other words," Hermione said; "he's trying to say that we're going to have to pack snacks."
Harry laughed. "I take it the lines are really long."
"We'll need a game plan," Jane said.
Harry liked this. He liked sitting down as a family and discussing the actual day, and what they wanted to do the next day. This was the kind of thing he wanted for his own family. A family that he was determined to have one day.
If he survived Voldemort.
After dinner, Michael saw to the dishes while Jane, Hermione and Harry settled in to watch a Christmas movie in the larger living room. Hermione brought down some blankets and extra pillows, and she and Harry made a sort of palace of blankets on the carpeted floor.
Jane watched as they shifted in nice and close, their shoulders touching and arms entangled under the blankets. Jane could tell that, despite Hermione's now obvious feelings - at least to her mother - for the young wizard; the witch was determined to be the friend he needed first. Jane was always proud of her daughter, but she felt even prouder now.
Michael eventually joined them, raising an eyebrow at the picture he found on the floor. His wife merely beckoned him towards her, intent on getting her own snuggle; and the four of them enjoyed the rest of their Friday night.
As a family.