Chapter 33
Notes:
This chapter is kind of a bridge, so not much happens in it. I'll try to add a little more action in the next one.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The shiny scarlet sides of the Hogwarts Express stood out against the backdrop of the snow-white hills and the tiny icy station, which was now jammed with students hurrying to board the carriages and head home for the holidays.
"Trevor! Trevor! Guys, has anyone seen Trevor?"
"…celebrating at my grandma's house…"
"Parvati, Fay, come here quick!"
"…that uncle Felix would pick us up from the platform, and then we would…"
"Trevor! Has anyone seen my toad? Trevor!"
"…until next week. And I thought…"
"Trevor! There you are, buddy! How did you manage to escape from me again?.."
It was the first time in Harry's life that he had travelled anywhere specifically for Christmas, and perhaps that was what made it so vivid and surreal at the same time. He, Hermione and Ron, as well as Ron's little sister, his twin brothers, Percy and the rest of the Gryffindor gang, were all standing in a chattering, cheerful crowd, eagerly awaiting their turn to board the train.
Unlike earlier in the year, when they each lugged a huge suitcase, this time they took almost no luggage with them. Harry also had only his school bag slung over his shoulder, with a few changes of underwear and a toothbrush.
Since there was no rule against students being able to dress as they chose outside of Hogwarts, he had already changed into a pair of his best-fitting jeans, a warm Weasley jumper, and his oversized nylon jacket, the zip of which now worked properly thanks to Hermione's spells. He had wisely decided to leave the rest of his Muggle and wizarding clothes at school – he wouldn't be able to wear robes in the mundane world anyway, and the rest of his clothes looked like they'd been found in a dumpster (which was partly true).
"Why didn't I just think to buy myself some new clothes this summer? Then I wouldn't look like a scarecrow now... "
In fact, he knew very well why.
The Dursleys.
If he suddenly started dressing like normal person in front of them, they would immediately notice and wonder where he got the money from. They might even try to get their hands on his inheritance! Although they would probably have to go to Gringotts first to do that?
Harry snorted as he imagined his prim, magical-hating relatives showing up at the wizarding bank to demand that the goblins give them Harry's money… In that case, he at least might finally be able to find out what was more in them – greed or disgust for "freaks" like himself.
Of course, it was pointless to think about it now, since there was a good chance he would never see the Dursleys again, but Harry just needed something to occupy his mind to keep his worries from getting the better of him.
To say he was extremely nervous about meeting Hermione's parents was an understatement.
He hadn't been able to sleep much of the night before because of it, and now he felt pretty tired. He even felt a little sick with worry, like that day before the sorting, when he was afraid that the Hat would consider him unworthy and say that he did not fit into any house and that he had no place at all in the wizarding world.
"It'll be fine. Hermione said she's pretty sure they'd like me... eventually. And what's the worst that could happen, anyway? They're not going to eat me, are they?"
But his heart couldn't stop beating twice as fast as usual, pumping adrenaline through his veins as if he was about to face a fire-breathing dragon all by himself.
Harry swallowed and nervously adjusted the strap on his shoulder once again as he and the others mechanically wandered around looking for an empty compartment and took a free seat. In addition to his personal belongings, some of the space in his bag was taken up by several packages, the contents of which made him extremely uneasy. Not that there was something dangerous or forbidden in them… It's just... they were Christmas presents that Harry had secretly (and again with the help of the ever-reliable Dobby, thank him very much) prepared for the Grangers.
He just hoped that he wasn't crossing some invisible line with this. Children also gave adults presents on holidays, right? This whole procedure of giving and receiving gifts was still not entirely clear to him... And even more so, he had never tried to do this to make a positive impression on his girlfriend's relatives!
The very fact that he now had a girlfriend was still hard for Potter to wrap his head around. It didn't help that the people around him were also excited and interested in this news beyond all measure and kept staring curiously at him and Hermione wherever they went.
Ever since that Daily Prophet article, Harry had come to fully understand what it meant to be the talk of a small, isolated community of hormone-fueled teenagers who loved nothing more than to talk about someone else's personal life, especially if that "someone" was "the famous Boy-Who-Lived."
It had gotten to the point that over the last two days he had had to stop Colin Creevey's attempts to photograph him or Hermione several times in a rather persistent and abrupt manner. This small and, in general, harmless first-year had been an ardent fan of Harry from the very first days, but before he had never crossed the boundaries, as now, when he literally haunted Potter and his friends at every step, which made Harry feel more and more awkward and irritated.
In this regard, the opportunity to "escape" for a while into the Muggle world, where almost no one knew him and would not pursue him like some kind of celebrity, was a truly welcome respite. All he had to do was to hold out in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Granger until the end of the holidays without offending them in any way, and not explode himself if it suddenly turned out that in terms of sophisticated insults they were not inferior to the Dursleys... A piece of cake, basically!
"I can handle it. I've lived under the same roof with Dudley, aunt Petunia, and uncle Vernon for ten years, so I've been through worse. I just have to be as polite as possible, no matter what, even if they both yell at me and…"
"So what do you think, Harry?"
"Huh? About what?" Potter shook his head, finally distracted from his thoughts, and turned his gaze to Ron, who was looking at him questioningly, clearly annoyed that his friend had withdrawn into himself again and was not listening to him at all.
"I'm saying that you could spend the rest of the holidays with us at the Burrow. Mum would be happy to see you, and Dad too."
"Er... I don't know, Ron."
"Come on, mate! Are you really going to mope around with the Muggles for two weeks?"
Harry glanced sideways at Hermione to see if she had been offended by Ron's not-so-subtle comment, but at that moment the girl was sitting with her nose buried in a book, completely oblivious to everything around her. Harry himself only now realized that while he had been in the clouds, the train had long since set off, and the winter Scottish landscapes were already rapidly passing by outside the window.
Aside from the three of them, Neville was also sitting in the compartment, entirely occupied with trying to calm his rebellious toad and not participating in the conversation.
"Shouldn't amphibians sleep in the winter?" Harry thought out of place, and then forgot about it right away, because Ron continued to look at him expectantly.
Eventually, Potter said uncertainly:
"Well... I suppose we could visit the Burrow for a while after Christmas, if Mr. and Mrs. Granger don't mind."
Obviously, his friend was expecting a completely different answer, because he stared at Harry in surprise, as if he had just spouted some outrageous nonsense.
"What? Why do you need her parents' permission to go anywhere?" Ron blurted out, clearly indignant in his voice. "Are you really going to walk around with her like you're glued to each other now?"
"Hey! We are not…"
"Harry and I don't "go around glued to each other", Ron," Hermione's cool voice broke into their conversation, causing both boys to look down in embarrassment. "Of course he can go if he wants."
"And you? Aren't you coming with me?" Harry asked quickly, not noticing that his words seemed to confirm Ron's previous statement.
He really didn't want to part with her for long, let alone leave her alone in her parents' house. It's not that he didn't trust Mr. and Mrs. Granger, of course, but… well, damn it, he actually did not trust them! He didn't know them at all.
Who could guarantee that they wouldn't try to lock Hermione up or take her somewhere far away, just to keep her from coming back to school? The Dursleys had done that to him several times, and it was only a lucky chance that Harry had gotten to Hogwarts every time! He couldn't let Hermione go through something like that.
It had dawned on Harry how worried she was about the summer, and he was already working himself up pretty badly. If only he had the chance, he would have preferred to keep an eye on his friend until the moment when they were both back at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's protection.
"As far as I understand, only you're invited to the Burrow," Hermione responded to Harry's question in a rather sharp tone, while looking solely at Ron. She still hasn't completely forgiven him for that fight, mainly because he never felt the need to apologize.
"What? No!" The redheaded boy's mouth opened comically. "I mean, of course you can come too, Hermione! Mum invited you both! I just thought you wouldn't want to, since it's always so noisy at our place…"
An awkward silence followed, during which all three sat on edge. Neville, who had been completely forgotten, also glanced at them uneasily, embarrassed to be an unwitting witness to someone else's squabble. He, for sure, hadn't been invited anywhere for Christmas…
Not knowing what else to say to break the unfamiliar, oppressive atmosphere between them, Harry simply decided to change the subject by talking about Quidditch, and fortunately, Ron quickly joined in. The rest of the way, they spent in meaningless chatter. They didn't mention their holiday plans again, but Harry mentally made a note to write to Ron after Christmas. If the invitation was still open, he wouldn't mind spending some time with the welcoming Weasleys... if Hermione decided to go as well.
As London drew nearer, the girl became increasingly tense, and Harry felt his nerves fraying as well. Half an hour before their arrival, she could no longer pretend to be reading, so she put the book back in her bag and stared out the window.
Very soon, the familiar suburbs flashed past the glass, followed by dozens of chaotically intertwined rails. Harry, as always, looked with curiosity at the other trains, wondering what kind of magic might be needed to hide from the Muggles an entire additional line with a smoking ancient steam locomotive running along it, without disrupting the operation of the rest of the railway system.
He wondered if they'll be learning something as complex in their senior years, or if it'll require some additional training. Were there any other schools in the wizarding world besides Hogwarts? Like universities or colleges? Or private schools?..
He almost asked these questions out loud, confident that Hermione, as always, already knew the exact answers, but at that moment the Hogwarts Express slowed even more and smoothly rolled onto platform 9¾.
* * *
"Here we go!" Harry took a deep breath when he spotted Mr. and Mrs. Granger among the crowd of people waiting.
Hermione's parents were standing next to Ron's mother, who had already noticed them too and was now waving enthusiastically. Harry waved back, to which the woman smiled warmly, as if he were one of her own sons. The Grangers looked much less welcoming in comparison.
Once again silently telling himself not to be a coward, Harry helped Hermione take her backpack off the shelf and followed the others to the exit.
"Mum, Dad!" Hermione immediately hurried to her parents, who hugged her tightly from both sides and did not let go for a long time.
"Hello, Harry, dear!" Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley greeted the boy loudly, and then without warning, she grabbed him in her arms and pressed him to her ample bosom in a motherly embrace.
"…llo, Mrs. Weas…" he mumbled incoherently, trying not to choke as the woman's hands gripped his ribs with overenthusiasm. When she released him, Harry's face was blushing with embarrassment and delight at the same time.
After that, Mrs. Weasley hugged each of her children in turn, except for Ron, who managed to jump out of the way in time, grumbling that he wasn't a baby anymore and didn't need to be held like one. Harry could only roll his eyes at that. His friend sometimes had no idea how lucky he was in life.
Suppressing another sigh, Harry turned towards the Grangers, who were still holding their daughter in their arms and looking at him somewhat suspiciously, as if they expected him to pull off some strange hocus-pocus at any moment.
"Alright. Get a grip, Potter. These are Hermione's mum and dad, and you absolutely do not want to get into a fight with them on your first day."
"Mr. Granger. Mrs. Granger," he nodded politely to both of them in turn, carefully keeping his voice steady.
For a brief moment, he thought they were just going to turn around and walk away, dragging Hermione with them, leaving him alone on the platform, but that moment passed. Then, to Harry's surprise, Mr. Granger stepped forward and extended his hand, just as Harry would an adult.
"Mr. Potter," with these words the tall, broad-shouldered man firmly but carefully grasped Harry's chicken-like hand, which the boy hesitantly extended in response, with his huge, rough palm and shook it several times.
"You may call me Harry... if you wish, sir," he stammered, trying hard to keep the nervous blush from creeping up his cheeks and failing miserably.
"In that case, I suppose you should call me David. And her Emma," the man nodded towards Hermione's mother.
"Oh... okay, sir…"
"Is that all your luggage?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
"Did you get here all right?" Mrs. Granger decided to join in the small talk.
"Yes, ma'am."
"The forecast called for a severe storm, and we were afraid your train would be late…"
They said goodbye to the Weasleys warmly, promising to write to them, and then all together moved towards the exit of the station, exchanging similarly cool and polite phrases about the weather and the upcoming holidays. It was rather boring, but surprisingly peaceful, so after a while the invisible spring in Harry's chest began to gradually relax, and his pulse dropped to normal.
It seemed like no one was going to bite his head off right away, which was good news. Maybe if he was really careful, he could survive it.
Hermione, who was walking next to him, also seemed wary at first, but even she thawed out and joined in the conversation lively when it turned to studies and term grades. In this regard, Harry was more than ever glad of her talkativeness, because now he could only nod and agree in the right places, essentially not participating in the discussion at all.
In the parking lot, they were greeted by a brand-new, gleaming white Ford Escort – exactly the kind you'd expect to see from a respectable family of doctors. Looking at the Grangers' car, Harry couldn't help but remember the enchanted Ford Anglia he and Ron had flown to Hogwarts in at the start of the year.
"I wonder where it is now?"
The last time Harry had seen that funny little car, it was badly damaged after crashing into the Whomping Willow and had hurried off into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps it was still living there to this day… if the word "living" could even apply to enchanted, inanimate objects.
After that, it took them about two hours to get to a place lost in the countryside called Hambleford* – also a typical sleepy town with neat, even streets, well-kept parks, a primary school and playgrounds. There was even a small town hall in the central square, next to a church and a number of local shops united into a small market.
It was all so much like Little Whinging that Harry wasn't even surprised when they finally came out onto Birch Alley and parked in front of a standard two-story brick cottage with a tiled roof, wide white windows, and a neat decorative fence around the property. If it weren't for the thick layer of snow covering everything except the area in front of the main entrance and the garage, Harry would probably have seen some flowers and tacky figurines in the flowerbeds.
"Aunt Petunia would approve," he thought sarcastically, but immediately tried to suppress his skepticism, afraid it might show on his face.
However, his perfectionist aunt would probably not have considered the long-untrimmed ivy creeping up the front of the house and the cracked paint on the garage acceptable, which suggested that the Grangers were indeed living people, not some fanatics from a Martha Stewart cult.
"Welcome to our home, Harry," Mrs. Granger smiled at Potter, slightly strained, but still welcoming, to which he responded with some kind of indistinct muttering and also tried to smile.
"Oh my god, just relax already! This is just Hermione's house, not a pixie cage!"
Inside, the building was also fairly ordinary: the ground floor housed a kitchen, dining room, and living room with a fireplace, while all the living quarters and a bathroom were on the second floor. Compared to the house on Privet Drive, this cottage was slightly larger and less cleaned up inside. It also didn't have the same crazy number of picture frames – just four or five on the wall up the steps.
Out of habit, Harry's eyes found the door of the cupboard under the stairs, which looked exactly like the one in the Dursleys' house…
"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione's quiet whisper brought Potter out of his trance, where he froze in place for a few seconds, staring blindly ahead as an inappropriately vivid flashback hit him out of nowhere.
"Yeah… sorry. Just a little out of sorts," the boy replied just as quietly.
"Damn it! What's wrong with me?!"
He resisted the urge to grab Hermione's hand for his own peace of mind. Her parents certainly wouldn't appreciate it. They'd been very careful to avoid The-Topic-No-One-Wanted-To-Talk-About this whole trip, and Harry wasn't about to ruin that illusion right now.
He allowed a brief tour of the house, during which he was shown where he would be sleeping (the west guest bedroom on the second floor, two doors down from Hermione's room), how to use some elaborate, state-of-the-art plumbing fixtures in the bathroom, and so on. The main difference from the Dursleys' residence was the additional room on the second floor, dedicated exclusively as a library and study.
"If you like reading, you can take any books you want from here," Mrs. Granger offered kindly. "Just remember to put them back in the same place, alright?"
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you. I'll remember."
As he quickly realized, the love for the most diverse literature in this house was clearly passed down by inheritance. Bookshelves were found here not only on the second floor, but also in the living room and even in the kitchen.
"Hermione's bedroom is probably filled with books too. I wonder if she has any stuffed animals like the other girls? Ron said his sister's room is filled with dolls and teddy bears..."
Harry cast a warm, smiling glance at Hermione, to which the girl responded with a questioningly raised eyebrow and a slight blush. As if in answer to his thoughts, she suddenly offered:
"Harry… do you want to see my room?"
"Huh? Yeah! Of course."
"Just keep the doors open, you two!" Mrs. Granger's stern voice intervened.
"Mum!"
"You heard, Hermione," Mr Granger sounded even less benevolent and was currently staring at Harry, who swallowed loudly.
"Dad! We never intended to do anything like that!"
"Okay. But we still want the door open, you understand?"
"Yes, dad."
Red as a pair of Quaffles, Harry and Hermione finally disappeared into her bedroom, leaving a crack between the door and the frame as they had been told. They didn't notice Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchange a worried glance one last time before they went downstairs to give the two teenagers a little time alone… but only a little.
Chapter 34
Notes:
Sorry for the long absence, folks, lots of shit has been going on lately. This chapter turned out to be more disturbing than I expected, but I tried to fix it by the end.
Chapter Text
"Well, that was awkward…"
Hermione and Harry exchanged glances and simultaneously snorted nervously.
"If only my parents knew how right they were in their suspicions," Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly, feeling how she was only now beginning to let go a little, when the adults finally disappeared over the horizon and took their oppressive atmosphere with them.
The whole way here, she chattered like a magpie, trying to cope with the panic attack that had been threatening to overwhelm her ever since she'd caught her mother's suspicious and unnervingly knowing gaze.
In the very near future, Hermione was definitely going to have a conversation, and this would not be the standard lecture "about the birds and the bees" that her parents gave her in the summer, but a real Conversation with a capital "C"…
Meanwhile, Harry, unaware of his friend's new concerns, looked around her bedroom with curiosity.
"I wonder what he's thinking about? "
Out of habit, Hermione bit her lower lip, waiting with some trepidation for his verdict as his eyes slid over her many bookshelves, which were still unable to accommodate her entire collection of literature and watercolours, causing some of them to lie in piles on the floor.
"Your place is very... cozy," Harry finally muttered, still looking around.
"Thanks."
"I didn't know you could draw, Hermione. It's so beautiful!"
She blushed with pleasure and didn't bother to correct him. In primary school, she attended a whole bunch of different clubs, including ballet and painting, which were her absolute favourites. For a while, Hermione even lived under the illusion that she had a talent for painting, until she took part in several regional competitions and realised that, compared to other people's works, her landscapes and still lifes were, at best, mediocre.
"Can I see them?" Harry pointed to the nearest stack of drawings.
"Er… yeah, sure, if you want."
They both sat down on her bed, which soon became completely covered with sheets of paper showing local streets and the park at different times of the year. Some of them were more successful, others less so, but Harry examined each drawing carefully, as if they were real paintings in a museum. Eventually, he set aside one that he liked the most, which depicted a rather accurate image of a lonely, empty bench surrounded by yellowing autumn leaves.
"Wow. Does he really like it?"
"If you want, you can keep this one," Hermione suddenly offered before she could stop herself.
"Oh my God, why did I say that?! He was probably just trying to be polite! And now he's going to think that..."
"Really? Thank you!" Surprisingly, the boy looked genuinely happy as he carefully accepted the A5-sized sheet, now tucked into a plastic sleeve.
Inspired by his interest, Hermione immediately pulled out from the shelves and showed the boy all her favorite encyclopedias with photographs of famous works of art, many of which she had been lucky enough to see in person in museums with her parents or on school excursions.
"All of this was made by normal people? By hand?!" Harry exclaimed, staring in awe at the image of Canova's Cupid and Psyche from the Louvre, which truly looked as though some medieval wizard had simply waved his magic wand and turned a pair of living people into marble statues, adding wings to one of them in the process.
Lying on their stomachs on top of the blanket, surrounded by dozens of open art books, the kids had completely lost track of time and only realized it when Hermione's mother's voice came from the first floor calling them to dinner.
As they hurriedly cleared away the mess and put the books back on the shelves, Harry began to feel distinctly nervous again as reality once again caught up with him, reminding him that he was still in "enemy territory". Hermione herself felt uncomfortable, and it wasn't even because she had never had school friends or boyfriends come to her house before (she had neither before). Harry's status in relation to her was quite unusual, and she didn't know how much longer she could hide from her parents the fact that their marriage was no longer just a formality.
"Just act natural," she whispered to Harry as her last piece of advice.
"Right…"
* * *
The rich aroma of pork stew greeted them in the dining room, making both teenagers' stomachs rumble loudly. They had barely managed to grab a couple of sandwiches each in the Great Hall that morning, and now, despite their growing excitement about the upcoming evening in the company of Hermione's parents, they were feeling quite hungry.
"Where's dad?" The girl asked, helping Emma set the table.
Harry, meanwhile, was also, without being asked, deftly setting out plates and cutlery, as if he had been doing this all his life. Emma said nothing to this, but she didn't stop him either, even though he was technically a guest in their home and shouldn't be doing such things. She continued to glance at the boy with interest, obviously wanting to understand whether he was trying to make a good impression on her or whether this was his usual behavior at home.
"He'll be here later. He still has some work to do at the office."
"Okay…"
"One less problem," Hermione couldn't help but think.
It wasn't uncommon for one or both of her parents to stay late at work. When she was a little girl, and their family clinic wasn't doing as well as it did now, she rarely saw them at home at all, often staying overnight with a nanny. Back then, the elder Grangers worked long hours, trying to make ends meet and make a name for themselves as young professionals. It was only a couple of years ago that they managed to reach a truly stable plateau, which allowed them to devote more time to each other and Hermione, but by that time Hermione herself had already begun to spend three-quarters of the year away from home.
As much as they all loved each other, they still couldn't be as close as some other families. On the other hand, it also spared them most of the petty domestic dramas and squabbles that arise between people when they are forced to live under the same roof day in and day out…
With Harry's extra help, Hermione and her mother finished setting up the dishes fairly quickly. Only towards the end did a strange situation arise in which the boy suddenly hovered between the kitchen and dining room, as if unsure of what to do next.
"Harry? Are you coming to eat?" Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly, looking at him expectantly from her seat.
"Er…" Harry's features took on a familiar closed expression that was difficult to interpret. The confusion with which he looked at the empty place left for him at the table… It seemed that a little more and he would simply run away from here in horror!
"What's going on?"
Since her friend was still hesitating, Hermione had to stand up again, take his hand and almost forcefully lead him to the table, sitting him down on the chair next to her.
"S-Sorry. I'm just... um... not used to eating in company," Harry stuttered very quietly.
He still refused to tear his eyes away from the empty plate in front of him. His cheeks were pale, and he sat strangely hunched over, literally on the very edge of the chair, as if he expected to be thrown out at any moment.
"What's the matter? Why did he say he wasn't used to eating in company?"
It was a very strange statement, considering that Harry clearly had no problem sharing meals at Hogwarts, but Hermione decided that now was not the time to ask him about it. Her gut instinct was screaming at her that this particular topic was much more dangerous and deeper than it initially seemed.
"It's all right. Hermione usually likes to eat in her room too, especially when she's into something," Emma commented delicately and smiled at the boy when he finally raised his timid gaze to her.
"Really?"
"Yes. When she was five or so, David and I took her to the Sherlock Holmes Museum for the first time. After that, she refused to leave her room for three days until she'd read the entire series! In the end, she even made us buy her the detective's hat, coat, and pipe, and then spent another year "solving crimes" in kindergarten…"
"Mum!"
Despite her crimson face and the loud indignation in her voice, Hermione was actually grateful to her mother for being able to turn everything into a joke so cleverly. Listening to her stories about the silly adventures of five-year-old Hermione, Harry was quietly chuckling into his fist. He noticeably relaxed and finally stopped casting wary glances around.
"Was it really that bad with the Dursleys? What did those nasty people do to him?!"
Not for the first time, Hermione wished sharply that they weren't allowed to do magic outside of school, and that she couldn't cast some particularly nasty hex on Harry's relatives, who had clearly treated him like trash all these years. The way he was acting today only confirmed her worst fears.
Although Hermione and Emma were both now trying to avoid sensitive topics, switching to more neutral conversations about shared hobbies and interests, Harry still spoke and acted much more reservedly and timidly than he had at Hogwarts. He practically jumped out of his chair when the door slammed in the hallway, announcing David's return.
"Blimey, it's a real blizzard out there…" the man said absentmindedly as he entered the dining room. His dark blond hair was still glittering with droplets of moisture from melted snowflakes, and his figure showed a fair amount of fatigue.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Harry's fingers tightening on the seat of his chair, as if he was trying to physically stop his own body from trying to jump to its feet to… do what exactly? Greet Hermione's father as if he were a teacher walking into the classroom? Set the table for him by himself? Run out of the room and hide somewhere until the end of the evening?
While the boy was struggling with the unhealthy reflexes that had been instilled in him, and Hermione was mentally listing in alphabetical order the names of all the poisons she knew that she would definitely like to try on the Dursleys if the opportunity arose, Emma kissed her husband on the cheek and placed an extra set of cutlery in front of him.
"Is everything alright at the clinic?" She asked.
"Michael called. They've moved the delivery of the X-ray machine and laser to the 30th, so I had to deal with it."
"He could've given us more notice!"
"Yeah, well, he said he only found out himself this morning…"
Exchanging phrases about work, the adults left the youngsters alone for a while, so Hermione took the opportunity to check on Harry. Her friend was once again far too pale and tense, clearly under a lot of stress at the moment. He was eating very slowly and carefully, surreptitiously watching Hermione's father, who was busy with his portion of stew and a discussion about the latest equipment due to arrive at their clinic after the holidays.
"I'll have to talk to Harry about this. If he keeps flinching away from mum and dad like that, they'll think he's weird."
To be honest, Hermione also thought Harry's behavior was odd. It was as if he had suddenly changed completely in just one day. While he was never the loud type, he'd never been this shy around adults at Hogwarts – his verbal battles with Snape were already the stuff of legend. So why was he so scared of Hermione's parents, to the point where he practically froze in their presence, clearly trying to blend in with the furniture?
"Harry..." she leaned towards the boy and whispered, getting his attention. "Are you alright?"
He visibly flinched, taken by surprise, and stopped eating completely. Judging by the force with which he gripped his fork, he was just one step away from a nervous breakdown.
"What exactly is it that frightens him so much?"
Sighing, Hermione discreetly lowered her right hand under the table and found Harry's palm—much to her surprise, he immediately gripped it tightly, as if a drowning person had clutched a lifebuoy. His skin was damp with sweat and very cold beneath her fingers.
There was clearly something wrong with him, and Hermione was growing increasingly worried, especially since she still didn't know the exact cause of the problem.
Unsure of how else to help her friend without drawing her parents' attention, she began to gently stroke Harry's palm and wrist with her thumb. She really wanted to be alone with him, and maybe hug him if he'd let her.
"If you want, we can leave now," she suggested, still quietly. "We can read something in my room or watch TV in the living room…"
Harry didn't answer, still clenching his jaw tightly, but nodded briefly.
* * *
"Maybe I should put on something funny or romantic… Or would an action movie be better? I hope Harry doesn't mind something light…"
Hermione thoughtfully went through the names of the films and cartoons they had at home. Not only Harry but she herself also needed a good distraction after such a long, emotional day.
Her parents, fortunately, were still engrossed in their own conversation, and so they nodded when Hermione said that she and Harry had eaten their fill and were going to watch a little TV before bed. Grabbing a bowl of fruit and biscuits from the kitchen, the teenagers retreated into the living room with relief.
Harry had remained tensely silent until now, and Hermione, curbing her own natural urge to immediately get to the bottom of what was happening, was also in no hurry to ask questions. Instead, she decided to turn her attention to the tapes that took up an entire cabinet in the living room (her dad was an avid movie buff, so they had quite an impressive video collection at home, including both the best classics and the latest releases).
"What would you like to watch?"
Harry mumbled something noncommittal in response, so the choice eventually fell on the first Christmas-themed comedy film that came to hand.
"Home Alone?" The boy read the title on the box aloud.
"It came out a couple of years ago. You've probably seen it already…"
"Actually, no. I haven't."
"But it was on in all the cinemas!" Hermione almost exclaimed, but realized in time that, given the Dursleys' stingy nature, Harry probably didn't have many opportunities to go to the cinema or anything else…
The black rectangular mouth of the VCR swallowed the tape with a pleasant clatter, distracting her from another uncontrollable wave of upset and vengeful thoughts as the 20th Century Fox logo flashed on the TV screen and welcoming fanfares began to sound.
Having turned off the overhead light, she and Harry comfortably settled down right on the floor, putting pillows under themselves and covering themselves with a blanket. If Hermione's parents thought this was too much, well, to hell with it! She was too tired and harried to pretend to be cold and unapproachable any longer. In fact, she had been fighting the urge to hug Harry ever since they had walked through the door, and so now, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she leaned her side against the boy's and was happy to feel him instinctively press against her in return.
"Relax," she whispered in his ear. "It's okay."
"But your parents…"
"They won't say anything. We're just watching a movie, that's all. I'm not forbidden to watch movies with my friends."
"Oh… okay…"
Under the cover of the blanket, she let her hand find Harry's again and intertwine their fingers. Aside from the glare and sounds from the screen, the living room was pitch black and quiet. In their current position, Harry's neck was only a few centimeters from Hermione's lips, and it took a serious effort not to kiss his pulse point.
"Get a grip! Mum and dad are just a few meters away. Don't push your luck any further!" Hermione reminded herself sternly. "You and Harry need to hold out for exactly two weeks. How hard can that be?"
Clenching her will into a fist, Hermione tried to completely detach herself from reality, concentrating exclusively on the movie… which was quite a task, given the close warmth of Harry's body and the sweet scent of his skin provocatively tickling Hermione's nostrils.
As for Harry, at that moment he was staring straight ahead, utterly spellbound. Every now and then, he would mechanically scoop up a snack and pop it into his mouth, without ever taking his eyes off the screen for even a second.
"Why is he always so cute?" Hermione sighed deeply. Pulling her hand from beneath the fabric, she brushed a stray strand of hair from the boy's forehead, something he didn't even notice, too absorbed in what was happening on the TV.
Since she had already seen this particular film several times, Hermione found it far more interesting to watch Harry. Depending on what was happening on screen, he would either freeze in suspense, gasp, or quietly chuckle. It seemed he was completely absorbed by Kevin McCallister's antics and the hapless Wet Bandits, whose biggest mistake in life was attempting to rob Kevin's house, assuming that an eight-year-old boy wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight.
"That reminds me of something…" Hermione chuckled, remembering their own showdown with Quirrell last year. Judging by Harry's smirk, he was thinking the same thing.
Towards the middle of the film, Hermione, giving in to fatigue, laid her head on the boy's shoulder, and he, just as automatically, put his arm around her for comfort, pressing her even tighter to himself. Surrounded by the cozy cocoon of the blanket and the calming scent of Harry, Hermione blinked hard several times, trying to clear the drowsiness from her eyes. Her eyelids stung, as if someone had poured sand into them.
"Maybe if I close my eyes for just one minute..." was her last coherent thought before the sounds and colors around her completely blurred, and she fell into a deep slumber.
Chapter 35
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
With a loud gasp, Harry jolted awake, his eyes snapping open wide as he stared blindly into the surrounding darkness, heart pounding. The hair at the nape of his neck was matted with sweat, and his muscles were tense, ready for a fight.
In a way, it was starting to become a bit of a tradition.
"Dobby?" He whispered hoarsely at random, sitting up in bed and simultaneously trying to feel for his glasses under the pillow.
His half-asleep brain immediately thought of a house elf, which wasn't such a stupid guess – Dobby had recently taken to barging into the boys' dorm in the middle of the night and waking Potter up for various reasons. However, this time he was met with complete silence.
"I'm not at Hogwarts," Harry remembered after a few more seconds. "This is the Grangers' house."
The remnants of the bad dream still swam before his mind's eye, preventing him from focusing on reality. Mostly, it featured Dudley and his rat-faced friend, Piers Polkiss, chasing Harry around the Dursleys' cottage with a crowbar. They were shouting that they were going to break all his fingers and then rob the house… The latter, of course, was complete nonsense, because why would Dudley need to rob his own home? But the main difference from his real memories was that this time, Harry was holding a pump-action shotgun…
With each passing minute, the surreal night visions became more and more blurred and distant, leaving behind an unpleasant taste of bile in his mouth.
He was terribly thirsty.
Still disoriented, the boy tried to find any source of light nearby, and eventually, his hand managed to fumble for the switch on the bedside lamp.
Click.
A soft yellow light flooded the room, effectively dispelling the darkness, causing Harry to squint unaccustomedly. As soon as his eyes could see anything other than blurry patches of light again, he carefully searched the room, just in case. If Dobby had come here, he needed to be shut up as quickly as possible – preferably before he woke Mr and Mrs Granger…
"No one, it seems."
Yawning widely, Harry rubbed his reddened eyes under his glasses and licked his dry lips. He really didn't want to drag himself down to the kitchen for water, but he doubted he'd be able to fall asleep again right now.
"I'll just have a drink from the tap in the bathroom. It's not that far," the boy decided, threw off the blanket and slipped out of the room on tiptoe.
Outside, it was dark and very quiet. Clearly, everyone except him had long since gone to bed and drifted off into deep sleep. Harry wasn't sure exactly, but judging by how he felt, he had managed to sleep no more than three or four hours since the film had ended and he and Hermione had been sent off to their rooms.
Before that, the girl had already dozed off on his shoulder, so he had to call her name loudly several times, shaking her arm insistently, before she finally woke up with a disgruntled groan… and immediately, as if by instinct, reached for him again, forcing Harry to jerk away at the last moment to avoid… whatever it was she had been about to do next.
Under different circumstances, he wouldn't have minded, but at that particular moment, it was far too awkward, considering that Mrs Granger was looming over them with a confused and questioning expression. In the dim light, Harry couldn't quite make out the woman's face, but he would have bet half his vault at Gringotts that she hardly approved of what she had just seen…
"Harry?" A loud whisper caught Potter right in front of the bathroom door, causing him to jump almost a meter and swear under his breath. His heart was pounding somewhere in his heels.
"Hermione?! Bloody hell!.. What are you doing here?"
"Going… er… from the toilet? And you?" The girl looked at him uncertainly, all disheveled and sleepy, dressed in one of her plaid flannel pajamas, similar to the ones she wore at Hogwarts.
"To drink."
"In the toilet?"
"In the bathroom. From the tap," he felt very stupid, standing in the hallway in the middle of the night in just his underwear and a T-shirt and trying to explain something like that to Hermione.
They continued to stare at each other for a while, until Hermione sighed and asked suddenly:
"Do you want cocoa?"
"Yeah."
"Then let's go," she smiled at him and grabbed his hand, pulling him along with her.
* * *
Still holding hands, they crept silently downstairs, not turning on any lights along the way, because Hermione, of course, knew her way around her own house just fine without one.
In the kitchen, they only switched on the minimum number of lamps – along with the glow from the streetlights and the snowflakes drifting outside the window, it instantly created a mysterious atmosphere, perfect for a midnight snack.
"Take a sit."
Sitting down on the stool as instructed, Harry let his friend take over the search for suitable cups and jars. With his elbows on the countertop, he watched silently as she put the milk on the stove and then, with a very concentrated expression on her face, measured out the necessary amounts of cocoa powder and sugar for each cup.
"Just like in Potions," the boy snorted silently.
Despite the fact that Hermione had given him quite a fright a few minutes earlier, Harry was now glad that he wasn't alone. No one had ever made him cocoa in the middle of the night, not even when he was very young and very ill. It made him feel strange, but at the same time, it was nice. Every instinct in his body was telling him to get up immediately and make some himself, but Hermione had told him to sit…
Before he had time to properly comprehend this confusing situation, a large cup of steaming drink appeared in front of him.
"Cinnamon?"
"Yes, please."
They sat in comfortable silence, sipping hot cocoa and listening to the wind howling outside. Like the previous day, it was snowing mercilessly again, which meant tomorrow would be a classic white Christmas.
Last year, Hogwarts had snowed too, not only outside but also inside the castle, especially around the huge fir tree in the Great Hall, where one of the professors had conjured up huge snowdrifts of magical, unmelting snow… Harry hadn't seen a Christmas tree or any decorations on the theme anywhere in the Grangers' house, which was a little disappointing, but he was ready to put up with such minor inconveniences for Hermione's sake.
"Perhaps the Weasleys like holidays more?"
He really hoped to stay with them for at least a couple of days. Mrs. Weasley had treated him with warmth from the very beginning, as if she truly considered him one of her own children, which was far more than he actually deserved. And though Harry had already prepared and sent a gift for her and each member of the Weasley family this year, he also wanted to thank the kind woman in person.
Besides, Ron had managed to buzz his ears about how cool wizards celebrated Yule and other old winter holidays, so Harry couldn't wait to see it with his own eyes…
"Penny for your thoughts?" Hermione looked at him curiously over the top of her cup.
"It's nothing, really…"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think your mum and dad would be okay with letting us go to the Burrow for a few days after the holidays?"
"I don't know… Maybe?" She said slowly, and then asked, "Do you really want to go?"
"Well... I think it would be great," Harry answered honestly. "Ron said that Charlie and Bill are coming this year too. If there are enough people, we could all play Quidditch together…"
"Oh, so that's what it's all about! You're just itching to get back on your broom!" Hermione pointed a finger at him disapprovingly.
"Hey! That's not…" He immediately shook his head in fear, trying to explain, but she interrupted him again.
"Harry, relax. I'm just kidding."
"Oh…"
Judging by the mischievous smile and the twinkle in her eyes, Hermione really was just teasing him, and he fell for it.
"Although you know…" she muttered after a while with a thoughtful look, after which she looked at him with her intense mesmerizing gaze, from which the sleeping beast in Potter's subconscious instantly woke up, reacting vividly to her signals. "To tell the truth, I wouldn't really like to share you with the entire Weasley clan… even if it's only for a few days.
"Huh?"
Without giving him time to fully process what she had said, she cast a quick glance towards the stairs and, not noticing anything suspicious there, set her cup aside with a determined look.
"What is she up to?"
Rising from the table, she walked around the tabletop, thus ending up almost right next to Harry.
"H-Hermione?"
"What is she doing?! How…" This thought stalled and faded in his mind when Hermione's face was suddenly just a few centimeters from his.
"You see…" she whispered hotly right into Harry's lips, still not touching him, "apparently they don't have much space, so you'll probably have to share a room with the other boys…"
"Yeah…" he swallowed hard when he felt her warm hands on his shoulders. With each new beat of his pulse, it became more and more difficult for him to understand coherent speech, and he wanted more and more to just forget about the risk and kiss Hermione right there, in the middle of the kitchen, where her parents could walk in at any moment.
"…especially if Charlie and Bill come too…" she moved to the right, lightly touching his cheek.
"Y-yeah..."
"And Ron said it's always so noisy there..." a tiny teasing kiss on the jaw.
"Oh…"
"…and that the walls in their house are so thin…"
"Jesus!" Harry choked on air as Hermione's lips finally pressed boldly to his neck, kissing the spot just above his jugular.
A second later, the last remnants of his intellect and willpower threw up their hands and gave up the ghost, as her warm tongue briefly flicked across his skin, leaving a damp trail in its wake.
"Mione…" He moaned her name under his breath, spreading his knees and letting her settle between them so that her stomach was pressed tightly against his half-erect cock.
"Shhh… We have to be really quiet, okay? Otherwise mum and dad will hear… Can you be quiet for me, Harry?"
All he could really do now was nod dumbly like a bobblehead, completely unable to speak, as her fingers slid up his neck and cheeks to bury themselves in his hair, doing something unimaginable to every nerve in his body.
"Good boy…"
"Oh god, oh god, oh god…"
This cheeky little witch was literally pulling his strings like a puppet, and Harry didn't mind at all. He felt like soft wax in her hands, and he was ready to let her mold him into whatever she wanted.
He had no idea where she had suddenly gotten the nerve to openly kiss and cuddle him while her parents, who still knew nothing about the new level of their relationship, were asleep upstairs, but there was no way Harry was going to ask her to stop. If they did end up getting caught, he was damn well prepared to face the consequences! Or so he thought… Anyway, it didn't matter at the moment! At the moment, both he and Hermione were too horny and excited by their new experiences and their attraction to each other to think clearly.
After quickly checking the perimeter once more and making sure there were no adults in sight, Hermione took a deep breath and placed her hand right over Harry's erection.
"Shit!.."
"Don't swear," she looked at him deliberately sternly, but a moment later she smiled slyly again, looking with pleasure at the boy's face, twisted in ecstasy.
"Oh…"
Acting on instinct, Hermione gave his hard cock a little squeeze through the fabric of his boxers, then slowly moved it down his shaft, drawing another strangled gasp from Harry.
"Please… Mione, please…"
Leaning back on the stool as far as he could without collapsing onto the floor, Harry tried his best not to moan out loud as she began to clumsily jerk him off dry. Her pupils glittered with excitement and pure curiosity, mixed with a bit of fear that they might be caught doing this, but not an ounce of embarrassment.
Having got the hang of it, after a few minutes she began to speed up, so that Potter shuddered and hissed:
"Stop! Stop! It's too fast!"
"Oh, sorry… I think I got a little carried away," she let out a stifled laugh.
"It's okay. Just… go slower, okay? That's it… yeah… oh… A little faster now…"
Hermione listened attentively to his instructions, trying to follow them as closely as possible, which was not so easy to do, considering the presence of pants.
"The living room?" she muttered after a few more half-painful, half-pleasurable movements.
"Yes!"
Carelessly leaving the light on in the kitchen, they galloped to the sofa in the living room, somewhere along the way tearing off Harry's underwear. After waiting for him to sit comfortably again and spread his thighs, Hermione immediately, without thinking, settled herself between them, lowering onto the carpet.
At the same time, Potter's erect member was right in front of her face. Although the room was quite dark, her vision quickly adjusted, and so she had no difficulty in seeing it all.
"Wow…" Hermione visibly froze, staring intently at this swaying teenage phallus in the air, proudly rising to its full length before her. It was as if she was thinking about what to do with it next...
"Hermione?" Harry called quietly and uncertainly after another minute, when nothing happened.
"Oh, no... Has she changed her mind already? Please, no! Please!"
"Hm?"
The girl slowly tore her fascinated gaze away from his crotch to look back at Potter's face, who was staring at her with a pleading puppy-dog gaze, terrified that she might just stop and leave him like that.
"Oh!" She blinked, gathering herself and biting her lip sheepishly. "I'm so sorry! Here, let me just…"
Her thin, delicate fingers wrapped around Harry's hard shaft again, then pumped it back and forth a few times.
"Uh…"
Throwing his head back on the back of the sofa, Potter closed his eyes, surrendering himself to Hermione's mercy once again, completely relaxing under her leisurely movements, which became more confident with each time.
Moving her fist in a steady walking rhythm, the girl stared at the head of his penis, which sometimes emerged from the leather bag, then hid there again, to then once again appear outside with a drop of sperm inside the forked tip. Completely absorbed in this new and exciting activity, Hermione played shamelessly with Harry's foreskin, speeding up or slowing down again, lightly squeezing his organ or moving it around it in a spiral…
"Mione… oh… a-ah… wait… wait a minute…"
She stopped immediately.
"Did I do something wrong?" Her brown eyes shone with concern.
Harry hastily shook his head:
"No, no! It's nice! But it'll just be much nicer if… er… if you wet it first."
"Wet it?" The girl frowned in confusion.
"Yeah. Like with saliva or… or some kind of oil…"
"We should have olive oil in the kitchen. Will that do?"
"Yes. I think that should work…"
Before Harry could finish speaking, Hermione had already jumped up from her seat and rushed into the kitchen, and then returned just as quickly with a saucer of olive oil and a pack of napkins. Her face was burning with an undisguised desire to continue what she had started.
"She's experimenting on me!" It suddenly dawned on Potter.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek quickly to keep from laughing out loud – it was so much like his smart, wonderful, straight-A student friend.
When Hermione discovered something new and curious, she usually immediately sought to study it in as much detail as possible from all sides in order to achieve the best effect, and right now the "phenomenon" that interested her was Harry's erect penis dripping with pre-cum.
"Very thoughtful," the boy smiled, pointing to the napkins.
"Thank you," Hermione shrugged casually. After applying some oil to her palm, she grabbed his cock with increased enthusiasm.
"O-o-o-oh…" Harry had to slap his hand over his mouth to stifle a desperate moan when he found himself in a ring of warm, slippery flesh, slowly moving around his aroused shaft.
"Feels good?"
"Yessss… oh, yes… very good…"
"Then I'll continue," Hermione smiled, extremely pleased that she had managed to elicit such a strong reaction from him.
She began to stroke him again, generously lubricating his phallus with oil from top to bottom, forcing Harry to tear his fingers into the sofa cushions and bite his lips in a frenzy, trying not to break into loud guttural screams that would surely be heard even on the street.
"Hermione… ahh… Mione…" He just couldn't shut up, no matter how hard he tried, so she had to do it for him.
Still moving her hand between Potter's legs, Hermione rose up on her knees, leaning forward, and captured his lips in a hard kiss.
"Mmm…" He groaned softly and opened his mouth, happily letting her inside.
For a long time after that, they were happily exchanging saliva, colliding lips and tongues with a loud wet smack, breathing quickly and heavily. As the degree of excitement between them grew, Hermione jerked Harry's penis faster and faster, causing the boy to squirm under her palm, throwing his hips up and slamming hard into her fist.
"Mmm… mmm-mmm…"
Meanwhile, Harry's hands had a life of their own, sliding under Hermione's pyjama top and up her ribs, greedily grasping at her tiny breasts, drawing a low, excited moan from her throat.
"Harry…"
* * *
They were finally off the chain, kissing hungrily and roughly while Harry was still furiously fucking Hermione's fist. He wished it was her vagina. He wanted to cum in her womb so badly…
"Hermione… fuck… I'm going to…"
"Come, Harry…"
"Mione… ah… Mione!.."
"Come for me!"
"A-ah!.."
Grabbing Hermione by the hair at the back of her head, he roughly shoved his tongue into her mouth, kissing her with all his passion and at the same time slamming his hips hard.
"Mmm... mmm..."
He jerked once, twice, and three times before ejaculating loudly, spraying his hot, sticky sperm right onto her palm.
"A-a-a-ah!.."
"There you go, Harry… there you go…"
"Mione…"
"That's it… Let it go… Just let it all go…"
"Hermione… a-ah… You…" By the end his voice had completely given out, breaking mid-sentence when, for no apparent reason, he felt a lump in his throat and his eyes begin to sting.
"I'm here… I've got you."
"S-sorry. I don't know why I…"
"It's okay, Harry. It's okay…"
Hearing Hermione's quiet, comforting muttering, he couldn't bear it any longer and buried his face in her shoulder, shaking with muffled sobs… while not really understanding what he was crying about.
It was all just too much for him.
This whole day, starting this morning... Or even earlier, with that nasty article... Or with the letter...
This whole trip and meeting Hermione's parents… And this gorgeous, cozy family home, so similar and so different from the fucking Dursleys' cottage! And Harry himself, sticking out against the backdrop of this ideal picture, like a disgusting stain of dirt that cannot be hidden...
He felt so small, so out of place here... He just knew that he could never really fit in!
And then there was Hermione, who refused to understand it! She had always been so kind and patient with him… so generous that Harry couldn't bear the thought of him brazenly invading her life, using her in such a vile way!
"I… I d-don't deserve…"
"What? Harry, what are you talking about?" She frowned in concern, trying to make out anything coherent in his incoherent, stuttering babble.
"I don't d-deserve you, Hermione… and… and your family… and…"
"What?!" She was so shocked by his words that she even stopped rocking him in her arms and pulled back to look at his flushed, tear-stained face.
"I'm… I'm bad. I don't d-deserve you…"
"Harry James Potter, what the hell are you talking about?! You don't deserve me? That's the dumbest nonsense I've ever heard in my life!" She hissed in absolute fury, unable to believe that he actually meant what he said. "You're not bad! For that matter, it's me who doesn't deserve you! Remember, this whole thing was my "brilliant" idea to begin with!"
"No, it's not your fault, Hermione! You're just…"
"I know!" She barked at the top of her voice, no longer caring who could hear or see them, she was so angry and upset at this point.
"Huh?" Potter faltered, confused that no one was arguing with him this time.
"I know it's not my fault, Harry! Actually, none of us are to blame! We're just kids! We didn't know what we were doing! I was just trying to figure out a way to protect my life, and you, as always, were there to help because you're a good friend!"
"But…"
"Tell me, Harry," she said softly, not taking her eyes off him, "if you'd known in advance how all this would turn out, would you still have agreed to perform the ritual?"
"Of course not!"
"Exactly!" Hermione raised her index finger admonishingly. "That's what I'm talking about. You just wanted to do what was best. And you did what was best at the time, given the facts you had in hand!"
"This sounds logical… And she's right. Just like always," Harry realized. Just because he couldn't shake the bone-deep feeling of guilt about literally everything in the world didn't mean that this feeling was justified in the case of his and Hermione's problem.
As if to confirm his thoughts, Hermione said:
"Believe it or not, I feel much better too. I… well… I'm not exactly resigned, but I think I'm starting to get used to it… and to you, too," she finished more calmly and smiled softly, to which Harry smiled back shyly.
"Really?"
"Why would I lie to you?"
"I don't know… I just thought that…"
"Hm?"
"I thought I was using you like this," he confessed.
"Using me?" Her eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.
"Well, yeah. For… er… pleasure," he waved an embarrassed hand at his still bare lower half, which was covered in semen and olive oil. There were also a few similar greasy stains on Hermione's pyjamas (Harry really hoped they were washable).
"I see…" Hermione drawled. "Well, you know, you're not the only one here!"
"Er…?"
"Don't you get it yet?" Her lips stretched into a teasing grin. "You're not the only one enjoying this, Harry."
"Oh…"
"So she…?"
"Yep," Hermione nodded, then took a few tissues out of the box with a businesslike air to start cleaning up the mess while Harry was still stumped. "I like it too. And I really enjoyed being with you just now, I mean it!"
"But you didn't…?"
"No. But it's okay!" she hastened to assure.
"Are you sure?" Harry still wanted to make sure that she was actually okay with this and not just trying to calm him down like a cranky toddler.
He also grabbed one of the napkins, quickly wiped off the remains of the nasty sticky liquid as best he could, and stood up to find his underpants (which, as it turned out, had somehow managed to fall behind the secretary).
"Absolutely. Harry, I like seeing you feel good."
"But I want you to feel good too!" Potter exclaimed, a little louder than he should have. "Like… really good, you know?"
With that, he froze in front of Hermione in the unlit living room, next to the half-tumbled sofa where she had just made him come. Here and there, the remains of his cum were drying on the upholstery, demanding immediate cleaning…
"We just had sex again. In Hermione's parents' house. Almost in front of Hermione's parents! And Hermione liked it!!!"
He liked it too. Madly!
"Well…" Hermione dropped a pile of crumpled, dirty napkins on the floor and came back to Harry, putting her hands on his shoulders, while his own hands just as naturally found their rightful place on her waist. "In that case, I suppose we'll have to work on this a little…"
Chapter 36
Chapter Text
The little bell above the café door gave a cheerful jingle as Hermione and Harry squeezed inside, their arms piled high with shopping bags from the shops down the street.
"I still don't see why we needed to buy so much stuff," Harry grumbled for what felt like the hundredth time, struggling to drag along the mountain of parcels, each larger than the last. Most of them were filled with clothes and shoes for both him and Hermione, along with books, vinyl records, souvenirs, and who knows what else. He felt like a pack mule and would have definitely rebelled against such injustice if Hermione hadn't been carrying just as much, if not more.
"It's Christmas Eve, Harry! The sales are on!"
"Never thought you were such a shopaholic…"
"I'm not. But it'd be silly to miss such a good bargain while it's on," she said, lifting her chin proudly and marching triumphantly towards one of the empty tables by the window.
With a heavy sigh, Harry followed her. For the most part, he was just relieved to finally free his arms, which had almost completely gone numb by now. Due to a recent nervous breakdown, which he was still ashamed of, he barely managed to get any rest that night, and as a result, he had been fighting off yawns all day…
When Mr. and Mrs. Granger announced that, straight after breakfast, the whole family would be heading into town for some shopping, Harry hadn't expected it would turn into hours of trying on trousers, shirts, boots, and coats. In truth, he half expected that they would leave him at home or even insistently ask him to take a walk somewhere in the park until the evening, just to get out of the way, but it turned out quite differently. After giving the teenagers a generous amount of pocket money, the adults dropped them off by the local "Marks & Spencer", making them promise to meet back at the café nearby at exactly two o'clock.
"Looks like this is my chance to pick up some decent muggle clothes," the thought crossed Harry's mind.
However, he soon regretted it as lunchtime drew near, and Hermione still showed no signs of stopping. His wardrobe had already grown by several dozen items, including trivial things like socks and handkerchiefs. She seemed genuinely determined to buy up half the shops in Hampleford for him (he promised himself he'd pay her parents back every last penny).
In the end, he had to put a stop to the madness when she tried to pick out underpants for him.
"I think I better go alone," Harry said firmly, standing outside the underwear section.
"But..."
"Hermione," he had to gently grab her by the shoulders and say quietly in his most persuasive tone, looking intently into her eyes, "You're my girlfriend, and I love you very much, but please, could we just meet at this very spot in about ten minutes, okay?"
"Well… alright."
Not entirely sure she'd have the patience not to follow him, Harry shot into the boutique twinkling with lights, grabbed the first set of boxers in his size with a seventy percent discount, quickly paid, and dashed back outside just as fast, trying not to think about the curious elderly saleswoman who probably heard his dialogue with Hermione from the first to the last word. His ears were burning.
After that, he was completely incapable of trudging through the icy streets any longer, laden with bags. Luckily for him, Hermione, who appeared only a few minutes after him, looked just as tired and didn't argue when he pulled her towards the café.
After ordering a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and a plate of warm blueberry muffins with chocolate chips, the teenagers stretched out their aching legs with pleasure, resting while they waited for their order. Popular Christmas songs played softly from the speaker overhead, not intrusive enough to disturb their thoughts, so they and Hermione just sat in silence, gazing out of the window, floating along with the quiet festive atmosphere that filled the place.
"What a weird day…"
Harry's head was spinning from all these new experiences – mostly pleasant, though unfamiliar. Since yesterday morning, he felt like that girl, Alice, who one day, quite by accident, fell into a magic rabbit hole, where each subsequent event and encounter was even stranger than the previous ones…
Hermione's family was not at all what he expected. But then, how many other families did he know, not counting the Dursleys and their neighbors? It was obvious that the Grangers were very different in character from the inhabitants of Privet Drive, even if they copied them in many ways, from their ordinary, completely normal house to their equally ordinary, completely normal way of life.
They dressed like everyone else and acted like everyone else, and although at first this made Harry quite tense out of habit (from personal experience, he knew that it was exactly those normal, ordinary people who usually couldn't stand him), in the past day and a half, they hadn't shouted at him, shoved him, or called him a freak even once. On the contrary, it seemed they didn't worry at all, leaving Hermione alone with him as if they genuinely trusted him enough.
They spoke to him politely, though without much warmth, but maybe that was just how they were used to interacting with everyone, not just with unfamiliar and suspicious boys like him? After all, they didn't talk to Hermione the way Mr. and Mrs. Weasley spoke to their children, but did that necessarily have to be a bad thing? At least now, Harry could understand where Hermione got her tendency towards introversion and her preference for quiet, solitary time with books – both her parents were exactly the same.
Even their conversation at dinner seemed unusual to Harry: no one was shouting for more bacon on their plate like Dudley, or trying to swallow the whole portion in one go like Ron; no one was cracking dirty jokes or setting off firecrackers at the table like Fred and George; no one was laughing until they dropped, putting their elbows on the table, clanking dishes, or trying to shout down the others... In fact, if it weren't for the subconscious fear that Harry felt about his girlfriend's parents, who had yet to find out that he had not only dated but slept with their underage daughter, he might even have said that he was pleasantly surprised by how peaceful and comfortable the evening at the Grangers' house turned out to be.
And as if it were the cherry on top, after dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Granger even allowed him and Hermione to stay up late watching television! For the first time in his life, Harry had the opportunity to watch a film from beginning to end, and not secretly, through a crack in his closet, but sitting in the living room, under a soft, warm blanket, devouring sweets and fruits, like the most ordinary twelve-year-old child! At one point, he even caught himself genuinely laughing, feeling absolutely happy…
"The Grangers are cool!" Harry knew that for sure now.
In a wave of gratitude, he was even ready to forgive them in advance any possible slaps and swear words in the future, if he somehow managed to anger them (and he almost certainly would anger them, because that was what he always did around adults).
They could have quite rightly considered him their enemy and forbidden Hermione to be friends with him, but instead they invited Harry into their home, fed him, gave him his own room and generally treated him like an honored guest! Today they even let him and Hermione go alone, allowing them to walk around the town center without an escort and buy whatever they wanted! And Harry expected that they would keep an eye on him until the end of the holidays…
Compared to this, aunt Petunia, who in his early childhood had never allowed him to play with Dudley, as if the frail, puny Potter could somehow hurt or even kill her fat son, looked like a real paranoid.
* * *
"Your order," a lanky, spotty waiter, who somehow vaguely reminded Harry of Percy, took their hot chocolate and muffins from the tray and set them on the table. Then, with a detached look, he asked the usual, "Anything else?"
"Nothing for me," Hermione shook her head. "What about you, Harry? Want some ice cream?"
"Not right now. Maybe a bit later…"
The face of the wall clock hanging above the cash register was too far away, so Potter, with his dingy old glasses, had to squint hard to make out the exact time.
"Almost 2 PM. They'll be here soon…"
Barely five minutes had passed when the bell above the door rang again, and sure enough, the elder Grangers appeared at the entrance (even in his mind, Harry still had a hard time thinking of them as David and Emma). Spotting the kids, they headed over to their table.
"Had a good time?" Mrs. Granger smiled at Harry and Hermione in turn.
"Yeah."
"Looks like it was productive too," Mr. Granger chuckled, nodding toward the pile of shopping bags.
"David!" his wife nudged him in the shoulder.
"Dad!" Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "It's just a bit of clothing!"
"Just a bit, sure."
"Didn't know you were such a shopaholic, Hermione," David teased her a little more, causing Harry to choke on his hot chocolate, trying to suppress a laugh.
Exchanging light-hearted jokes and news about what everyone had bought, they ordered a cup of black tea without sugar for Emma and more hot chocolate for everyone else, along with four portions of apple crumble with ice cream, drizzled with various syrups.
Harry's portion came with soft caramel, and it was absolutely delicious. While he was wolfing it down, he tried his best not to look like he was dying of hunger, but still ate too fast. The only thing that had tasted as delicious was at Florean Fortescue's in Diagon Alley! Glancing at Hermione, he noticed her crumble was covered in dark red syrup.
"It must be strawberry or cherry…"
"Want to try some?"
Clearly, she had caught his envious glances, which Harry hadn't managed to hide.
"Uh… No, it's yours," he mumbled, biting his lip in embarrassment.
A moment later, he blushed even more when Hermione scooped up some of her ice cream, picking the most syrup-soaked part on purpose, and held it out toward him.
"Say 'A-a-a'!"
"Herm…"
"What the actual…?!"
"Hurry! It's dripping!"
"A-a-a!.."
Harry's heart pounded in his ears as he awkwardly swallowed the cold, sweet mess, barely registering the taste. Perhaps it really was cherry... or was it strawberry? He didn't dare look over at Hermione's parents, who were surely staring at them with wide eyes right now.
"What's gotten into her today?! And yesterday too!"
He couldn't figure out whether Hermione was trying to "gently" prepare her mum and dad for the shocking truth, or if she had simply gone mad. Both seemed equally plausible, so Harry wasn't ruling out either option just yet.
"Ahem," Mr. Granger's dry cough broke the uncomfortable silence that hung over the table. "It seems you two have become… close lately?"
"That's putting it mildly!"
Harry was certain that if this went on for just a little longer, he'd disapparate out of here straight to the bloody Himalayas, where no one would ever find him! Hermione, on the other hand, was as calm as a sphinx. Today, she had clearly decided to grab the bull by the horns, judging by how she straightened up in her chair, confidently looked her parents in the eye, and then, without a hint of doubt, said:
"Yes. That's right. Harry and I are dating now."
"GRYFFINDOR!!" Harry internal Sorting Hat screamed in his head so loudly that his ears actually began to ring.
"I see…"
After that, all three Grangers sipped their drinks for some time with a completely indifferent look, as if Hermione had not just dropped a couple of tons of TNT on her parents' heads.
"Is this a normal reaction? What's going on?!"
Harry's back, neck, and even arms were covered in a dense network of goosebumps as he waited warily to see which of them would make the next move. In the end, that person turned out to be Mrs. Granger.
"How serious is this, Hermione?" she asked as the pause began to drag on uncomfortably. "You do realize that, given the circumstances, your father and I are bound to be worried?"
"I understand. And so is Harry."
"Uh-huh…" he hooted like an owl and nodded woodenly, still not daring to say anything longer (mainly because he doubted that his speech apparatus would be able to produce anything more complex than incoherent mooing).
"Really? Because I still think that…"
"Mum, dad," the girl put down her cup and looked at them very calmly, which immediately made Potter tense up, sensing something was wrong. "There's something Harry and I need to tell you about…"
"What?! She's not going to… right here?! In public??!" His blood pressure shot up to a dangerous maximum.
"Wait!.." He tried to stop his girlfriend, but it was too late.
Hermione had already opened her mouth again, and then said loudly enough that even the neighboring tables could hear her:
"Harry recently confessed to me that he loves me, and I told him that I have feelings for him too. It's serious."
"BOOM!"
Harry's heart pounded erratically, teetering on the edge of a heart attack and stroke all at once, but he could finally breathe again.
"Well, at least she hasn't spilled our biggest secret… yet."
"Harry, is it true? You told Hermione that you love her?" Mrs. Granger was now fully focused on him. Mr. Granger, meanwhile, continued to maintain a heavy silence, allowing his wife to play the role of interrogator.
"I… er… said?" Potter bleated, sweating heavily under his sweater. His brain had just short-circuited, so he could hardly find the right words. "I mean… er… yes? I mean, yes! Yes, I said!"
"What, they want me to repeat my confession to Hermione right here?! In front of everyone?!"
The cups on the tables and even the glass in the window frames began to buzz more and more clearly, as the emotional vortex in the boy's chest grew, finding no outlet. Luckily, Hermione noticed this in time and quickly covered one of his fists hidden under the table with her palm, trying to calm him down and prevent him from destroying everything here with a burst of elemental magic.
"Get a grip, you chicken shit! Nothing terrible is happening! They still don't know about Hermione and I fu… hmm… They don't know about anything yet! No one is going to kill you yet. You're in a cafe. There are a lot of people here. No need to make a scene!"
Hermione's parents clearly hadn't missed her earlier gesture, judging by the way they scrutinized the two children sitting before them. The longer they stared, the more some realization seemed to grow in their eyes…
Harry, for his part, strained to read anything from their perfect poker faces too, but it was like trying to find a pulse on a chair. Even if they were planning to unscrew his head and stick it on top of the Christmas tree in place of the star, he'd have no clue.
"How simple it was with the Dursleys! Those idiots had only two default states: complete indifference and primitive rage… "
"Is that all you wanted to tell us today?" Mr. Granger asked after a while, still piercing his daughter with a scrutinising gaze from beneath his thick eyebrows.
"Yes," she nodded. Probably only Harry, sitting closest to her, noticed how her throat twitched nervously at that moment.
"Alright then."
"Phew… The charge is neutralized!"
Potter grinned sourly to himself at yet another militaristic metaphor that for some reason kept popping into his head today. Maybe it was because, despite how reasonable Hermione's parents seemed, he still felt the constant need to stay on guard around them.
"Two weeks. We only have to hold out for two weeks… or maybe even less, if we can convince them to let us go to Ron's place…" Harry reminded himself for the umpteenth time, trying his hardest not to lose his nerve.
He glanced back at the wall clock, only to find that the minute hand had barely crawled forward by fifteen measly ticks.
"Well then…" Mrs. Granger sighed loudly, before abruptly changing the subject with an overly cheerful tone. "Anyone fancy more ice cream? Harry? Hermione?"
"Er… no, thank you. I think I'm full."
"Me too."
"Lord, give me strength… This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life!"
And he had never been more right…