Category:F/MFandom:Harry Potter - J. K. RowlingRelationship:Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Additional Tags:Soul BondSoulmateslords and ladiesHarry Potter is Lord PotterOther Additional Tags to Be AddedMemories from the futureHarry Potter is Obsessed with Hermione GrangerHermione Granger is obsessed with Harry PotterotpPossessive Harry PotterPossessive Hermione GrangerBAMF Harry PotterBAMF Hermione GrangerOverpowered Harry PotterOverpowered Hermione GrangerThey both have a lineageJealous Ron WeasleyBut he grows upMorally Grey Harry PotterMorally Grey Hermione GrangerDraco Malfoy is Not OkayMasturbationEventual SmutIn this house we don' believe in Sirius Black's deathHorny Harry PotterGryffindor Girls Are Girls' GirlsHot Harry AgendaHot Hermione AgendaHermione Granger is a Little ShitSmart Harry Pottergraphic smutHermione featuring Weasley Twinschaotic duoNeville the emotional support we all needTitle from a The Last Shadow Puppets SongMorally Grey Albus DumbledoreHarry Potter is hung and we all know itDirty TalkHermione Granger Has a Praise Kinkand water is wetSquirtingHand JobsCome EatingNot Canon CompliantOral SexAccidental VoyeurismImproper Use of ParseltongueBook 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince69 (Sex Position)Loss of VirginityFirst Time
Sweet Dreams, TNOnlysa_SSummary:Harry Potter dreamed.
Then he woke up, and his decisions turned his whole world upside down -in the best way possible.
With knowledge of what not to do, a lovely best friend and a few goals he promised himself to achieve, Harry will change history.
If it were the last thing he would do.
Notes:Hello, brilliant fellow Harmony shippers!
I'm S., and I will be your author for the day. Nice to meet you.
Just a few rules around here:
-Don't like, don't read;
-Always be kind, there's real people behind the screen;
-Have fun and spread positivity, not meaningless hate.
I would like to inform you that yes, I'm playing God with Canon. So, if something doesn't add up or the timeline doesn't match the books, it's probably on purpose.
Recs and respectful corrections are welcome!
P.S: please, be patient- English is not my first language.
Kisses, S.
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Chapter 1: Mulling MemoriesChapter TextHarry had stormed to his dorm in a huff, frustrated by yet another argument with his best friend over the damned Potions book.
His relationship with Hermione had always been peculiar. Not exactly complicated, but certainly layered- as they were both, well, layered people. He prided himself on being at the very least a bit more self-aware than Ron, after all.
Harry quickly showered, lost in thoughts about his female best friend. His train of thought was scattered- his memories of Hermione too many to count- but still somewhat interconnected.
They rarely had a serious row over something trivial- yet another way in which he was different from his other best mate- and as such he couldn't understand why she was so fixed on this particular issue.
He would readily admit that he had sometimes found Hermione annoying, especially in his younger years at Hogwarts, but he had realised a long time ago that the worst of her tendencies were mostly an exasperation of her most endearing traits. Sometimes, Harry thought he had a knack for amplifying Hermione's nature: when she was naturally protective, with him she sometimes approached overbearing; where she was diligent, she became militant, and so on.
Well, in all fairness, he did have a magnet for trouble. That's why he didn't hold it against her most of the time. That, and the fact that she had mellowed out with time. A bit.
That was what he referred to when he talked about layers. Hermione was often misjudged, even by himself sometimes, for the front she provided to the larger public. Bookish, rule-abiding, strict, genius Hermione.
And she was all of that- but not just that either. She was devious when she wanted to be. The episodes where Rita Skeeter (in a jar) and Marietta Edgecombe (who was, visibly, still a snitch) were concerned came to his mind. Honestly, she had probably broken more school rules and Ministry laws than him- a time-turner, everyone? A real fucking minors made militia? That was all Hermione's brainchild, and these were the times when he really adored his best friend.
Well, these and the times when she had embraced, comforted and supported him over the years- the TriWiz being at the forefront of his mind. Merlin, he had missed Ron during the preparations for the first task, but he hadenjoyed having Hermione's focus on him, and the deepening of their friendship. She had saved his sorry hide more than a few times over the years now that he thought about it, and God knew how many times more she would in the future.
He had no doubts about her friendship- in no universe would Hermione, who was loyalty personified, abandon him to his devices over a book of all things.
But yeah, when thinking back, finding himself replaced in Hermione's life after their fourth year had been a blow to their bond. He couldn't understand exactly why he felt that way, but he did. An entire summer without contacting him, especially after everything he had suffered, was not what he had expected from Hermione -Dumbledore's orders or not. He then went to Grimmauld Place and found Hermione and Ron thick as thieves, even if they still argued a lot, and he had felt left out. That only worsened when they were made Prefects and he hadn't.
He refused to acknowledge the small, vindictive part of his brain that had rejoiced in Hermione's confusion and slight disappointment when Ron had received the badge. He had liked that Hermione seemed to think he deserved it more, that her reaction meant she -on some level- respected him more than Ron, that she had expected for him to be chosen instead.
Harry knew he had no reasons to feel displaced, in particular when he could remember favouring often Ron's side of things to keep the peace, or because he just enjoyed his 'fun' best mate more than his studious one during his leisure time- even when in the end, the one to stay was always her. Not that she wasn't funny per se, she was just more naturally serious in disposition than Ron -and he had been fourteen. In fact, she had a sharp, needling sense of humour that sometimes had him in stitches.
Harry threw on his T-shirt, retiring for the night.
He had no right to expect Hermione to prioritise him, especially after he had voluntarily brushed her battle injury under the rug. It was something he just couldn't deal with.
It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it. The truth was, shamefully, that he knew it was his fault and he didn't want to open that can of worms, lest they eat him alive.
They fought at the Ministry because he had been deceived. Hermione had been almost sliced in half because of him, and he was scared. Hermione was the one person who had always believed in him, in his abilities and potential, in his judgment. What if she didn't trust him anymore, after that debacle? Just look at the Malfoy thing. He knew Malfoy was up to something sinister, probably connected to Voldemort on some level, but Hermione had been sceptical of his observations.
Would Hermione from fourth year have been so unsure, even dismissive? Maybe yes, she was a person who valued facts more than anything else, after all. Or not, maybe she would have been unsure, but would have helped him clear away his doubts. Had Hermione stopped believing in him? He didn't want to know.
What had happened to them? Had he done something wrong- other than almost getting her killed? Had he taken her for granted a bit too much, sided with Ron one too many times when he was in the wrong, and she had started pulling away from him because of it?
Why did it bother him so much that they were not as close as, say, they were during the Tournament?
In a distant part of his brain, he wondered when the last time Hermione had given him one of her signature hugs had been. Had he been too unresponsive, so she thought he didn't want her close at all? He liked her hugs. They were very warm and just- very Hermione. She was safe, in a way. She felt right. He knew that, come hell or high water, he was protected and wanted in her embrace. That's what a best friend should feel like, he thought. He fucking missed his hugs- he hadn't appreciated them when they were abundant, and now that he didn't have any- he shook his head, returning to the previous train of thought.
She would stop at nothing to keep him safe, that he knew- even from himself.
He would never admit it, not even under the pain of death, but Harry deep down understood that she had been right to go straight to McGonagall about the Firebolt. She didn't handle the situation at best, certainly, especially going behind his back, but he could acknowledge that her intentions were good- and warranted, at the time.
Was it because he was doing better than her in Potions? Was she jealous of his grades? That honestly didn't sound like Hermione. She was not that shallow- she loved to be at the top of the class, of course, but she would never sabotage someone else to be. Especially Harry.
Maybe the book was another Firebolt situation? It could be. It did look a bit dark. But she said she considered it cheating? He didn't think he was cheating. For once in his life he was enjoying Potions, and his grades could actually help with obtaining the memory from Slughorn. After years of nagging about putting more effort into his studies, he finally does well, and she has a problem with that?
He really didn't understand her position on this matter.
It was decided, then. He would continue using the book, and Hermione would need to just suck it up.
Resolutely ignoring the voice in the back of his mind reminding him of last year, when listening to Hermione's advice would have saved Sirius' life, Harry closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
———
Harry dreamed.
He was dreaming about Ginny, who had become kinda fit during the summer- he could appreciate that. Could it be more? On one hand, it felt a bit wrong lusting after his best mate's little sister, on the other hand, she was taken. Also, he had already taken a shot with the Quidditch-popular type of girl, and it hadn't gone well.
But a mere fantasy had never harmed anyone, right?
He was dreaming about approaching her in the Common Room, when the scene changed.
The fuzzy contours of the dream sharpened, the images far clearer than normal. It felt a bit like Voldemort's visions, but not evil and not… current? Like something that was not happening in that moment. There was clearly magic involved, he could feel it buzzing in his brain. It felt like his own magic. Strange. But at least he knew he was safe -it didn't feel like the previous year at all.
He suddenly found himself a spectator in his own dream, which now felt more like a memory in a Pensieve. Thinking about it, he didn't feel asleep at all, but strangely awake inside his mind.
He saw himself older, and (he could admit to himself a bit smugly) clearly fit, with Ginny on his arm and children who looked remarkably like them in tow towards the Hogwarts Express.
The Harry in the dream looked thoughtful, before Ginny tightened her grip on his arm and he plastered an enthusiastic smile on his face. Harry could say, of course, that it was a fake smile.
Why would he not smile? He had everything he had ever wanted, in the dream. Children, a good wife, a family. He was confused.
Ginny had aged well, looking elegant if not very vibrant- he imagined adulting would do that to a person.
He watched himself say goodbye to his children from a distance, not making out the words his older counterpart was saying. It seemed like his youngest child, a little girl, was going to Hogwarts for the first time. He smiled to himself, even if he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was not quite right.
He saw himself doing a double-take, before brightening up instantly. He followed his older self's gaze, leading to a well-dressed figure in formal clothes, whose back was covered in long, chocolate-brown, surprisingly well-behaved curls. Hermione.
Well, he imagined he would be happy to see his best friend on any occasion, especially when life had surely separated them a bit. Family, jobs and whatnot, he thought.
Hermione was talking to a teenage girl who even from a distance looked remarkably like a red-haired little Miss Granger. Wait- Hermione had a redheaded daughter. That meant- Ron. Of course.
They were closer since the summer before their fifth year, he had already noted. The realisation strangely didn't feel like a fairytale ending like this should feel. More like a punch in the gut, if he was being honest.
Hermione spotted them and advanced on high heels with the quick steps of someone who couldn't waste time. Two little redheads followed her, but strangely no Ron in sight.
He couldn't help but observe that, well, she was pretty fucking hot. She had already grown into her hair and figure by the end of her fourth year, but the refined sharpness in her features and the confidence and power she radiated from a distance were, well, powerful. And extremely attractive.
Not that she wasn't already gorgeous that year. He had seen a lot of people do a double-take when she walked down the corridors at Hogwarts. Hermione had changed very much from the little ball of hair and nerves she was in first year- and her face had been cherubic even then, buck teeth and all.
From an objective point of view, of course.
The way he saw his older self's eyes brighten considerably at her greeting was a bit confusing, however.
He noted the way Ginny regarded her with cold eyes and demeanour- strange, but they had never been the best of friends anyway.
Some words trickled down to his ears, jarringly.
Divorce? Hermione had divorced Ron? Now that was not something he would dream about spontaneously.
Before he could think about it anymore, the scene dissolved, and he found himself in a familiar -even if unrecognisable at first look- foyer. Grimmauld Place. Did he fix it up? Good enough, he guessed. It seemed brighter and homey, a clear upgrade from before.
Now the sounds were way clearer, he could hear every step and creak of the floorboards.
He followed his older self upstairs, while sparing a glance at Ginny. She had given her version of Harry a cold, calculated look, while he hadn't met her eyes.
What was happening here? He was starting to feel anxious. Was this his future? Would he be trapped in an unhappy marriage? Or was this just a rocky patch in an otherwise good relationship?
He slipped inside what he could see was his study. His older self sighed, fell into his padded leather armchair and summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey, pouring a couple of fingers in a conjured tumbler. It was barely 11:45, according to the clock on the wall.
He was clearly burdened by something. He saw himself reach for something underneath the desk, and heard a click.
He went to stand behind his other version, curious as to what he was so worried about. No, not worried- maybe wistful? Troubled? He couldn't say. Maybe he was an Auror, and a case had been particularly difficult? He could have asked Hermione for an opinion that morning, if that was the case- he supposed. Maybe they didn't have that kind of relationship anymore? The kind where they helped each other out when in a tough spot? He didn't like that idea at all.
What he saw shocked him.
His older self had retrieved an old, clearly consumed folder made out of dark red leather. He saw the other Harry flip slowly through the entire thing, and he felt shaken to the core.
It was Hermione.
In every single photo. They were in chronological order, it seemed. He saw little bucktoothed Hermione in first year, arm in arm with him- and only him. He had cut out Ron from every photo in the folder- which was strange, since a lot of the photographs hanging in the hallway starred Ron- and very, very little Hermione, now that he thought about it.
He spied Hermione working on the Polyjuice in the girls' bathroom- how did he have a photo of that? Maybe someone took it from a memory in a Pensieve? Was that even possible?
Hermione hugging him at the end of the second year.
Hermione and he on Buckbeak. Harry protecting her from Moony.
Himself munching on the toast Hermione had offered him the day after he was entered in the Tournament.
The paper clipping of Rita's article about them.
Hermione when she descended the stairs at the Yule Ball.
And it went on and on, year after year. Some of them were of Hermione alone, taken from memories he couldn't yet remember and others that he already cherished.
One in particular stood out to him, and even his counterpart focused on the image a bit more than the others. They were dancing in the tent that the Weasleys had used for the World Cup, but they were older. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. He saw himself twirling Hermione around, making her laugh. It felt important, for some reason.
The photographs dwindled a couple of years after the war, that it seemed didn't last very long. They won, which was a relief, even if he couldn't glean how from the photos- pity that.
From then on it was mainly Prophet and Witch Weekly's clippings, apart from a couple of photos here and there- one which took his breath away. Hermione in her wedding dress, resplendent. She looked angelic.
The photo had clearly been deprived of the groom.
Hermione and her first legislations. Her ascension as Head of the DMLE. Her oaths as Minister.
Himself at her side, her Head Auror -with the proudest look he had ever seen on himself.
Bloody hell, if this were true then Hermione would become the Minister of Magic- the youngest ever, and the first female Muggleborn to boot.
Whoa.
But still, why-
The door of the study banged open, and both Harrys jumped in surprise.
He looked up to meet Ginny's resentful gaze. His older version just seemed resigned.
"You couldn't even wait long enough to hang your cloak?" She asked aggressively.
The Harry in the chair rubbed his palms on his eyes tiredly.
"What do you want me to say, Gin?"
"Maybe I want an apology!" Ginny screamed in his face. He opened his mouth to retort, but she interrupted him.
"I wasted almost twenty-two years on you," she powered on, in what clearly was a confrontation that had happened multiple times.
"I gave you three children. Three, Harry!", she looked on the verge of tears. "And I still can't make you love me?"
Ginny sounded desperate.
"Of course I love you, Gin, don't be ridiculous," Harry contradicted, but to the younger Harry he sounded rehearsed, vacant.
Ginny sniffed a bitter snort.
"Just not as much or in the same way you love her," she motioned to the open folder with a hand. "You haven't touched me in eight years, Harry, and still haven't given me an explanation on why," What the fuck?
Harry stayed silent.
"You can't even bring yourself to lie about it anymore," Ginny laughed, almost hysterically. "The Great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. The-Man-Who-Won, still carrying a torch-no, not a torch, still completely enamoured with his childhood best friend. Pathetic. And me? Poor little Ginny, still clinging to Harry Potter's coattails like a desperate thirteen-year-old," she shook her head.
Harry was frankly overwhelmed. Enamoured? With Hermione? So much that he kept all of her photos and even his wife felt she was playing second fiddle to her? What the hell had gone wrong?
At the lack of response from older Harry, Ginny just kept talking.
"You know what, Harry? I hate her," she almost whispered. "I really do. Twenty-two years, and still I can't escape the ghost of Perfect Princess Hermione, whom you have never even kissed," she ended in a yell. "And sometimes I hate you, too," she sounded, honestly, barmy.
"Do you even love our kids, Harry?" Ginny poked where she knew it would hurt. Older Harry snapped, "Don't you dare question my love for my children, Ginerva."
Ginny didn't seem intimidated, and only hummed bitterly.
"But you would have loved them a lot more, had they been hers, wouldn't you?" Ginny added in a lethal whisper. "Your perfect children with your perfect Hermione," older Harry looked almost lost in the fantasy she was portraying.
"That you will never have, because you were, and remain a coward," she finished, almost gleefully.
"Do you think I didn't see you, Harry? Do you think I didn't notice you salivating at the mere possibility of getting your hands on her, after you heard about their divorce?"
"Your sweet, newly single Hermione. She would need a shoulder to cry on, mh? Maybe some comfort. And why wouldn't her best friend offer to provide it? The same best friend who has been waiting for her with his dick in hand since he was seventeen-" Ginny didn't even finish when Harry interrupted.
"Out," was the only word older Harry offered, his magic visibly rising from his body in sparks.
Ginny slammed the door shut.
And Harry awoke with a gasp.
———
It was still the middle of the night, and Harry was frankly thankful for that.
He had a lot of thinking to do.
He rolled onto his back, closing the drapes of his four-poster and getting rid of his sweated-through t-shirt. The dorms were always so fucking warm.
Harry put his glasses on and crossed his arms behind his head, sheets riding low on his hips.
What the hell had he just seen?
Start with the facts, he thought to himself. He tried to run a tally of whatever had happened in his head.
For one, it felt like a memory, not a dream, and he had felt the intervention of his own magic. That had to mean something. Had his future self somehow shown him his reality, or sent his memories back? Was it possible? Maybe it was possible in the future. He had always been very in tune with his magical core, and it was approving that line of thought.
For someone who lived in a world of magic and was fated to duel a dark wizard to death, not to mention someone who survived a Killing Curse, sending memories to different points in time didn't seem that unreasonable. He had played with time travel before, after all.
His magic was agreeing with him, humming in his chest in time with his heartbeat- he concluded that his hypothesis was true, or at least close to the truth.
But if it was, why would his future self send him this specific memory? Why not something about the war, or how to win it?
He tried to remember everything Hermione told him about time travel before. If he changed anything, that timeline would cease to exist, he concluded. Hermione had been adamant when she had explained it.
But if so, did his future self hate his life so much that he wanted Harry to change its trajectory?
Then he got it. His future self was a sneaky bastard for sure. He didn't have to change anything actively, because just the fact that he had seen that memory would steer him clear from certain decisions and towards others. It had already changed everything.
Why would he marry Ginny Weasley this time around, if he knew it would be a disaster? To be honest, after seeing that whole show he wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. Sorry, not sorry.
Another question popped up in his mind. Could his future self decide when to send his memories? If yes, why would he choose this precise time? After all, everything seemed to centre around Hermione, and at this point, they were a bit on rocky ground.
He mulled it over for a second. Ah.
Harry wanted him to fix it before it was too late. But when was it too late? Before Hermione took an interest in Ron?
And, by the way, why would Hermione take an interest in Ron in that sense in the first place? They couldn't be more different if they tried. Maybe because her relationship with Harry was unstable, she latched onto her other friend? And then he had chosen Ginny because Hermione was taken? Or had she chosen Ron because Harry was already in a relationship?
Wait, was Hermione even interested in him? Could Harry be interested in her?
Well, the latter question was stupid. Of course he could. Who wouldn't? Hermione was gorgeous, kind, the most brilliant witch ever and his best friend. More importantly, she only saw Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived bullshite had affected her for exactly twelve seconds. On the Express. In first year.
And he trusted her with his life, so-yeah, it sounded pretty perfect in his head.
Moreover, rocky relationship or not, he would bet his Firebolt and a limb that he and Hermione knew each other better than they knew themselves. For as much as he had goofed around with Ron more, Hermione was his confidante. The one with whom he talked about the serious stuff, or feelings- often only after being threatened at wandpoint, but still.
All of that he already knew. But was he attracted to her in that sense, for sure? The ring-buying, baby-making kind of attracted?
That was different. He would have to explore the possibility, and in the meantime he should just Gryffindor up and ask her to be his girlfriend.
He almost snorted at the thought. Hermione Granger had basically been his wife for almost six years and he hadn't noticed. Tsk, he thought to himself, girlfriend. It sounds almost ridiculous when one considers the amount of time and experiences we have lived together. Minimising, really-
Oh.
Oh.
Older Harry knew his stuff.
He was fucked.
After wrestling mentally with the idea of probably having harboured feelings for his best friend -that had been either suppressed or ignored during the last five years- he returned to his hypothesis.
Was Hermione interested in him?
Now that was more difficult. A lot of possibilities and variables. Just brilliant.
Could it be possible that she had a crush on him all this time and had hidden her feelings because he didn't seem interested? His immediate response was a sound no. No matter how smart Hermione was, she couldn't have faked that well for years- she was actually shite at lying to Harry. He knew her too well.
Moreover, she was a Gryffindor through and through- she would have said something at some point. Or more accurately, she would have sat him down, given him a thorough, logical explanation of her feelings and then she would have snogged him. Now, that was a particularly interesting course of action he had every intention of pursuing.
Could she have had a passing fancy for him in the past? Possible, but not probable. It would be convenient- rekindling old flames and the works. Not to mention, very good for his ego. He was not very vain per se, but the attention of a witch of Hermione Granger's calibre was definitely something to peacock about.
Sue him.
Honestly, from a completely logical point of view, he was the obvious choice for Hermione. They were the most powerful students of their respective sexes in school, had the same social circle, and while Hermione could think circles around Dumbledore, Harry wasn't half rusty himself- he just applied his smarts differently, almost always for a practical reason more than pure mental gymnastics.
Their attitude matched well, in fact even if both had the devil's own temper they almost always managed to calm each other down. They also had the same values, which he found out was important to him after Cho Chang had defended her friend who had snitched on the DA- blaming Hermione for retaliating, as if!
In fact, he remembered as if it had happened yesterday. There are more important things. Friendship and bravery, and… Oh, Harry, just be careful! He recited in his head with a fond smile. Those were values he could get behind.
They were even both fit this year (she had said he was more fanciable than ever, after all, and she was… well, she was Hermione Granger, of course she had to be beautiful- always the overachiever). They had a fantastic partnership in everything, so why would she choose Ron of all people over Harry, romantically? The more he thought about it, the more he realised just how brilliant they could be together. The Dream Team, really.
He always thought he had a special bond with Hermione. At least, when he wasn't annoyed with her or being immature with Ron, he knew he had a safe harbour in Hermione. And she had almost always acted like he was special to her- hewas the one she hugged most, the one she talked with late into the night, the one she confided in about her Muggle life, and he could swear she had a special smile she reserved for him. Now he wanted all of that back, book and fifth year and fucking Malfoy be damned.
Oh boy. What if she had developed a crush on him during his Cho Chang fixation? He had gone straight to her and had poured out every detail. Not even Morgana's own crush would have survived explaining another girl's feelings to him or reassuring him that his kissing was more than satisfactory. If that was the case, he was done for. Best to hope it was not.
But what if she had never been interested? He had to consider the possibility.
Well, then he would have to convince her. He had already listed in his head the Top Thirty Reasons Why Potter And Granger Should Date: number one, if we married we'd have the same initials- that should be cute. Number two, we would look fantastic together -very aesthetically pleasing. Number three, a madman wants my head as a trophy and I would like to have as many happy memories as possible before I kick the bucket. And so on- he wasn't above a little sympathy card. Maybe he could remind her that he was an orphan?
Brilliant, he would go down in history as the Pity Party Potter Prat.
In a way, the dream had reassured him a bit about the whole Prophecy thing- if he had sent memories from the future, it meant that he actually had a future. Fuck you, Tommy.
Sensing his thoughts were starting to spiral, Harry tried to stay on track.
He had understood, needing only six years and an intervention from the future, that there was a very high chance that Hermione Granger was the love of his life, and that he would be a right bastard if he consciously chose to saddle another girl with the impossible expectation of being her.
Even if they weren't in love- yet? Kinda confusing, if he was being honest, but he wouldn't look at a gift horse in the mouth. Apparently, he would fall for her soon even if they didn't end up together, so Harry would like to at least trynot being miserable for the rest of his life.
He was curious to know when it had happened, his falling so hard for her; was she already with Ron at the time?
Considering his track record of shit luck, probably yes.
Well, there was only one thing he could do. Operation Marrying Granger was officially underway (O.M.G. was a lot better than S.P.E.W., if he could say so himself- maybe he could give her naming lessons, for the children's sake). He could also name it Mission HJP- Harry James and Hermione Jean Potter.
First, he will have to sit her down for a good talk about their recent conflicts, and finally understand what the fuck her problem was with the book. When their friendship was mended, he would start Wooing her. With a capital W.
Chair-pulling, eye contact, solo talks and walks, Hogsmeade, gifts, the whole work. And hugs. He missed hishugs- she didn't hug other people like she hugged him, he was nearly certain. She even had a special smile for him, he could have already mentioned a time or two. He cherished both very much now, even if he had never told her.
Can't begrudge a lad for liking feeling special to his witch.
From there, they will decide together whether to pursue something with their eyes open or to just remain friends, no hard feelings. Other than his dashed -recent- dreams of domestic bliss.
And anyway, what would he say if he didn't take the wooing route? Hey, Mi, you look particularly scrumptious today. Did I perchance mention that my future self made me see in a dream how miserable I would be if I married someone other than you? Yeah, I think I believe him. Wanna have my baby?
That would go well. If he wanted a luxury suite in the Janus Thickey Ward right next to Hermione's first crush, that is.
Fitting, really. Lockhart, Krum and Potter: Miss Granger's taste for famous wizards never fails. Rita would have a field day.
Harry suddenly sat up, panicked.
He had forgotten about Ron. How to deal with his crush on Hermione?
Honestly, the girl should just stop being so fanciable- even while she acted like a little library fascist most of the time. Attracting wizards like moths to a flame, that one. And she didn't even realise it -maddening.
Harry had just discovered his feelings, for Godric's sake- he would like to avoid duelling his best mate. What could he say about it? Don't make a big deal out of it, Ron. Don't ask me how, but I know you two would end up divorced anyway. So, I'm really doing you a favour- you're welcome.
He covered his eyes with one forearm, groaning.
He needed sleep.