Chapter 2: Comfort and ConfrontSummary:A little emotional talk for my babies.
People just can't mind their own business.
Chapter TextThe next day arrived bright and early, and Harry was already late.
He had woken up after everyone else was already at breakfast, and had to run around like a headless chicken to look at least presentable. Today was the first day of O.M.G., after all. One had to turn up the charm.
Which was kind of terrifying, since he was hopeless with girls. Thankfully, he thought he would be a bit better with Hermione, since he knew her so well. Or so he hoped, at least.
After skipping breakfast and running towards McGonagall's classroom, he nearly collided with someone rounding a corner. Hermione .
"I'm so sorry-" she started, and then noticed who had nearly toppled her over. "Harry! Where were you? I saved you some-" she was interrupted by an unprompted, unexpected and completely uncharacteristic hug.
Harry Potter had initiated a hug. Did hell freeze over, or should she test him for Polyjuice?
Nonetheless, she returned it immediately.
"Harry?" She asked gently, still nestled against his chest. She smells so good , Harry thought. "Yes?"
"Not that I'm complaining, but…" he interrupted. "We need to talk. I don't like how things have been going between us lately. Room of Requirement after lunch?" He pulled away to give her his best puppy eyes.
When had he gotten half a head taller than her? No matter, he liked it. She felt small and soft and Hermione .
Hermione's annoyance about the previous night's row abated immediately. This was Harry . Of course, they were going to patch things up.
With the usual Oh, Harry! , she wrapped him up in one of her special hugs. Tight but not suffocating, the ones where she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his middle. He returned it with unusual fervour, enjoying the sweet smell of her loose hair and the feel of her in his arms.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"We're late for Transfiguration," he reminded her. Her eyes widened and she almost shoved him into a wall, running away like a madwoman.
Harry just laughed.
———
Class had gone particularly well that morning. Hermione had even complimented him on his Crinus Muto. She had been the first to turn a strand of her hair pink, but Harry's spell had been so powerful that his entire head had turned golden-brown.
When he noticed his involuntary choice of colour Harry's ears turned a bit red, but Hermione just complimented him with a smile. If he looked a bit smug, then no one called him out on it.
Ron, on the other hand, had looked at him askance a couple of times already, and when he overheard Hermione's praise he tried to make the spell work a bit too forcefully- scorching off one of his eyebrows as a result. When he caught Harry's look he scowled.
And so it begins , Harry commiserated, the 'Harry has everything and I'm just poor Ron Weasley' Parade.
On their way to Charms, the last class for the day, Harry offered to carry Hermione's brick-like book bag. She tried to say it wasn't necessary, but her small pleased smile had only buoyed his efforts.
Even while carrying the heaviest bag known to mankind, Harry still felt like a peacock- he realised he maybe looked a bit too pleased with himself when Ron shoved his shoulder more forcefully than necessary to enter he door.
He took his usual place next to Ron and behind Hermione. Since the lesson that day was theoretical, he relaxed a bit and let his mind wander. Harry found himself transfixed by the way the light played on Hermione's hair, her head moving slightly with her furious note-taking.
Her curls were a lot tamer than, say, first year, Harry noticed. Shame the same didn't happen with his wild mane, but at least their children wouldn't be completely doomed in the hair department. Harry blushed at his thoughts- maybe it was a bit early to think about kids.
The fragmented light coming from the tall, narrow windows was highlighting the right side of her head. It was mesmerising, now that he was permitting himself to notice. Hermione's hair was beautiful- still unruly, but it looked good, effortless. The curls were longer than he remembered, reaching the middle of her back and presenting a thousand different shades of brown. It was, as a whole, a chocolaty warm brown, but he also detected lighter strands that looked like spun gold, and others that took an almost coppery colour, It was fascinating-
An elbow to his side interrupted his treatise on Hermione's curls. Rude .
Harry's head snapped to his left, meeting Ron's hard eyes and red ears.
"Mate?"
"Why are you staring at 'Mione like that?" Ron whispered harshly.
"No reason, just thinking she has nice hair,"
Harry had just made his first move in telling Ron to back off without telling him directly. He had tried to sound as innocent as possible while giving away just enough to make his interest obvious.
Ron Weasley might be his best mate, but he would get his girl over his cold, dead body.
This time around, at least.
"'s creepy," Ron mumbled moodily.
Harry happily ignored him, planning to return to his previous occupation. Instead, he met Hermione Granger's chiding look.
"What are you two whispering about?" She asked in hushed tones.
"Nothing, I just thought your hair looked good," he tried to sound nonchalant.
Hermione rewarded him with a warm -if slightly bewildered- smile that made his insides feel all fluttery.
"Thank you, Harry. But you should really pay attention to Professor Flitwick," she returned to her notes.
Harry smiled to himself, inordinately pleased. It was happening more and more that day. Being too preoccupied with his preening, he missed Ron's dirty look.
When Ron stormed out of the classroom once the lesson was over, Hermione sent a confused look to Harry, who just shrugged and took her bag. They strolled along the corridors in comfortable silence, and Harry took notice of things he usually liked to pretend didn't exist.
People looked at them. Not just him, whose blasted fame just made the stares inevitable, but them both. They were being continuously watched by some student or the other -for different reasons, he assumed.
The onlookers either were Boy-Who-Lived fangirls, recognisable by the dreamy sighs and the stink eyes directed at Hermione, or they were boys staring at the Brightest Witch of Her Age (in Harry's mind, it was capitalised- hey, their monikers both started with BW, he noticed. Was it another sign? Or maybe he was finally losing the plot,) but being too intimidated by her reputation to approach.
Well, her reputation and Harry's presence, of course. Most people had thought at one point or another that he and Hermione were an item, so in their minds it would be suicide to approach Potter's Girl so brazenly, in front of him of all people. He had never told Hermione, but he had overheard people calling her that a time or two over the years.
For once, Harry didn't feel mightily uncomfortable with the attention. The dream had changed more than one thing for him.
He had noticed how older Harry had completely ignored the insistent stares and whispers. How he had just existed without trying to make himself smaller or shying away from it. It was a habit learned at the Dursleys and reinforced with the attention he garnered in the Wizarding World, trying to shrink himself as much as possible in order to hopefully not be noticed.
It was a fool's errand, he knew now. In one way or another, he would always attract people's gazes. The best thing he could do was to ignore it completely. People didn't matter- what he thought about himself did. If he couldn't make it go away, he would learn to live with it without going bonkers at someone with, say, an umbrella. That would be satisfying, but a bit too Hagrid for him.
Harry did not hate attention per se. Rather, he was starved for it, but not this kind of attention. He liked it when his friends cheered for him during a Quidditch match, for example. He liked it when Hermione was focused on him. He craved an earned sort of attention, the one that came from genuine respect or affection, not morbid curiosity.
He wanted not to be watched every moment of every day, like people expected him to do something spectacular at a moment's notice and didn't want to miss it. It weighed on him a lot sometimes.
As for the looks Hermione attracted, it was a mixture of factors in his opinion. She had become somewhat known in her first year, for being the best student in the lower classes and his friend. Then Rita happened during the Tournament and the public revolted against her in his 'defence'- the same public that had joyfully ignored or belittled him when he dearly needed some of that fervour, later in the year.
People were fickle, of this he had lots of proof. But not Hermione , his brain supplied. Hermione was the exact opposite of fickle.
Students noticed her again in fifth year, when she became the force behind the birth of the DA. They started to notice her power, instead of only looking at her marks. This year, he rather thought they had noticed her looks, too.
It was difficult to ignore, really.
Students and visitors alike were stunned when they saw her at the Yule Ball in fourth year, but after a moment of surprise Harry honestly wasn't. She was Hermione . He knew she was pretty like he knew she was smart. It was just a fact. But people had never bothered to look past her bushy mane of hair, so the second she tamed it and shone a spotlight on her lovely face they acted like she had assumed someone else's appearance. Shallow, if you asked him.
But this year , even Harry had to admit surprise at the way Hermione had blossomed. She had shed a good bit of childish awkwardness, leaving in its stead graceful mannerisms and elegant movements- she had always been delicate in her ways, but was often encumbered by moments of self-doubt and insecurity, as frequent bullying would do to a teenage girl. It was obvious that the fight at the Ministry and co-leading the DA had given her much more confidence than before, and she shone with it.
She didn't hide behind a curtain of hair anymore, either. These days she either kept it tied away from her face or left her curls loose and bouncy around her shoulders, obviously much more cared for than before.
Her features were sharper as well, her baby fat lost completely- as had been his case, too. Last summer he had slaved away at the Dursleys as much as he could, trying to build up some strength in anticipation of the war that was to come. In return, Petunia had miraculously decided to feed him like a human being. Sometimes.
That, coupled with the nutritional potions Madam Pomphrey had forced him to stash away with orders to drink in intervals during the summer, had made sure that he resembled more a boy of his age and less a miserable, underfed wraith like before. He had also gotten a growth spurt, which was nice. He would never be as tall as Ron or as broad as Charlie Weasley, but he felt comfortable in his own skin for the first time in his life - even confident, if he dared say so himself.
Hermione's physique had never been bad-looking in any way, in his opinion. She was just young, and once she grew into her skirt a bit it was obvious to anyone with eyes that she had blessed genetics -if wizards knew what genetics were, of course. She was slender but not excessively skinny, had a beautiful peaches and cream complexion, and proportioned - delightful - curves in all the right places -as he had noticed a couple of times (okay, maybe a bit more) during the last few months. Before shamefully averting his eyes every time he caught himself looking, of course. Idiot.
If one considered all of this factors, added his tenure as Quidditch Captain and Chosen One, Hermione's status as Prefect and best friend of the 'BWL', then mixed it all up in a cauldron with the stories of their secret adventures - which inevitably everybody knew about- they were the perfect brew for gossip fodder. The result from the article about the fight in the Department of Mysteries was still present in his nightmares -he had never received as many stares as that time.
All in all, he could say that people staring was the norm for them by now, and he had just decided to not give a fuck .
"You seem different today, Harry," Hermione interrupted his train of thought.
"How so?"
"You seem lighter, somehow? I don't know how to explain it. You just… feel different," she gave him a scrutinising once over.
"I just had some time to think and came to a few conclusions, got some clarity," he shrugged.
"Did it hurt too badly? Shall we visit the Hospital Wing?"
"Hardy-har-har, Mi. Ever thought of going into comedy?" It shocked him how easy it still was to talk to her, even after the previous night's revelations. It spoke volumes about just how comfortable he was with her. Harry felt like such a pillock for not thinking about Hermione as a romantic partner before.
"Sorry to disappoint, I'm too busy saving your sorry arse from self-destruction- my schedule is kind of full. And who exactly is this 'Mi'?"
"I know you hate 'Mione, so I came up with something else," he announced.
"You better not start influencing people into calling me that, or we're going to have problems," Hermione threatened lightly.
"Nope. It's for personal use only," Harry replied faux-solemnly, rounding up the corner before the Great Hall came into view.
"Are you trying to flirt with me, Harry James? 'Cause it's not working,"
"If I were flirting you'd know it, Mi, " he teased.
"Right, the blush and stammer would give it away," Hermione nodded emphatically.
"I resent that!" Hermione's laughter tinkled like bells, and Harry felt lighter than he had in months. He had missed being like this with her.
They needled each other good-naturedly while approaching the Gryffindor table, taking their seats in front of Ron, Ginny and Dean.
He felt a bit awkward around Ginny for a moment. He couldn't just unsee what he had been a spectator of in the dream, but on the other hand, it hadn't happened yet -and if he had his way, it never would.
Suitably reassured, he was able to relax and enjoy his meal, still in high spirits.
Ron, instead, looked forlorn -almost mopey. Hermione was too preoccupied with her Arithmancy paper and with fending off Harry's quips to notice. While maybe it shouldhave made Harry feel bad, the fact that he knew with some degree of certainty that they would not last as a couple gave him the strength to -for once- care about himself and his own wants.
He shouldn't have to make way for Ron just because they were friends. Ron and Hermione had never been romantic at this point, and he had never even expressed any kind of serious feelings -or any feelings, really- for her.
Harry had the right to care about himself. Not everything should be shared between friends, and Hermione was certainly not a Chocolate Frog from the Cart.
And it wasn't a done deal at all, anyway. Maybe Hermione would still choose Ron even with himself as a possibility.
That thought hurt more than he expected. He didn't want to end up like in the dream at all , but he wasn't going to coerce or manipulate Hermione in any way, either. Harry would just have to present himself as well as possible and do his best to be someone worthy of being her partner. Then, he was reasonably hopeful that Hermione could choose him.
Now that he saw it, they made a lot of sense together -not only rationally or on paper.
Not in the Chosen-One-And-Brightest-Witch way, as good as that sounded.
The truth was, feelings were not rational. What he meant was that they felt right together. There were no extreme stomach sports when he saw her, no jealousy monsters in his chest. There was warmth and safety and comfort. There was the quiet certainty of their connection, that no disagreement could disentangle completely. The feeling that they would have each other's backs always, no questions asked. Their foundations were unshakeable, even if the walls might have some cracks. They were bonded .
Ron was his best mate, but she was in a separate category altogether. She was Hermione, and she was irreplaceable. She was special .
Ron was special too, to him, of course. Just not in the same way - not in the Hermione way. No one was like Hermione, full stop- and he was happy he had been given the means to realise it before it was too late.
He finished his meal pensively, utterly oblivious to Ginny's scrutinising looks and Ron's glares.
Once the plates were cleared and the desserts presented, he placed a slice of treacle tart on a plate and a good serving of blackberry pie on another. Before Hermione could reach hers he held it up, meeting her glare with a raised eyebrow and a head tilt in the direction of the doors of the Great Hall. Hermione remembered their plan to talk and nodded quickly, not managing to get her bag before Harry took it, but snatching the desserts from his hands instead.
The exchange was not lost on a suspicious Ginny Weasley.
They made their excuses and walked briskly towards the exit.
They didn't get to see the explosion of whispers that trailed after them, everybody asking everybody else if Potter and Granger were finally going on a date . Their smuggled sweets and Harry's gentlemanly gesture were taken as absolute proof of romantic involvement between the two most talked-about people in the castle. Galleons started to pass from hand to hand, and people sighed when thinking about the sight the two sixth-years made together. The faculty table was abuzz too, with Hagrid almost close to tears and Minerva McGonagall looking like the cat who got the canary- pun intended. Severus Snape went unnoticed, but was suspiciously silent. Horace Slughorn rubbed his hands in delight.
Everybody in the castle was waiting to see if they got together or not. Either they rooted for their favourite 'celebrity' couple, or they wanted to know if there was hope for a chance with one of them. Well, others also wanted them to fail at something. Just once .
In any case, Hogwarts' population was way too interested in their private life.
If that day Ginny Weasley's lunch went almost untouched, nobody but her keen-eyed, annoyed boyfriend noticed. She sighed, preparing herself for another row.
When Ron Weasley's plate looked like a bigger massacre than usual, nobody took notice. That was the story of his life, after all. He was never noticed if something about Harry Potter or Hermione Granger -usually the former, but nowadays it was about 70/30- was on the table. Their presence was just something else. They were giants, and as such took giant steps -they just didn't notice how that could hurt Ron Weasley, mere mortal. It didn't help that it looked like Harry and Hermione were closing the distance that had been brewing between them the previous year. It would only lead to one result, and Ron didn't want to even think about the possibility. Always second best, always forgotten…
Cho Chang just rolled her eyes. Predictable and underwhelming , she sniffed to herself haughtily. She resolved to pass her last year at Hogwarts ignoring the two Gryffindors completely.
Almost nobody even took into consideration the possibility that it wasn't, in fact, a date.
———
Harry led Hermione to the seventh floor, across the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and requested a place where they could talk comfortably and alone.
Passing the threshold, they were greeted by a more intimate version of the Gryffindor Common Room. The fire was crackling merrily, illuminating the comfortable-looking, dark red velvet couch in front of it. The warm light of the flames was aided by the floating candles and torches attached to the walls of the small room. A padded armchair was angled towards the couch -Harry sat on it with a relieved sigh, content to finally have the time to mend his friendship with Hermione. He decided to forgo his robes, remaining in his school trousers, shirt and loosened tie.
She took off her shoes and robes, sitting cross-legged on the spacious couch.
They enjoyed the silence for a while, munching on their respective plates, until Harry decided to break the ice.
"So, this morning I said I wanted to talk, but now I don't know what to say," he sighed, ruffling his hair with a hand. "Where did we go wrong, Hermione? It wasn't always this… tense, this strained between us, right?" Hermione looked a bit spooked, but took a deep breath and seemed to steel herself for a confrontation.
Before she could start, Harry raised a hand and specified, "I'm not here to fight, Mi. I just want to understand why we're not as close as before." Hermione deflated completely -Harry was horrified to see that she looked ready to cry.
Before he could panic, Hermione started talking. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Harry. Oh God, I'm a mess-" she calmed herself down with a deep breath, while Harry stared at her with his hands held in midair, not quite knowing what to do.
"We've lost the way a bit, haven't we?" Hermione started again after a few moments. "You're right, of course. We were closer than this. But I don't think we actually grew apart…I-I think I don't know how to talk to you anymore, and I feel like a horrible friend most of the time for it," she confessed. Harry was flabbergasted.
"You're not a horrible friend, Hermione. What are you talking about?" He was genuinely confused.
"But I am , Harry. Last year… last year you shut everyone out, and I understand why, I do, " She insisted. "But I didn't know how to deal with it. I know I was pushy and I know I frustrated you, but I just wanted to help, truly ," she was again on the verge of tears, as the dam went down on her unexpressed feelings. She seemed to have bottled up a lot, and Harry felt like he was a horrible friend for not noticing - her recent behaviour had been unusual, after all.
"i think it all started a while back," Hermione took a breath.
"After the Third Task you were numb, Harry. I couldn't reach you no matter what I did in the few days before summer. Then Professor Dumbledore prohibited me from contacting you at all and while I was so, so worried for you, I guess I just stopped trying. Last year only reinforced that. You were still mad -rightfully- at us at first, and then you wouldn't talk about the dreams, or Umbridge, and I… threw myself into the DA and my Prefect duties, giving you less and less attention. I talked more about helping you than I talked to you. Then the whole fight at the DoM happened, and you were more closed off than ever. I was also preoccupied with my recovery, and suddenly when I saw you again at the Burrow I didn't know how to talk to you. Not," she choked on her tears, "not like before," she met his gaze for the first time since she started talking, and Harry was stunned to see just how much guilt and sorrow she was carrying.
Harry shot up from his chair, startling Hermione with his second hug of the day.
"I was a jerk to you last year, wasn't I?" He mumbled with his face hidden in her hair. "No! You had so much going on, Harry, and I just gave you something else to be frustrated about -" Harry interrupted her. "That's no excuse for the way I treated you sometimes. Even then, I knew you just wanted to help - and for that I'm sorry," Hermione embraced him even more tightly, sniffling quietly on his chest.
They remained in that position for a few minutes, before Harry decided to tackle other problems and pulled away.
Looking earnestly in her red-rimmed, watery doe-eyes, Harry felt like some of the weight he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. That was what they needed, he thought. A space to finally get things off their chest and make amends with each other.
"I'm sorry I took you for granted, Hermione," When she shook her head in denial, he gently shushed her and resumed his own confession. He was cuddling her by this point, cradling her head on his chest and playing with her hair, his gaze lost in the fire in front of them.
"About last year," Harry didn't give Hermione the time to stop him. He just wanted the air to be completely clear between them- you can't build a house on faulty foundations and expect it to last long, right? And he reallywanted them to last . He was in for the long run, if she wanted him. But that was secondary, honestly -he missed Hermione as just his best friend, too.
"In fourth year, I was grateful for your help with the Tournament, and in the previous years too, but it was like I expected it, somehow? Like it was a given. I mean, it's no excuse, but you're just so loyal and present and I reckoned you'd be at my side always, while Ron has always been so volatile… he was my first real friend, and I couldn't bear losing that. So when you two clashed I just sided with him or remained neutral, even when I should have defended you," he was earnest, remorseful.
"Frankly, Mi, last year I was jealous," he heard the small, incredulous sound that Hermione made and smiled in response. "Truly. I didn't understand at the time, because there was just so much happening that I had trouble finding my arse with a map,"
"Language," Hermione mumbled. He snorted, then continued.
"As I was saying, I was jealous of the fact that you and Ron got to pass the summer together while I was trapped in Durzkaban, alone and forgotten. Because that was how I felt. I felt like I was so much work that no one wanted to deal with me anymore, and that was why everyone was pulling away. I have to admit that, after a whole summer of solitude, finding out that you two had been at Grimmauld for weeks was a blow. I was hurt, because it also felt like you had replaced me with Ron -and I know I had no right to feel this way, that I have not always treated you with the right care, but until that moment I had thought that I was special to you. You treated no one else like you did me, and I was happy with that. I just felt out of place, and like I had lost something. From then on, I let everything else happen," he shrugged, blushing. He hadn't intended to confess so many personal thoughts.
Hermione let out a small sob, reaching for his shoulder and enveloping him again in her arms. By now she was calmer, but still unsettled. She had never expected Harry to open up this much, and genuinely rejoiced at the possibility of rebuilding the bridge that had been crumbling between them.
"You are special to me, Harry," she spoke from her heart. "And no one could ever take your place in my life. Ronald and I wouldn't even be friends without you. You're the boy who launched himself at a troll for me, after all," she tried to inject a bit of levity in the situation.
"'m not much of a boy anymore, am I? One can risk his life only so many times before growing up," he grumbled.
"Of course, you're a big, strong man now," Hermione laughed lightly.
"Not an ounce of respect, kids these days," Hermione snorted again. Harry smiled in response - he loved to make her laugh.
After a few moments, Harry opened another can of worms. "What's your problem with the book, Hermione? Honestly. And don't give me that tripe about cheating, I know it's not the real reason you got so mad," Harry chided softly.
She sighed. In a small voice he had never heard from her, she started speaking. "I am scared, Harry," Her tone was soft, earnest.
"I'm so bloody scared all of the time, of everything," If she had started swearing, then the situation was dire indeed. "Last year's shitshow was a real eye-opener for me. I failedyou, Harry. I had sussed out it was a trap - what if I had insisted more? What if I had convinced you to wait and see if we could get word from the Order?" She shook her head. "Being hurt was also a wake-up call. We had been surviving by sheer dumb luck for years, and it just didn't cut it anymore. We were in the big leagues, woefully unprepared- and that should have been fine , because we were barely sixteen! But it isn't, because we really haven't been kids for a long time. All of that scares me, Harry," she stopped for a second.
"And after a summer mulling over these thoughts, you manage to find another strange book that reeks of dark magic, no matter how useful it might be, and to also obsess over what Malfoy is or isn't doing, when all you should be concentrating on is training to survive!" She had gained momentum, now kneeling on the couch beside him.
"So yes, Harry, it frustrates me when my best friend seems to lose sight of what's important to follow butterflies. You want honesty? Here it is. Yes, I think Malfoy is up to something. It's obvious that you're right. But I also think that it's not your responsibility to fix it . Do you think Dumbledore doesn't know? Think again, Harry. He does. He probably has some plan around it that he will not inform you of, and you're tying yourself up in knots over something you have zero agency over. The book? I admit that I don't think it's very fair using it for potions, but if it helps your status in Slughorn's eyes and makes it easier to get the memory then I am all for it. The problem for me is that you obsess over it. Obsessing over something that has spells labelled 'for enemies' that no one has ever heard about is not safe , Harry. You have to protect yourself, both physically and mentally, and pseudo-dark, unknown magic is not the way to do it," When she ended her rant, Hermione was out of breath.
She softened her tone again, "The fact is, Harry, that I know you all too well. You're like a dog with a bone- when you want to discover or you have fixated yourself on something you won't stop obsessing over it until you either solve it or someone actively makes you. That's what I've tried to do- make you stop. Have I done it the right way? No. As I said, I didn't know how to talk to you without letting my frustration get the best of me. But I do think that someone had to at least try to save you from your worst tendencies. You did it for me, remember? In third year. You tried to stop me from running myself ragged- one of myworst tendencies. That's what best friends do. I will apologise for being a right harpy about it, but I won't apologise for caring about you."
She looked at Harry, expecting him to be angry, only to be shocked to find him with watery eyes.
"So you still trust me?" He whispered hoarsely.
"What do you mean, Harry? Of course, I trust you, you're my best friend," Hermione was baffled by the change of topic.
"No, I mean, you trust me," Harry gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "You trust my instincts, even after I almost got you killed? You care about me when I didn't have the balls to ask you about your injury?" his gorgeous green eyes were glassy, seriously worrying her- Harry never cried, at least not in front of her.
Hermione manhandled him directly, making him lie down and rest his head on her lap, playing with his hair the way she knew -but he never admitted- he loved. Sometimes Harry was very similar to Crookshanks.
"I certainly do, Harry. You have the best battle instincts I've ever seen, and I know MadEye Moody. But that's not what you mean, right?" Harry nodded slightly.
"I couldn't protect you, Hermione. I didn't protect Sirius . Someone else would've already run for the hills. I'm so sorry. I thought you resented me, that you were picking fights on purpose," he croaked. Harry was full-on shaking now. He turned towards her, burying his face in her belly.
They had never been so close in all five years and counting of friendship- he had never confided so much in her, nor had he ever shown so much vulnerability. She felt honoured and touched -it was time to learn how to communicate with her best friend again. She was resolved. This year she would concentrate on Harry- he both deserved and needed it, it seemed.
"Oh, Harry. I followed you because I cared about Sirius, and because you're my best friend and I would never let you face the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy alone. I made a choice , Harry. I chose you, as I did when I lied to Professor McGonagall on Halloween '91. I will continue to choose you because you deserve it. I will continue to fight because I deserve a world where people don't look down on me for my ancestry. Just like your mother and Dean and all the other Muggleborns do. Because it's the right thing to do. We're Gryffindors, Harry. Gryffindors fight," Hermione continued to pet his messy black hair, the only visible part of his head since he had buried his face in her stomach.
"Please don't discard my agency. I didn't follow you into battle because I expected you to protect me. I did it because it was my fight too- because you are my best friend and I love you " Hermione finished resolutely, as if she hadn't just wrecked Harry's entire worldview.
As if it were obvious, a fact.
He had tried so hard to sound flippant, even when thinking to himself, about the situation and Hermione's involvement in the wreck that was his life. The truth was, he was terrified. He was scared to death of remaining alone, of being abandoned by everyone he cared about. It had started with the summer after the Tournament, and had continued throughout the following year, when even Dumbledore seemed to have left him -he realised now that he had been pulling away from everyone preemptively, in order to be the one leaving before the others did.
And now? Now everything was different. For the first time in more than a year, he understood Hermione and her actions- he was still not pleased with some of her behaviours, but he saw her intent and reasons now. And he felt like an idiot, because of course Hermione would flip about a book to care for his well-being. She also believed him about Malfoy, but didn't acquiesce because she didn't want him to fall into one of his rabbit holes, even risking a fight with him over it.
She said she loved him.
Harry had never been loved in his life- not that he remembered at least. Sirius had loved him, sure, but he didn't know him enough to love him for himself- he rather thought Sirius loved the idea of him, just like Harry loved the idea of a Godfather. But Hermione knew him better than anyone else, and she loved him. For some miracle, the amazing woman and witch that was Hermione Granger had latched onto the little boy with the broken glasses at eleven, fought by his side for years, and by seventeen had decided to love him anyway.
She chose him. And he decided there and then to choose her too, come hell or high water- he would not lose Hermione Granger under any circumstances, because he realised in that moment that he loved her, too . Nagging, irritating and bossy Hermione. Brilliant, beautiful, kind Hermione. Harry loved her, and he empathised with older Harry a lot more now. Because how could he ever really love someone more than her?
Maybe she didn't mean it like that, he wasn't even sure he meant it like that yet, either. But maybe it was better like this. Loving someone as a friend surely was the perfect way to start loving them wholly, intentionally and consciously as a partner? Yes, he decided.
Of course, Hermione would be the first to tell him 'I love you'. She had been his first hug and his first kiss on the cheek, after all. If he had any say in it, she would be his first everything -he didn't count Cho's wet… thing as a kiss. It was more traumatic than anything else, honestly.
He sniffled a couple of times more into Hermione's shirt, before looking up at her face. His eyes were red-rimmed too now, greener and brighter than ever. They were also intense, serious.
"I love you, too," Harry said with a certainty and determination that honestly surprised her.
Hermione just smiled and pulled him up. She gave him one last, lingering hug that comforted him more than anything she could have said.
Of course, he had to ruin it.
"Now that we're okay, I have to go change for Quidditch practice,"
"Men and their balls," Hermione sighed dramatically. Harry nudged her with his shoulder, sharing a laugh.
All was well.