Chapter 6: Slughorn's Star StudentsSummary:Cho please just shut up.
Harry, dear- you're perfect, keep going sweetie you're doing amazing
HIT THAT KATE SHARMA EYEBROW SCRUNCH HERMIONE C'MON
Ginny… stop girl.
Draco we know you're bi please just be honest with yourself. You want them both.
Guys… they're the switchest switches I have ever seen.
is that a soulbond in the horizon
Chapter TextHarry sank into his seat in front of the fire, boneless. Their Walkman lay there, overused, with both headphones still connected to it. He had developed a lot of taste for music -it helped him get out of his head. He enjoyed classic rock and grunge music very much, but made an exception for pop whenever Michael Jackson was concerned. Hermione had a fantastic collection.
"I'm completely drained," he huffed. "You were like a madwoman today. Wasn't Defence your weakest subject once?" He turned towards Hermione.
"It was , but in light of a war I thought it prudent to practice a bit on my own," she gave him a proud smile. "And I'm still not nearly as good as you."
"You're evil anyway," he gathered her in his arms like he'd been doing it for years, when it had been only a few days.
"And don't you forget it," she smiled humorously, nestled on his chest.
"Your Patronus today was so concrete it looked like it was going to eat grass," Hermione complimented.
"Prongs looked like he was more interested in cuddling with you and Faline than eating grass," Harry remarked. It had been embarrassing to say the least, seeing his Patronus charge at Hermione only to stop and burrow his muzzle in her tummy yet again. She had laughed and petted the stag, and Harry had felt an overwhelming surge of pleasure in his magic just like the first time.
"What can I say, your magic likes me," Her magic liked Harry, too -they even shared wands fairly often.
They remained in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
"Do you think he will get over it?" Hermione mumbled.
"Ron?"
"No, Justin Finch-Fletchley," she replied. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Well, he has no other options, does he? He doesn't have enough raw power to do the ritual. If he wants to be an Animagus then he has to do the full process, like the Marauders did," Harry spoke honestly. His relationship with Ron had not improved in the past weeks, during which the redhead had participated in their sessions but remained standoffish and cold with both Harry and Hermione. It was obvious that she had a few words with him too, but Hermione never told Harry exactly what they had talked about.
Honestly, the last weeks had been the busiest of his life. Quidditch had been less stressful after the match, thank Merlin, but their training, preparations for the Animagus ritual, trying out the book's spells and his meetings with Professor Dumbledore had occupied almost all of his time. The rest had been homework and dance lessons, before collapsing in front of the fire with Hermione and their Walkman. That was his favourite part of the day by far.
"I'm just glad we found out about the Index. Can you imagine what would have happened if we tried the ritual with him? But still, I don't think he took the fact that we're both more powerful than we thought well," Hermione worried.
"What can we do about it? Concretely I mean. I can't make him more powerful, nor will I lament the security my magic being strong gives me. He'll come around," Harry stated. He was getting progressively more fed up every time Ron's insecurity got the best of him. He and Hermione were more powerful than average- so what? They didn't ask for a parade, but their best friend being happy for them for oncewouldn't have gone amiss. It was draining, always walking on eggshells in fear of one of Ron's jealous outbursts.
Hermione nodded silently, still troubled -she didn't want Ron to resent them, but was also excited about their newfound wealth of power. Who knew they weren't using magic to their potential? It was a substantial amount of it, after all. She and Harry had emitted a bright silver light indicating the upper level of the Index, and the bare minimum for the Animagus ritual was the green light, which was the three-quarters of it- they were safe to attempt it. Ron had produced a bright yellow light, which meant he was about a quarter above average, but hadn't taken well the fact that he couldn't do the ritual with them.
"I'm still surprised I'm in the same power bracket as you,"
"We've already talked about this. The times where I might have demonstrated more power were all extenuating circumstances, and you tend to overthink your wand work," Hermione huffed.
"i just want things to be precise," Harry rolled his eyes fondly. "Truly. How else can they work? Take the ritual for example. If the runes aren't perfect, we're done for," she gave a haughty little sniff.
The ritual had been another discovery. She had asked the Room for as many books on Animagi as possible, and after scouring a good portion of them Harry had found out about the various methods for achieving the transformation. There was the traditional route, gruelling but possible if one was skilled and powerful enough, the Mandrake Leaf method- a bit easier on power but heavy on the Human Transfiguration part, and lastly a ritual that combined personal power, very specific runes and absolute focus- but was almost instant in terms of time, while the other ways would take months if not years.
The ritual, however, had a power baseline requirement that could not be ignored. If you tried to replicate it without the subject being in the upper level of the Power Index, they could remain stuck in partial animal form if lucky, or end up dead, overwhelmed by the runes' power flow, if unlucky. The ritual needed balance between the power of the runes and that of the subject to work properly. There was a reason why it had been unspoken about for Merlin knows how many years.
Ron had made some bitter comments after they had decided to go forward with the ritual, before storming off when they started practising their control over their magic and minds. That had been two weeks prior.
What Harry said was harsh, but true. She snuggled deeper on his chest, closing her eyes to rest a bit before starting homework. Her best friend was a fantastic pillow.
———
Harry was loving every day of getting to know Hermione better. He had started asking her personal questions, like her favourite colour and how she liked a certain specific thing. Her responses were not as predictable as he had thought- Harry hadn't known that purple was her favourite colour because she had developed a curiosity for history as a little girl, and that was a shade associated with ancient royalty. He hadn't known that she loved the smell of cinnamon because it reminded her of autumn, their shared favourite season.
She had a wealth of knowledge on a lot of topics, but Harry found out he could hold his own in conversation if he tried. He hadn't read enough books to start reciting facts like she did, but he had a way of thinking analytically that helped him unravel most of Hermione's explanations and theories, even if he hadn't ever studied the subject in question. Hermione's rewards of bright smiles and appreciative comments made him feel good about himself, like his point of view was valued and his opinions carefully considered. It was a heady feeling, especially when the one appreciating his brains was both the Brightest Witch of Her Age and his Hermione. For the first time in his life, he was feeling confident all around.
Her way of thinking inside and outside of the box simultaneously was astonishing. On one hand, she sometimes forgot they lived in a magical world, thus letting herself be limited by her Muggle beliefs and upbringing, to the point of stiffness if left unchecked. On the other hand, her mind itself was a treasure- once she had all of the facts, or even some scattered puzzle pieces, she could reconstruct and make plans with the best of them. She could unravel and manipulate magical theory like no one else, and had a practical kind of creativity that made her fantastic in spellcrafting. Also, her vast mental archive of charms and spells gave her an edge in a duel -she could use almost everything around herself as a weapon with a simple transfiguration. That Harry was implementing in his duelling repertoire. He complemented her perfectly, his instincts in all things magical always being spot on, and his analytical- almost cynical, but open mind helped her get over some of her worst limitations. He had a natural proficiency for Defense, knowing how and when to overpower spells without burning himself out, and having an almost innate capability in reading his opponent's body language.
They were the perfect team, and he loved revelling in the fact that he had his ideal partner right there with him.
Now he only had to make it official, somehow. They were already in the second week of December, and the Party was coming around soon. Slughorn had made it clear that the event was becoming bigger and more elegant as time passed, so he and Hermione had planned to find suitable dress robes for the occasion on Saturday, which fortunately was a Hogsmeade day. He had planned to make a date out of it. He guessed it would be a good time to make a final move, after having made himself pretty clear -he hoped- over the last few weeks. He had arrived at the point where he could cuddle her without fearing being killed in return. It was awesome -Harry hadn't realised before just how much he had missed her touch.
Now it was a constant comfort for him, and he found he couldn't go without anymore. He loved taking her left hand and playing with her fingers while she took notes with her right during History classes, often imagining his ring on it. He loved placing a hand on her lower back when they walked, as much as he enjoyed circling her waist with an arm whenever they were standing motionlessly, like during their Apparition classes. The thing he loved most was embracing her in front of the fire, however. They cuddled there every night, and he got to play with her hair in the meantime- she twitched her head closer to him every time, just like Crooks did. He also got addicted to her increasingly frequent kisses on the cheek, which he returned enthusiastically with pecks on the top of her hair or her smooth forehead.
He just loved touching her, full stop. It felt as if he was meant to, in a way. His instincts told him right, right, rightevery time he was in contact with her skin -while they had screamed at him that one time he had tried to kiss Cho Chang.
Not that he would be attempting that ever again- he was honestly repulsed by the person she had turned out to be. She was no Death Eater, of course, but she was still a very petty girl. Hermione was protective and believed in retribution, instead- there was a difference in his mind.
The Chang Situation had finally blown over just the week prior. He had never gotten proper closure the year before, so it had been cathartic in a sense to end that chapter definitively.
He had been bewildered when she had cornered him while Hermione was in Arithmancy, but had agreed to listen nonetheless. She had started levelling insult after insult at his witch, and he had seen red- he remembered blacking out for a second, and the next he had seen Cho held up in midair against the wall, pale and shaking. He had freaked out too, but tried to not show it outwards.
He had warned her not to speak one word more about Hermione, but she had shrieked that it was all her fault . After asking why, he understood that all of her year's Gryffindors had turned against her. She had, in her words, been glared at and snubbed by all of her year's Gryffindors repeatedly for 'a few harmless words said in anger'.
He had sought out Hermione for an explanation and learned all about Chang's big mouth and the girls' response to it. He found himself strangely pleased at the fact that Cho had received the comeuppance she deserved. No one should open their filthy mouth about his witch without consequences.
Was this the more charitable, forgiving way of behaving? No, but he felt far from charitable when Hermione's reputation was on the line.
He had been able to calm down only after Hermione had hugged him and petted his wild hair for a good ten minutes, afterwards. He always wanted to purr like a cat when she did that.
Not that her touch was just calming. Oh, no. He had experienced a frankly concerning number of erections since he'd started wooing Hermione. He was unable to touch or come closer to her without reacting to her smell, the softness of her skin or even just a particular smile. He had taken up wanking nightly, even multiple times in a row, always thinking about her.
He could only imagine how his boxers would end up if he kissed her or, Merlin forbid, touched her for real- he would cream them in under a minute, he was sure of it.
He wanted her that much.
His saving grace, however, was the fact that she probably wanted him just as much. They'd always had a way of communicating with glances and facial expressions that people didn't understand- even Ron didn't, but since they'd started to dance around each other it had reached a whole new level. He could immediately spot each emotion that passed through her eyes and every expression that crossed her face, and that included desire . He loved that she had only ever looked at him like that. It felt like having the most precious jewel in the world to take care of- Hermione Granger's interest, affections and want; maybe even love. He intended to continue watering that little seed they had planted in first year, and let it grow unrestrained to become the most beautiful forest.
Harry had reflected a lot on the way he had immediately flung himself at her the moment he understood he was allowed to. Maybe he should have resisted more the idea of romantically involving himself with his best friend- that would have been the most rational response to a dream like that. But it was like every nerve in his body and every thought in his mind was pushing him towards her since then. He was always attuned to his magic and instincts- and they purred every time Hermione was near.
If there was something he was sure of since that day, it was the fact that he was hers. He had never had a real home, but he damn sure belonged in Mi's arms. He could only hope that she'll want to be his as well- and it seemed like the answer was going to be yes .
He didn't even realise that his nightmares and visions had stopped.
———
That Saturday came fast in a flurry of activity and snow. Harry waited for Hermione in the Common Room, when Ginny approached him stealthily. "Hey," she didn't startle him- Harry was always aware of his surroundings. Constant Vigilance and all of that.
He was, however, thinking for the thousandth time about those Horcrux monstrosities. What kind of fucked in the head one should be to create something like that? Now he also had to search for them, as if being in continuous mortal peril wasn't enough-
"Hello, Ginny. What's up?" She seemed startled by his response. "May I?" She gestured to the armchair beside him- she now knew better than to try taking Hermione's spot on the loveseat. Harry just nodded nonchalantly.
"Nothing, really…" She took a deep breath. "Just- Dean and I broke up, and today is a Hogsmeade day…" she trailed off.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Gin. I'm sure Ron would be happy to keep you company in the village, though, if you need it," Harry spoke sincerely, but he was aware that he needed to draw clear boundaries as soon as possible- as cold as it sounded, he had seen her looks and actions during the last few weeks, and he couldn't risk being Ginny's shoulder to cry on, least she misunderstood it for interest. And honestly, he didn't want her to crash his date with Hermione, either.
Ginny's face fell. She had hoped to integrate herself more with the Trio, that day. Had even spent an extra fifteen minutes preparing. They were such an insular group, maybe that was why Harry-
Harry hurried to his feet, his eyes drawn to the top of the girls' stairs.
"Good morning!" Hermione's voice sounded chipper. Ginny followed her with her eyes, noticing her light makeup and the long chocolate-coloured curls spilling onto a black leather jacket Ginny knew was charmed for warmth. She also had a Gryffindor scarf around her neck, matching Harry's, and dark low-rise jeans that looked brand new. A pair of dark red Muggle boots with curious yellow stitching finished her look. Her whole outfit looked high quality and new- must be nice , Ginny thought bitterly.
"Now it is," Harry quipped, pulling her in a hug. Hermione laughed. "I don't understand if you've become a complete sap or you've chosen to try being suave," Harry poked her side, arms already around her middle. He faked a tired sigh, turning to Ginny. "That's what you receive when you're a gentleman," Hermione followed his gaze. "Oh, hi Ginny -you look particularly good today," She returned to Harry.
"You wouldn't know suave if it hit you in the head, so I suppose gentlemanly is the right choice for you," Harry hummed playfully.
"Good morning," he said more seriously, tucking one of her curls behind her ear.
"Morning," she whispered warmly, placing a kiss on his cheek. Harry smiled widely, his dimple showing.
Hermione took a look at her wristwatch. "We really should get going. Wouldn't want to end up with scraps," she released Harry's arms- one of which immediately returned around her waist. "And I intend to make you buy a few outfits, too -I will use force if necessary," she continued. "I don't know if what I have with me will be enough for that," Harry worried.
"Just use your Vault key to seal the receipt, it will send the payment directly to the shop's account," Hermione informed.
"Fantastic, then you can go wild with it for all I care,"
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry, I won't use your inheritance to go shopping for myself," Harry staged a fake whisper while looking around. "Not even for books?" Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry tugged her closer to his side.
"Then just use me as a mannequin- I dearly need some clothes and I trust your taste."
"You have no idea what you've signed up for, Potter."
"Just leave enough time for a Butterbeer and to find your dress, and I'm good, Granger."
"Oh, what dress?" Ginny tried to join the conversation, feeling awkward.
"Dress robes for the Party. Slughorn is basically inviting everyone he knows- it's becoming more like the Yule Ball in fourth year than a private event," Harry sounded exasperated. "Will it really be that formal?" Ginny now felt nervous- what if her simple blue dress wasn't appropriate? She would hate needing to ask her mum for extra money.
"Not really, I think. But well- Harry being Harry, we can't exactly risk looking slovenly," Hermione clarified.
"You would look perfect with a flour bag on. The problem is me. If I'm not adequate people will say that I squandered my family's inheritance on gambling or something like that," Harry said.
"Now you're plain lying. Or do you like Dobby's style that much?" Harry snickered in response, pecking her forehead.
"Not lying, but I was thinking -why don't you wear your periwinkle robes? You looked fantastic at the Ball," he asked curiously. "You're very sweet, Harry, but I don't even have them in my trunk. I've outgrown them quite a lot- both in size and style. And they were too formal, anyway. I want something a bit more grown-up, with fewer frills. Maybe green?" She tucked the end of Harry's scarf into his coat while she talked, then took his arm.
"Nah, not green. What about-" they walked through the Portrait, leaving Ginny alone with two distracted waves.
She sat heavily on their couch, feeling like an idiot. She had distanced herself from Hermione over the last few weeks, and Hermione didn't even seem to notice- it was making her madder by the day. She admitted to herself that she was envious of the older girl sometimes. Who in her place wouldn't? Hermione had Harry wrapped around her little finger, had turned the whole female part of the House in her favour and had the luxury to change her wardrobe at will without any problems.
Now, the latter might have sounded like a stupid thing to be envious of, but not to Ginny. She had grown up having most of her dresses sewn by her mother, rarely having anything bought at a shop- and even then, always second-hand at best. She knew that Ron tended to focus on Harry's wealth, but she had noticed Hermione's too. Dentists, apparently, were very well-off in the Muggle world- and it showed in Hermione's casual way of talking about shopping. For a fifteen-year-old like Ginny, other than her friends, family and Quidditch, the most important things were popularity, boys and clothes. Hermione had her beat in most of it -it wasn't very nice to witness. To be honest, she rarely ever cared about clothes. It was just that, piled up with everything else… ugh.
But even then, what could she do about it? She had seen how the last girl trying to potion Harry had ended up -and he also was a friend first and foremost, so she wouldn't do that anyway. Making him jealous had not worked at all, and he had been clear about seeing her as a sister at best.
She remembered clearly her last faux pas.
Harry was petting Crookshanks on his usual couch in front of the fireplace, looking lost in thought and miraculously alone.
Ginny decided to take this opportunity and moved to sit beside him. Harry looked at her, confused, and asked what she was doing.
"Just wanted to chat, is this seat taken? "
Without hesitation , Harry confirmed. "Yeah, Mi's coming down soon."
She tried again, now peeved. "It's no big deal. What's the difference if I sit here?"
Looking at her right in the eye, he had zero mercy. "Well, that's Hermione's seat, and you're not Hermione."
Thinking about it, the most rational thing to do would be to leave him alone and stop embarrassing herself. He was completely smitten with Hermione, and she just had to accept it and be a good friend. Fake it till she made it, as people said.
She just hoped her envy didn't consume her first.
———
Their day off from training and responsibilities had begun perfectly. Ginny had been a bit forceful in her bid to advance closer to him, but Hermione's presence had made her back off immediately. He had felt particularly good when she had adjusted his scarf- he always did when she cared about him in these little things.
Harry had never felt prouder than he did while having heron his arm. Not because she was arm candy, but because he could see that they were real, solid . They had something precious and rare and he wanted to capture the moment to never forget about this feeling.
They entered Gladrags while laughing at something Harry had said about a witch's hat, and were greeted obsequiously by the salesman. Harry almost rolled his eyes at the whole production.
Hermione took control of things immediately, requesting shirts and slacks and socks and even underwear in this or that colour that she thought would suit Harry.
He was sent into the fitting room with a year's salary worth of clothes floating behind him, but after a good two hours of fashion show - as Hermione had dubbed it- they had restricted the selection to a few complete outfits that he could mix and match with minimal effort and still look good in. He was very glad for that- his fashion sense had never been particularly developed, after all. Dudley's castoffs would do that to a young man.
Hermione then focused on fetching every formal dress she liked at first sight, closing the door of the women's fitting room and exiting only after a good twenty minutes, with a huge smile and a flush on her cheeks.
"You should look into dark robes, maybe trimmed in burgundy," she suggested. In the end, Harry had chosen a Muggle-looking suit with a matching robe, both in black, with a silk burgundy trim and tie.
"Perfect, just perfect," Hermione had beamed. The clerk, a tall guy in his late thirties named Galvas, looked like he had just won the lottery- and he might as well have, for how much they ended up spending in his shop. Harry had categorically refused Hermione's attempt to pay for her dress, saying that it was a gift for him to see her in a dress that made her feel good. Hermione had flushed a deep red, and he had known he should be looking out for heart attacks the night of the Party.
He would never know the absurd pitch Lavender's squeal would reach when Hermione recounted that particular moment.
They made their way to the Three Broomsticks in high spirits, completely wrapped around each other, but decided nonetheless to sit with Ron and Ginny when they were spotted.
No final move today , Harry sulked a bit.
They were sitting in a corner booth with a view of the whole establishment, arguing about something that made Ron mad- it was recognisable by the shade of his ears.
Harry wanted to hightail out of it, but Ron spotted them and stared until they approached his table awkwardly.
"Hey, Gin, Ron," Hermione greeted. Harry followed her steps, putting down their purchases and pulling out a chair for Hermione, who rewarded him with a sweet smile. Ron rolled his eyes.
"How did the shopping go?" Ginny tried to cut through the tension.
"Fantastic, we found everything we needed. Never thought Gladrags was so well supplied," Hermione replied.
"Yeah, I had never felt so much like a dress-up doll before," Harry cut in, sardonic.
"Shut up, you said I could use you as a mannequin,"
"I don't think mannequins do runways, Mi,"
"Maybe magical mannequins do," Hermione shrugged. "And you dearly needed some shopping. What you didn't need to do was pay for my dress," she rebuked.
"Again with that? Can't you just accept a gift from your best friend?"
" Best friend my arse, " Hermione mumbled sottovoce.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Why don't you go get some Butterbeer?"
"With cinnamon?"
"You know it,"
"Aye, General Granger," Harry saluted. Hermione smiled, shaking her head. Then she turned to the two awkward redheads, who were watching their interaction like a tennis match.
Not that they knew what tennis was, but still.
"So, you found a dress?" Ginny opened- her eyes dull and her cheery tone forced. But she was trying.
"Oh, yes, I did. It was so beautiful I couldn't help myself. Not too elegant or stuffy- just the right amount of flair. I liked it immediately."
"And Harry?" Ron interjected for the first time. "Did he buy the whole store?"
Hermione ignored his bitter tone. "Of course not, Ronald, don't be absurd. I made him try on a lot of clothes, but in the end he just bought what suited him best- in my opinion, at least," she explained primly, so innocently that Ron could only sit there and stew.
Harry soon returned with two mugs in hand, one of which was offered to Hermione with a flourish and a quip. "My humble offer to the fairest maiden in the land."
"You're ridiculous, but thank you," Hermione chuckled. He winked.
"So," Harry clapped his hands once, finally taking a seat himself. "We're against Ravenclaw in February. How do you think-"
Hermione just sighed.
———
Using Katie Bell for his delivery wasn't planned. He was grasping at straws, if he was being honest.
But what could he do other than follow orders? Let his family die?
Who could he ask for help? Snape was too ambiguous even for him, and Dumbledore was completely out of the picture. Potter , a voice in the back of his head reminded him. He already knew Draco was up to something, and maybe if he just explained …
No, it was hopeless. What could Potter do, concretely? He hadn't even claimed his family inheritance yet. He couldn't do anything to help him, and he looked so busy slobbering all over Granger's skirts that he hadn't even looked askance at Draco in a while.
Not that he didn't understand that . If he hadn't been a complete fucking idiot for years it could have been him doing the slobbering. Or maybe not- he found it improbable for Hermione Granger to fall for someone other than the Golden Boy she had trained as a boyfriend since first year.
He had complex feelings bout the Trio .
Harry Potter had been a thorn in his side for years- and he could admit it was mainly his fault. Potter rarely attacked if not provoked. Still, he was a bitter rival and Draco deeply envied his ties to his friends, the bonds and loyalty he was able to forge and inspire in the world outside of the cold, calculated Slytherin Common Room. It didn't help the fact that he was regularly the centre of attention, being handsome and a hero and a Quidditch prodigy and all of that shite.
Ron Weasley he was just disgusted by. Average looks, average mind, average personality- what right did he have to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived before him? Why did he feel entitled to have the Brightest Witch of Her Age's attention? Draco was baffled by the whole thing.
Hermione Granger. The triple threat. Brains, beauty and bravery. It made sense for Scarhead to be the first in line to try his luck with her, with their bond and their mooning looks and Merlin , he fucking loathed them together.
First year, he had hated them with a passion.
Second year, he had been happy when she was petrified- less competition for him in his grades, and fitting punishment for taking what did not belong to her. Even better when he was shunned by everyone for being suspected of being the Heir.
Third year, he had been punched in the face. That had been a revelation, to say the least- it's not every day that a punch left you with a stiffy. He remembered clearly her smell, vanilla and something else. Scarhead had just stared like he was seeing the most compelling thing of his life.
Fourth year, he had wanted to kill Potter for being a Champion. Then Granger too, for not being insultable at the Ball.
From fifth year onwards, it had all gone downhill.
Now, however, he also had a splendid tattoo that reminded him why they would never look at him in any way other than contempt.
———
What had happened to Katie had left all three of them shaken. They had seen the scene first hand, and were reassured only when the Healers at Mungo's sent word of her state.
Professor McGonagall had been of exactly no help.
"How is it that when anything happens, it is always you three?"
"Believe me, Professor, I have been asking myself the same question for six years."
No one could contradict Ron, when he said that.
Harry had raged and raved while stalking the pavement in front of the fire, claiming he saw Malfoy's handprint all over the 'accident'. Hermione had acquiesced silently, still cautious but mostly convinced of his involvement. They had comforted each other, and this time Ron hadn't expressed any signs of jealousy. Only weariness.
Some things inevitably give you perspective.
That night, Ron called him before he could close the curtains of his four-poster.
"Yes?"
"I'll have your back, you know? Against You-Know-Who. No matter what," Ron said.
"I know, mate. I know."
The next morning, Ron was still cold towards them. He informed the Duo that he would not continue the Animagus process- but he would still be present for their training. He had a strange sort of calmness around him. It looked like resignation, maybe acceptance .
———
Harry was currently sitting on the couch with his legs spread and an anxious air, waiting for his witch to come down the staircase. It was the night of the Party.
He was bouncing his leg up and down in a nervous manner, his outer robes thrown over the backrest, and his thigh muscles were flexing with the motion beneath his tailored trousers. He had exactly zero idea of the number of people that had gathered in the Common Room for the precise purpose of seeing their communally-appointed royal coupleall dressed up and ready to shine.
He also had exactly no clue of the way he was making most of the girls -and some of the boys- salivate with his actions and outfit. Quidditch thighs were a thing, and well- he was himself. But they would never interfere between the two of them- Potter and Granger were too much of a joy to watch together. It felt like a telenovela, sometimes. For those who knew what a telenovela was.
Colin Creevy was even ready to take pictures. He intended to present them as a wedding gift, one day.
Suddenly, a flood of giggle-ridden girls descended the staircase and took a seat, ready to admire their masterpiece in a different setting.
Hermione Granger had been poked and prodded for almost two hours and had frankly reached the limit of her patience. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was time to go down- finally. She took a deep breath and approached the stairs.
———
It felt like the Yule Ball all over again.
Harry was now extremely aware of her beauty, of course, but was surprised all over again when he saw her.
Hermione saw in his eyes that same look of wonder he had two years prior, this time mixed with devotion and desire- possibly even love .
She had the exact same lopsided smile she had the first time- this time painted in a shade of red he was certain he would see in his dreams.
She was breathtaking.
The dress was long, moulding around her upper body and falling softly down her hips in a sea of silk, of a burgundy so deep it looked almost black in certain lighting. Her jewellery was simple, just two small rubies at her lobes and a matching golden necklace around her neck. Her dainty black heels and her elegant but understated up-do made her look like a woman more than a girl.
Harry could only see her. His vision had tunnelled on her face, almost bare of makeup if not for the boldness of her lips and the thickness of her lashes- he could scarcely breathe. She reached the end of the staircase, and Harry almost Apparated in the haste of feeling her in his arms again. You can't Apparate inside the wards at Hogwarts, Harry, he almost heard her say in his head.
He stopped a step away from her, took her hand gently in his, and placed a warm kiss on its back. He never looked away from her eyes, not even when he faintly registered the flash of a photograph being taken.
Hermione blushed prettily, greeting him with a wide smile.
"You clean up well, Potter," she teased, taking his offered arm.
"You're the most beautiful… anything I have ever seen in my life," he honestly responded.
"Always the gentleman,"
"Only for you," Harry cupped briefly her cheek, as if to convince himself she was real. "Shall we?"
"Make way, my Lord," Hermione joked.
"Of course, my Lady."
———
Ron Weasley had decided- today would be his last day of wallowing in self-pity. He knew Harry and Hermione would likely return from the party as an official couple, and had decided to take the previous days as time to come around to the idea.
Nobody, however, had prepared him for the sight of Hermione in her dress. Bloody hell, she looked good.
He sighed resignedly when Harry kissed her hand. His look… it wasn't the look of someone who was ever going to let her go.
He had to force himself to step aside this time, it seemed.
———
Ginny Weasley felt beautiful.
She had grown up with a lot of brothers and very few means, so the occasions to feel pretty and feminine had been few and far between. Today was fortunately one of those days. She had invited Dean to the Party before they broke up, but he went even after they did because they apparently functioned very well when they were just friends. It was shaping up to be a fun night, all things considered.
Ginny was also a confident young lady. She knew she was pretty, and she knew she had some talent, so the occasions to feel less than someone else had been few, too. Today was regretfully one of those days.
She had curled her ginger hair, leaving it to flow down her shoulders. She had donned her nude, low heels, her shimmering blue dress and the one pair of earrings her parents had gifted her before her first year at Hogwarts. She looked very good, if she could say so herself.
Well, all of that preparation felt like it went down the drain when she saw Harry's reaction to Hermione. Ginny could admit her friend looked… ethereal. She had one-upped herself from the Yule Ball. Even then, she had been the belle of the ball -and even then, Ginny had fun but had felt like a side character when compared to her.
Ginny noticed that she compared herself to Hermione, but only compared Hermione with her past self. Maybe she should start comparing herself only to the Ginny of the past, too.
And wouldn't it be fantastic? Herself being her only competition.
Harry looked like a Prince from a fairytale, too. And Ginny had to resign herself -she was not destined to be his Princess.
———
The Party was held in Slughorn's office. It had been completely transformed and enormously enlarged, resembling more the Great Hall than a Professor's private space. The decorations were beautiful, the lights were low and the place was packed.
Harry entered with Hermione on his arm, ignoring the overwhelming attention their presence guaranteed.
"Harry, my boy! And Miss Granger! Let me be the first to say, you two look perfectly matched," he didn't give them the time to respond. "Now come, come- I have a few friends who would like to meet you."
There started the infinite litany of introductions. They were greeted by an author who wanted to write Harry's biography, his Vampire friend, a witch from the DMLE and Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies. Harry had never seen a more mismatched group of people- and creatures, he guessed.
Finally, they were able to sit down for a quick bite. He said quick, because Hermione had immediately charmed a small crowd of Ministry workers with her speeches about recent legislations and other things that honestly went over his head for a moment- he was too busy watching her with a dazed smile. God, how did she manage to be so smart and beautiful and good at the same time? He was one lucky fucking bloke.
His statement was confirmed when one of those wizards excused himself from the discussion, coming to talk to him in a -frankly too familiar- low tone. "I have to say, Mr. Potter, it appears your whole lineage tends to chase the best witches of their generation," now Harry was curious.
"How do you figure?"
"Well, just look at the last Lord Potter- Fleamont. His wife Euphemia was a fantastic Potioneer- she even invented Sleekeazy, the hair potion," Harry looked stunned.
"I'm sorry, Lord Potter? And what do you mean, my family owns Sleakeazy?"
"You don't know?" The man was genuinely mortified.
"I was raised by Muggles, sir. And then I was a bit too preoccupied with surviving to care about my ancestors," Harry was getting mad. Not at the man, but at everyone else- people who knew and didn't say anything.
"I understand. Then let me tell you- Fleamont was the last Lord Potter because his son- your grandfather- Charlus was never interested in politics, and your father… well, he didn't have the time to inherit the title," he sighed.
"You could do it as soon as you turn seventeen -you should speak to your account manager at Gringotts. But returning to the first topic- Charlus married Dorea Black, who was rumoured to be one of the brightest minds of her time. Same with the late Lily Potter. And now you… I see you've chosen the fabled Brightest Witch Of Her Age, too. Word flies fast about what happens at Hogwarts," he added when he noticed Harry's confused look. "My congratulations on following the family tradition," he clapped a stunned Harry on the shoulder.
"What did the Legacies Department guy say to have you like this?"
"Oh, that explains a lot. I'll tell you later, Mi- don't pout, I just want to enjoy this night with the most brilliant, beautiful-" Hermione blushed slightly and punched his shoulder lightly, still unused to his compliments- but acquiesced.
"Give me the pleasure of a dance?" He first notes of a waltz signalled the end of the seated dinner.
"Of course, my good Sir. We've practised for this."
———
They had been fantastic at the waltz, if he said so himself. Having Hermione in his arms, stepping in time with the music and smiling at him was just how, in hindsight, the Yule Ball should have been for him.
He felt like everything was in its rightful place.
He gently pulled her closer, adjusting to the slower dance that was just beginning. Hermione laid her head on his shoulder.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" He spoke softly in her ear.
"Of course. Don't tell anyone, but you're an even better date than Viktor," she teased.
"Shh. Don't utter the V word in front of me," Harry faked outrage.
"Shouldn't that be 'Voldemort'?"
"Viktor Krum is a much bitterer rival than he will ever be."
"You're completely mental," Hermione laughed.
"And you're absolutely radiant." He twirled her once.
"Flatterer,"
"Just honest," he placed a kiss on her forehead. "The bastard dared take my witch on a date before I could," he added in a surge of courage.
Hermione slowly raised her head from his shoulder. "Your witch, hm?" Her eyes were hooded, her mouth twisted in a half smile.
"Yes, my witch," he whispered, a hair's breadth away from her lips.
He looked into her beautiful fawn-eyes, reading them like one of the books she loved so much. She wanted this, too.
Harry lowered his head leisurely, barely brushing his lips against hers, smiling when Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands and kissed him for real.
For a moment, he felt everything . Fireworks, lights, angelic songs- everything was in that single, chaste kiss. This is how it should be, he later would remember thinking.
A bright, golden light almost hurt his closed eyes.
Then everything went black.
End of Part I