Chapter 19: Tupperware
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The lazy afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall, arched windows of Potter Manor's study room, casting long, golden beams across the floor. The room was filled with bookshelves crammed with magical texts, potion ingredients, and half-finished projects—clear evidence of Harry's determination and their shared obsession with their magical studies. The faint smell of parchment and ink lingered in the air, while the occasional flicker of a candle flame seemed to keep time with the quiet rustling of papers.
Hermione Granger sat on one of the oversized armchairs, comfortably tucked away with her feet curled up beneath her, a large tome sprawled open on her lap. The weight of the book pressed into her, yet her mind was elsewhere, distracted by the banter she had shared with Harry moments earlier. Her face still bore the faintest trace of pink from Harry's teasing. She hated how he always knew just the right thing to say to get her flustered. But at the same time, she secretly liked it, even though she would never admit that out loud.
Harry Potter lounged lazily on the opposite couch, looking all too pleased with himself. He had that mischievous gleam in his eyes that told Hermione he wasn't done riling her up just yet. His untamed black hair fell messily into his eyes as he absentmindedly twirled his wand between his fingers, his thoughts half on the project before him, half on how easily he could get Hermione worked up.
The quiet was abruptly interrupted when the door creaked open.
"Hermione? Harry?" came Draco Malfoy's drawl, his voice slightly muffled by the fact that his hand was planted firmly over his eyes. Behind him, Ron Weasley shuffled in, mimicking Draco's stance as both boys clumsily entered the room, hands shielding their eyes from what they feared they might witness.
"In here," Hermione called, her voice amused yet laced with mild annoyance.
Harry watched the two boys stumble further into the room, one eyebrow raised in bewilderment. "What in the bloody hell do you two think you're doing?" he asked, half-amused and half-exasperated.
"Well, we didn't want to walk in and see you two snogging," Ron said, his grin as wide as ever.
"What?!" Hermione gasped, her cheeks instantly flushing to the color of Ron's fiery hair. The blush spread like wildfire up her neck, and she fumbled to close the book in her lap, feeling incredibly self-conscious.
Harry, never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot, grinned. "Well, you should be thankful you didn't walk in five minutes earlier," he said with a devilish smirk.
Before Hermione could register what he had just implied, her face flamed even redder. "Harry!" she exclaimed, picking up a book and swatting at him.
Harry ducked away from her playful assault, laughing as he held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just joking!" he said, but the sparkle in his eyes told everyone that he was enjoying the effect his words had on Hermione far too much.
Draco snickered, finally lowering his hand. "You really know how to push her buttons, don't you?"
Ron joined in, his laughter filling the room. "Mate, you're lucky she hasn't hexed you yet."
Hermione huffed, though the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth despite herself. The boys had taken it upon themselves to make her their target, seeing just how far they could push her until she snapped. It was a game, one they all seemed to enjoy far more than they should, and it was always Harry who managed to get under her skin the most.
The tension in the room eased, laughter echoing off the walls as the summer afternoon stretched on. It had been three weeks since the summer break began, and the group had fallen into a comfortable routine. Between laughter and teasing, they spent their days training their magic, researching new spells, and concocting plans for the upcoming school year. For them, summer was less about relaxation and more about preparing for what was to come.
Ron, surprisingly, had taken a liking to runes, often spending hours poring over books that no one had thought would interest him. Hermione had been impressed by his determination, though she would never admit that to him directly.
Draco, on the other hand, had become her partner in a new project. Together, they worked tirelessly to come up with a way to use the wards around Hogwarts to create another version of the Marauder's Map. It was delicate, intricate work, but Draco's strategic mind paired well with Hermione's vast knowledge. They had already made some progress, though they were nowhere near completion.
Meanwhile, Harry had been hyper-focused on something that intrigued them all—becoming an Animagus. It had been an idea tossed around for weeks, and the group had agreed to draw lots to see who would attempt the transformation first. Naturally, Harry's luck had won out, and now he was the first in their group to try his hand at the complex and dangerous ritual.
While Harry worked on that, the others had delved into their own trials, though there was an unspoken frustration shared among them. They all wanted to experience the thrill of becoming an Animagus, but Harry's progress kept them hopeful that they'd get their chance soon enough.
"Dobby?" Harry called out, his voice breaking the peaceful lull that had settled over the room. "Can you bring us some drinks and some snacks?"
Within moments, the loyal house-elf appeared with a pop, balancing a tray of various snacks—both Muggle and magical—and four steaming cups of tea. His large, bat-like ears flopped slightly as he placed the tray down on the nearby table with a bow. Harry gave a quiet sigh as he cooled it down with a charm, grabbed one of the cups and downed the tea in one go, ignoring the minor heat that prickled his throat.
Draco made a face as he watched Harry drink. "I'm not so sure I want to become an Animagus now, considering how you always seem to need something to drown out the taste of that Mandrake leaf stuck in your mouth."
Harry merely shook his head with a grin. It had only been a week since he'd used a sticking charm to keep the Mandrake leaf adhered to the roof of his mouth—a necessary step in the Animagus ritual. According to the requirements, he had to hold the leaf there for a full month. He would have started the process sooner, but Harry kept accidentally swallowing the leaf before Emma Granger, Hermione's mother, had suggested the very Muggle-sounding idea of using magic to keep it in place. Both Harry and Hermione had been exasperated that it was Emma, a non-magical person, who thought of it first.
"Be grateful it doesn't smell as bad as it tastes," Hermione chimed in, her voice teasing but with a familiar edge of exasperation.
"Why would Harry be thankful?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow as he shoved another handful of potato crisps into his mouth.
Draco suddenly perked up, his eyes flashing with mischief as he turned to Ron. "Because then she'd have trouble snogging him, wouldn't she?" he quipped with a smirk.
The room erupted in laughter, and in an instant, the boys scrambled to avoid the hex that shot out of Hermione's wand. She had grown faster with her spellwork, but unfortunately for her, they had all gotten better at dodging. Harry, Draco, and Ron ducked just in time, the spell sizzling harmlessly past them.
"You're lucky that missed," Hermione huffed, though she couldn't entirely hide her grin. Her cheeks, however, were a distinct shade of pink, and the boys didn't miss it.
As the laughter subsided, they settled into a more comfortable silence, the sound of snacks being unwrapped and the clinking of teacups filling the air. The flicker of firelight cast soft shadows over their faces, making the room feel warm and cozy despite the undercurrent of tension that still simmered beneath their easy banter.
"So," Ron began, after swallowing another mouthful of crisps. "What's the plan for tomorrow? It's the weekend, and as much as I've started liking books, I'm not spending the entire day reading."
The question, casual as it was, caused a brief but noticeable pause between Draco and Harry. For a split second, they froze, sharing a quick, almost imperceptible glance. It was a fleeting moment, but Hermione's sharp eyes caught it immediately. She frowned, her instincts kicking in.
"What?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. "You just froze. Spill it."
Ron, who hadn't noticed the exchange, snickered to himself and smirked at Draco and Harry, clearly enjoying the sudden shift in the atmosphere. His innocent grin, however, didn't fool anyone.
Harry exhaled, glancing at Draco. They had discussed this moment, and although Harry had hoped to keep things quiet for a bit longer, there was no avoiding it now. Draco sighed and nodded in Harry's direction, silently agreeing to tell Hermione.
"Me and Harry have plans tomorrow with Sirius," Draco explained, his voice casual but not entirely at ease. "Family matters."
Hermione seemed to accept the explanation, though her eyes flickered with curiosity. She nodded slowly, causing Harry to relax slightly in his chair. But Ron, in typical fashion, wasn't about to let things go so easily.
"Is it another betrothal contract?" Ron asked innocently, his tone entirely too casual for the bomb he had just dropped into the conversation.
The effect was instantaneous. Draco gritted his teeth, his jaw visibly tightening, and Harry shot Ron a look that could have curdled milk. "Damn it, Ron," Draco muttered under his breath.
Hermione, however, had already tensed, her gaze darting sharply between Harry and Draco. "A betrothal contract?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with a hint of suspicion. "You've got another one?"
"Before you start getting angry," Harry began, his voice calm but weary, as if he had rehearsed this explanation a hundred times in his head, "it's not a betrothal contract."
His eyes flicked toward Ron, who seemed all too eager to stir the pot. Without thinking, Harry grabbed a few packs of sugar quills from the table beside him and chucked one straight at Ron. With a mischievous grin, Ron caught the sweet midair, clearly enjoying the chance to interrupt the serious moment. Harry just rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips.
"It's just a formal lunch with the Greengrasses," he explained, trying to sound casual as if it wasn't a big deal. His tone, however, betrayed him—there was something deeper at play.
Hermione's narrowed gaze zeroed in on Harry. She crossed her arms, the movement subtle but pointed. "So, you're cutting off the offer, then?" she asked, though the suspicion in her voice made it clear she wasn't buying the explanation just yet.
Harry hesitated for a moment. He could feel her eyes boring into him, and the weight of his words seemed to double. He sighed, long and heavy. "We're not..." His voice trailed off as if he were picking his words carefully. He straightened up slightly, facing Hermione's intense gaze with a mixture of weariness and determination. "Okay, I need to explain this, but please calm down. I know I've told you a million times that I intend to choose who I marry in the future—regardless of politics. But this is more of a strategy on my end."
Hermione's brow furrowed, but she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.
Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as if preparing for a long conversation. "As long as I keep the betrothal offer active, I won't have to worry about other contracts. So far, the Greengrasses are known within the pureblood Houses to try and marry into either the Potter or—" he glanced sideways at Draco, who had been trying to shrink into the background, looking anywhere but at Hermione, "the Black family."
Ron, who had been following the conversation with mild curiosity, suddenly perked up. "So you're using them as shields?" he asked, biting into another sugar quill, entirely too pleased with his deduction.
"Precisely," Harry said with a nod, his voice carrying the weight of careful calculation.
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. "But Greengrass wants you to marry her," she pointed out, her voice edged with frustration. The idea of Harry being tied down by something as antiquated as a betrothal contract didn't sit well with her. It felt too old-fashioned, too much like Harry was a pawn in someone else's game.
"Yes, but I don't plan on accepting it anytime soon," Harry reassured her, his tone more gentle. "Lord John Greengrass knows this, but he's adamant about setting up formal lunch dates with our families to maintain relations between the Houses. It's politics, really."
Hermione let out a low grumble, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface. She understood what Harry was saying—of course, she did. But that didn't mean she had to like it. The idea of some looming contract, something that could dictate Harry's future with the mere stroke of a quill, gnawed at her.
Harry must've sensed her frustration. His expression softened, and he moved from his chair to sit beside her on the couch. The cushion dipped under his weight, and without much thought, he draped an arm around her shoulders. It was an instinctive gesture—something he did when he felt like she needed comfort, or maybe when he needed to comfort her. The warmth of his arm was grounding, though it did nothing to calm the storm in her chest.
"Draco here," Harry said, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips as he pointed toward his best friend, "is accepting the betrothal contract made by Lord Greengrass for him and his youngest daughter, Astoria."
Draco, who had been successfully avoiding eye contact and hoping this conversation would pass without incident, suddenly snapped to attention. His face drained of color, then flushed a deep crimson. "You—fucker!" Draco roared, lunging at Harry with a speed that surprised even him.
Harry laughed as he sprang to his feet, pulling Hermione up with him just in time to avoid Draco's attempt to tackle him. "I told you not to tell them!" Draco yelled, his voice a mixture of genuine anger and the embarrassment of having his future marriage plans broadcast to the room.
But Harry's laughter was infectious. The pure mischievous joy in his voice as he darted around the study, Hermione in tow, sent a ripple of energy through the room. Hermione couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips as they dodged Draco's lunges. Despite herself, despite the swirling thoughts of betrothals and contracts, this moment felt lighter—almost fun.
Harry's hand, warm and firm, held onto hers as they moved, and she felt the tension from earlier begin to slip away, replaced by something lighter, almost playful. Maybe it was the way he laughed so freely, or the way Draco sputtered in outrage as he tried—and failed—to catch him. Or maybe it was just that familiar pull she always felt around Harry, the feeling that things could be easier when they were together.
As they ran from the study room, Harry shouted back at Ron and Draco, still laughing. "Draco's got a future wife! Spread the word!"
Ron let out a howl of laughter, and Draco, looking thoroughly betrayed, stopped mid-chase, his face red but with a reluctant smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
Harry's laughter echoed down the hallway as he and Hermione disappeared from view, his hand still firmly in hers. He hadn't meant to reveal Draco's secret, but if it helped ease Hermione's mood, then it was worth it. He didn't even know why it mattered so much—why making her feel better seemed so important.
And yet, it did.
xxxxx
Although they made fun of Draco for a few moments after dinner, the mood quickly shifted as Hermione returned to her brooding. The irritation was palpable, swirling around her like a storm cloud as she lay sprawled on the bed. Her brow was furrowed, and she kicked her legs against the covers, trying to release some of the pent-up frustration that gnawed at her. The thought of Harry – her Harry – going to meet the Greengrasses as they attempted to force him into marrying Daphne sent her into an even darker spiral.
Her Harry.
The phrase echoed in her mind, sending an unexpected jolt of possessiveness through her chest. She groaned audibly, burying her face into her pillow. It was maddening, the way her feelings toward Harry seemed to grow with each passing day, building like a slow burn that she couldn't shake off. They'd been best friends for a year now, and she was fully aware of how Harry's affectionate nature always made her feel special, always drawing her in with his smiles, his touches, his unwavering loyalty.
But things weren't that simple. Harry wasn't just Harry; he was a future Lord to not one, but two noble Houses. It wasn't the fairy tale she had imagined, where the hero and the heroine confessed their feelings and lived happily ever after. No, this was the wizarding world, where bloodlines and House politics interfered with everything.
Hermione let out another frustrated groan, her hands clenched into fists as her thoughts spiraled. She didn't want to be some damsel in distress, waiting for Harry to rescue her, but she couldn't shake the image of him as the closest thing the wizarding world had to a prince – and herself wishing, against all odds, to be the princess by his side.
She had even dared to talk about it with her mum one night. The memory of Emma's reaction still brought a small smile to her lips. Her mother had listened patiently, a little shocked at first but ultimately supportive. Emma Granger, despite being a Muggle, had learned quite a bit about wizarding customs from the books in the Potter library. She explained that, unfortunately, betrothal contracts were not just common but legal, which only fueled Hermione's rage.
The idea that Harry, her Harry, could have been tied down by a betrothal contract since birth – well, it made her blood boil. The thought of Sirius having the power to sign something like that when Harry was just a baby was almost too much to bear. Hermione had been beside herself with anger when she learned that particular piece of wizarding law, and Emma had been equally incensed at the idea.
Hermione kicked the blankets again in frustration. The unfairness of it all was suffocating. The fact that Muggle-borns like her weren't seen as equals in this world didn't help, though she knew she was fortunate to be under Harry's protection. The Potter and Black names carried weight, and anyone who tried to mess with her would think twice before antagonizing someone so closely tied to him.
Still, it was maddening. And the worst part? She didn't even want to ask her mum the real question burning in her mind – the one she had been too embarrassed to voice.
'Would it still be possible for me to marry Harry?'
That thought alone had made her shriek internally in horror earlier that day. Marriage wasn't supposed to be something they talked about at their age. They were only 12, for Merlin's sake! And yet here she was, mentally plotting ways to find loopholes so she could somehow be Harry's bride by the time she was of age.
Her cheeks flushed bright red at the absurdity of it, and she let out a tiny squeak of embarrassment, burying her face into her pillow again.
Her internal mortification was interrupted by the sound of a voice breaking through her thoughts. "Hermione, I'm coming in," came Harry's familiar tone from behind the door.
Her heart leaped, and she shot upright in bed, hurriedly smoothing out her clothes and hair as if she could somehow make herself look less flustered. The door creaked open, and Harry peeked inside, his hand half-covering his eyes but clearly peeking through his fingers with a teasing grin.
"Oh, good, you're in bed," he said with a chuckle, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him with a soft thud.
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Maybe next time, knock first before announcing your way in?"
"Next time," Harry agreed with a nod, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told her he'd probably do the same thing again. He made his way across the room with that effortless ease he always carried, moving straight toward her closet.
She watched curiously as he rummaged through her things, pulling out an old jacket from the back of her closet. Harry slipped his hand into one of its pockets, which had clearly been charmed with an extension spell, and pulled out a small, intricately designed trunk.
The trunk was tiny in his hand, no bigger than a matchbox, but Hermione's watched as he placed it on the floor and tapped it with his wand. Instantly, the trunk expanded to full size, its ancient wood gleaming softly in the dim light of her room. Harry knelt down and opened the trunk, pulling out yet another piece of clothing, this time an old sweater, from which he dug around and produced a small velvet bag.
He held it up triumphantly, his eyes twinkling. "That's such a hassle pulling out," he chuckled.
Hermione beamed proudly, always loving how he handled even the smallest things with his magical prowess. She took the velvet bag from him and eagerly plunged her arm inside, her fingers brushing against something solid and cool. After a few moments, she pulled out the Philosopher's Stone, its surface glinting with an almost otherworldly sheen.
"It's still so beautiful every time I see it," Harry whispered, gazing at it in awe, though his mock-serious tone was betrayed by the playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He dramatically wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, pretending to cry. "Truly, it brings tears to my eyes."
"Shut up," Hermione laughed, giving him a light shove with her free hand.
As they both sat there, the atmosphere between them felt warm, comforting, yet charged with a silent energy that neither could put into words. The Philosopher's Stone sat between them, gleaming like a symbol of all they had been through together and all the unspoken feelings hovering just beneath the surface.
xxxxx
The Philosopher's Stone was almost a curse and a blessing for Harry and Hermione.
The stone glowed faintly in the low light of Hermione's room, casting a warm, eerie shimmer against the walls. It seemed like such an innocent thing, the tiny red gem, smooth and unassuming in her hands. Yet, they both knew the truth—it was far more powerful than its size suggested. Something that could change the world—or at least, their world—forever.
Harry watched Hermione's fingers trace the edges of the stone with a quiet, focused intensity. It reminded him of how she always studied everything, like she could uncover the mysteries of life if she just thought hard enough. His chest swelled with pride—his Hermione had stolen the Philosopher's Stone. She had outwitted Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards alive, and had kept it hidden ever since.
When Harry had first found out she'd stolen it, the realization hit him like a Bludger. He could barely keep himself together, nearly losing the ability to think clearly as pride and amusement bubbled up inside him. In that moment, all he had wanted to do was kiss her. He was so proud of her that it had taken all his self-control not to drag her to Sirius right then and declare that she was the one he was going to marry.
But, as was typical of Hermione, she had been furious with him back then.
Angrily furious.
Their heated argument replayed in his mind as he leaned against her bedpost, arms crossed as he gazed at her. Back then, she'd been livid, her face flushed as she scolded him about right and wrong, about how it had been a mistake, and how she wasn't a thief. Her voice had cracked, betraying the shame and guilt she felt. Her righteous anger was fiery, as intense as anything Harry had seen from her, and yet, in some twisted way, it only made him admire her more.
The fiery Hermione was always his favorite.
He had to fight to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth during that argument. He could see the guilt gnawing at her—Hermione Granger, who had never even thought of breaking a rule before Hogwarts, had stolen the most valuable artifact in the wizarding world. She was breaking under the weight of it. But Harry had been calm, composed. He had to be. He wasn't about to let her fall apart over this.
"Hermione," he had said softly, "you're not a thief. We didn't steal it for ourselves. We didn't plan this. This—" he had gestured toward the stone like it was nothing but a trinket "—this is ours. It's our reward for everything we went through last year. Dumbledore probably wanted us to find it."
But she hadn't been satisfied. She had huffed, cheeks still burning red as she threw back argument after argument, determined to prove him wrong, to cling to the moral high ground she had always held onto so tightly.
That was when Harry knew he had to pull out all the stops. He had laid down logic after logic, anything he could think of to ease her conscience. Something about the Right of Conquest, about how they deserved to keep it after everything. He had no idea if it was even true, but the words had slipped from his lips easily, and Hermione had paused long enough to actually listen.
But even then, it hadn't been enough.
And so, knowing it was a low blow—even for him—Harry had resorted to something else. Something that would speak to the part of Hermione that couldn't always be so selfless, the part of her that longed for security, for a future where she didn't have to worry about anything.
He had said it almost too easily. "We could be rich, Hermione. Immortal. The Elixir of Life—" he had waved his hands in the air like it was some grand, wonderful thing "—we'll never have to worry about death. You and me—we could live forever, together."
The moment the words left his mouth, Harry had known it was a mistake.
He didn't need money. He had more than enough of that—stupidly rich, in fact. Sirius was nearly as wealthy, and they both lived lives that lacked for nothing. But Hermione's family… things were different for her. The Grangers didn't have the same kind of magical wealth or security. Her mother worked tirelessly to support them, especially after her father's passing. And Harry, the idiot that he sometimes was, had gone and dangled the one thing he knew Hermione might want—a way to make sure she and her family never had to struggle.
And as much as Harry hated himself for using it against her, it had worked.
Hermione's protests had faltered. The fire in her eyes had dimmed, and she had gone quiet. Too quiet. She had looked away, cheeks still flushed, but the anger had faded, replaced by something far more dangerous. Temptation.
It had been a victory, but one that left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth. He hated that he had to use it, hated that he even knew how to manipulate her like that. But Hermione had needed to calm down, and in the end, it had worked. They had kept the stone, tucked it away in a secret place only the two of them knew about.
Now, as Hermione sat on her bed, her fingers still lightly caressing the stone, Harry couldn't help but feel a mixture of pride and guilt.
xxxxx
Hermione wasn't hurt by the fact that Harry dangled the temptation of riches and immortality right in her face.
In fact, it had hardly even bothered her, though she hadn't let Harry know that at the time. She understood, on some level, why he'd said it. As much as she liked to believe she was above the lure of wealth or the promise of living forever, she was not blind to the reality of her situation. Her mother worked tirelessly, every hour of the day to support them after her father's death. They weren't struggling right now, but it wasn't hard to imagine a future where they could be.
And the truth was, the one thing Hermione despised more than anything was being powerless. The Philosopher's Stone, resting in its secret hiding place, was not just a relic of unimaginable magic—it was a key to control. She wasn't foolish enough to let the desire for it consume her, but she wasn't innocent enough to pretend she didn't feel the pull of it. She wasn't some idealistic girl who believed that things like gold and power were meaningless.
No, she was a realist. A brilliant one.
And as much as she tried to fight it, a part of her wanted the Stone.
She knew it was selfish—hypocritical, even. But when she had stood before the Mirror of Erised that day, looking into its gleaming surface, the reflection that had stared back at her wasn't the wide-eyed, innocent girl who had started her first year at Hogwarts. No. She had seen a version of herself, calm and confident, smirking, slipping the Stone into her robes with ease. That reflection—the one with a gleam of triumph in her eyes—had told her everything she needed to know.
Hermione Granger wanted power.
For her mother. For her friends. For Harry.
Especially for Harry.
She glanced over at Harry now, lounging casually in the chair across from her bed, his legs stretched out, hands resting lazily behind his head. He looked relaxed, but there was always something more to him—something hidden, just beneath the surface. Harry Potter attracted danger the way flowers attracted bees. Even now, after only knowing him for a year, Hermione knew that Harry's life would never be simple, never peaceful. It wasn't just that he had survived Voldemort's curse as a baby—it was something far deeper than that.
Trouble followed Harry like a shadow.
And while Draco and Ron might joke about it, there was a shared understanding between them. They were all drawn to Harry, in one way or another, but they also knew that being his friend came with a price.
Hermione had seen it first-hand during their first year. The obstacles they had faced to get to the Stone—the troll, the Devil's Snare, the flying keys—those hadn't been accidents. They had been challenges, designed to test them, to see who was worthy. And while it had been the four of them working together, in the end, it was always Harry who took the brunt of it.
It always would be.
That was why she couldn't just let things happen. That was why she had stolen the Stone, why she had lied to Dumbledore about it. She wasn't about to sit idly by and wait for Harry's luck to run out. The Stone was theirs now—hers, really—and she would use it to keep them all alive, no matter what the cost.
Even if it made her a hypocrite.
The money? Well, that was just a bonus.
The real temptation wasn't the gold or the promise of riches. It was the power. And through her relentless research—countless hours spent poring over ancient tomes and scrolls in the restricted section—Hermione had learned the truth about the Philosopher's Stone. The Elixir of Life didn't make someone truly immortal. No, it simply prolonged a person's life, kept them safe from the ravages of time. But it wasn't invincible. A person who drank the Elixir could still die if they were killed.
It wasn't the kind of immortality people dreamed of in fairy tales. It was something far more realistic—far more useful.
For someone like Harry, who seemed to attract danger at every turn, the Elixir would be a lifeline. A safeguard against the endless threats that would undoubtedly follow him for the rest of his life. Hermione wasn't naïve enough to believe that they could escape the dangers of the wizarding world forever. But with the Elixir, they could buy themselves time.
Time to figure out how to survive.
She clenched her hands around the blankets on her bed, her knuckles white with the intensity of her thoughts. The Stone wasn't just some mythical artifact to her now—it was a tool, a weapon. And she was prepared to use it, no matter what anyone said. Harry might joke about living forever, about them being rich and immortal, but she knew the truth.
They wouldn't be immortal. But they could be untouchable.
For now, the Stone was hidden away, safe from prying eyes. Dumbledore likely suspected something—he always seemed to—but as far as she knew, he hadn't figured out what had really happened. And that was how it needed to stay.
She would protect Harry. And Draco. And Ron. And her mother.
Even if it meant sacrificing a little of herself in the process.
Hermione drew in a slow, steady breath, her gaze drifting back to Harry, who had shifted in his seat, his eyes half-closed. He looked peaceful, a rare expression for him. But she knew better. He was always thinking, always planning. And while she admired that about him, it also made her feel… competitive. Harry might be the one leading them into the chaos, but Hermione had her own plans—her own ways of keeping them all alive.
She smirked faintly to herself, the memory of her reflection in the Mirror of Erised still fresh in her mind. She had seen herself take the Stone, seen the power that came with it. And now, even without the Mirror's influence, she could feel it.
She would protect them, no matter the cost.
Harry might think he could save everyone, but Hermione knew the truth. It wasn't just about being brave or clever—it was about being prepared. And now, with the Philosopher's Stone in their possession, she finally had the means to do just that.
xxxxx
Unfortunately for Harry and Hermione, their days of experimentation with the Stone had proven fruitless. They had spent countless hours, trying everything they could think of to get the Philosopher's Stone to work. They'd tried changing metals into gold, to no avail. They'd dunked it into water, hoping it would somehow transform into the famed Elixir of Life. Still, nothing happened.
Their frustration was palpable. Here they were, two of the brightest minds Hogwarts had ever seen, and yet, they couldn't unravel the mystery of the legendary artifact. It didn't help that they couldn't ask anyone for assistance either. Drawing attention to themselves would only raise suspicion, especially after word had spread that the Philosopher's Stone was lost forever, believed destroyed. Researching its properties now? That would definitely make people talk.
Harry was laying across Hermione's lap, fidgeting slightly as he stared at the dull, unimpressive stone. It felt so ordinary in his hands, no different from any pebble one might pick up on a walk. Yet, its potential was extraordinary—if only they could figure out how to unlock it.
"Hermione?" Harry's voice broke the stillness.
"Yeah?" she replied absentmindedly, still thinking of how to make the artifact do something.
"Please stop pulling my hair."
Hermione groaned softly and stopped her hand, realizing she'd been tugging at Harry's messy black locks unconsciously. Her fingers had tangled in his wild hair as she absentmindedly twirled a strand around her finger.
"Sorry," she whispered, though a small part of her was reluctant to stop. There was something comforting in the familiar motion.
"That's fine," Harry chuckled softly. "Wasn't the first time you did that."
He gave her a playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, but she could sense the exhaustion lurking behind it.
Silence fell between them again, the room thick with their shared frustration and the weight of unsolved mysteries. After a few moments, Harry sat up, slipping out of the comfort of her lap. His hands turned the Stone over again, his brows furrowed in deep thought.
"You know," Harry began, still staring at the Stone as if willing it to reveal its secrets. "Ever since we got it, we've kept it hidden and buried under all those extension charms, right?"
Hermione nodded, watching him carefully. She always admired how his mind worked—how he could approach a problem from the most unexpected angles.
"Well," Harry continued, "those extension charms have some sort of preservation function, don't they? Like how they keep food fresh when stored inside, right?"
Again, Hermione nodded, recalling Sirius's thorough explanation when he'd cast the charms for them.
"What if," Harry said, a playful grin tugging at his lips, "we just leave it out in the open? In a bowl or something. I know it sounds ridiculous, but for a moment, when I was holding it... my hands felt wet."
Hermione frowned, narrowing her eyes. "Are you suggesting that the Stone is... sweating the Elixir of Life?"
It sounded absurd, but in their world, where magic made the impossible possible, maybe it wasn't so crazy after all. If the Stone had properties beyond their understanding, something like that wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility.
"Yeah," Harry replied with a shrug. "Maybe just leave it in a bowl for a while—see what happens. Give it a week or so."
Hermione let out a long sigh. They were grasping at straws, but at this point, what else could they do? They'd tried everything else.
"Okay, let's do that," she agreed, though her voice lacked conviction. What harm could it do?
Harry nodded, jumping up from the bed and disappearing from the room for a moment. Hermione stretched out, glancing over at the spot where Harry had been, feeling the warmth he'd left behind. She didn't have long to dwell on it before Harry returned, holding... a Tupperware?
"There wasn't any bowl?" Hermione asked, laughing softly as she sat up.
"Well, we had a ceramic one, but I just had this feeling it might break. The next best thing was a metal bowl, but I didn't want to risk it reacting with the Stone, so... plastic it is." He grinned sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on her lips. "Sometimes, I just want to open up your head and see what's going on in that brain of yours."
Harry pretended to shrink back in mock fear, eyes wide with exaggerated terror. "Okay, wow, that was terrifying! I guess I should be careful, huh?"
She smirked, her eyes glinting mischievously. "You should be. Don't test me, Potter."
Harry's smirk widened. He stepped closer, leaning in slowly, his breath warm against her skin as he cupped her chin. For a brief moment, Hermione's heart raced, unsure of what he was going to do next. Then, with a quick, playful motion, he pressed a light kiss to the tip of her nose.
"Not even a little bit?" he teased.
Hermione blushed, pushing him away with a laugh as he backed up, grinning. "Get off me! Just give me the damn container and leave!" she muttered, flustered. "You still have a date tomorrow."
Harry groaned, rolling his eyes. "It's not a date! It's just a formal meeting between Houses!"
Hermione made a face as she carefully placed the Philosopher's Stone inside the Tupperware, then tucked it behind a stack of books on her shelf. As she worked, she couldn't help but think, 'Not a date, my ass.'
Without another word, she slid back down onto her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. "I'm sleeping! Good night!" she announced, turning away from him.
Harry groaned again, dragging his feet toward the door, his exasperation clear.
But just as he reached the threshold, her voice stopped him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Uh... to my room?" Harry turned, eyebrow raised in confusion.
"No," Hermione said, her tone firm and unyielding. "You sleep here."
Harry froze in place, eyes wide with surprise. Her words weren't a request—they were a command. Hermione's gaze was sharp, and the look she gave him promised that if he dared leave, he'd regret it.
Without another word, Harry slipped back into the room and climbed into the bed beside her. He barely had time to get comfortable before Hermione reached for him, pulling him close. She nestled against him, resting her head on his arm, her body molding against his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Good night," Hermione grumbled softly, her voice muffled by his shirt. "And don't you dare wake me when you go out for your 'not-date' tomorrow."
Harry sighed, feeling the warmth of her breath against his skin, the softness of her hair brushing his cheek. He stared at the ceiling, wondering how he ended up here—snuggled up in Hermione Granger's bed, accused of going on dates he didn't even want to think about.
"Good night," he whispered back, closing his eyes.
Chapter 20: Incendio
Chapter Text
Hermione Granger woke up with a frustrated sigh. The soft sunlight filtered through the thick curtains of her room in Potter Manor, casting a gentle glow across the space. She instinctively reached out, expecting to feel the familiar warmth of Harry still asleep beside her, but her fingers only brushed against the cold, empty sheets. The absence stung, reminding her that her best friend had slipped away without waking her.
She sat up with a huff, tossing her blanket to the side in annoyance, her hair falling in unruly waves around her face. Her eyes lingered on the vacant side of the bed, where a neatly folded note and a chocolate bar—a particular favorite of hers—rested against the pillow.
For a moment, her irritation ebbed, curiosity winning out as she grabbed the note. Hermione frowned as she read the hastily scribbled words:
"I'll be back soon. Sorry. - HJP
P.S. Not going on a date."
She rolled her eyes, biting back the urge to crumple the note into a ball. The words, though simple, sparked something unsettled inside her. Not going on a date? Really? As much as she trusted Harry, the faintest trace of jealousy bubbled in her chest. She told herself it was silly, irrational, but still—he hadn't even woken her to say goodbye. She knew she had said that she didn't want to be woken up... but still! The fact that he left without her felt like a betrayal, and now she was stuck overthinking his absence.
Letting out a sigh, Hermione tossed the note aside and eyed the chocolate bar. She couldn't bring herself to enjoy it now. It felt more like a peace offering than a thoughtful gift, and she wasn't ready to forgive him so easily.
She forced herself out of bed, padding across the cool wooden floor toward the bathroom. The shower was hot, nearly scalding, but it helped drown out her lingering frustrations. As the water cascaded over her, she let the steam wrap around her, a temporary escape from the nagging thoughts circling in her mind.
What was Harry up to? And why hadn't he bothered to tell her? She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.
After what felt like ages, Hermione finally stepped out of the shower, feeling only slightly more relaxed. She dressed quickly, throwing on a simple but comfortable outfit—a soft jumper and jeans—as she prepared to head downstairs for breakfast. Her mind was already ticking through the day's tasks, but she was surprised to see her mother seated at the table, looking unusually dressed up. The house-elves bustled about, preparing breakfast with their usual efficiency, and Dobby, ever cheerful, was already munching happily on some fruit.
Hermione slid into the chair next to him, offering a warm smile. She didn't find it strange anymore to see the house-elves dining with them. Here at Potter Manor, things were different. Harry and Sirius treated the elves as equals, a far cry from the stories she'd heard of how house-elves were typically treated in other wizarding households. She rather liked it. Dobby's infectious enthusiasm was a welcome presence, and even the grumpy Kreacher had grown on her, in his own way.
"Good morning, Mum," Hermione greeted as she reached for some toast.
Emma Granger looked up from the Daily Prophet, her lips curling into a soft smile as she set the paper aside. "Good morning, love," she replied, helping herself to some food as well. Hermione's eyes briefly swept over her mother's attire, noting the polished look. A simple yet elegant dress, paired with comfortable shoes, made it clear she had plans to go out.
"Are you going somewhere today?" Hermione asked between bites, her curiosity piqued.
Emma smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Actually, I was hoping you could join me outside today. We've hardly had time for ourselves lately, what with all the work and sorting through that enormous library."
Hermione arched a brow, intrigued but slightly puzzled. "What about work? I thought you were cataloguing more books today?"
Her mother waved a hand dismissively, laughing lightly. "Oh, please. The Potter Library can survive one day without me fussing over it. Besides, I think Harry's budget for new books is more than enough to keep me busy for the rest of the year. We deserve a break, don't you think?"
Hermione chuckled, feeling her mood lift just a little. It was true—her mother had been spending an enormous amount of time in that grand library, a room that once felt chaotic but now seemed to be slowly transforming into a proper sanctuary for knowledge. Harry had insisted on expanding its collection, asking for Emma's help to curate and update the ancient tomes. Some of the books were so outdated that they contained theories long disproven, and it was her mother's job to sift through them and decide which to keep and which to replace. It was a monumental task, one Hermione admired her mother for tackling head-on.
"Well," Hermione sighed, smiling, "I suppose we could use some time together. What did you have in mind?"
Emma's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Nothing too extravagant. I thought we could just enjoy the day—maybe visit a few shops, walk around, and have a nice lunch out."
That struck a chord in Hermione's heart. They hadn't done something like that since before Hogwarts. A soft wave of nostalgia washed over her, making her realize just how much she missed those simpler times—when her biggest worry was choosing which new book to read, not dodging curses or unearthing the secrets of magical artifacts like the Philosopher's Stone.
"I'd love that, Mum," she said warmly, giving Emma a genuine smile.
"Perfect!" Emma beamed, clearly pleased with Hermione's response. "We'll head out as soon as we finish breakfast. And don't worry—Harry will survive without you for a few hours."
Hermione's smile faltered just slightly at the mention of Harry, a flicker of that earlier jealousy resurfacing. She wondered what he was up to right now. Her mind drifted back to the note he left, and the added P.S. about not going on a date.
'Not a date, huh?' Hermione thought wryly, biting into her toast. She tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered at the back of her mind like a stubborn whisper. Whatever he was doing, she hoped it didn't involve anyone too interesting.
Still, she pushed the thought away, determined to enjoy the day with her mother. After all, Harry would be back soon enough.
As the two of them finished up their breakfast, Dobby offered Hermione a cheerful wave before disappearing with a pop, likely off to handle whatever house-elf duties he had for the day. Kreacher merely grumbled something under his breath before shuffling off, leaving the two Grangers alone to finish their plans.
Hermione stood up, stretching her arms before glancing back at her mother. "Shall we then?"
Emma grinned and stood, ready to start their mother-daughter day out. "Let's go, dear."
Hermione couldn't shake the odd flutter in her chest—the lingering thoughts of Harry, the sense of anticipation she couldn't quite name. But as she stepped out with her mother, she resolved to enjoy the day, knowing that soon enough, Harry would be back, and they'd continue unraveling the mysteries of the Philosopher's Stone together.
xxxxx
Hermione stood still, her gaze fixed on the car before her. It was sleek but not overly extravagant, just a modest black sedan, gleaming faintly in the late morning light. The car seemed out of place in her mind, a strange contrast to the grandeur of Potter Manor and Grimmauld Place. The whole scene felt like a small break from the usual world of magic she'd become accustomed to.
The transition from the quiet elegance of Potter Manor, where they'd used the Floo to arrive at the Black family home, had been seamless. Grimmauld Place loomed as always, its dark, ancient facade filled with mystery and history, but now here they were, standing in a mundane carpark with the sun bouncing off the glossy surfaces of parked cars. It was almost jarring.
Hermione's eyes flicked over to her mother as Emma Granger casually pulled out a set of keys, the soft jingle cutting through the stillness. She watched, surprised, as her mother made her way over to the driver's side of the sedan.
"Since when did we have a car, Mum?" Hermione asked, blinking as the realization hit her. This was new—completely new.
Emma gave a casual shrug, though her smile was a little bemused. "Well, Sirius thought it would be practical. Since I don't really have any magical means of getting around when I need to run errands or just want to go out, he suggested I get one."
"Buy one? With what money?" Hermione pressed, her mind still grappling with the absurdity of it all. She could still remember a time, not long ago, when they could barely afford to repair their old bicycle.
Emma sighed, a mixture of amusement and exasperation crossing her face. "Dear, I can't even begin to explain how much Sirius and Harry are paying me. Ever since we moved to the Manor, there hasn't been much to spend it on. You're on scholarship, and I have no need for rent or groceries like we used to." She chuckled lightly. "I tried to argue with them, but Sirius threatened to raise my salary even more if I protested." Emma shook her head, grumbling under her breath. "Honestly, that man sometimes... his generosity knows no limits."
Hermione's mind raced. Just a year ago, they had been living in a cramped apartment, her mother working double shifts at both the library and the bookstore just to keep things together. Now, they were riding around in a car bought with a salary that seemed more like a small fortune. The shift in their lives felt surreal, like she had stepped into some parallel world where everything had flipped upside down.
Emma glanced at her, catching the look on Hermione's face before chuckling again. "Yeah, absurd, right?" she said with a shake of her head, reading her daughter's thoughts with ease. "Well, hop in. We've got the whole day ahead of us."
Hermione snapped out of her reverie and obeyed, slipping into the passenger seat with practiced ease. The car smelled fresh, the leather seats cool against her skin. For a moment, the world outside felt distant, muted by the hum of the car's engine as her mother started it up.
As they drove off, Hermione found herself staring out the window, watching the passing scenery blur into green and grey streaks. It felt strange, this sudden taste of normalcy amidst the strangeness of her magical life. A simple drive in a car should have been ordinary, but now, in the wake of everything that had happened since she had become friends with Harry, nothing felt normal anymore.
She glanced sideways at her mother, a mix of emotions bubbling just below the surface. A year ago, this would have been impossible—a car, their life in the Manor, even her friendship with Harry and his world of magic. Now, here they were, surrounded by opportunities they never thought they'd have. For now, she let herself relax into the seat, enjoying the cool breeze filtering through the open window. Today was hers and her mother's, a rare day where the magical world would be left behind, if only for a little while.
xxxxx
Hermione and her mother strolled through the bustling Muggle mall, surrounded by the hum of everyday life. Bright storefronts stretched out around them, the air filled with the chatter of shoppers and the occasional gleam of sunlight streaming through the skylights above. It was one of those rare moments where everything seemed wonderfully normal. No magic, no spells, just the comfortable ease of a day spent together.
They wandered from store to store, sifting through racks of clothes, trying on outfits, and pausing now and then to admire a particularly nice pair of shoes or a stylish jacket. Hermione couldn't help but smile at how relaxed her mother looked, her usual worries seemingly forgotten for the moment. It was refreshing to be here, away from the complexities of the wizarding world, just the two of them, talking about everything and nothing. Their conversations flowed freely, from the latest trends in Muggle fashion to humorous observations about people they passed by, to what their lives had been like before everything had changed.
After a leisurely lunch at a small café, where they shared sandwiches and giggled over how different Muggle food was compared to the meals at Potter Manor, they stopped by a bookstore. Hermione's heart swelled with excitement as they walked through the rows of neatly arranged books, their spines calling out to be picked up and leafed through. There was something about the smell of fresh pages, the soft hush of the store, that always put her at ease. She and her mother scanned through the titles, each picking one that caught their eye, with the promise to return for more next time.
Hours had passed in what felt like mere minutes, and soon they found themselves back in the car, the bags of their purchases resting in the back seat. Hermione stretched out, sinking into the soft cushion of the seat, her limbs pleasantly tired from the day's adventures. Emma sat beside her, her hands on the steering wheel but not yet starting the car. They both seemed content in the quiet moment, letting the gentle hum of the city outside wash over them.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Emma broke it with a question that caught Hermione completely off guard.
"Hermione, how would you feel about us buying a small house for just the two of us?"
Hermione froze, her breath catching in her throat. The question hit her like a sudden gust of wind, unexpected and swirling with emotion. She had dreamed about this for as long as she could remember—moving into a little house with her mother, their own space, a place filled with warmth and love, where they could have a cozy library for their favorite books and a garden where roses, their shared favorite flower, would bloom in abundance. It had been a dream that kept them going when things were hard, back when money was tight, and the idea of owning a house seemed impossible.
Now, that dream could become reality. But it would also mean leaving Potter Manor behind. It would mean moving away from Harry, Draco, and Ron, and only seeing them when she visited. The idea tugged at her heart in two directions at once. On the one hand, it was everything she'd ever wanted. On the other, it would mean leaving behind the place where she'd found a new kind of family, where she and Harry had grown so close.
She sat there, staring at her hands, unsure of what to say. The words were stuck, tangled in the overwhelming rush of emotion. What if her answer wasn't what her mother really wanted? What if, by staying at the Manor, she was denying her mother the chance to have the life they'd always dreamed of?
Emma, ever attuned to her daughter's thoughts, smiled gently. "We don't have to decide now, dear," she said, her voice warm and understanding. She reached out and gave Hermione's hand a comforting squeeze. "I know you love spending time with Harry, and I was only thinking that maybe you'd like a place of our own again. I just didn't want you to think that since we've stepped into this magical world, I've forgotten about our plans and dreams."
Hermione's eyes welled up with tears, the sheer love and understanding in her mother's voice pulling at her heartstrings. Emma leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her daughter's head. "Just say the word, and we'll build our lives back up again, however you want."
Hermione let out a watery laugh, wiping her eyes quickly before the tears could spill over. The very thought of having that power to choose, to decide what their future would look like, felt overwhelming yet reassuring. But just as she was about to say something, Emma added with a mischievous grin, "Either way, I'm sure Harry would still find a way to sneak into your room, even if we had our own house."
Hermione's face flushed red, her heart leaping in embarrassment. "Mum!" she sputtered, mortified at the very suggestion.
Emma threw her head back and let out a loud, joyous laugh, clearly enjoying teasing her daughter. Hermione couldn't help but feel a little betrayed by how much fun her mother was having at her expense. "Oh, darling, must I remind you that we have connecting rooms at the Manor? There's only a door separating us two. I can hear you both bickering all night!"
Hermione felt her cheeks grow hotter, her mind racing as she struggled to defend herself. "We—no—Mum! It's not like that at all!"
But Emma wasn't done. She wiped a tear from her eye, still giggling. "My little girl, you've grown so much. You used to stay up all night with books, and now you're staying up all night with a boy! What would your father think?"
Hermione buried her face in her hands, groaning in a mix of embarrassment and exasperation. "Stop! Mum, please!"
Emma just laughed harder, clearly amused by her daughter's discomfort. For Hermione, the whole situation felt like an eternity of embarrassment, but deep down, she couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and love, even in the teasing. This was their life now—full of joy, possibility, and the close bond that they had always shared, even in the toughest of times.
xxxxx
The evening sky over Potter Manor was a deep indigo, the fading light casting long shadows through the large windows of the kitchen as the air filled with the smells of burnt food and questionable ingredients. The manor itself, usually peaceful and majestic, was now in a state of disarray. The kitchen was a disaster zone—a true testament to the chaos that had unfolded in their absence.
Sirius Black's voice cut through the scene like a sharp knife, echoing against the stone walls as he stepped into the room. "What the bloody hell is going on here?!"
His eyes darted from one disaster to another. The table was littered with evidence of a failed cooking attempt: burnt meals sat forgotten on mismatched plates, some vegetables were chopped so finely they could barely be recognized, and a gooey, gelatinous mess in one corner left him baffled as to what it had been intended for. It looked like a potions experiment gone horribly wrong, rather than dinner.
Harry stood beside him, silently taking in the carnage. He had just returned with Sirius from a long, tedious meeting with the Greengrass family. Both of them were mentally drained from the exhausting talks about Draco's betrothal to Astoria Greengrass. Harry, in particular, had spent the entire evening trying to divert attention away from himself and onto poor Draco, who had finally caved and agreed to the arrangement. The last thing either of them had expected upon returning was to be greeted by this culinary catastrophe.
On the other side of the table, Emma and Hermione stood with guilty expressions, struggling to hold back their laughter. Emma's cheeks were slightly flushed, while Hermione's eyes twinkled with barely contained amusement. Their mischievous delight at the chaos they'd caused was evident, though it was also clear that neither of them wanted to take full responsibility for the mess.
Sirius, clearly not in the mood for games, glared at the scene before him. "W-We wanted to cook dinner," Hermione said, her voice trembling with laughter as she tried and failed to maintain her composure. Beside her, Emma snorted, the sound making Hermione giggle harder.
"Cook?!" Sirius spluttered, turning his incredulous gaze on Emma. "Emma, you can't cook!"
Emma crossed her arms defiantly, her lips curving into a smirk. "Hey, I can cook an egg!" she shot back, as if that were enough to redeem the disaster they'd created.
Sirius threw his hands in the air. "Oh, bloody Merlin, well thank you for that! Every time I ask for a sunny side up, I'm served with an omelette that still has eggshells in it!"
At this, Harry made a face, unable to suppress his grimace. He knew how to cook—Sirius had taught him well enough over the years, but hearing about Emma's disastrous attempts in the kitchen made him wonder just how bad things could get. He glanced at the mysterious goo on the table and shuddered inwardly.
Hermione bit her lip, trying not to laugh outright. "Let's just clean up and order pizza," she suggested, looking for an escape route. "Mum will pay for it!" she added, flashing a mischievous grin.
Sirius rolled his eyes in mock frustration, but there was an undeniable sparkle of amusement behind his words. "No, get out of the kitchen. Harry and I will cook."
Harry blinked, his head snapping towards his godfather in surprise. "Why am I getting pulled into this?" he asked, genuinely confused as to how he'd become a part of the situation.
Sirius smirked, crossing his arms confidently. "Because Hermione is your responsibility, and you need to show her how to cook a fantastic meal!" His tone was teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness that told Harry there was no escaping this. It seemed like Sirius was determined to make this a 'learning experience' for everyone involved.
Harry stared at him, then at the mess on the table. "Wha—She—Oh, I give up," he muttered, defeated. He marched over to the cabinet, pulling out a box of lasagna noodles with a sigh. If they were going to salvage dinner, he'd better take charge now.
Hermione, though half-heartedly wanting to argue about helping, saw the determined look on Harry's face and wisely decided against it. One sharp glare from him was enough to send her and her mother retreating from the kitchen, giggling amongst themselves as they disappeared from sight.
With the kitchen now clear of distractions, Harry began to gather the ingredients. He moved with a practiced ease, his focus solely on the task at hand as he set to work. He opened the fridge, pulling out fresh tomatoes, cheese, and a variety of spices. Beside him, Sirius started chopping onions, his knife moving swiftly and precisely as he hummed a tune to himself, clearly enjoying the sudden change in atmosphere.
The kitchen, once chaotic, began to shift under Sirius's command. The sound of sizzling pans soon replaced the quiet chuckles from the other room, and the smell of fresh garlic and onions filled the air. As Harry worked, there was a sense of calm settling over the kitchen, a stark contrast to the earlier disaster.
xxxxx
Harry sank into the softness of his bed, freshly showered and feeling the weight of exhaustion pull him down like a heavy anchor. The meeting with the Greengrasses had been tiresome, draining his energy as he tried to maintain a careful balance of politeness, humor, and subtle deflection. Lord Greengrass had been relentless, bringing up every possible reason why the betrothal arrangement with Harry and Daphne and Draco and Astoria was beneficial for their families. It wasn't like Harry had much say in it, but he felt for Draco, who looked ready to crawl into a hole every time the topic of wedding plans came up.
Then there was Daphne, who had been coolly irritated with Hermione ever since their time at Hogwarts. Her clipped words and sharp glances toward Hermione, though subtle, were hard to miss. It was exhausting enough for Harry to keep up the polite facade, trying to lighten the mood with Astoria, who—thank Merlin—was kind and easy to talk to. Teasing Draco about the situation had been the only real highlight of the evening.
Now, lying on his bed, Harry wanted nothing more than to shut out the world. He could check on Hermione tomorrow; he needed rest tonight. Just as he was about to turn off the lights and drift into blissful sleep, the sound of his door creaking open made him groan inwardly. There was only one person who could barge into the Lord's room at Potter Manor without knocking.
"Are you sleeping?" Hermione's cheerful voice pierced through the quiet.
Harry rubbed his face, sitting up with a groan. "Merlin, Hermione, why are you still so full of energy?"
Hermione closed the door behind her and practically leapt onto his bed, landing with an enthusiastic bounce that nearly knocked Harry off the mattress. He laughed, catching her as she tumbled into him, her grin infectious.
"Hi," she said brightly, eyes twinkling.
"Hello," Harry replied with a tired smile. "What have you been up to?"
Hermione immediately launched into an excited retelling of her day, talking about her trip to the mall with her mother, all the shops they visited, and the new book she'd picked up. Harry listened, amused by how animated she became. The room felt lighter with her presence, her energy contrasting with his exhaustion.
"Your mum has a car?" Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Did you know Sirius has a motorbike stashed away somewhere? He said it can fly, too."
Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought of a flying motorbike. "That sounds... dangerous."
"I think it sounds brilliant," Harry said, laughing at her horrified expression. He stretched out, feeling the tension from the day slowly melt away as they talked.
As Hermione's chatter filled the room, Harry tried his best to focus on her words rather than the nagging thoughts about the Greengrasses. He wasn't ready to bring that up tonight; the last thing he wanted was for his peaceful evening with Hermione to be tainted by talk of betrothals and contracts. Instead, he let her excitement carry the conversation, enjoying the normalcy of it all. It felt like a break from the pressures of the wizarding world, just two friends sharing a moment.
After a while, their conversation began to lull, the excitement from her day gradually giving way to a more thoughtful tone. Hermione shifted, sitting cross-legged on the bed as she glanced at Harry, her expression more serious now.
"Harry," she began quietly, "my mum asked me something earlier today..."
Harry sat up a little straighter, noticing the sudden change in her demeanor. "What did she ask?"
Hermione hesitated, as if weighing her words. "She asked if I wanted us to move out, you know, find a house of our own."
Harry felt his heart drop. The thought of Hermione leaving Potter Manor, of her and Emma moving somewhere else, hit him like a punch to the gut. Panic welled up inside him, his exhaustion forgotten in an instant.
"No!" he blurted out, his voice sharper than he intended. "You can't leave!"
Hermione looked at him with wide eyes, clearly taken aback by his sudden outburst. "Harry, it's not decided yet. Mum said it's up to me. She's fine either way."
"No, Hermione, you can't leave," Harry said again, this time more desperately. He reached for her hand, gripping it tightly as if afraid she might disappear right then and there. "Stay. Please, just stay."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't used to seeing Harry like this—pleading, vulnerable. He was always so confident, so in control, that seeing him practically begging was both amusing and oddly endearing.
Harry Potter never begged.
"I'm not sure," Hermione said playfully, folding her arms as if considering her options.
"Hermione, please," Harry groaned, tugging her closer until she was half-leaning into him. "Don't leave. I like having you here. It wouldn't be the same without you."
Hermione bit her lip, trying to suppress the blush that was creeping up her cheeks. It was rare for Harry to be this open with his feelings, and though she enjoyed the affection, she didn't want to make it too easy for him.
"I don't know..." she teased, though her resolve was weakening under the weight of his earnestness.
Harry, clearly panicking, wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "You can't leave, Hermione. I'll do anything. We have land right next to the Manor. You and Emma could build a house there! I'll contract the the goblins handle it, make sure it's warded and safe."
Hermione hummed thoughtfully, though she was starting to enjoy the way Harry was clinging to her, as if the mere idea of her leaving was unbearable to him. It was cute, really.
Harry's grip tightened, and he kissed her cheek in a desperate attempt to sway her. "Please, Hermione, just stay. Say you'll stay. I don't want you to go."
Hermione felt her resolve melt a little more with each plea, but she wasn't about to let him off that easily. She enjoyed having the upper hand for once. "I'll think about it," she whispered, trying to pull away from his embrace.
"No!" Harry groaned, pulling her back. "Decide now! Please, just say it! Whatever you want, I'll do it. Anything."
Hermione sighed, feeling a mix of amusement and affection for him. She liked Harry—she really did—but seeing him so worked up was both a little annoying and undeniably adorable.
"Anything?" she asked, narrowing her eyes as if testing him.
"Anything!" Harry said, his eyes lighting up with hope.
Hermione pretended to think for a moment before she leaned closer, her voice soft and almost playful. "Break the contract with Greengrass."
xxxxx
Sirius Black wasn't really a morning person. In fact, his disdain for mornings was well-known to anyone who'd spent more than a few hours around him. He especially hated having to talk to anyone before his first strong cup of coffee. Yet, here he was, sitting at the kitchen table in Potter Manor, surrounded by the house-elves darting in and out, the ever-watchful Emma Granger, a chipper Harry Potter, and a surprisingly quiet Hermione. He squinted at them all from behind his mug, seriously considering whether to smack his godson over the head.
"We literally just had a meeting with the Greengrasses yesterday," Sirius drawled, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if it could erase the headache building. His long, elegant fingers pinched together as if he could squeeze sense into Harry through sheer force of will. "And now you want to break the contract?"
"Yes," Harry replied cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to Sirius's growing irritation. He leaned back in his chair with that infuriatingly casual grin that often accompanied some of his more reckless ideas.
Sirius' eyes narrowed at the boy's nonchalance. He'd seen that expression before—it was the same look James used to wear before suggesting they sneak into the Forbidden Forest. It rarely ended well.
Meanwhile, Hermione sat beside Harry, fidgeting slightly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was trying, and failing, to appear nonchalant. She couldn't believe that Harry had actually agreed to her request so quickly. If only she'd known that he would fold this easily—she should have tried it sooner!
Sirius' chair scraped noisily against the stone floor as he stood up, muttering under his breath. He disappeared into the next room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake. The atmosphere in the kitchen shifted as Emma Granger, who had remained quiet through the exchange, gave Harry a curious look, her eyes narrowing as if to peel back whatever secrets had just transpired. Something had clearly happened last night, and Emma was determined to find out.
Hermione, feeling the weight of her mother's gaze, swallowed hard and averted her eyes, cheeks flushed with the memory of last night's conversation in Harry's room. She could still feel the warmth of Harry's arms around her, the sincerity in his voice as he pleaded for her not to leave. It was flattering, and perhaps a little overwhelming.
Before Emma could ask the questions that were clearly brewing, Sirius re-entered the room holding a parchment in his hand. He tossed it onto the table with a sigh, his brows knitted together in exasperation. The soft parchment fluttered down, landing between Harry and Hermione like a silent declaration of what was at stake.
"I'm going to ask you again," Sirius said, his voice a mix of disbelief and resignation, "are you serious about this?"
"Yes," Harry replied without hesitation, a bright smile spreading across his face. He didn't miss the irony in Sirius's question, but now was not the time for jokes. "I've thought about it before, to be honest. Malfoy's betrothed to Greengrass now, so their family's already considered allies with both the Black and Potter houses. That's all Lord Greengrass really needed."
Harry's explanation was calm, calculated, and perhaps a bit too confident for an eleven-year-old. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and continued, "Besides, Draco's one of my own. Since Astoria will be his future wife, she falls under my protection. And that means I'll be protecting Daphne, too—and the rest of the Greengrasses."
Sirius groaned audibly this time. There was no denying Harry's logic. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the boy was right. It didn't hurt that Harry's growing sense of responsibility for his friends—Draco included—was the kind of trait that would make him a formidable leader one day. But still, burning a contract like that was no small matter.
Part of Sirius had actually hoped that Daphne could one day be the girl for Harry. The connection with the Greengrasses was politically beneficial, and Daphne was clever, poised, and beautiful. Even if she didn't end up as a Potter, she could've been betrothed to be a Black. He shook his head slightly, not wanting to dwell too much on what-ifs. There was no point in suggesting such things—not now, at least.
With a reluctant sigh, Sirius slid the contract across the table toward Harry. "Now, before you—"
But before he could finish, Harry had already whipped out his wand, the movement so quick it almost startled Sirius.
"Incendio."
The tip of Harry's wand sparked to life, and they all watched as the parchment ignited, flames curling around the edges before consuming it entirely. The ashes drifted lazily onto the breakfast table, sending tiny flecks of burnt paper into their food. Harry, ever quick with his magic, cast another spell to banish the mess away, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of smoke.
He turned to Hermione with a proud grin. "There. I did it."
Hermione's eyes widened in horror, her heart dropping at the sight of the burnt contract. This wasn't how she'd imagined it would play out. Her stomach churned as she realized what she had unintentionally set into motion.
Emma's mouth hung open in shock before she snapped it shut, her jaw tight with maternal fury. "HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER!"
Hermione barely had time to react before Emma's voice cut through the air like a whip. She was ready to bolt from the room, but her mother was faster, and before she knew it, Emma had a firm grip on her arm.
"Hermione!" Emma shrieked, her voice filled with both disbelief and exasperation. "What is all this about?!"
Sirius groaned, rubbing his temples. "Harry, please don't tell me you burned the betrothal contract because Hermione said so."
"I didn't!" Hermione cried, her face flushed from both embarrassment and panic.
"She didn't!" Harry quickly jumped to her defense, glancing nervously between Sirius and Emma. "She just said that they'd stay if I broke the contract, and, well... I want her to stay."
Hermione groaned inwardly, the mortification settling in as her mother shot her a look that could melt steel. This had all escalated far quicker than she'd intended.
"I must apologize, Sirius," Emma said, her voice tight with barely restrained anger. She stood up, pulling Hermione along with her. "I need to have a long talk with my daughter."
"Please do," Sirius muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "I also need to talk with my godson. It seems some... discipline is in order."
Harry gulped as he watched Hermione being practically dragged out of the room, her dejected expression doing little to soothe his nerves. The house-elves, sensing the storm brewing, scurried out of the kitchen, clearing the table in record time, even though the meal wasn't finished.
As soon as the room was empty, Sirius turned to Harry, his face a mask of stern disappointment. He crossed his arms and sighed deeply. "You're grounded."