Chapter 29: Giant Squid
Chapter Text
"You two, leave," Hermione Granger ordered, her voice low and controlled but laced with undeniable authority. She had her wand gripped tightly in her hand, her knuckles white from the tension. Her eyes were fixed on Harry, who was casually making tea on the far side of the room, as if oblivious to the storm brewing behind him.
Ron and Draco exchanged quick glances, but neither dared question her. Hermione was in one of those moods. The kind of mood where even a sideways glance might bring down her wrath. Without hesitation, both boys turned on their heels and hurried out of the Room of Requirement, each glad to avoid whatever was about to happen.
The heavy door closed behind them with a soft thud, leaving the room eerily silent except for the faint clink of Harry's spoon stirring the tea.
"Hello, love," Harry said, attempting a playful smile, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. He shot her a glance over his shoulder, clearly trying to charm her with the same ease he often used. It didn't work.
Hermione's eyes didn't soften; they only grew more intense. She pointed at the couch, a silent but unmistakable command.
Harry swallowed hard, his throat dry as parchment. His mind screamed at him to grab his wand—just in case—but his body betrayed him. He didn't even know what kind of spell she might throw at him, or if he even had the guts to counter it. So, instead, he did as he was told, sinking into the couch with a sense of dread that made his heart beat faster.
Hermione remained standing, her gaze like fire on his skin. She didn't move, didn't speak—just stood there, glaring at him with such intensity that Harry swore she was trying to burn him alive with her eyes alone. If looks could kill, he would have been ashes by now.
The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, growing heavier with every second that passed. It had been a while since they'd had a real conversation. The last few weeks had been consumed by Quidditch training, Hermione's detentions, and the relentless whispers and teasing from their classmates. More importantly, Hermione was still furious—livid, even—after hearing about Harry's promise to Daphne to carry on the Black family line. It didn't help that Hermione had been avoiding him ever since.
Harry opened his mouth, desperate to break the silence. "Herm—"
But before he could finish, Hermione moved. She crossed the room with lightning speed, her eyes blazing. Without warning, she straddled him, her body pressing down against his with an intensity that stole his breath. Her hands gripped his hair painfully tight, and before he could react, her lips crashed against his in a kiss that was far more aggressive than anything they had ever shared before.
Harry froze for a split second, shocked by the raw intensity of it. But instinct took over, and he kissed her back, his hands instinctively pulling her closer. This kiss wasn't like the others. This wasn't sweet or gentle—it was desperate, fierce, and filled with pent-up frustration. Hermione wasn't holding back, and it almost felt like she was pouring all her anger into him.
It took Harry a moment to realize that something was off. His lips tasted salt, and it wasn't from the snacks. His eyes shot open, and to his horror, he saw tears streaming down Hermione's face, her cheeks wet with emotion she could no longer contain.
"Hermione?" Harry whispered, pulling back just enough to see her properly. His voice was soft, his heart aching at the sight of her pain.
She didn't answer right away, instead burying her face against his neck, her body trembling slightly as she cried against him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that could somehow make everything better. The feel of her tears on his skin made his chest tighten with guilt and regret.
"I-I don't want you to marry Daphne…" Her voice cracked as she said it, barely above a whisper, but the pain in those few words was palpable. It was as if the very idea was ripping her apart from the inside.
Harry let out a slow sigh, his hand moving gently to rub her back in soothing circles. "I'm not marrying Daphne, Hermione," he said softly, his words measured and sincere.
Hermione pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-filled eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. "You're not?" she asked, her voice shaky, filled with both hope and fear.
Harry offered her a small, reassuring smile. "No," he replied firmly. "I only promised that because at the time, it seemed like the best solution—an easy way out of a complicated situation. But Draco has already talked to her, and she's backing down."
Hermione blinked, relief flooding her features as she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She leaned forward again, resting her forehead against his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline. "I hate the thought of sharing you," she muttered against his shirt, her voice muffled but still clear enough for him to hear. "You're mine. Mine alone."
Harry chuckled softly, despite the tension still hanging in the air. "We're not even betrothed yet," he teased, though there was a slight nervous edge to his tone.
Hermione stopped, pulling away just enough to glare at him. "We're not betrothed because you haven't offered anything yet!" she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "What's taking you so long, Harry Potter?!"
Harry's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. "I thought you wanted to wait!" he shot back defensively. "What was all that talk about us being too young, still kids and all that?"
"Well, I thought you didn't like me!" Hermione retorted, her voice rising with frustration. "I was hoping you'd notice me eventually and decide for a betrothal in your own time! I thought you'd realize how I felt eventually, but you were too busy making promises to other girls!"
Harry stared at her, completely dumbfounded. "So you're telling me you love me?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, you idiot!" Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. "Since before Hogwarts, even!"
Harry's jaw dropped, and for a moment, he could only gape at her in disbelief. "Before Hogwarts?!"
Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, but she held her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes."
Harry laughed, shaking his head in astonishment. "Well, that's funny," he said with a smirk, "because I've loved you even before that."
Hermione blinked, clearly taken aback. "What?"
"I've loved you since before we even officially met," Harry admitted, his voice softer now, more serious. "Do you remember the park where we first met? I used to go there all the time, just to read. But then I noticed you. Every day, there you were, with your nose buried in a book, completely in your own world. And after that, I kept going back, just to see you. You didn't even notice me."
Hermione sat rigid, her mind racing. This was news to her. How had she been so oblivious? The revelation hit her like a bucket of cold water. Harry had been at the park the whole time? Watching her, looking for her, and she'd never even noticed?
She swallowed the rising lump in her throat. Had she been so absorbed in her own world, too lost in her books and thoughts to notice him, this boy now sitting so charmingly in front of her?
Harry shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "You were always lost in your books," he teased gently. "But yeah, I was there. And when I saw those bullies picking on you that day… well, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing."
Her eyes narrowed, locking on Harry. "So…" Hermione began, her voice low but edged with skepticism. "You saved me from those bullies just so you could brag about it later? Then you…stalked me, hoping I'd fall for you? And what—by some stroke of luck, I just happened to be a witch too?"
Harry's grin wavered under her scrutiny, though the mischievous glint in his eyes remained. He scratched the back of his head, trying to play it off with a casual shrug. "Er… yeah? Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a bit... creepy." He laughed softly, eyes searching her face. "You hate it?"
Hermione couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips, her frustration dissolving in the face of his goofy charm. She leaned closer, kissing him lightly on the lips, a tender but firm reminder that despite the madness, she loved him. "You're crazy, you know that?" she murmured, brushing her thumb over his cheek. "But you're allowed to be crazy… as long as it's just for me."
She smirked, leaning in closer to his ear. "But if another girl tries to marry you, I'm going to go just as crazy. Got it?"
For a while, they indulged in the warmth of each other's company. The snogging was slow, each kiss sealing their bond, wordless reassurances shared in the silence between them. But then, just as everything felt perfect, Harry broke the kiss. His eyes darkened with guilt as he looked at her, and a heavy sigh escaped him.
Hermione froze, her heart skipping a beat. "What did you do now, Harry?" she asked, an edge of exasperation creeping into her voice. She knew that look all too well.
Harry took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "Okay… promise me you won't freak out. Nothing's been decided yet. It's just… a discussion we had."
Hermione's eyes narrowed again, her fingers already tightening their grip on his shirt. "Harry..." she warned.
"Look, the boys and I were talking," he started, keeping his voice calm and steady. "Trying to figure out ways to... you know, keep things peaceful. Ways to stop people from targeting you and to shift the attention on you. And the idea of announcing two betrothals at the same time came up—"
Harry didn't get to finish. Hermione immediately tried to pull away, her expression morphing from confusion to fury in an instant. "HARRY!" she shrieked, shoving at his chest. "Are you out of your mind? Let go of me!"
But Harry was prepared for this. He tightened his hold on her arms, keeping her from storming off. "Will you just listen?!" he snapped, his voice rising over her protests. "Merlin's sake, calm down! I haven't even finished explaining!"
Struggling against his grip, Hermione glared up at him, her fingers curling into a fistful of his hair. "Let. Go!" she hissed.
Harry growled in frustration, his patience fraying. He yanked her hands away, pinning them in front of her. "Listen to me!" he barked, locking his gaze with hers. "Nothing's set in stone! It was just talk. We were looking for ways to shift the attention to something else! We only mentioned Luna as a second betrothal to carry the Black name. But it will only be in name! And in the future if we need the time to produce heirs, you'll still be the one to do so for the Black family line too! You would still be Lady Potter. You, Hermione. And nothing would happen with Luna. Absolutely nothing. You're the only one I want."
His words came out in a rush, his breath ragged as he finished. Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Hermione stopped struggling, her chest heaving as she stared at him, processing what he'd just said.
Slowly, Hermione relaxed, but her face remained set in a determined frown. "That won't work," she said firmly, pulling her hands free from his grip. "It might sound good on paper, but the Black family magic won't accept a child between us as a Black. Any child we have will still be a Potter."
Harry blinked, caught off guard. He hadn't thought of that. "You're… right," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't think of it like that."
He met her eyes again, his voice softening. "Look, Luna is okay with it. She said she doesn't care about anything like that and would be happy to help us if we needed it."
Hermione shook her head, crossing her arms. "I like Luna. She's smart… a little weir—"
"Don't." Harry's voice was sharp, cutting her off before she could finish. "She doesn't like being called weird, Hermione. That's just how she is. Don't call her that."
Hermione blinked, surprised by the sudden protectiveness in his tone. "Alright," she said softly. "I won't. I'm sorry." She paused, then continued. "Anyway, yes, I like her. But I'm not sharing you. Not even with her."
Harry smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You're so possessive."
Hermione arched a brow. "You don't like it?"
He chuckled, pulling her closer. "No, I love it. My crazy little possessive witch."
She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips as he kissed her again, a long, lingering kiss that made the world around them melt away. When they finally pulled apart, Hermione sighed, resting her forehead against his.
"So… now what?" she asked.
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We're back to square one, I guess. We've got time—three years to figure things out for the Black family. But that means we have to push our betrothal for a few years more. Are you alright with that?"
Hermione huffed, folding her arms. "I suppose… but I hate that we have to hide all of this."
Harry's expression softened, his hand resting on her cheek. "I don't want you to be a target anymore. Let's keep things quiet for now, but I won't hide how I feel about you. You're my girlfriend, Hermione, and I don't care what anyone says."
Hermione sighed, her anger simmering down into a reluctant acceptance. "I hate that we have to do it this way."
Harry shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. "Well, if you really hate it, we could always—"
"Don't." Hermione's hand flew up, covering his mouth before he could finish, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't even joke about that."
Harry's muffled laugh made her grin despite herself. She removed her hand, smirking. "You're cute, but joke like that again, and I'll knock some sense into you. You're mine, Harry. Mine alone. No pretend wives or anything. Got it?"
Harry nodded quickly, his grin widening. "Got it."
Hermione grinned back. "Good. Now kiss me until I'm not angry with you anymore."
And so he did. The rest of the world could wait.
xxxxx
The tension in the air was palpable as Draco, Ron, and Luna approached the entrance to the Room of Requirement. The heavy silence that enveloped the hall outside made them all uneasy, as if the castle itself was holding its breath in anticipation. Harry and Hermione had been in there for hours, and no one had heard from them since. Worry gnawed at Draco and Ron, their minds spinning with worst-case scenarios. Was Harry already dead, taken down by Hermione's wrath? Draco was pale, his imagination running wild with possibilities, while Ron looked equally distressed, swallowing nervously as they stopped in front of the door.
"I think she killed him," Ron muttered under his breath, eyes darting nervously to the door as if expecting it to burst open at any moment. "Or at least hexed him into oblivion. Hermione can be terrifying when she's angry."
Draco, always cautious when it came to Harry's well-being, felt the same knot of fear twist in his gut. But before either of them could voice their concern further, Luna spoke up, her tone oddly light despite the situation.
"Don't worry," Luna said dreamily, her large, silver eyes gazing serenely ahead. "Hermione wouldn't kill Harry in a public place like this. She'll do it privately, making sure there's no trace."
Both Draco and Ron stopped dead in their tracks, their expressions turning to a mixture of horror and disbelief as they stared at Luna. Was she serious? They couldn't tell. It was impossible to know with Luna Lovegood, and her calm, matter-of-fact tone wasn't helping their nerves.
"Luna," Ron choked out, eyes wide. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"
Luna giggled softly, her gaze wandering as if following some invisible creature only she could see. "Just a joke," she said in that same whimsical tone.
But neither Ron nor Draco found it amusing. They exchanged wary glances before Ron reached for the door, pushing it open with the hesitation of someone walking into a dragon's lair. Their hearts pounded in sync, and the dim light from the Room of Requirement spilled into the hallway, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the stone floor.
As they stepped inside, the warmth of the room enveloped them, and the sight before them brought an immediate sense of relief—though it didn't completely dispel the tension that clung to the air. There, nestled together on a large, cozy couch in front of the fire, were Harry and Hermione. Both were fast asleep, their faces softened in the peaceful glow of the firelight. Hermione's head rested on Harry's shoulder, her breathing steady, while Harry had one arm loosely draped around her.
Draco and Ron stared in stunned silence for a moment, taking it all in. There were no signs of a violent altercation, no hex marks scorched into the walls, and no blood on the floor. It was almost disappointing in a strange way, given how worked up they'd been. Still, they couldn't help but feel some relief wash over them as they realized that Harry hadn't met a horrible fate at Hermione's hands.
"Well, thank Merlin for that," Ron muttered, scratching the back of his head. "I thought for sure there'd be a murder scene."
Draco, always one to jump to the dramatic, let out a small breath of relief but kept his usual cool demeanor. "I had my money on Harry ending up in the Black Lake."
Luna simply smiled, her gaze soft as she looked at the two sleeping figures. "See? I told you," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else.
Ron, never one for subtlety, nudged Harry's leg with his foot. The gentle prod was enough to stir him awake, and Harry blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dim room. He seemed to take a moment to remember where he was before a grin spread across his face. Carefully, he eased Hermione off his shoulder, gently settling her onto a pillow before standing up and stretching with a satisfied groan.
"Hey," Harry greeted them casually, as if they hadn't all been fretting over his well-being for hours. His eyes were still a bit groggy, but there was a mischievous spark in them that made Ron raise an eyebrow.
"So, I take it things went well?" Draco asked, his voice laced with curiosity. He stepped forward, folding his arms and fixing Harry with a pointed stare.
Harry nodded, a small, relieved smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it went well," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "But I'm afraid you're out of luck, Luna. No Lady Black title for you."
Luna let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, slumping back into one of the armchairs by the fire. "Thank goodness," she said, her tone light and airy. "I was beginning to worry Hermione would throw me to the Giant Squid."
Draco and Ron exchanged horrified glances, but Harry just chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Relax, it's just a joke."
Luna, however, didn't look like she was joking. She cast a wary glance toward the fire, as if the mere mention of Hermione's wrath had summoned some unseen force. The flickering flames seemed to dance ominously, casting long shadows across the walls that made the room feel suddenly smaller, more oppressive.
"Anyway," Harry continued, his expression sobering. "That's that. Hopefully, we can come up with something else before I turn fifteen. I really don't fancy having all this attention on me and Hermione."
Ron grimaced. "The rumors are still the same. People are too scared to say anything when you two are around, but it's not stopping them from whispering behind your backs. Especially with Hermione hexing anyone who tries to get too close to you."
Draco sighed, leaning against the mantel as he crossed his arms. "It's starting to get ugly in Slytherin. They're getting angrier with each passing day. I can't do much to stop it without drawing attention to myself." His voice dropped, a rare flicker of concern flashing in his eyes. "Daphne's doing her best to keep out of it, but it's only a matter of time before someone finds out about her fight with Hermione."
Harry frowned, his eyes darkening with the weight of the situation. "We need to shift the attention," he said, his tone sharp. His gaze flickered to Draco. "How about this: I'll make an announcement in Witch Weekly about your betrothal to Astoria. That should get people talking about something else."
Draco's face turned pale as if the room had just dropped ten degrees. "What?" he spluttered, looking horrified.
Ron slapped Draco on the back, laughing. "It'll keep the slimy gits away from her, won't it?"
Draco shook his head, mortified, but after a moment, he huffed and waved it off. "Fine," he muttered, clearly not thrilled but resigned. "I suppose it'll help. Some of those idiots have been eyeing her lately."
Luna, still perched serenely in her chair, perked up at the mention of the announcement. "I can get Daddy to publish it in The Quibbler too, if you like," she offered with a dreamy smile.
Harry chuckled. "Thanks, Luna. I'll send you the details."
xxxxx
Word had got out about Draco and Astoria's betrothal. Besides announcing it on Witch Weekly and the Quibbler, Harry had also asked Rita Skeeter to feature a front-page announcement in the Daily Prophet. The effect was swift, as the news spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts. The attention that had once been fixated on Harry and Hermione shifted almost instantly. Now, it seemed the spotlight was firmly placed on Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass.
In the days that followed, Draco found himself swamped with attention—none of it particularly welcome. He spent a bitter amount of time hexing his so-called friends and fellow Slytherins who teased him mercilessly. It didn't help that several boys, both from Slytherin and other houses, had taken a sudden interest in wooing Astoria. She, of course, seemed to bask in the attention, clearly amused by the spectacle. Her bright smile whenever Draco scowled at another suitor sent a flurry of emotions through the halls of Hogwarts. It became a running joke to see Draco, infamous for his cold demeanor, now playing the role of bodyguard.
If anything, the situation had brought Astoria and Draco closer. Now it wasn't uncommon to see them walking together in between classes, Draco shooting death glares at anyone who dared whisper about his betrothed. Astoria, meanwhile, walked with a graceful, almost flirtatious air, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding around her. Daphne, on the other hand, didn't seem quite as pleased. There was an undercurrent of irritation in her sharp eyes whenever she spotted Astoria soaking in the attention, and yet she too often walked alongside them, silently playing the role of a dutiful sister.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched from the sidelines one afternoon as Draco escorted Astoria and Daphne across the courtyard. They could see the group of Slytherins snickering and pointing from a distance, clearly entertained by Draco's predicament. His narrowed eyes, the firm set of his jaw, and his protective stance around Astoria made it clear that he was done with the teasing. One flick of his wand would send the snickering idiots scurrying for cover, but for now, Draco held his temper in check.
"It's strange, isn't it? Seeing him like this," Hermione mused, eyes following Draco's stiff posture as he and the Greengrass sisters disappeared into the shadows of the castle.
Ron nodded. "Yeah. I didn't think he'd ever be this—what's the word—protective?" He scratched his head, still unsure of how to describe the transformation they'd witnessed in him.
Harry just shrugged. "He's always been like that with Astoria, even when we were younger," he explained, crossing his arms. "She used to be obsessed with me when we were little, but Draco was always more fun to tease. I would just laugh and tease her back, but Draco—he couldn't stand it, so it became her favorite game. She'd annoy him until he'd snap."
Ron laughed. "I remember. And Daphne was always after you, so Astoria just decided it wasn't worth fighting her sister over it." He glanced at Hermione, smirking. "Pureblood families are weird like that."
Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, you all act like it's normal to worry about who you're going to marry before you even turn twelve! In the Muggle world, people get married in their twenties, or sometimes even in their thirties! They marry who they want, not because of some centuries-old bloodline nonsense."
Ron leaned over, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "So, you're saying you'll marry Harry in your twenties then?"
Before Harry could react, Hermione shot back proudly, "Oh, no. As soon as that cursed Black family line issue is sorted, I'll marry him as soon as possible." She crossed her arms smugly. "That way, I can legally deal with any witches who think they can swoop in on what's mine."
Harry burst into laughter, shaking his head, while Ron snorted beside him. Over the past few months, Ron had grown accustomed to Hermione's possessive streak. It had taken some getting used to, but now he found it almost amusing. As long as he didn't push her too far with the jokes, Hermione's sharp tongue and fiery temper made for some entertaining banter. He glanced at Harry, who still seemed unfazed by the topic of marriage, as if it was simply a natural extension of their friendship.
Despite the possessive quips and banter, things had calmed down significantly for Harry and Hermione since Draco's betrothal had stolen the spotlight. The students in Gryffindor had learned to quietly accept the close bond between the two, often ignoring them when they sat too close in the common room. Even when Hermione leaned her head on Harry's shoulder or when they shared whispered conversations, no one dared say anything openly. Of course, there were still a few holdouts—students in their year who tried to enforce an unspoken rule that Harry shouldn't visit the girls' dorm anymore. But for the most part, life had settled into a peaceful rhythm.
And now, winter break loomed on the horizon. Snow was already dusting the castle grounds, the chill of the season seeping into the stone walls of Hogwarts. Despite the cold, there was a warmth in the air—a quiet anticipation for the holidays, the feasts, and the brief respite from schoolwork. But for Harry and his friends, there was also the knowledge that with winter came new challenges, new rumors, and more eyes watching their every move.
For now, though, they had a moment of peace. The storm that had surrounded Harry and Hermione was fading, giving them space to breathe. And with Draco's new role as Astoria's personal protector, the school's attention had turned to a different drama. It wasn't over, of course—there was still plenty to navigate in the complicated world of pureblood politics and teenage alliances—but for now, they could focus on other things.
As they stood there, watching Draco disappear into the castle with Astoria and Daphne in tow, Hermione couldn't help but shake her head. "Pureblood children really are weird," she muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she said it.
Harry just grinned. "Yeah, but they sure know how to keep things interesting."
xxxxx
Hermione took a deep breath before bringing the goblet to her lips. The red liquid within—the famed Elixir of Life—glistened under the dim glow of the Room of Requirement, as if it contained the very essence of immortality itself. She hesitated for a moment, feeling a slight twinge of anxiety, but then her curiosity got the better of her. With a decisive gulp, she drank it down. The taste was strange, almost metallic, yet it left a warmth that quickly spread through her veins. She looked down at her arm, where the small but deep cut she had made earlier throbbed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Almost immediately, the Elixir began to work its magic. Hermione's eyes widened in fascination as the wound on her arm began to knit itself together. The process was mesmerizing—skin pulling back, tissues reattaching, and in mere seconds, the once painful gash was nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. She ran her fingers over the spot in awe, unable to detect even a scar where the injury had been.
"Amazing," Hermione whispered, marveling at the flawless transformation. She glanced at Harry, who stood a few feet away, arms crossed and looking more grim than impressed. His dark brows furrowed, his lips set in a tense line.
"Oh, come on," she said, noticing his expression. "The wound wasn't that bad, Harry. It could have been worse, really. Besides, it would have been easier if you were the one that cut me." She offered him a teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood.
But Harry wasn't having it. His gaze flickered to the now-healed arm and then back to her face, his frown deepening. "You know I can't hurt you," he muttered, his voice low but filled with unyielding resolve.
Hermione rolled her eyes, brushing off his reluctance. "And what? You made me cut you when we first tried this!" she shot back, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge his logic.
Harry exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Yeah, well, I trusted you," he said, his voice softer now, as though admitting something far more personal. He uncrossed his arms, stepping closer to her, his green eyes softening as they met hers.
"And I trust you too, Harry." Hermione smiled, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. There was warmth in her touch, a reassurance that flowed between them like an unspoken promise. "It's just a tiny cut. No need to get worked up about it."
"I know," Harry said, his gaze lingering on the spot where the wound had been. His voice was still laced with tension, the protectiveness in him palpable. "But I just can't. Even with all the kissing when I was holding the dagger... I couldn't do it. I can't hurt you, Hermione."
Hermione let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head at how serious he was being. "Okay, alright," she relented, her smile softening as she leaned closer. "I'm just happy the Elixir worked. We've got that part down. Now we just need to figure out how to make gold, and we're set for life."
Harry's mood seemed to lift a little at that, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, we've got winter break coming up. We'll have all the time in the world to experiment back home." His grin widened as he added, "Oh, and we should probably tell Sirius and your mum about... us. I'm guessing they should know by now."
Hermione waved a dismissive hand, as though the matter was of little consequence. "Mum's probably already expecting it," she said, but her eyes twinkled with the thought of what was to come. "I'm more curious about Sirius's reaction. You don't think he'll be mad about... my decision with the Black family line, do you?"
Harry smiled gently, taking her hand in his. "Don't worry. It's not just your decision—it's ours. Besides, what's he going to do? Ground me? Scold me?"
Hermione bit her lip, her voice lowering into a playful whisper. "He could force you into an arranged marriage…"
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "No, he won't. Sirius might be strict, but he'd never do something like that. He knows me better than anyone. He wouldn't make me do something he knows I wouldn't like."
"He better not," Hermione huffed, her tone half-serious, though her lips curved into a smirk.
"Hermione," Harry warned, his voice taking on that familiar tone that signaled he wasn't in the mood for any more of her teasing—at least not about Sirius.
"Okay, okay, no pranks on Sirius," Hermione said, raising her hands in mock surrender, though the mischievous glint in her eyes remained.
There was a comfortable silence that fell between them after that, the kind that only existed when two people were completely at ease with each other. The Room of Requirement, now dimly lit and warm, seemed to reflect the intimacy of the moment, its magical walls cocooning them in a space that felt entirely their own. The potion-making equipment was scattered around them, remnants of their earlier work, but all of it seemed far away now, as if the only thing that truly mattered in that room was the two of them.
Winter break was only a day away, and the thought of spending time together outside of the school brought a sense of calm to the room. No more classes, no more Slytherin rivalry—just them, alone, with the world at their feet.
xxxxx
Potter Manor was a sprawling, elegant estate, yet today, with the sounds of laughter and brooms cutting through the crisp winter air, it felt more chaotic than usual. The sweeping lawns and towering hedges that framed the property seemed more like the backdrop for an impromptu Quidditch pitch than the serene, stately home Hermione had come to appreciate. Although, if she were honest, it wasn't the manor itself that felt out of place—it was the unexpected group gathered here.
Besides herself and Harry, the entire group of Weasley children, along with Draco Malfoy, were staying at the manor for the holidays. Hermione had initially been excited about spending the winter break at Potter Manor, envisioning quiet moments with Harry and a few blissful days without the usual madness. However, when she learned that Arthur and Molly Weasley had gone overseas to visit their second eldest son, Charlie, and left the rest of the children to find their own plans, things had changed. Naturally, Harry, ever the generous host, invited them all to spend Christmas at the manor, and Draco, not wanting to be left out when he learned that Ron would be there, decided to join in as well.
Hermione sat on the stone bench just outside the manor, her eyes on the group of kids flying wildly around the backyard. Makeshift goalposts had been set up, and the game of Quidditch they were playing was chaotic, to say the least. Brooms zipped through the air, and shouts of laughter and light-hearted taunts echoed across the grounds. Ginny was impressively fast for her age, weaving through the air like she had been born with a broom in hand. Draco and Ron were, unsurprisingly, engaged in some fierce competition, and Harry—well, Harry wasn't flying at all. Instead, he was sitting right next to her, watching her with curiosity.
"Why are you grumbling?" Harry's voice broke through her thoughts as he shifted closer to her on the bench. His emerald eyes studied her intently, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
Hermione quickly shook her head, her gaze flicking back to the sky where the game continued in full swing. "I'm not grumbling," she muttered, though her tone betrayed her frustration.
"Yes, you are," Harry countered, leaning in slightly. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," Hermione hissed, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. She wasn't entirely sure why she was annoyed, but the sight of Harry's smirk and the loud chaos of their friends in the background weren't helping.
"Okay, calm down," Harry said, clearly trying to keep the mood light. His voice was soft, teasing, but laced with concern. "Did I do something wrong? Are you not feeling well?"
Hermione shook her head firmly after each question, refusing to meet his eyes.
Harry raised an eyebrow, undeterred. "Do you want to go to my room and snog you senseless?"
Her head snapped toward him so fast it was a wonder she didn't get whiplash. "Wha—" she squeaked, her face burning as she registered his words. Her wide, brown eyes met his mischievous grin, and she found herself utterly speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
Harry smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. "You do realize that I'm the only one who has access to my room, right?" he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "No one can get in without my permission. We could be all alone in there—no interruptions, no one barging in on us. Not even with all our friends in the house."
Hermione was still in a daze, her face bright red as Harry nudged her with his shoulder, his teasing tone only making her blush harder. She managed to find her voice, but it came out more like a squeak.
"Well?" Harry prompted, leaning in even closer. His breath was warm on her ear, and she could feel the gentle brush of his arm against hers. "You'd better decide soon, because they're probably going to call me any minute now to join them in the air."
Hermione let out a frustrated huff, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced over at the others, still flying around in the distance, blissfully unaware of the flirty exchange happening between their friends. As much as she tried to stay annoyed, Harry's teasing grin was impossible to resist. He always knew exactly how to get under her skin, but she couldn't deny the thrill of it.
Before she could overthink it, Hermione stood up abruptly, grabbing Harry by the arm and tugging him to his feet. She ignored the knowing look he shot her, as well as the confused shout from Draco, who had swooped low enough to catch sight of them heading toward the manor.
"Oi! Where are you two going?" Draco called out, hovering just above the ground on his broom. His blonde hair was windswept, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"None of your business!" Hermione shouted back, refusing to look back as she dragged Harry inside. Today was a holiday, and if she was going to spend it with Harry, then she was going to make damn good use of the alone time.
As the manor doors closed behind them, shutting out the sounds of their friends' laughter and the distant whoosh of brooms, Hermione felt her heart thudding in her chest. She could feel Harry's smirk without even looking at him, and despite her best efforts, a small, excited smile tugged at her own lips.
Chapter 30: Santa
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"You know what I think?" Ron Weasley said, his finger tracing the lines of the partially completed map of Hogwarts that was sprawled across the table in front of them.
Hermione glanced up, half-smiling, already familiar with Ron's peculiar brand of ideas. "That some thoughts are better left unsaid?" Draco Malfoy interjected, arching a blond brow and delivering his trademark smirk.
Harry, Hermione, and Luna burst into laughter, filling the room with the easy warmth and camaraderie that had grown between them over the break. They'd taken it upon themselves, along with Luna, to finish mapping out the last hidden sections of Hogwarts—an early Christmas project. It had been a monumental task, and even with Sirius Black's help, they still had gaps to fill. Sirius had pinpointed a number of secret passages for them, but only those that stayed within the castle walls, moving from floor to floor or leading to various tucked-away corridors. No paths to the outside, however—Sirius had insisted that some secrets were worth discovering on their own. He also reminded them, with a wink, that they were all much too young to be sneaking off to Hogsmeade.
Of course, none of them bothered to mention that Luna had already shown them one route to Hogsmeade through the Room of Requirement.
"No, really, I'm serious. Listen to me," Ron insisted, ignoring Draco's muttered scoff and giving him a light swat on the back of his head. He leaned closer, looking intently at his friends.
"You know how the Room of Requirement is basically a room that shows what we need, right? What do we need right now?" he asked, his eyes alight with excitement.
Draco gave an exaggerated sigh. "A break from all of this, maybe?" he sneered.
"Piss off, Malfoy!" Ron shot back, delivering a swift kick to Draco's shin under the table. Draco retaliated with a glare, and before long, they were bickering back and forth, adding to the lively chaos.
Harry held up a hand, laughing but firm. "Alright, alright! Let's stay focused."
Hermione, always the voice of reason, leaned forward, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she refocused the group. "What exactly are you suggesting, Ron?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
Ron looked around, making sure he had everyone's attention. "What if the Room of Requirement can help us find the runestones for the Hogwarts wards? Like, what if we could somehow summon a passage or reveal some kind of clue that leads us to them?"
For a moment, the room fell silent as they considered the suggestion. It almost sounded too easy.
Luna was the first to respond. Her bright, dreamy eyes seemed to focus, a rare intensity crossing her face. "Actually, that might just work," she said softly. "In old wizarding families or estates, the runestones used for wards are usually hidden away for protection. Over the centuries, even the Lords of these houses would forget where they were, because they're bound to the heart of the property. No one would ever need to move them, as new Lords would only add to the wards, not replace them. I imagine Hogwarts is similar."
Everyone stared at her, transfixed. Hermione's brow creased slightly as she took in Luna's explanation, her admiration evident.
Harry's grin widened, and in one smooth motion, he draped an arm over Luna's shoulders. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when you have a truly brilliant mum."
Luna laughed softly, a blush coloring her cheeks. She didn't correct him, though her smile hinted that it was her father who'd actually shared this piece of wisdom.
xxxxx
Christmas morning was nothing short of lively chaos at Potter Manor. The grand halls were filled with voices, laughter, and the crackling warmth of the grand fireplace, as both children and adults crowded the cozy sitting room, basking in the festive atmosphere. The air was tinged with the scents of spiced mulled cider and evergreen, wrapping them all in an unmistakable holiday warmth.
Hermione made her way downstairs, still groggy from sleep but quickly awakened by the sight before her. Standing near the towering Christmas tree, with twinkling lights reflecting in his eyes, was a tall, blonde man dressed as Santa Claus. Draped in a plush red suit and sporting a full, snowy beard, he moved from child to child, passing out gifts with a grand flourish. Her breath caught when he spun around, catching her gaze and grinning widely.
"HA! HA! HA! HAPPY CHRISTMAS, LITTLE LADY!" he boomed, his voice loud enough to rattle the garlands. Hermione startled, clutching her robe a little tighter, even as she noted the warmth in his gaze. He plucked a gift from his oversized red sack, placing it in her hands with a broad smile. She could feel the familiar weight of a book in her hands, its edges soft with the wear of being well-read, yet still wrapped in festive paper.
Hermione blinked up at him in awe, not sure what to make of the scene until a familiar voice sounded beside her. "Happy Christmas, Hermione," Luna murmured, slipping into place by her side, her pajamas adorned with charming little wolves howling at cartoonish crescent moons. She nodded toward the man in the Santa suit. "That's my daddy, Xenophilius Lovegood," she explained, grinning. "He's dressed up as Santa since he found out you're Muggle-born."
Hermione's eyes widened as she took in this new information, glancing from Luna to Xenophilius, who was chatting amiably with the others. "He dressed up just for me?"
Luna leaned in with a small chuckle, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I think he just wanted a reason to wear the costume. He bought it on one of his trips and usually dressed up every year, but since I was the only child around, he never got to put it to much use." She shot her father an affectionate look, a soft, adoring smile playing on her lips.
Hermione shook her head, bewildered but touched, as she watched Xeno wave to her friends, his laugh bright and hearty. "But how does he know about Santa Claus?" she whispered back to Luna.
"Oh, he spends a lot of time with Muggles," Luna replied with an airy smile. "Says they're full of fascinating stories. Sometimes he goes mountain climbing with them too."
A small laugh escaped Hermione as she clutched her gift, overwhelmed by the sincerity and warmth of Luna and her father's thoughtful gesture. She made her way to the sofa, settling next to Percy and Ron, who were already cozy in their Weasley sweaters—Percy's a vibrant shade of maroon with a large "P" stitched on the front, and Ron's in the familiar bright maroon that his mum always seemed to favor.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Percy said with a polite smile. "Mum sent you a Weasley sweater too. She'll want to see you wearing it in pictures later."
"Thank you, Percy," Hermione replied, laughing softly as she unfolded her sweater, admiring the careful stitching and vibrant colors. Beside her, Ron grinned, busy devouring a box of treats Hermione's mother had given for everyone. She shot him an amused look, rolling her eyes as he grabbed another handful, crumbs spilling onto his sweater.
A few feet away, Draco was seated cross-legged on the floor, inspecting a new pair of boots that Astoria had sent him. He was muttering something about the color when, above the din of cheerful chatter, a loud voice boomed through the room once more.
"HA! HA! HA! HAPPY CHRISTMAS, HARRY!"
Harry was halfway down the staircase when the greeting caught him off guard. He yelped in surprise, clutching the railing to steady himself as he took in the sight of Xenophilius Lovegood, dressed in full Santa regalia, holding a gift out toward him.
"W-What's going on?" he stammered, wide-eyed.
Luna strolled over to him with a grin, her tone casual as she explained. "That's my Daddy," she said, "dressed as the Santa." She went through the same story she'd shared with Hermione, about the costume and Xeno's Muggle-inspired fascination. Harry's face softened as she spoke, his initial shock giving way to a warm smile as he accepted the gift with a quiet "thank you."
Yet as he shook Xeno's hand, a flicker of sadness appeared in Harry's eyes, a hint of something that only those who knew him well would recognize. Xenophilius seemed to notice it too. He clasped Harry's hand warmly, leaning close and speaking in a voice just above a whisper. "I'm very happy to see the young man my wife tutored so many years ago. I know she'd be very proud of the wizard you've become, Harry."
Harry's eyes widened, surprise mingling with emotion. "Y-You knew?"
Xeno's gaze softened, a gentle glint in his eye. "When two people love each other as much as I loved Pandora, no vow or oath can hide a truth between them. We always knew what the other was thinking," he said with a nostalgic smile. "I'm glad you and Luna found each other. It's exactly what dear Pandora would have wanted."
Harry swallowed, his throat tight as he returned the smile. "Of course, Mr. Lovegood."
Xeno chuckled, patting Harry on the shoulder with a familial fondness. "Nonsense, my boy. Just call me Xeno—or 'Daddy,' like Luna."
Harry's face twisted in comical horror, making a mock grimace. "Oh, absolutely not, Xeno."
His reaction brought a laugh from both Luna and her father, the sound mingling with the laughter of everyone else around them, making the whole room feel brighter and warmer.
xxxxx
After a long day of festive cheer and hearty laughter, Hermione finally found a quiet moment alone with Harry. They'd nestled comfortably in front of the fireplace, wrapped in the cozy warmth of Potter Manor's holiday glow, their mugs of hot chocolate steaming as they leaned into each other, sharing the quiet comfort of companionship amid the soft crackling of the fire.
"It feels like we're still in school somehow," Hermione murmured, her gaze soft as it trailed over the flickering flames.
Harry chuckled, nodding. "It kind of does, doesn't it? I mean, we've got practically the entire Weasley clan here. And Draco, Luna—pretty much everyone we spend time with at Hogwarts."
"True," Hermione said, a gentle sigh escaping her as she sipped her drink. "But it's nice… I even got some useful advice on electives for next year. Percy was actually helpful for once."
"Helpful, or just really chatty about classes?" Harry teased, nudging her lightly. "Heard you told him you're planning on taking all of them?"
Hermione nodded, though her expression shifted thoughtfully. "Yeah, but I might skip Muggle Studies. Percy said it's outdated, and that would probably just annoy me. I don't want to spend the entire year rolling my eyes."
"Fair point," Harry said with a grin. "Divination's on my no-list too. I mean, can you imagine us peering into tea leaves? I don't have the 'Inner Eye,' and I'd rather keep it that way."
Hermione laughed. "You're probably right. Although, Luna might be a natural at it—she seems to know things none of us ever see coming."
Harry laughed again, the warmth of it echoing softly through the room. "Yeah, she's great, but trying to make sense of everything she says? I'd go mad. Sometimes, I think she does it on purpose to see if she can throw us off. Remember how she's still half-convinced you're going to toss her in the Black Lake and offer her to the Giant Squid?"
Hermione giggled at that, but her laughter turned into a startled shriek when Luna appeared in front of them, seemingly out of nowhere, holding a plate with a neatly cut slice of treacle tart. "L-Luna, you scared me!" she managed, trying to catch her breath as her friend smiled in that dreamy, knowing way.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," Luna said, extending the plate toward him with a proud little smile.
"Oh, thanks, Luna!" Harry said, his eyes lighting up as he took the plate from her. He looked down at the slice, then back at Luna, surprise and excitement battling on his face. "Is this… treacle tart?"
Luna's smile widened. "Yes. I wasn't sure what to give you, since you're already rich. So I decided to bake you something. It's your favorite."
Harry's expression melted into pure delight. "It is my favorite! But—how did you know?"
Luna shrugged casually. "I just know," she said, settling down on the carpet, her eyes fixed on him as if waiting for his reaction.
Harry didn't need any more prompting. With a fork, he scooped up a generous bite and took a taste, his eyes slipping closed as a sound—something between a sigh and a groan—escaped him, making Hermione raise an eyebrow in amused disbelief. His reaction was so visceral, so uninhibited, that she was sure she'd never seen him look so delighted over anything, let alone food. Within moments, the slice was gone, leaving Harry staring almost longingly at the empty plate.
"Wow," Hermione whispered, eyes twinkling with amusement as she glanced at Luna, who was watching him with an indulgent smile.
"He's like a beast," Luna said with a giggle, her tone as calm as if she'd simply stated a fact.
Harry looked at Luna, barely concealing the pleading in his gaze. "Is… is that it? Just the slice?"
"You liked it?" Luna asked, her smile widening as she read the answer in his eyes.
"Liked it? Luna, I loved it!" he groaned, already glancing toward the kitchen as if wondering if there was more. "Please tell me there's another slice… or maybe you can make it again? I'll even buy all the ingredients myself."
"There's a whole pie in the kitchen," Luna said simply, her smile growing mischievous as Harry shot to his feet before she'd even finished speaking, disappearing toward the kitchen with a sense of purpose that made both girls burst into laughter.
Hermione nudged Luna with her foot, a glint of mischief in her own eyes. "You're going to have to teach me that recipe, you know."
Luna looked mildly surprised, tilting her head as she considered the request. "You can bake?"
"How hard could it be?" Hermione huffed, though a flicker of doubt crossed her face.
Luna shrugged, a soft smile playing at her lips. "Alright, I'll teach you tomorrow morning. Just be ready for an early start."
"Perfect, thanks, Luna!" Hermione said, a little spark of excitement in her eyes as she watched her friend's smile turn knowingly mysterious.
Just as Harry returned, triumphantly holding an entire treacle tart, the girls exchanged another amused look. Hermione smirked as Harry sat down again, holding his prize with a look of utter satisfaction. She knew this Christmas would leave them with memories to laugh about for years to come.
xxxxx
The morning at Potter Manor began with a sense of warmth and holiday cheer, the kind that only appeared during the Christmas holidays. However, that cheerful quiet was shattered when an exasperated cry rang out from the kitchen, followed by a loud clatter and the unmistakable smell of burnt pastry.
Luna Lovegood, typically unbothered by life's irritations, was finally reaching the limits of her patience.
"You burnt it again, Hermione!" she shrieked, waving her wand frantically to clear the thick smoke billowing from the oven. Her silver-blonde hair was tangled in a rushed attempt to keep her ponytail intact as she darted from counter to oven, trying to salvage the latest baking mishap. "That's the third one! I told you, I'll do the baking—you just need to focus on mixing the ingredients!"
Hermione, flushed and flustered, stood by a flour-dusted counter, gripping her mixing spoon like a weapon. "Don't yell at me! That's not helping!" she fired back, chucking yet another failed crust into the overflowing bin. Her hair was even wilder than usual, and her cheeks burned with a mixture of frustration and determination.
Luna stomped her foot in true exasperation, an unusual spark of impatience lighting her normally dreamy eyes. "I've been patient, Hermione! But you don't listen to me!"
"Your instructions are hard to understand!" Hermione huffed, turning her back on Luna as if that could end the conversation.
Luna gasped, hands on her hips. "How is 'put it in the oven and check it in ten to fifteen minutes' hard to understand? The oven is preheated—you just have to keep an eye on it!"
"I need an exact number! Ten to fifteen minutes isn't precise!" Hermione argued, the frustration evident in her tone.
Just as the two girls seemed to be reaching the peak of their baking disaster, Sirius Black and Emma Granger rushed into the kitchen, worry etched on their faces. Sirius took in the chaotic scene—the flour-streaked counters, discarded bits of dough scattered like battlefield remains, and the oven still belching the occasional wisp of smoke—and shook his head with a bewildered expression.
"What in Merlin's name is going on in here?" he asked, his voice tinged with both irritation and curiosity. He sniffed the air, the acrid smell of burnt pastry unmistakable. "Hermione, didn't we agree you were banned from kitchen duties?"
Hermione threw him a sharp look. "I am not banned! Harry said I could cook if I wanted to!"
Sirius sighed, rubbing his temples. "Harry would hand you the entire Potter Manor on a silver platter if you asked him to," he muttered under his breath. He shook his head. "But, please, for everyone's sake—just stop and help clean up."
Undeterred, Hermione crossed her arms, setting her jaw with determination. "I am making a treacle tart for Harry," she declared, her resolve unwavering as she gathered more ingredients.
Emma, watching the scene unfold with a mix of amusement and exasperation, rolled her eyes and stepped forward. She patted Sirius's arm, giving him a reassuring look. "I'll handle this, Sirius. You can head upstairs."
He looked at her, an eyebrow raised in clear skepticism. "You? Emma, you're hardly any better in the kitchen. Last I checked, your idea of 'cooking' was burning toast."
Emma shot him a warning look, and Sirius immediately took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender. "I-I'm just saying, for the sake of Potter Manor's k-kitchens—"
Emma narrowed her eyes. "Relax. I'm not cooking. I'll just be supervising and cleaning."
"Alright, alright," Sirius chuckled, backing away. "Good luck—you'll need it." He turned on his heel and strode back out, clearly relieved to escape the chaos.
As Sirius left the kitchen, he was met by a sight that made him grin in amusement. Harry, Ron, and Draco stood halfway down the staircase, their hair tousled and eyes bleary with sleep. They must have been awakened by the ruckus downstairs, and judging by their expressions, they were highly entertained.
Harry rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. "Hermione's cooking again, isn't she?"
Sirius nodded, rolling his eyes. "Yes, and poor Luna's doing her best to keep her in line."
Ron chuckled, clearly used to Hermione's ambitious but often disastrous attempts at baking. "Well, that's a new one. Luna freaking out—I thought that was impossible."
Draco, who looked like he had only come downstairs out of morbid curiosity, shook his head and turned back up the stairs. "I'd rather not witness whatever madness is unfolding down there," he said, nose wrinkling in disdain. "Knowing Granger, the kitchen's probably beyond saving."
Harry watched Draco head back up, then glanced at Ron with a shrug, as if to say, "Might as well follow his lead."
The three boys turned and ascended the stairs, leaving the sounds of Hermione and Luna's heated argument drifting through the hall. Behind them, the unmistakable clatter of more pans could be heard, along with Emma's calm attempts to restore order.
xxxxx
Harry sat down at the polished kitchen table in Potter Manor, eyeing the two treacle treats laid out in front of him. It didn't take much to tell which one Luna had crafted and which had Hermione's earnest, if slightly unskilled, touch. Luna's treacle tart was flawless—its golden crust beautifully uniform, with a glossy, sticky top that caught the light, giving off an enticing aroma. Hermione's, however… Well, the pastry was a bit thick, the edges slightly burnt, and it lacked Luna's effortless elegance, but it was still endearing in its own way, a testament to Hermione's determination.
Harry cast a glance across the table at Hermione, who sat watching him with a mix of frustration and vulnerability, her eyes reflecting the faintest hint of tears. She'd put her heart into the attempt, that much was clear, and Luna, sensing the tension, had excused herself to give them a little privacy with a casual, "I did my best."
After taking a sip of his tea, Harry looked down at Hermione's treacle tart, determination flickering across his face. He took a careful bite, and as the taste hit him, he froze for a moment, frowning slightly as he processed it.
"It tastes disgusting, doesn't it?" Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Just throw it out. I'm done with the kitchen for life."
"What? No!" Harry chuckled, nudging her with his foot under the table. "It's actually good. It's got... character." He took another bite, savoring it this time. The texture was a bit different from Luna's, but Hermione's tart was surprisingly rich and flavorful. Sure, the presentation was rough, but the taste had a warmth he found endearing.
"You're lying," Hermione murmured, peeking up at him, her skepticism mixed with faint hope.
"No, I'm not! Hermione, have you even tasted it?" Harry challenged, raising an eyebrow at her.
"I didn't dare…" Hermione said, her voice trailing off. Without waiting for a response, Harry scooped up a small piece and leaned forward, offering it to her. She blinked, then opened her mouth, accepting the bite. Her eyes widened as the flavor filled her mouth.
"What—? That's... actually good!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up in surprise. "I did it! I actually made something edible!"
"See?" Harry laughed, looking smug. Hermione reached out for another bite, but Harry pulled the plate back playfully. "Ah-ah, this one's mine. You made it for me, remember?" he teased, flashing a grin. "If you want more, you'll just have to settle for Luna's."
"Harry, I just want another taste!" Hermione argued, laughing as she reached out again.
"Too late," Harry said, holding the plate close to his chest protectively. "I love this so much, it's practically sacred. Nobody's taking it from me." He shot her a wicked grin. "I might even make this my second wife."
"Harry!" Hermione burst into laughter, her cheeks coloring as she smacked his arm.
"You did great, Hermione." Harry's voice softened as he took another bite, glancing at her warmly. "Maybe next time I'll teach you a few tricks. Don't get me wrong, Luna's a fantastic baker, but you're bound to drive her mad with your... unique techniques."
Hermione rolled her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "You? Teach me to bake? I'd probably ruin your favorite dessert forever."
"Oh, you will," Harry teased, eyes glinting with amusement. "But I'd rather you ruin it than anyone else."
Hermione's cheeks flushed a deeper shade, and she quickly looked down, pretending to focus on her own tart. They fell into a comfortable silence, sharing occasional glances and content smiles while they ate. Outside, they could hear the laughter of their friends, who seemed to be engaged in a spirited chase, probably after Percy, who couldn't resist trying to study even during winter break.
As they finished, Harry stood, gathering their empty plates. Then, on impulse, he leaned down and placed a quick, gentle kiss on Hermione's lips. She froze, blinking in surprise as her gaze met his.
"W-what was that for?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry grinned, leaning closer to her once more. "You taste like treacle tart," he said with a smirk, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Before she could say another word, he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in another, deeper kiss.
Their laughter and warmth filled the kitchen, leaving the remnants of burnt edges and frustration far behind.
xxxxx
Harry and Hermione had announced their relationship to Emma and Sirius earlier the next day, both of whom seemed to accept it far too easily. Emma, for her part, did her best to play the role of both protective mother and stern father, though her own amusement glimmered through. She took a deep breath, eyeing the pair closely, and then enveloped Hermione in a warm hug, quickly breaking into a wide smile as she pulled Harry in as well.
"I'm glad you two finally came around," she said, beaming at them. Then, leaning close to Harry, her tone shifted into a mockingly serious whisper, "But hurt her, and I'll bury you under a pile of books in the library and make it look like an accident." She released him with a wicked grin. "Just kidding!"
Harry tried to smile, but the subtle gleam in her eyes made it clear that, joke or not, she wasn't entirely bluffing. His shoulders tensed reflexively, but he nodded, nervously matching her grin as Hermione stifled a laugh beside him.
Sirius, on the other hand, simply raised his eyebrows with a mischievous twinkle and waited until the moment was just right to motion Harry away from the girls and into his room. Once inside, Harry took a quick glance around. Sirius's room was a chaotic blend of elegance and casual disarray, with fine furniture bearing scattered evidence of his carefree lifestyle. Harry's gaze caught on a crumpled heap near the bed, and he froze when he realized it was a mix of men's and women's clothing. He quickly looked away, cheeks warming, but Sirius snapped his fingers to regain his attention.
"Oi, Potter!" Sirius barked, snapping Harry back to the present. "So—about you and Hermione, huh?" he said, feigning casualness, but there was a glint of pride beneath his grin.
Harry's face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he looked at the floor with a sheepish grin of his own. "Yeah…me and Hermione," he muttered, ruffling his own hair.
"So, should I start drafting the betrothal contract now?" Sirius teased, unable to hold back his mischievous chuckle.
Harry dropped his head into his hands, laughing despite himself. But as the laughter faded, he took a deep breath, meeting his godfather's gaze with a look that was both serious and uncertain. Slowly, he started explaining the tangled web of problems surrounding his relationship with Hermione—and, more importantly, how Daphne factored in. Sirius's casual amusement gradually faded as Harry continued, his expression shifting from laughter to horror as he listened to the full story.
Once Harry finished, Sirius was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Well…this could be a problem," he said at last, his tone now free from its usual levity.
"I know," Harry murmured, leaning back against the bedpost. "But I want to respect Hermione's wishes. It's her choice—our choice. I'm not built for juggling wives, Sirius. Even if Luna was somehow in the picture, Hermione would never go for it. She'd find a way to turn Hogwarts upside down." He looked down, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips. "I like her, I love her, and if she wants to be the only one, then that's how it'll be. It's either her…or no one."
Sirius leaned back, a little stunned by Harry's certainty, and after a moment, he shook his head in admiration. "Well, you've got conviction, that's for sure," he said, giving Harry a faint grin. "But…what happens to the Black family line now?"
Harry exhaled, as if the weight of the centuries-old family legacy was pressing down on his shoulders. "I don't know, Sirius," he admitted. "But we still have a few years to figure it out, right?"
"Yeah," Sirius said softly, regret glimmering in his eyes. "We'll figure it out together, Harry. I'm just sorry you've had to carry so much already. You deserve a little hope."
A small, relieved smile flickered across Harry's face. "Thanks."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, but Harry couldn't miss the way Sirius's gaze sharpened suddenly, a familiar glint appearing in his eyes—a spark that Harry had always been curious about, one he'd only heard stories of from Remus and Professor McGonagall. In all his efforts to be a proper guardian for Harry, Sirius had managed to tone down his wild side over the years, reigning in the infamous Marauder's love for pranks and trouble-making. But from what Remus and McGonagall had shared, Sirius had once been the most notorious prankster in Hogwarts' history—worse even than the Weasley twins. Some of his pranks, Harry had heard, had nearly gotten him expelled several times.
It was strange, in some ways, to think of Sirius like that; growing up, Harry had always seen him as a steady presence, someone who could be both stern and encouraging, knowing when to joke and when to be serious. But seeing that glint now, Harry realized that some part of that Marauder spirit had never really faded.
Now, as Sirius's grin widened, Harry couldn't shake a feeling of dread settling over him. It was like watching the God of Mischief himself come to life, the look in his eyes practically gleeful.
"So…" Sirius began, his voice low and his smile wicked, "since you're in a relationship now, I think it's time for 'the talk,' don't you?"
What followed was the most horrifying hour of Harry's life.
Sirius, in all his well-meaning enthusiasm, spared no detail. He launched into stories that Harry wished he'd never heard, shared specific warnings he'd rather have gone without, and provided demonstrations with alarmingly vivid descriptions. Harry quickly lost track of the advice in the barrage of terrible anecdotes and Sirius's cheeky asides. It was so embarrassing that, for a moment, Harry actually considered bolting from the room. But every time he squirmed or tried to sidetrack the conversation, Sirius would lean in with that same mischievous glint, entirely undeterred.
By the time Sirius finally finished, Harry felt like he'd aged a lifetime. He stood up, red-faced and slightly dazed, and tried to recover whatever dignity he had left. Sirius, however, looked thoroughly pleased with himself, his grin as wide as ever. As Harry took a shaky step toward the door, he shot one last horrified look at Sirius, whose expression was one of triumphant satisfaction.
Out in the hallway, Harry paused for a deep breath, the mortifying conversation lingering in his mind. He managed a small smile, despite himself. He knew it was Sirius's way of being supportive, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. And even though he'd never admit it, Harry wouldn't have traded the experience for anything.
xxxxx
"Training? Me?" Hermione's voice lifted with a mix of skepticism and thrill, her brow arching as she looked up at Sirius, the flicker of excitement unmistakable.
Sirius leaned back slightly, crossing his arms with a grin that promised both encouragement and a touch of mischief. He had learned about the way students looked at Hermione whenever she was with Harry. There was admiration, sure, but also jealousy, whispers behind hands, and the occasional glare—none of which Hermione deserved. Sirius had heard the way she held herself in the halls of Hogwarts, often with her head held high, and yet, he knew, even the most confident students had limits. And if she was to be part of Harry's world, she would need tools to navigate it, and she would need them fast.
"Yes, and no," he replied, his tone both teasing and serious. "You're brilliant, Hermione—everyone knows that. But there's a bit more to it than books and clever spells. See, Harry, Ron, and Draco…" Sirius glanced toward the boys lounging a few feet away. "They're far more trained in actual combat, in the kind of dueling where instincts and reflexes decide the winner. I've been training them for years, since they were small enough to fit under a cloak. They're skilled in taking down opponents as a team, or even alone if necessary."
Hermione's jaw tightened, and a small scowl formed as she took in his words. Of course, it was just her luck that they had been given a head start. The pure-blooded wizarding children were groomed from the cradle in a way that felt infuriatingly exclusive, a whole world she only glimpsed from the outside. The weight of that frustration settled heavily on her, and she pressed her lips together, considering the many times she'd felt just slightly out of place, like a foreigner in the very world she had once idolized.
Sirius softened, seeing her struggle. "The training I have in mind for you," he continued, "isn't about jumping into battles or learning the hardest spells overnight. You'll learn self-defense, protection, and endurance. It's more about resistance, Hermione, understanding how to keep your strength up under pressure and defend yourself even when outmatched."
"But I won't be the one training you." Sirius's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a trace of impish glee that warned her something surprising was coming. "The ones who will train you are my cousins, Narcissa and Andromeda. They're better suited to this kind of magic, and in your case, they'll make exceptional teachers."
Hermione took a small, sharp breath. Narcissa? Draco's mother? Narcissa, with her steely, unwavering gaze, the elegant, impossibly graceful way she carried herself, and the unnerving way she always seemed to study Harry, her gaze tracing the tousled strands of his hair as though they held secrets only she could see. She was enchanting, but Hermione found her unsettling, even strange.
And Andromeda… Hermione didn't know much about her except that she had been among Harry's tutors. She was rumored to be sharp as a blade, wise and formidable, a witch who had married a Muggle-born despite her powerful pure-blood heritage. In some ways, she was even more of an enigma.
Sirius watched her closely, and his chuckle was low, almost conspiratorial. "I can tell what you're thinking," he said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. "And yes, Narcissa's obsession with hair is borderline terrifying—I thought the same thing myself. But here's the thing. Both Narcissa and Andromeda are Black witches through and through. We were all raised together, and I'll tell you this: they may look dignified now, but as kids? They were absolute terrors. Trained by the best of the best, merciless in practice, and cunning enough to make most wizards cry."
He chuckled again, the memory of those years flashing in his gaze, a boyish grin lighting up his face. "They'll do their best—and their worst—when it comes to training you. Narcissa and Andromeda are vicious, Hermione. Absolutely mad. Once you're done, you'll be a match for any witch or wizard at Hogwarts."
Hermione nodded slowly, her mind already working over the possibilities, the challenges, the thought of learning under two such powerful witches thrilling and terrifying her in equal measure. There was something about the idea of facing Narcissa's steely coolness and Andromeda's clever wit that lit a fire within her, though she would never admit it.
"When will I start? And how long will it take?" she asked, striving to keep her tone steady, unflinching, though a tiny spark of anticipation crept into her voice.
Sirius smirked, his gaze appraising her from head to toe, as though weighing how much she could handle. "With a few potions here and there," he mused, "I'd say two weeks will be plenty. We'll set the start date for after summer break, two weeks in, just as things are settling back into routine."
He paused, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "It'll help, especially since Harry and I are off to France for a month. By the time we get back, you'll be a whole new Hermione Granger, ready to, you know, handle anything—or anyone—who might try to cross you. And then you can go back to snogging my godson or whatever it is kids do these days."
Hermione rolled her eyes at the thinly veiled tease, though she felt her cheeks flush slightly despite herself. "Just two weeks?" she asked, masking her nerves with a scornful sniff. "That doesn't seem very long."
Sirius laughed heartily, his laughter filling the room with a warmth that was hard to resist. "Trust me, Hermione, after your first day, you'll be begging for mercy. They're ruthless, those two. You'll have no idea what hit you."
Hermione huffed, a fierce glint sparking in her eyes, the intensity of her determination making her look almost formidable. "They can do their worst. I'm not scared," she replied firmly, setting her chin high. Her gaze flicked momentarily toward Harry, who was laughing with Ron and Draco across the room. She straightened her shoulders, her tone fierce, as she added, "As long as I have the strength to handle anyone who tries to hurt me… or take Harry away, I'll do anything."
Sirius's laughter grew even louder, his eyes dancing with approval. He admired the spark in his godson's girlfriend, that fierce protectiveness she wore with quiet dignity. Though he knew, perhaps better than anyone, just how tough the Black sisters could be—and he could only imagine the whirlwind Hermione would be stepping into, caught between Narcissa's cold precision and Andromeda's shrewd insights.
A flicker of sympathy tugged at him for a brief second, but he pushed it away. 'Let her keep the spark,' he thought with a grin. She'd need it to survive.
Notes:
Accidentally sent my fic to a friend and spent a few good minutes explaining how to pronounce my author name lol but if you're wondering how. It's just "zeven", was too excited to just read and didn't realize I would start writing too, so I just typed in a quick username.
Also, just got my first Kindle! Hope you guys can recommend some long Harmony or Lunar fics I could read on it. Planning to use it to read my fics to lessen my phone use during the holidays lol.