Revelation

Talion

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 26/09/2003
Last Updated: 26/09/2003
Status: completed

Set during the summer after his fifth year, Harry receives a visit from Hermione, and a revelation that will change both their lives. A one-shot fic and my first ever published.

Chapters

1. Revelation

1. Revelation

Author’s note: This is my first time posting fanfiction on the internet, and it’s also the very first Harry Potter fanfic I’ve written. It’s a bit fluffy, but what they hey? My freshman English teacher in high school always said I was an incurable romantic. This is strictly Harry/Hermione, and could possibly end up being the first in a series I’m planning. I haven’t really decided yet. So read and (hopefully) enjoy!

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong solely to J.K. Rowling and her wonderful imagination.

Revelation

By Talion

All was rather quiet at number four Privet Drive, which suited Harry Potter just fine. Since he had come home from Hogwarts just two weeks prior, he had done nothing but snap at the Dursley’s. And all that did was end up getting him sent to his room with nothing but bread, water and cheese to sustain him.

However for the next few days, Harry’s Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and cousin Dudley had gone to visit Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was laid up in hospital with a severe case of gout. His aunt and uncle had thought it wise that Harry remain behind, considering the last time Harry had been in the presence of Aunt Marge she had made him so mad that he had inadvertently put a curse on her that caused her to swell up like a balloon. There hadn’t been much discussion about it, really, since the first Harry had heard of the Dursley’s leaving was as they were packing the car. Harry didn’t mind, however, for two reasons. First, he couldn’t stand Aunt Marge (she wasn’t really his aunt, but he was told to call her that anyway). Second, this gave him several days alone to sort out what had happened to him over the past year.

Without a doubt, his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry had been his worst yet. Harry ticked off the list of problems in his mind: his inquiry at the Ministry of Magic; Dumbledore keeping him from his friends for so long; missing out on the Order of the Phoenix; having to put up with Professor Umbridge and all her “Educational Decrees”; being banned from playing quidditch; his all too brief love affair with Cho Chang; the debacle at the Ministry of Magic; Sirius’ death; and to top it all off, Dumbledore’s revelation of the prophecy.

It was this last that occupied most of Harry’s waking moments. Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. What it all boiled down to was “kill or be killed”. While Harry certainly hated Voldemort, he wasn’t sure if he could kill the dark wizard. Victim, or murderer. He didn’t even know if it was possible, although the prophecy did say that he had the power to do it. But did he have the ability?

He thought about running, just finding a place to hide where he would be left alone. But as quickly as the thought came to him, he dismissed it. Voldemort would surely find him. He would never give up as long as Harry lived. Besides, the longer Voldemort lived, the more people would die at his hands. Harry’s scar hurt at the thought of the his parent’s killer walking through a field of bodies, his high, cold laugh echoing as he went. That made him shiver involuntarily. He tried to push the dark thoughts from his mind, and tried to focus on the happy things in his life, much like if he were trying to perform the Patronus charm. Images flickered before his mind’s eye: Ron and Hermione smiling at him as he got out of the hospital wing; Dumbledore awarding Gryffindor the House Cup; Hermione hugging him after she had been given the petrification antidote; him grabbing the snitch in his first ever quidditch match; seeing his parents in the mirror or Erised; Cho kissing him under the mistletoe; Hermione kissing him on the cheek at the end of their fourth year; holding the quidditch cup aloft as all of Gryffindor celebrated; Hermione holding onto him as they rode Buckbeak; Hermione looking beautiful at the Yule ball; Hermione . . .

Harry shook his head and blinked. Where did all these thoughts of Hermione come from? And why? He thought about this for a while. Cho was always the one that made his stomach do flip-flops, so why had he started thinking of Hermione? She was one of his two best friends, sure, but he didn’t think of her like that. Did he? And even if he did, she certainly didn’t feel the same way about him. Did she?

He knew that Ron had a thing for Hermione, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself. Ron always got jealous every time Hermione mentioned Viktor Krum. (Come to think of it, Harry also felt a little stab in his gut whenever Krum was mentioned.) Besides, Ron and Hermione had spent so much time without him this past year that he was almost certain they were secretly seeing each other. That thought really upset Harry, which was a surprise to him. He certainly didn’t begrudge Ron finding a girlfriend, but couldn’t it be someone other than Hermione? Now that they were both prefects, they could go off together and no one would think anything about it. In fact, hadn’t Ron and Hermione spent most of last summer together without him? Who knows what all they had done while he was stuck here with the Dursley’s! Why does the thought of them together bother me?

Because I love her. The revelation was a shock to him, although he didn’t know why it should have been. Although it had been Cho who made his stomach do flip flops, it was always Hermione who had been there for him and vice versa. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was true. She had been there to help him through so many problems. She had comforted him hen he needed it. She knew things about him that would make other girls flee in terror. And she had willingly put herself in danger because she believed in him.

It was for this reason that he knew he could never be with her. As much as he loved, because he loved her, he had to keep his feelings for her hidden. If Voldemort ever found out that he cared for her as more than a friend, her life would be in danger, and Harry could not allow that to happen. Memories of her lying unconscious in the Department of Mysteries came back to him, and he shuddered.

The doorbell rang saving him from having to follow that line of thought any further. Who would be calling here? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon usually discouraged having visitors when they knew he would be home. And they certainly would certainly make sure no one would be over while he was there by himself. He made his way downstairs and opened the front door. Harry felt his stomach lurch. Hermione stood on the doorstep smiling nervously, her eyes alternating between looking at him and looking at her feet.

“Hello, Harry,” she said timidly.

“Hermione. Hi.”

“Can I come in? We need to talk.”

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He may not have had much experience with girls, but he knew enough that when one said those four words, it could not be good. Maybe she had come to tell him that she and Ron had gotten engaged. Don’t be stupid, Harry!! He chided himself and nodded, unable to speak, then stepped aside to let her in. Hermione turned and waved to a car that he had not seen behind her. The woman in the car, presumably Hermione’s mother, returned the wave and pulled away. Harry watched her leave, then shut the door and followed Hermione into the living room.

Hermione sat in Uncle Vernon’s favorite chair and wrung her hands nervously, not looking at him. She sat in silence for the longest time that Harry began to think this was not the real Hermione, but rather someone who had drunk a Polyjuice potion and might be here to kill him. (He quickly dismissed that thought.) Hermione had never been at a loss for words as long as he had known her. After a few minutes’ the silence became awkward and he cleared his throat. That seemed to bring her back from whatever reverie she had fallen into. She sat up straighter and placed her hands over her stomach, as if trying to quell some butterflies living there.

Harry’s own stomach was tied into a hundred knots. He had no idea why she was here, but whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good. She looked like she had lost her best friend, and since he knew her two best friends were Ron and himself, he wondered if something had happened to Ron. He tried to settle himself down as she started to speak.

“Harry,” she began, “we’ve been through a lot together, you, Ron and I, especially this past year, and we really haven’t had a chance to talk about it.” She paused, as if unsure what to say next, which was most un-Hermione like. “Particularly Ron and I have spent a lot more time together than in the past, and I’ve discovered something.” She kept staring at her hands as she wrung them in her lap.

Here is comes, Harry thought. I'm in love with Ron, Harry.

“I - I love you, Harry,” Hermione said timidly.

“I should have guessed. You two have . . .” he stopped mid-sentence. “What did you just say?”

“I love you, Harry,” she repeated, and this time she sounded a little more confident.

He sat there, dumbfounded, and looked at her. For the first time since she had rung the doorbell, did he really see her. She sat there, not wearing the uniform in which he normally saw her. (Naturally she would not wear that away from school!) Neither was she wearing the casual jeans and t-shirt he would have expected her to wear in mid-June. Rather, she was wearing a sun dress with thin straps draped across creamy shoulders, and sandals revealing toenails painted a frosty pink to match her fingernails. Her normally bushy hairdo was neatly brushed and pulled back to reveal tiny hoop earrings dangling from her earlobes. Her lips were glossy and pink as well, and Harry gulped. She stared at him with an intensity he had never seen before coming from those large, soulful brown eyes. Harry forgot to breathe for a moment, and when he remembered, he caught the faint scent of lilac perfume.

“I . . . wha- . . . whe . . . hunh?” he stammered. Considering the circumstances, he felt very good to have gotten that much out.

Hermione stood and began to pace, not looking at him. He watched her as she walked from one side of the living room to the other and he was captivated by the gracefulness of her movements. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn she had violated the Restrictions for Underage Wizardry and cast some sort of spell on him.

“I’ve always liked you, Harry,” Hermione said. “You were, are, famous, but you never once let that fact go to your head. In fact, you have tried hard to downplay your fame.

“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. You were eleven years old when you first faced Voldemort. I know you were scared, but you also knew that he must not get the Sorcerer’s Stone, and you stood up to him. As time passed, and I saw how you sacrificed yourself for others, for me,” she smiled at him, “I began to admire you. But last year, I realized my feelings for you had grown.

“When you first came to Grimmauld Place, you were angry, and you had every right to be. It was then that my heart went out to you. As you suffered, I suffered. I watched you sit there in pain and anguish, frustrated with the way things were, and I wanted to just hold you in my arms and tell you everything would be okay, but I figured this was something you needed to work through on your own. So I let things be the way they were, hoping that one day you would sort out your feelings and we could talk.

“Then Cho entered the picture,” she frowned and spat the name out. “I saw how you looked at her and my heart sank, because that’s the way I looked at you when you weren’t aware. I knew I was going to lose you. Not as a friend, I know you would never let anything come between our friendship. But how could I compete with her? She is beautiful, exotic. And here I am, plain old Hermione.”

Harry wanted to say, “But you’re not plain, you’re absolutely beautiful,” but he couldn’t form the words. Besides, he hated to interrupt her. When Hermione had something to say, the best thing to do was let her finish.

“When you two started having problems,” she continued, “I secretly rejoiced. I hoped you would see that she is not for you. I wanted so badly to tell you how I felt, but then you thought Sirius had been taken by Voldemort. After he died, there just didn’t seem to be a good time, so I left Hogwarts determined to tell you how I felt after you had enough time to grieve. But over the past couple of weeks, I began thinking about Sirius, and I realized that time is short. The fact that Voldemort is alive is out in the open now, and he’s getting stronger every day. At any moment something could happen and then it would be too late. So I was determined to tell you how I felt about you. I thought about sending you an owl, but parchment could not do justice to what I had to say. I certainly didn’t want to try and have this conversation on the train where anyone could overhear, and I thought the Dursley’s wouldn’t let me talk to you if I tried to call. So I convinced my mother to bring me, and here I am.”

Hermione finished and stood in front of him, holding her hands firmly in front of her. She had laid her heart open for him, and with those last words she had said it was all up to him now. The look on her face said she was begging him to understand where she was coming from.

Harry nearly jumped up off the sofa and hugged her, but something rang in the back of his mind. Either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives. He nearly groaned. How can I do this to her, he thought. How can I allow her to get close to me, knowing Voldemort is out there waiting for me? Voldemort could use her against me. And even if he never found out about her and I was able to defeat him by some miracle, how could she love a killer? He stood slowly, and turned away from her.

“I’m sorry Hermione, but I don’t feel the same way,” he lied. He had listened to her profess her love for him, and with each word, his feelings for her grew. But still, he had to be firm. He had to push her away, for her own safety. He had to be strong, but he wasn’t sure he could. He decided to do it quickly. “I think you should leave.”

“No.”

He turned to face her. “What?”

“I said no. I’m not leaving.” She had folded her arms and now looked at him with that stubborn expression he knew all too well. “I don’t believe you. Besides which, my mother isn’t due back to pick me up for another hour. So, Harry Potter, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to tell me why you are deliberately trying to drive me away.”

Harry sighed and sat back down on the sofa. He had confronted Voldemort four times, and lived to tell about it. He had fought and killed a basilisk. He had faced a hundred dementors and come out unscathed. He had battled Death Eaters and survived. The things he had faced would be enough to make most wizards curl up into a ball. But nothing he had done before compared to facing Hermione Granger when her mind was made up. He motioned for her to sit next to him on the sofa.

“All right,” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You win.” A smile crept upon Hermione’s face and Harry continued. “But before you go getting all excited, there’s something you should know.” He then proceeded to tell her about the prophecy Professor Trelawney had told to Dumbledore, and how he and Voldemort were linked. How he was destined to face Voldemort in combat to the death. He thought he had succeeded when he saw the horrified expression on her face.

“Oh, Harry,” she croaked. She looked on the verge of crying. “Do you really think that little of me?”

“What?” He jumped up from the sofa. “No! I think you’re one of the smartest witches there is. I don’t know of a spell you can’t master. And your knowledge of all things magical puts me to shame. It’s just that I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Harry Potter,” she stood facing him and there was a fire behind her eyes that told him he had better shut up and listen. “Since I have known you, I have been drawn into a game of real wizard’s chess; I’ve been petrified, attacked by a Whomping Willow, accosted by dementors, and cursed by Death Eaters. I have faced danger and death before, and not once do I remember you asking me to come with you. I went willingly. Do you understand me? Of my own free will!” She emphasized this last by poking a finger in his chest.

Harry rubbed at the spot where she had just poked him. He had to admit that she had a point. He never did ask her to come along with him on any of his adventures. In fact, on several occasions he had tried to make her stay out of harms way. That had only served to make her mad and more determined than ever to come along.

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” He sat back down and rubbed a hand through his unruly black hair. “It’s just that I don’t want to lose you. First my parents, then Sirius. If anything were to happen to you . . . I don’t know what I would do without you. I think . . .” He couldn’t finish as tears welled up in his eyes and his throat caught.

She sat down next to him on the couch and drew him to her, laying his head on her shoulder.

“Shhh. It’s okay,” she said quietly while gently running her fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, you’ve faced Voldemort four times now, and you’re none the worse for wear. I would think that the safest place to be would be by your side.”

Harry didn’t know if it was the conviction in her voice, the way she held him, or the magic she was performing with her fingers, but right then he decided he would never let her out of his sight again. He sat up and looked at her. There was a hopeful expression there that he didn’t think she meant to show, and her breathing became a little shallower.

“What have I done to deserve such devotion?”

“You were just . . . you.” A faint smile played on her lips and a single tear trickled down her cheek.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I think I love you.”

The tears flowed freely now, and she laughed. “I love you too!”

Harry leaned in and gently touched his lips to hers. Hermione returned the kiss. They were awkward at first, neither having had much experience at this, but eventually they became more comfortable with each other. He deepened the kiss and she pressed closer to him. She tasted faintly of strawberries, and Harry’s mind reeled.

He put one arm around her waist and pulled her closer. His free hand traveled upward, brushing her cheek with his thumb and continued on until it was lost in a thick, luxurious tangle of honey-brown curls. Hermione placed both her hands behind Harry’s neck and began tracing lazy circles on his skin.

He did not know how long they kissed like that. It seemed like both an eternity and not long enough. Hermione gave a start when she heard a car horn.

“Goodness, it’s my mother,” she cried and jumped up. “I can’t believe it’s so late!”

Harry stood with her and took her hand in his, their fingers lacing. He walked her to the door, neither saying anything. At this point, there was nothing more that needed to be said. They stood by the door, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes, silently communicating their love for one another. The horn sounded again and Hermione jumped.

“I’ve really got to go,” she said sadly. “But I’ll write you every day, and I’ll phone when I can.”

She turned to go, but Harry called out to her.

“Hermione, wait!” He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around to face him. She started to smile, but he just handed her a tissue from the hall table. “You’re lipstick is a little, uh, smeared.”

Hermione checked herself in the mirror and noticed she had enough red around her lips to rival a clown. She quickly wiped it off and blushed.

“Thanks,” she said sheepishly and opened the door. “’Bye, Harry.”

“’Bye, Hermione,” he said, wishing she didn’t have to go. “I’ll miss you.”

“Me too.” With that, she turned and walked toward the waiting car.

He watched her go in amazement. This was certainly not the same Hermione Granger he had first met on the train to Hogwarts nearly six years ago. She had grown into a beautiful young woman, and he loved her. What was even more amazing was that she loved him. Only an hour earlier he had been bemoaning his fate. He was still unsure what the future held for him. The only thing different is that now he knew he would not be facing it alone.

He headed back up the stairs to his bedroom. Soon he would have to figure out what to say to Ron, but that could wait. Right now all he wanted to think about was Hermione.