Unofficial Portkey Archive

TITLE: Underneath This Smile
AUTHOR: Krissy
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter, obviously, doesn't belong to me. The title of this story belongs to a Hilary Duff song.
NOTES: This is my first H/H fic. And was written for Aspen. *grins*
PAIRING: Harry/Hermione
RATING: G

"You aren't alone, Harry."

"I know, Hermione, but sometimes..."

"Sometimes you feel like it?" Harry nodded. "I miss him, too, Harry... And that feeling won't go away, but it'll get easier. You'll get past your burdens and be that much stronger." Hermione's eyes shined with tears and Harry couldn't look at her. Watching Hermione cry was like watching Sirius die all over again. It was unbearable.

"Thanks," he told her awkwardly. There was nothing else to say to something like that. Or if there was, Harry didn't know it.

"Ron's always better at these things," Hermione muttered. She wiped at her eyes with the arm of her summer robe and stared at the ground. "He told me to tell you in his last owl that he was sorry that he couldn't be here, but he's still stuck in Romania for another week or two." Harry inwardly blanched at the reminder of where his friend and his family were. It was his entire fault. If he hadn't almost killed his friends last year, then maybe Mrs. Weasley wouldn't have dragged them off for family time. "He really wants to be here with us."

His smile dimmed at her words and his eyes skirted away. He knew that Hermione meant well, but sometimes... It wasn't enough. Especially now, when he was in Sirius' house, surrounded by people and Kreacher, and memories and nightmares, and... her. He felt like he was suffocating, and when Hermione shot him that tender look, that was concerned and knowing... Air was gone and it was all he could to talk. He didn't know what to think of these feelings, if they even were feelings (and they reminded him of the way he reacted to Cho last year), and it made him relate better to Ron, in a tiny little way. Being a right prat was easy around her.

"Harry," she said, interrupting his thoughts, "are you even listening to me?"

"Not really, no," he admitted sheepishly, embarrassed when he realized she had, indeed, been speaking to him still. "What did you say?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile lingering on her face, and she repeated herself. "Do you want to go to Muggle London with me tomorrow?"

Harry stared at her, blinking twice, as he opened his mouth to speak. Words were never formed, but Hermione continued, as if she didn't see him.

"I've been talking to Tonks, and she agreed with me. You need to get out, and do something. You've been holed up in here for weeks, Harry! So we talked to Professor Lupin about it and he agreed to talk to Professor Dumbledore. We're still waiting for an answer, but he didn't think there would be a problem with it. So... will you?"

Harry could see the eager look in her eyes and he knew it would be impossible to disappoint her. It would be like... not breathing. Or feeling. Or living. (And since when did he turn sappy in his own head?)

There were consequences, of course. Voldemort, other Death Eaters, press... Someone was bound to follow them out of the Leaky Cauldron, but if Professor Dumbledore agreed, then maybe...

"Well..."

Hermione bit her lip and she threw her arms around him in a hug. Harry took a step backwards, startled, and all he could do was hold her. She felt warm against him. Alive and healthy and there. Her hair smelled of vanilla shampoo and he shivered as he took in the scent.

"Come on Harry," she whispered, and her breath danced across his ear. "Please?"

"Okay," he heard himself answering. She always did get her way.

--

Hermione practically squirmed as she watched the fireplace. Professor Dumbledore was speaking to Professor Lupin ("Please, Hermione, call me Remus.") and Harry was still upstairs, but Tonks stood next to her, looking almost as eager. Both witches were looking forward to the outing.

"I hope he says yes," Hermione confided looking sideways to Tonks. "Harry really needs this. I really need this. We've both been cooped up in here for weeks. And, well... I haven't gotten him a birthday gift yet," she whispered. Her cheeks flushed brightly at her confession. "I just haven't had time, and so..."

"I'm sure he understands, Hermione," Tonks quickly assured her. She wrapped an arm around the younger girl in a half hug and smirked. "Besides, just give him a snog, and he'll be happy. Most boys are."

"Tonks!" Hermione cried, spinning around in surprise. She was half facing the doorway, and half looking at her friend. Tonks continued to smirk, and if Hermione was blushing before, it was nothing like she was now. "I couldn't do that! It's... Hi, Harry!"

"Hi," Harry's voice sounded uncertain and Hermione prayed that he hadn't overheard their conversation. He walked slowly over to her and his eyes swept around the room. He nodded at a grinning Tonks and his gaze lingered on Prof-Remus and Professor Dumbledore before returning to Hermione.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted cheerily. "Excited about today?"

"If it happens."

Concerned, Hermione touched his arm. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Harry gave her a halfhearted smile. She could clearly see the lingering pain in his eyes, and there were dark circles under them, and Hermione had to look away. "I just have my doubts. Nothing's gone right this summer." Or ever.

Hermione forced herself to nod in understanding, but she still was worried. Almost immediately, she realized her hand was still on his arm and she quickly snatched it back.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Harry wasn't watching her, she realized, and was staring past her to the fireplace. She followed his gaze and gave a small start. Professor Snape had joined the Headmaster and was conferring quietly with him. Professor Snape looked filthy, and his arm hung crookedly at his side, and Remus was watching them with growing alarm.

It seemed like eternity before Remus finally turned towards the trio, a grim expression on his face. Hermione held her breath. It could only mean bad news.

"Looks like we can't go," he told them, apologetically. "There's been Death Eater activity near the Leaky Cauldron entrance and we just can't risk it. Maybe in a couple days, when things die down a bit..."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione's eyes sparkled with sorrow. "I said we could go, and now we can't..."

"Hermione," Harry interrupted. His voice was soft and Hermione could tell he wasn't angry. "Don't worry so much. We'll just do stuff around here."

"Okay."

"Okay."

They both smiled reassuringly at each other.

--

His eyes were closed as he lay on his back in the green grass of Grimmauld Place. The backyard was huge, and Harry wondered why he'd never noticed it last summer. Maybe it was because of Sirius, and he'd never needed to go outside, but now, with the hot sun shining down on him, he almost felt it was the most normal thing to do. Hermione lay near him, reading a book, and Harry wondered what had possessed her to bring it outside with her.

The once comfortable silence grew awkward as Harry continued to wonder about what she was reading. Was it a school book or one of those novels that Ginny and her friends liked? Was it recreational reading, but educational? He realized he never knew what she liked to read when it wasn't for school. Or what she liked to do when she wasn't studying. Did she even have hobbies? There was knitting, he knew, but what else did she do? He had Quidditch; what did she have? Would he ever have the chance to find out?

Would she let him?

The thought seemed even more awkward and out of place and Harry wondered why he thought it.

Instead of thinking about it, he opened his eyes and turned to look at her. The side of her head was propped on one of her hands as she flipped through the pages of her book, and belatedly, he realized it was a magazine.

"What are you reading?"

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice and she glanced over at him.

"Um," she looked away in embarrassment. "Nothing. Just a magazine Ginny loaned me."

"Ginny loaned you?" Harry sat up, suddenly suspicious. "Is it that magazine she was reading before she left? The one she kept hiding from me?"

"...Perhaps."

"Let me see it!"

"No!" Hermione's eyes widened, and she quickly shut it, and Harry realized it was a magazine hidden inside a hardback cover. If it was treated that well...

"Yes!" He crawled onto his knees and peered over to her. He caught a glimpse of gold lettering on the black cover. '...of Harry Potter.' "It's about me," he accused.

"It isn't what it looks like," Hermione's face turned crimson and she looked away, and Harry took that opportunity to creep closer and snatch it from her hands.

"'Wizarding Beat's Digest of Harry Potter: Then and Now,'" he read. It was heavy, he realized, and that alarmed him. Quickly, he flipped it open to a random page, and there he was, smiling blindingly up at him. He gave a small wave and then turned to talk to someone out of the picture. ...And he was practically naked. "That's from a Quidditch practice!"

"Colin took the pictures," Hermione offered, and her voice was tinged with embarrassment. "He does it to make some extra money. Ginny helps him. This is the first digest."

"This can't be real," he finally said. His voice was faint, and again, he glanced at the book he held. "This is..." Maddening. Horrifying. Sickening.

"Colin helps with S.P.E.W. in exchange for pictures," Hermione said, breaking the silence. "It's all in good fun, Harry," she pleaded at the way his face was turning angry. "Please don't ruin this for Colin and Ginny. She was able to buy a new dress robe this summer with some of the money. It's good for business skills," she added.

Harry let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. "I'm not mad," he finally admitted, "just... Annoyed, I guess. Tell them next time they should've asked."

At his words, Hermione smiled brilliantly at him. "I'll tell them. And thank you," she whispered. She stood up and stared down at him. "Anyone ever told you that you're a nice guy, Mister Potter?" She offered her hand and he took it, climbing quickly to his feet.

He tilted his head at her, curiously staring at her. Her eyes didn't leave his, and softly, he whispered his response, "Not as nice as you, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled, and together, they walked back into Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

The book, forgotten on the ground, fluttered in the light wind. The pages stopped on a picture towards the end.

Harry and Hermione were curled together in an arm chair, in the Gryffindor Common Room, sleeping. Her head was on his shoulder and he had an arm wrapped loosely around her. Ginny's bold writing, in green ink, was scrawled beneath it. 'See? Only time will tell. Have fun, Hermione.'