Beginnings by Bingblot

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 05/01/2005
Last Updated: 05/01/2005
Status: Completed

It all started with a challenge... And then a dress at a Christmas Ball that sets Harry and
Hermione out to begin a new phase in their relationship. Written for the PP.org New Year's Eve
Challenge Fest.




1. Beginnings
-------------

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling and are only being borrowed for my own
amusement. The idea for gold roses was inspired by and adapted from one of Lissanne’s fics.

Author’s Note: This was written for Pumpkin Pie.org’s New Year’s Eve Challenge Fest for the
challenge that Hermione’s family has a superstition that what you do on the last day of the year is
what you’ll spend the next year doing.

**Beginnings**

**~*~**

It was all Ginny’s fault.

It started with her challenging Hermione…

*“Come on, Hermione, do you want Harry to notice you or not?”*

*Hermione hesitated but answered heatedly, “Of course I do! I’ve been waiting for him to see
me as something other than just his best mate for years now. I just don’t feel comfortable about
this.”*

*Ginny gave Hermione an appraising glance, taking in the slacks and jumper which Hermione was
wearing, warm, practical and about as sexy as a burlap sack. Then she turned to the gown she was
holding up for Hermione’s inspection. It was revealing, alluring, sexy, all without being trashy
and still being elegant. It was, she had decided, the perfect gown to get Harry to finally see
Hermione as something other than just a friend. She fixed a challenging gaze on Hermione, who was
biting her lip as she looked at the gown. “Will you at least try it on?”*

*“Oh fine,” Hermione gave in with a half-rueful look as she took the gown and vanished inside
the fitting rooms of Madame Marguerite’s Fashion Gowns for all Occasions. Only to reappear a few
minutes later…*

*Ginny took one look at Hermione and clapped her hands. “Perfect!” She smiled smugly at
Hermione who was looking at her reflection with comical disbelief. “I think I can guarantee that
Harry will take one look at you and swallow his tonsils.” She circled Hermione slowly, taking it
all in and nodding. “See, it’s perfect for you. All you need is to make sure you do your hair and
make-up right and you’ll be stunning.”*

*“You’d better be right,” Hermione said wryly, adding in thought, or I’m just going to feel
like an idiot…*

Maybe it was the fanfare the orchestra had struck up when he walked into the ballroom followed
by the crowd of people who immediately besieged him. Maybe it was just because he wasn’t feeling
like being in a crowded ballroom anyway.

Whatever it was, Harry wasn’t in the best of moods as he surveyed the largest ballroom of the
exclusive Avalon Hotel in the center of wizarding London. It had been decorated with a theme of
silver with red accents, along with a huge banner draped across the center of the wall immediately
opposite the grand entrance that read, “Happy Holidays from the Ministry of Magic” and immediately
underneath it in smaller letters (which meant they were still about half a meter tall) “Thank you,
Harry Potter!”

He understood that the wizarding world wanted this, their first real Yule-tide celebration after
the defeat of Voldemort more than two years ago, to be special, a truly spectacular event. It was a
demonstration that people had recovered from the devastation that followed the war. A sign that the
two years afterwards, called the Reconstruction, during which the wizarding world had put itself
together again, were now officially ended. Buildings had been rebuilt; government agencies
re-instituted and the new Ministry of Magic building had been finally finished and officially begun
functioning only months earlier. And so it had been decided that this Christmas celebration, the
Ministry would host one of the largest Yule balls in the history of wizarding Britain to celebrate
and to officially thank him, Harry Potter, for saving them from the evil of Voldemort, given that
after the war ended, there had been too much chaos to think of properly fete-ing him as a hero,
which had, frankly, suited him perfectly.

After the horror that had been his final confrontation with Voldemort, that he still had
nightmares about in which he relived every terrifying moment, he had been only too glad to retreat
into relative solitude. He’d traveled over most of the world in the months after he’d fully
recovered from the wounds of the battle, just learning how to feel and be human, happy, again, not
having to fear for his life or the lives of his nearest and dearest. And he’d returned to England
finally ready to take up his life again. Finally ready to face what Ron called his “adoring public”
again, with as much patience and graciousness as he could muster… He disliked the publicity though
and really, if it weren’t for Hermione’s calming influence (not to mention her scrupulous and
strict regard for his privacy) he doubted he could have survived with his sanity intact.

He wished he could be home in his flat, spending a quiet evening with Ron and Hermione perhaps,
but no, he had to be here, surrounded by what seemed like every witch and wizard over the age of 16
in Great Britain, many of whom wanted to gawk at him or gush over him and in general, treat him
like the celebrity he hated to be considered.

He mentally grimaced, careful to preserve a politely neutral expression as he looked around,
wondering where Ron and Hermione were. They were all arriving separately tonight, because Ron was
coming with Luna as his date and Hermione had been insistent that she was fine arriving alone
whenever she felt like it.

He saw Ron standing with Luna across the room and moved to join them. (He smiled at the sight of
Luna, who had grown decidedly more attractive over the years, and was wearing a unique outfit that
made her resemble something like a tree, albeit a pretty tree. He had no doubt that the combination
of green and brown on anyone else would have looked ridiculous but it suited Luna who was still,
after all these years, very much one of a kind.)

“Ah, the hero of the hour,” Ron exclaimed teasingly as Harry approached, pretending to
swoon.

Harry glared in mock annoyance before he managed a smile of greeting for Luna. “Hello,
Luna.”

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Luna replied, with her usual way of skipping over several steps of the
typical conversation that made people wonder if she was completely there.

Ron clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder, grinning as he gestured expansively “Some party, this,
eh Harry? The Ministry’s pulled out all the stops tonight.”

Harry was about to respond when his attention was caught by a stir and a murmur from the
entrance and he turned, along with Ron and Luna, to see what was happening.

For a split second, he just stared at the beautiful woman standing on the steps leading into the
ballroom. And then he realized who it was and felt his jaw slacken.

It was Hermione. But it was Hermione as no one had ever seen her before. She was wearing a
strapless gown that bared her neck and shoulders in some shimmering material that lovingly outlined
every curve of her body to her hips before falling in loose folds down to the floor. It was in a
rich dark burnished purplish red color something like the color of red wine, that emphasized both
her complexion and the contrast of her dark hair, straightened and half-gathered up in a knot on
the back of her head while the other half trailed down in loose waves.

It was the dress’s fault, Harry decided. The dress managed to be perfectly elegant and
appropriate for such a party while still exuding a certain seductive quality. And it left very
little, if anything, to the imagination, as far as showing the attributes of Hermione.

It was only Hermione, he tried to tell his mind, albeit a stunning and frankly sexy Hermione… He
stopped his thoughts abruptly. He was *not* going to start thinking of Hermione in those
terms; she was Hermione, his best friend. He’d never thought she was ugly, thought she was in fact,
quite pretty. Why then would this shock him so much, because shock him it did…

Immediately a crowd of men descended on her once she actually stepped into the ballroom. He saw
the men’s gazes pass over her face to rest on her chest and felt something inside him snap.

He had faced the Darkest Lord the world had ever seen, had faced danger countless times, had
needed to deal with people he hated. He was, he would have said, relatively easy-going and
certainly controlled. After he’d lost control of his magic in his 3rd year, he’d learned
to be much more careful and certainly after the events of his last two years at Hogwarts, he was
nothing if not restrained. He knew how to stay outwardly and inwardly calm no matter what.

And yet just the idea that those wizards currently surrounding her would think of Hermione in
the way that he knew they were (the wanting to get her in their beds) made some unidentifiable
emotion well up inside him. Along with some irrational anger at Hermione for wearing something so
uncharacteristic and so damnably attractive. He didn’t know exactly why he was so upset; all he
knew was that seeing Hermione like this and seeing the other men in the room looking at her
admiringly just grated on him. She should *not* be wearing something so provocative, should
*not* be smiling at and encouraging the idiotic puppies around her!

He stalked over to where she was smiling and talking in an animated fashion with some fellow he
didn’t recognize, for once thankful for the celebrity status that made people move out of his
way.

“Excuse us,” he said curtly to the man, just managing to keep a pleasant expression on his face,
before taking Hermione by the arm and heading for one of the doors that he knew led into a small
private room.

He let go of her arm once they left the crowded ballroom and he knew they were out of the line
of sight of anyone in the ballroom.

She met his eyes directly, curiosity and a flicker of annoyance in her brown eyes. He suppressed
the automatic and instinctive feeling of guilt at seeing the irritation in her eyes; he hated to
see any negative emotion in her eyes directed at him. He was too used to seeing friendship,
affection, concern, laughter in them that seeing anything else hurt him somehow as nothing else
could.

He opened his mouth, intending to apologize for practically dragging her out of the ballroom but
found himself saying instead, “*What* do you think you’re wearing?!”

Now Hermione’s eyes flashed, all curiosity gone and replaced with defiance. “It’s called a
dress, Harry,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

He flinched slightly at her tone, a tone she almost never used with him, but persisted. “Yeah,
but it’s- it’s- it shows too much!”

Hermione only just managed to keep up her façade of defiance, while inwardly she felt like
crying. *Brilliant, now Harry doesn’t treat me like a friend; he treats me like a younger sister
or a daughter.* She should have known Ginny’s scheme wasn’t going to work. Harry would never see
her as anything other than just Hermione, his best friend, not as a woman and certainly not as a
potential girlfriend… No, she was just his clever, bookworm best friend, plain bushy-haired
Hermione… And not all the sexy dresses, make-up or bottles of Sleakeasy’s in the world would change
that…

She stifled a sigh. She *wasn’t* going to cry; she refused to show Harry or anyone that her
heart was breaking…

She managed a brittle smile. “Well, I think I look great and since you’re neither my brother nor
my father, you’ll just have to deal with it.”

She turned and hurried back into the ballroom before her brave mask could crack and she
humiliated herself forever by doing something really stupid. Like cry.

Harry stared after her in dismay. She was angry with him now. He sighed, feeling the weight on
his chest that he always felt whenever Hermione was out of temper with him. Her opinion mattered so
much, knowing she was angry at him always hurt him.

He remembered what he’d said and felt like kicking himself. Of course she was angry at him; he’d
been an ass, made a complete idiot of himself…

And why, why, *why* should it bother him so much that Hermione looked absolutely gorgeous
as every man in the room had apparently noticed as well?

He sighed and grimaced before making his reluctant way back into the ballroom, knowing he
couldn’t absent himself much longer.

It was turning out to be anything but a pleasant happy Christmas.

Harry spent the rest of the evening seeing red. And not because of the decorations or at all in
the festive way.

He saw red every time some man smiled at Hermione or danced with Hermione or—in short he saw red
whenever he noticed another man so much as look admiringly at Hermione let alone approach her.

And if his teeth weren’t ground into stubs by the end of the evening, he’d count himself lucky.
It seemed to him as if every bloody wizard in the country between the ages of 18 and 60 was there,
wanting to talk to Hermione. She was the bloody belle of the bloody ball.

Not that she flirted. This was Hermione still, albeit a Hermione who sparkled and glowed in a
way no one had ever imagined bookish Hermione could. No, she didn’t flirt; she didn’t *need*
to flirt.

Harry knew it too, could see it in all the wizards’ expressions. They came because of her looks.
They stayed because of her. She was kind and smart and witty and generous… And so they stayed.

While he watched in impotent aggravation. He had nicely forfeited any claim he might have had on
Hermione’s time that evening. He knew it in the way she avoided looking at him, knew it in the way
she looked away whenever their gazes accidentally met. And knowing she was angry, justifiably angry
at him, just made what was already turning out to be the worst Christmas ever that much more
dispiriting.

Ginny had to stifle a smug grin as she watched Harry watch Hermione. She’d known a moment of
dismay and doubt at the look in Hermione’s eyes and her rather brittle smile after Harry had pulled
her out of the ballroom but that lasted only until she saw Harry again.

Oh, he smiled and even managed to converse with the people who sought him out but he was very
careful to always keep Hermione in his line of sight. Really, watching him subtly and not-so-subtly
maneuver himself so as to always be able to see Hermione was a show in itself and a very amusing
one at that.

A muscle worked in his jaw as he watched Hermione dancing with a wizard whom Ginny knew of as
Lloyd Russell who worked in the Ministry’s Department of Magical Sports. A few minutes later, he
visibly relaxed and she turned to see that Hermione was talking to her parents and Ron and
Luna.

Ginny smiled to herself as she casually made her way over to where Harry was. “Hi, Harry. Happy
Christmas,” she greeted him with her customary hug.

He managed something approaching his usual affectionate smile. “Happy Christmas to you too,
Gin.”

For a moment, the affection in Harry’s smile made her pause. Should she really carry out her
intention of deliberately baiting him when he was clearly not having a good time? After all, this
was Harry, who was almost as much of a brother to her as Ron was. She wavered but then stiffened
her resolve. This was for Hermione, the closest thing to a sister Ginny had ever had.

She smiled brightly, gesturing with a hand to indicate the ballroom around them. “Isn’t this a
great party? The Ministry’s really outdone itself tonight.”

Harry’s response was slightly forced and she continued on with careful cheer. “And doesn’t
Hermione look great?”

A muscle worked in his jaw for a moment before he answered. “She looks—amazing,” he finally
admitted.

“I’m so glad I convinced her to wear that dress,” Ginny commented lightly.

His head turned to stare at her so fast she could almost have sworn she felt a small breeze.
Harry’s expression was of patent disbelief and dawning annoyance. “*You* were the one to
suggest that dress?”

She smiled innocently at him, blithely ignoring both his look and his tone. “Yes and she looks
just as good as I thought she would.”

Since he had just admitted he thought Hermione looked amazing he could hardly argue with her,
she thought. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, a thoroughly disgruntled expression
crossing his face.

She took pity on him. “You know, Harry, it’s not a crime to be jealous.”

“I’m not je-” he began automatically but then stopped. *Jealous.* *Jealous. Jealous…*
The word rang mockingly in his mind. Yes, he was jealous. Completely and undeniably. Jealous of
every smile Hermione gave to any one of the wizards surrounding her; jealous of all the wizards who
got to dance with her, just spend time with her…

He looked at Ginny again who just smiled. “It’s ok, Harry. You can make it up to her later.”

Leaving him to stare after her as she left to mingle more, with a last encouraging smile.
*Make it up to Hermione.* Of course; he never could stand to have Hermione mad at him… And he
also needed to explain to her just *why* he had acted like such a prat…

His gaze automatically found Hermione again. He *would* make it up to her. He *had*
to… Somehow…

*~New Year’s Eve~*

*Alone on New Year’s Eve and alone for the next year, no big surprise there,* Hermione
thought with a sigh.

She looked outside at the snow falling lightly and thought back to the Ministry’s Yule Ball a
week ago, the night when she’d finally accepted, or realized once and for all, that her feelings
for Harry were never going to be returned and she would never be more than just his best friend.
She’d said as much to Ginny later on that evening, saying she was simply giving up and was going to
try to move on and forget. Ginny had disagreed, so emphatically in fact she’d said, “if Harry
doesn’t come knocking on your door in a week and confessing he’s in love with you, I’ll eat this
gown.”

Well, it looked like Ginny was going to have to eat her gown, Hermione thought with a rather
lame attempt at humor, trying not to retreat back into self-pity.

She had no real reason to pity herself, she told herself bracingly. There were other wizards out
there, who were just as kind as Harry and who would appreciate her and see her as a woman, in a way
Harry so obviously didn’t. She would just have to learn to get over any feelings for Harry other
than friendship, which she could do. She was a Gryffindor, after all, and nothing if not
determined…

A knock on the door interrupted her mental pep talk and she shook her head slightly to clear it
before going to look through the peep hole, wondering who in the name of Merlin would be calling at
this hour on New Year’s Eve.

It was Harry. Harry, holding what looked like a small bouquet of flowers, and with an expression
of mingled uncertainty and vulnerability that, for a brief moment, made her see him not as the man
he was now, but as the little eleven-year-old boy looking lost and nervous, in clothes at least
five sizes too big for him.

She sternly suppressed the pleasure she always felt on seeing him along with the instinctive,
automatic sympathy and affection she felt on seeing the look on his face, and kept her voice calm.
“Hi, Harry. I thought you were spending New Year’s at the Weasleys.”

Harry flinched inwardly at the carefully modulated tone of her greeting rather than her
customary warmth, but then he looked at her and knew what he wanted to say, much of his uncertainty
fading. Just the sight of her, dressed in the slacks and jumper as usual, her hair once again bushy
and simply pulled back in a ponytail, told him the truth of everything he’d been arguing with
himself about for the past week. Because even now, dressed with her usual taste for comfort and
practicality rather than fashion, her face devoid of make-up, she was beautiful, the most beautiful
woman in the world to him. And he couldn’t help but wonder how in the name of Godric he could not
have realized it before… How could he not have noticed that he automatically compared every woman
he met to Hermione and that they all came out lacking? That it was Hermione’s face and form which
were the most pleasing to him, that every other woman’s appearance simply didn’t suit him, whether
it was because she was too ostentatiously beautiful or too artificially made-up or even that he
much preferred brown hair to blond and warm brown eyes to cool blue or green or gray ones? How
could he not have noticed, been so blind to the truth?

“I was going to,” he answered finally, after what seemed like a much longer time than it
actually was. “But then I realized that I’d rather spend it with you.”

“Oh,” was all Hermione could say, somewhat lamely, as hope, tentative and cautious, began to
grow in her heart.

He managed something like his usual grin. “So can I come in?” She stepped back from the door in
response and he stepped forward, automatically breathing in Hermione’s scent as he passed, a
mixture of lilies and roses which he always associated with her and therefore preferred to any
other scent. Merlin, he really must have been blind, deaf and dumb to not realize the truth of his
feelings for Hermione before this…

He studied her as she gave him a questioning look. There was so much he wanted to say, so much
he *needed* to say… But how to begin? Damn it all, it had never been difficult to talk to
Hermione before. But now suddenly, he couldn’t find the words… *Start from the beginning, with
the truth,* the one part of his mind that wasn’t at a loss for words prodded. So he did, gaining
more certainty as he continued. This was still Hermione, his best friend, one person he had always
trusted with his thoughts and his feelings... “I have to tell you some things,” he began, somewhat
awkwardly.

“Last week, at the Yule Ball, I was a prat,” he continued. “I’m sorry. And I wanted to tell you
what I should have said then, what I *meant* to say. You’re beautiful.”

He glanced at her and the softening of her expression, the way her eyes were shining, gave him
the courage to continue. “You were stunning at the Yule Ball but seeing you there like that made me
realize what I should have realized years ago.” He paused, his voice unconsciously becoming tender,
and his eyes meeting hers, letting her know more than his words could of the truth of what he was
saying. “You don’t need to dress up in a fancy gown to look beautiful to me, Hermione. You’re
always beautiful, just because you’re you.” He smiled slightly, breaking the intensity of the
moment, although his eyes remained serious, making what would otherwise have been a simple jest
into the most poignant and expressive of compliments, “You could wear a burlap sack and I’d still
think you were beautiful.”

He paused, his eyes searching her face, before he handed her the bouquet he was holding, the
look in his eyes investing even that simplest of gestures with a world of meaning.

She carefully folded back the tissue paper surrounding it to find not a simple bouquet as she’d
been expecting but a dozen gold roses, making her gasp not just because of their beauty but because
she knew full well just how rare and precious gold roses were. They were a special kind made only
in the wizarding world, requiring a careful pruning and care of the roses before casting the spell
to make the petals gold while still retaining the same delicacy as the original petals. Gold roses
cost at least ten times the amount that normal roses did and were rare enough as to make giving
them something of a status symbol in the wizarding world. Only the wealthiest and the most
prominent wizards or witches could give golden roses, not only because of their price but because
of the sheer exclusivity of the few places which had gold roses available. *One* gold rose
would have been generous enough but a full dozen… It was unheard of.

But more precious to her were the words he’d spoken, words she’d only dreamed of hearing him
say. She didn’t need the gold roses, didn’t need this proof of the wealth she had always known he
had. All she needed was the testament to his feelings which they provided. All she needed, as
always, was *him*—even standing there in front of her looking so uncertain that she had to
wonder if he really could doubt, after all these years, that she would forgive him…

She looked up and met his eyes. “Oh, Harry…” she began but he continued on, cutting off her
words, although she wasn’t quite sure what she would have said.

“I’m sorry for being such a prat at the ball, Hermione. I- I just couldn’t stand to see you
surrounded by all those fellows, all of whom wanted to talk to you and dance with you.” He sighed.
“Forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Harry.”

She smiled at him, willing him to see all the love she felt, had felt for years now, and
understand that he’d just made this the best New Year’s Eve ever.

He returned the smile, his green eyes brightening, deepening, until they shone with a feeling
she’d never seen before in his eyes: love. Slowly, as if he recognized that this moment was leading
to a major shift in their friendship of so many years, he stepped closer to her. She met him
halfway and then she was in his arms, as they closed about her, simply holding her close, closer
than she’d ever been.

He closed his eyes as he rested his cheek on her hair, and his words were half-muffled by her
hair as he said simply, “I love you, you know, Hermione.”

She smiled into his shoulder. “I love you too.”

That was all they said, all they needed to say, and for several minutes, they simply stood
there, holding each other.

Hermione rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, still finding it somewhat hard to believe that in
the past few minutes she’d gone from being convinced that Harry would never care for her to knowing
that he did, that he loved her…

It was some minutes before she voiced a thought that had suddenly crossed her mind, one of those
random thoughts that sometimes occur, despite their irrelevance to what’s actually happening.
“Harry, won’t the Weasleys be wondering where you are?”

She felt him shrug before he moved one arm to tilt her head up, a curious smile playing on his
lips.

“You once mentioned a superstition your family had, that what you do on the last day of the year
is what you’ll spend the rest of the year doing.”

A slight frown passed over her face. “Yes, we do, but I mentioned that? I don’t remember.”

“It was just in passing in Hogwarts over Christmas vacation 6th year.”

“You remember that?” she asked in some surprise.

He smiled. “I remember everything you say, Hermione.”

His hand smoothed her hair back from her face with a touch so gentle it could only be called a
caress, before he continued, more seriously, “I said I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with you, but
that’s not all I want. I want to spend the rest of today with you, like this, in my arms, loving
you, kissing you… So I can promise to spend the next year and every year after that, loving you
just as much as I do today if not more.” He hesitated slightly. “That is, if you want me to.”

She didn’t answer his unspoken question with words; she wasn’t sure she could speak through the
lump that had formed in her throat on hearing his words. Instead she slid her arms around his neck,
lifting her face to his.

She sensed rather than saw his smile before he kissed her and she forgot everything else…

And neither of them heard the sound of the clock striking midnight and the sound of the
celebrations outside to mark the beginning of the New Year. The beginning of a new year was
special, yes, but not nearly as significant as this beginning of a new relationship, this new love…
And the years of love still to come…