The Reasons for Dating

Bingblot

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/01/2005
Last Updated: 05/03/2005
Status: completed

Harry decides Hermione needs a boyfriend. Ron plots. And Harry realizes that sometimes the best things in life are right in front of your eyes. *Now Complete*

Chapters

1. Loneliness

2. Friendship

3. Compatibility

4. Desire

5. Love

6. Epilogue: Happiness

1. Loneliness

Disclaimer: JKR owns all things HP and I’m just borrowing her world for the fun of it.

A/N: For all my LJ friends who first read this over at my ficlet journal and encouraged me to continue this. And especially for Connaka- *glomps* I’m always so flattered to be rec-ed by you!

~~~~~~

The Reasons for Dating Chapter 1: Loneliness

Harry Potter had been thinking. And he had decided that Hermione Granger, his best friend, needed a boyfriend.

It had really started two days ago. He, Ron and Hermione had met up for dinner and a drink as was their custom. Ron had been talking about Luna, his girlfriend of a year, and he’d seen something- he didn’t quite know what- flicker in Hermione’s eyes. It was fleeting and would probably have escaped notice from anyone who didn’t know her as well as he did, anyone whose eyes weren’t made perceptive from more than a decade of friendship.

It wasn’t jealousy. At least, not of Ron, not in that way. He knew that Hermione thought of Ron as the brother she’d never had in many ways. It was something else, something like a combination of wistfulness and a touch of envy that Ron had a girlfriend who made him happy, who suited him. Something almost like loneliness.

Loneliness. Hermione was lonely.

It had never occurred to him before but now that it had, it made sense.

Oh, Hermione had friends, himself and Ron of course, and Ginny and he knew she got along well with her colleagues and coworkers at St. Mungo’s. She always seemed busy, self-sufficient and happy to be so.

But she didn’t date. He couldn’t remember the last time Hermione had been on a date.

Even he, who had become rather accustomed to feeling isolated from others because of who and what he was, went on the occasional date. With the number of women in London who’d probably have paid to go out with him (he wasn’t vain but it would have taken someone blind, deaf, or stupid not to notice), the number of dates he’d been on was tiny, comparatively. And most of them never went beyond the first date. Some had, admittedly. (He wasn’t promiscuous by any definition but neither was he a saint or a eunuch.) But even then those liaisons never lasted long. Put simply, the witches who spent so much effort in trying to charm him, tired him. None of them really cared about him.

But to return to Hermione, she simply didn’t date. She tended to cite work and a lack of time as her excuse, as well as a lack of interest. Her last serious relationship had ended two years ago and since then, there’d been no one.

He didn’t for a minute think that it was from a lack of interested men. Hermione was pretty and kind and smart and— Suffice to say, any guy with a right mind would want to go out with her. So it must be something else.

But Hermione was lonely, it seemed. And he knew too well what that felt like. Knew it all too well and also cared for Hermione too much to want her to feel it.

So, Harry had decided to find her a boyfriend. He knew it sounded rather ludicrous but there it was.

And since he was quite sure that facing and defeating Voldemort had been a thousand times easier than his newly self-appointed task of finding Hermione a boyfriend, he was going to have to turn to Ron for help.

~*~

He brought it up the next day when he and Ron were relaxing on the balcony of his flat sipping butterbeers.

“I’ve been thinking about Hermione,” he began somewhat abruptly. Ron only looked at him curiously. “I think she should have a boyfriend,” he finished baldly.

Ron choked. “What?” he finally got out between coughs.

“I think she should have a boyfriend,” he repeated calmly enough, although there was a glint of amusement in his eyes at Ron’s reaction.

“Why?” Ron was looking at Harry as if he’d just announced a plan to live on the moon.

Harry shrugged a little. “I think she might be lonely. You know as well as I do that Hermione doesn’t date.”

Since he couldn’t deny that fact, Ron only nodded. “Yeah, but if Hermione doesn’t want to date what can we do about it?”

“Maybe she hasn’t met a guy she wants to date,” Harry said reasonably. “I think we, as her best friends, should try to introduce her to guys who we think she’d like.”

“And guys who we think deserve her,” he added after a pause.

Ron shook his head slightly. “I think you’ve been hit by one too many bludgers, mate.”

Harry glared mildly at Ron. “Do you want Hermione to be lonely?”

“Of course not!” Ron protested and then sighed, knowing Harry too well not to realize that he was serious about this, which meant that he may as well save his breath and cooperate. “Any ideas then, matchmaker?” he asked, sarcasm clear in his voice as he said the last word.

Harry thought for a moment before answering. “Well, he’d need to be a good guy obviously. He needs to be someone who’d never hurt Hermione if he could help it. He needs to be able to make her laugh. He needs to be smart enough to appreciate Hermione’s brains and to be able to hold his own with her in conversation so he doesn’t bore Hermione. He needs to be relatively independent, enough that he won’t pester Hermione every minute or smother her. Hermione would hate being with someone she couldn’t respect or someone who was helpless. Dependable so Hermione can rely on him when she needs to and strong enough that it won’t threaten him since Hermione’s the strongest person I know.” He stopped, frowning a little, before his expression cleared. “I think that’s all I can think of; there might be other things I’m not thinking of.”

Ron gave Harry a slightly dubious look. He considered that recitation of qualities to be incomplete? Not that Harry wasn’t right; Merlin knew he was, given that he probably knew Hermione better than anyone and understood her too… Ron straightened up in his chair slowly as a thought occurred to him. Something so right he wondered why he’d never thought of it before.

He looked at Harry again, speculatively this time. There was nothing to indicate anything other than a sincere friendly interest in Hermione’s well-being, but then he hadn’t expected there to be. Then again that was Harry…

He nodded to himself. He would just test the waters a little. “You know, Harry,” he said casually, “you’ve pretty much just described yourself.”

This time it was Harry’s turn to choke. “What?”

Ron shrugged, affecting a carelessness he didn’t feel. “Think about it; it makes sense. You two are such good friends already and both of you are available. You’d rather cut off your arms than hurt Hermione,” he continued, ticking off Harry’s characteristics on each finger as he mentioned them. “You can make her laugh. You certainly appreciate Hermione’s brains, probably know better than anyone just how smart she is. You wouldn’t smother her because you know her well enough to know when to leave her alone. And Hermione respects you and relies on you for lots of things already.”

Harry was still looking at Ron as if he’d announced an intention of eloping with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. “But- but- she’s my friend!”

“So?”

“I never- I’ve never thought of Hermione that way.”

“So?” Ron repeated, reflecting that Harry really could be dense sometimes.

“So… so I wouldn’t want to risk ruining our friendship,” Harry said finally.

Ron burst out laughing at that. “Ruin your friendship? Ha, as if anything really could! If Hermione’s put up with you for this long, I don’t think anything like dating would be able to get her to stop caring about you.” He sobered, meeting Harry’s eyes seriously. “I’m not saying, get married now; I’m just saying, think about it. Maybe you and Hermione were meant to be more than just friends.” He leaned back in his chair again, taking another sip of his butterbeer as he looked at Harry over the bottle. “Think about it. You’ll never know until you try, right?”

Maybe… Meant to be more than friends… Maybe…

Harry’s conversation with Ron hadn’t produced any more ideas, only more confusion. He could hardly believe Ron had actually suggested that he and Hermione start dating like that.

Date Hermione? Hermione as a girlfriend?

He felt as if the ground was suddenly tilting beneath his feet, throwing him off-balance. Not surprising, he supposed, considering that Hermione’s friendship had pretty much been the only constant in his life since the moment he met her on the Hogwarts Express 13 years ago. It was the one thing he knew he could count on, even in his never-completely-normal life. One of the few things he was completely certain of and had never had a moment’s doubt of. The sun rose in the east and set in the west. Snape was a git. He loved to fly. Voldemort had been evil. And Hermione would always be his friend.

Now, suddenly, thanks to Ron, he had to imagine a life with Hermione as more than a friend… Imagine a life without Hermione as his friend, if things went badly…

And he didn’t want Hermione as anything other than his best friend. He didn’t care about her in that way.

Did he?

2. Friendship

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author’s Notes: Thank you to all of you who read and reviewed the first chapter. I appreciate every review more than I can say. Enjoy!

This chapter is for Jim, aka lightnote_blend- *hugs*

~The Reasons for Dating~

Part 2: Friendship

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

23 times.

That was how many times Ron had mentioned Hermione in the past hour and half or so.

And yes, Harry had been counting. He could hardly believe it either. If he didn’t know better, he would suspect that Ron seriously fancied Hermione. Thankfully, he did know better, knew enough to know that Ron was using this less-than-subtle method in trying to persuade him to begin dating Hermione. Ron, bless his lack of cunning, had apparently decided that mentioning Hermione about every other sentence usually in the context of how clever she was or how nice, was the best way to convince him that he really wanted Hermione as a girlfriend.

Unfortunately for Ron, it wasn’t exactly working. Partly because he knew exactly what Ron was trying to do. But mostly because nothing Ron said was at all new to him.

He knew Hermione was the smartest person he knew. He knew she was pretty, with her warm brown eyes and thick brown hair that was still bushy (as he preferred it to be) and the smile that never failed to brighten his day. He knew that she was kind and caring. He knew all that.

It was why she was his best friend and why he cared for her enough that he never wanted her to be lonely or sad. Which, of course, was why he’d decided she should have a boyfriend, who would appreciate her for who she was and would make her happy.

“I should have just asked Hermione, she would have known,” Ron was saying now.

Harry stifled a grin at Ron’s transparent plan, before he began, changing the subject, “I asked that co-worker of mine, Evelyn Scott, out to have dinner tomorrow night.”

Ron stopped mid-bite of his shepherd’s pie and simply stared at Harry. It was a moment before he managed to say, “You did?” in something approaching his normal tone.

Harry knew a moment of regret that he didn’t have any plans to date Hermione if only for Ron’s sake. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now; you know I mentioned that she’s pretty and she’s been smiling at me recently in that way that sort of says she’d be willing to go out. So I finally asked her.” He didn’t admit that part of the reason he’d decided to ask Evelyn out at this particular time had been to discourage Ron in his insane idea that he and Hermione should be a couple. He didn’t want Hermione as a girlfriend and he did want her, needed her really, as his best friend. Ron’s idea that he should date Hermione threatened that and so he’d been glad to have this chance to gently break it to Ron, that he wasn’t going to ask Hermione out.

Ron made a valiant attempt to hide his disappointment as he smiled, somewhat forcedly. “That’s great, Harry. So what does she look like?” he asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into the question.

“Ah,” Harry paused, a frown passing over his face for a moment, as he tried to picture her in his mind, before he answered, “Well, she’s got brown hair and hazel eyes. She wears glasses, too, although hers somehow just make her look stylish.” He managed a grin. “Anyway, she seems to be clever and fun, too, so maybe this has some potential to become serious.”

“Sounds good, mate,” Ron said heartily, although Harry detected the forced note in it.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. I’ll floo-call or owl you to let you know how it goes,” Harry promised.

And from there, the conversation drifted back into more usual topics, such as the latest Quidditch match of the Appleby Arrows which they’d both seen via Remote Apparition, especially as Ron had apparently decided to give up on the Hermione campaign after Harry’s little bit of news.

~*~

Evelyn Scott, Harry decided, really was one of the nicest girls he’d ever met.

She seemed to share his liking for Quidditch and they were having an animated discussion of the relative merits of Colin Benedict, the Chaser for the Wasps, and George Helsen, the Chaser for the Chudley Cannons.

Harry smiled and nodded at her words and found himself wondering what Hermione was doing tonight. He hadn’t seen her since the weekend and made a mental note to owl her to have lunch together, on Friday or Saturday. He glanced at the clock on the wall of the Camelot Café, deciding Hermione must still be at St. Mungo’s, working. She really worked too hard, he thought, considering she generally arrived at St. Mungo’s around 8 in the morning and stayed there until at least 8 or 9 at night. She was one of the rising Healers at St. Mungo’s and gaining quite a reputation already for her breakthroughs in healing the remnants of Dark curses and hexes.

“Don’t you think so, Harry?”

Harry mentally reined in his thoughts and thought back to what Evelyn had said, on how Helsen’s ability as a Chaser seemed more due to his incredible creativity while flying that tended to completely confuse the opposing team’s Keeper than to any other talent, while Benedict was a more traditionally talented Chaser. “Actually, you’re exactly right; it’s just what I’ve been thinking but hadn’t managed to put into words just yet. Helsen is never really predictable in how he’s going to try to make a shot or which hoop he’s going to aim for. He’s become my best friend, Ron’s, hero, for how he’s given the Cannons such an edge for the League Cup this year.”

Evelyn grinned. “I have to confess I like Helsen for much the same reason.”

Harry shared a laugh with her, wondering when he’d last been able to have such a conversation with anyone besides Ron. Oddly enough, in that way, Evelyn rather reminded him of Ron, with her love of Quidditch (and it turned out, her liking the Cannons) and her sense of humor…

He smiled at Evelyn at the door of the restaurant. “Thanks, Evelyn, that was fun. We should do it again sometime.” He hesitated a little, wondering, before he bent and kissed her on the mouth, lingering there, testing things.

And felt nothing. She was pretty and she was fun to be with- but touching her lips with his left him unmoved. His eyes met Evelyn’s and he saw the same realization in her eyes. “You didn’t feel anything either?” he said and it wasn’t quite a question.

She sighed a little and smiled ruefully. “No, I’m afraid not.”

He laughed a little at himself and then just held out his hand for her to shake. “Well, it was still fun. Just friends, then, Evelyn?”

She shook his hand, returning his grin. “Definitely friends. See you at the Ministry tomorrow, Harry.”

“See you, Evelyn.” He stepped back, with one hand raised in a wave of goodbye as she turned slightly and Apparated away with a pop.

He Apparated back to his flat immediately afterwards, getting a bottle of butterbeer from the kitchen, before throwing himself onto the sofa in the sitting room, where he sat, idly studying the pictures on his mantelpiece.

That was what had been rather bothering him during the dinner, what had somehow kept him only half-concentrating on what Evelyn was saying. He simply wasn’t attracted to her in that way. She was pretty, yes, and fun, and he liked her but there was no attraction. Talking to her, being with her, felt much like being with Ron, some of the same ease and familiarity. She could be his friend but not his girlfriend. He knew that now, as did she.

Ah well, friends were good too. He considered the pictures on the mantelpiece, pictures of himself and Ron and Hermione, mostly from their Hogwarts days, along with one picture of his parents with Sirius and Remus. He smiled slightly as his gaze focused on one of the pictures, this one of just him and Hermione, laughing together over something he’d just said. Just himself and Hermione, his best friend in the world. Yes, friends were good, quite possibly the best things in life.

He lifted his butterbeer in a silent toast to the pictures. Well, he thought, here’s to friendship.

~*~*~

Ginny waited for all of ten minutes before her curiosity got the better of her. “Ok, Ron, something’s bothering you. So spill it.”

Ron started, blinking at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Huh, what?” he said with trademark eloquence, Ginny thought with a flare of amusement.

She bestowed on him the look of mingled exasperation and amusement which can only be seen among close friends or siblings. “You’ve been sitting there, staring at your bottle of butterbeer for minutes now. So either your butterbeer’s talking to you or something’s bothering you. And if you try to tell me your butterbeer’s talking to you, I swear I’ll use the Bat-bogey hex on you.”

Ron grimaced. “It’s Harry.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows to give him a mildly questioning look. If Ron had said those two words at any time while she’d been in Hogwarts, she would have paled and bombarded him with anxious questions beginning with “Is it about You-Know-Who?” She was suddenly struck yet again, as she still was occasionally, at the difference in all their lives and ways of thinking since Harry had finally defeated the Dark Lord and recovered from his injuries in the final battle. Now, people felt safe, able to go about their daily lives without worry or fear. And now she, and the other people who were privileged enough to be part of Harry’s close circle of friends, could relax, knowing that Harry’s life was, at least for now, blissfully not in danger. It wasn’t completely risk-free; he was an Auror after all, but in comparison to his Hogwarts days, it was a positive paradise.

“I’ve been thinking that he and Hermione would do well together,” Ron explained, looking, as he felt, rather uncomfortable at talking about his two best friends in such a context. “See,” he continued, “Harry’s concocted this bloody idea that Hermione’s lonely and should have a boyfriend, and he’s determined that he’s going to find one for her.”

Ginny couldn’t help a smile. “That’s so like Harry, to be thinking about helping Hermione in any way he can.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron dismissed her comment impatiently. “The problem is that the more I think about it, the more I think Harry and Hermione are perfect for each other. And Harry, the bloody idiot, isn’t cooperating.”

“What did you expect? This is Harry after all and you of all people should know how stubborn he can be.”

Ron made a disgruntled face. “I was hoping he’d come to agree with me. I mean, think about it, Harry and Hermione get along so well and care about each other so much already. I know that every person either of them has gone out with has been jealous of the other. And it’s pretty clear that Hermione is the most important girl in Harry’s life and probably always will be. Plus she’s the one girl Harry knows who absolutely doesn’t give a fig about his being the Boy Who Lived. Besides—”

Ginny cut off Ron’s increasingly rapid words with a laugh. “Stop! Stop! You don’t have to convince me, you know. I decided a long time ago that they were meant for each other.”

Ron blinked, looking somewhat deflated, as if he’d almost wanted to have to convince her of the rightness of Harry and Hermione. “You did?”

“Yes.” Ginny shrugged lightly. “Like you said, it’s pretty obvious that they’re the most important people in each other’s lives. And the way they can practically read each other’s minds just tells you how well they’d do together.” Also, she added but only in thought, I’m sure Hermione wants to be more than just Harry’s friend. Admittedly that last part was more of a guess on Ginny’s part but somehow she was sure that Hermione harbored more than purely platonic feelings for Harry; it was just something in her eyes when she looked at him or talked about him…

Ron leaned forward, putting his butterbeer down as he gestured. “Exactly! But how can we get Harry to ask Hermione out, bloody stubborn prat that he can be?”

Ginny thought for a moment before smiling rather wickedly. “I think you should find Hermione a boyfriend who’s not] Harry.”

“What!” Ron stared at his sister as if she’d just announced her belief that Voldemort had really been a kindly, misunderstood old man.

Ginny held up her hands as if to block the torrent of protests she could see beginning to form in Ron’s mind. “Hear me out! If you at least pretend to be helping Harry in his plan, he’ll relax and let down his guard about dating Hermione. Then, find a guy whom Hermione will get along with, well enough that it’ll be perfectly believable to think that they’ll become a couple. And if I know Harry at all, he’ll suddenly find he doesn’t like the idea of Hermione dating someone else. The thing is, he’s never had a reason to be jealous before; Hermione hasn’t had a serious enough relationship to warrant jealousy. And until something makes him doubt his place in Hermione’s life, I don’t think Harry will realize just how much he cares about her.”

Ron was silent, mulling over Ginny’s words for a few moments, before he began to grin and then to laugh. “That’s bloody brilliant, Gin! Harry and Hermione should start going out within the month, if this goes well.”

Ginny allowed herself a smug smile. “Harry isn’t going to know what hit him but by then he’ll probably be too happy with Hermione to care.”

Ron lifted his bottle of butterbeer in a toast. “Here’s to Harry and Hermione. If they aren’t dating soon, it won’t be our fault.”

Ginny lifted her bottle too in response but didn’t say anything, only grinned conspiratorially at Ron, before changing the subject. “So when’s Luna getting back from her latest excursion?”

Ron’s expression changed to one of affectionate indulgence at the mention of Luna. “She floo-called to say she should be back by the end of the week. She’s almost confident she’s found proof that the Winged Fromgak exists and, when I talked to her, was already starting to plan the article she’ll write about it in the Quibbler.”

Ginny valiantly restrained her laughter at the mention of this latest new creature Luna was convinced existed. Luna never ceased to amuse her with her odd starts, although Ginny had to admit that Luna and Ron did well together, silencing any of those people who had snickered when they had first started dating.

Now if only this plan of theirs worked so Harry and Hermione could be as happy… Ginny sent up a silent wish for this plan to succeed. She was sure Hermione cared more for Harry than just as a friend and equally sure that Harry felt the same way about Hermione if he would only realize it…

3. Compatibility

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you to everyone who’s reviewed this fic so far.

I was intending for this fic to be told almost exclusively from Harry’s PoV but at the request of danielerin among others, Hermione got at least this one chance to tell her side.

There are some things from QTTA in this chapter so you might want to skim through it again to fully understand everything that happens.

Thanks again, and enjoy!

~*~*~*~

The Reasons for Dating

Chapter 3: Compatibility

She couldn’t believe this was happening.

Harry- Harry couldn’t be- he was trying to set her up with someone. On a date.

Oh he was being subtle (at least, subtle for Harry) about it but he looked slightly ill at ease and his eyes never quite met hers when he was talking about how he’d also invited this David Lawson, a friend who also worked at the Ministry of Magic, and he thought this Lawson fellow and she would get along. (“I’ve heard him talk about having read Hogwarts: A History and L’Histoire de Beauxbatons more than once,” he said, his teasing for once falling rather flat.)

He was trying to set her up. She couldn’t believe this.

And mixed in with her disbelief was a nagging knot of emotion in her throat that would be something like heartbreak, if she ever acknowledged its existence.

He was trying to set her up. He thought she should be dating someone- someone who wasn’t him. Oh the hurt was there, practically a living presence in her heart now. She had given up hoping, she thought, that Harry would ever return her feelings for him (the feelings she’d finally acknowledged to herself). But now, faced with this proof that Harry really didn’t see her as anything other than his best friend (a best friend he needed to find a boyfriend for- she thought with the first flash of annoyance and outraged pride), she realized she had still hoped. Some small part of her mind and heart had still retained some hope. But no longer…

She couldn’t bring this up now, not with Ron and Luna there. She forced a smile. “I can go,” she agreed and saw Harry smile, a flash of something like relief in his eyes. “Actually, Harry, can I talk to you about something for a minute?”

“Of course,” he answered immediately as she had known he would, and she turned to go into the living room of Ron’s flat, leaving Ron and Luna to talk quietly. And suppressed a brief pang of envy at their obvious together-ness. If only—but no, she wouldn’t allow herself to think of that.

She waited until he shut the door before she turned around to face him. “Harry, am I being an idiot or are you trying to set me up with David Lawson?”

For a moment, he could only stare at her in dismay. Oh no, oh no, oh no. This wasn’t good. She was angry with him now, which he hated more than almost anything else, and he could almost see his brilliant plan (which was beginning to look less brilliant by the second) being shredded to pieces. “Er,” he began, “you’re never an idiot, Hermione.” Right, that was a lame response, Potter, he thought sardonically.

She looked torn between anger and some hurt; there was a wounded look in her eyes that sent a sharp pain through his chest. She of all people should never have that sort of look in her eyes. “Harry, what did you think? That I’m so pitiful I need my best friend to set me up on a date because I obviously can’t find a date on my own? I’m not an object of pity, Harry!” For the moment, the anger seemed to be winning out.

He flinched. “No! That’s not it!” He lowered his voice, realizing how much it had risen in his earnestness. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely, Hermione. I don’t want you to be lonely and I thought having a boyfriend might be the best way to prevent that.”

Hermione sighed, her anger gone suddenly. Dear Harry, still so considerate and yet so incredibly misguided at times… “Harry, you of all people should know that being lonely has nothing to do with the people you have around you, the number of your friends or if you’re dating. Loneliness is a state of mind, not a state of being.”

Harry deflated at her words, remembering all his years at Hogwarts and the loneliness he’d sometimes felt even when surrounded by people, even when he was with Ron and Hermione. She was right, as always; he of all people should have understood that dating someone wasn’t a complete cure for loneliness. “You’re right, Hermione,” he acknowledged heavily. “I’m sorry. I only wanted you to be happy.”

She smiled softly at him. “I know, Harry, and I love you for it. But please believe me when I say that I am happy as I am. I’ll go with you to the match and I’ll get to know this David. Just promise me you won’t try to set me up again.”

“I promise.” He gave her a sheepish, hesitant smile. “Forgive me?”

Hermione’s smile this time was her usual one, filled with affection and wry humor. “Of course, Harry. Do you even need to ask? Besides, there’s nothing to forgive; you had the best intentions and only my own good at heart.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and left the room leaving him to stare after her.

His heart warmed as it always did at any reminder of Hermione’s loyalty, the very steadfastness of her friendship. He needed it, depended on it, as the one certainty in his world that was usually so filled with doubts.

And it was no doubt only that same heart-warming knowledge of Hermione’s friendship that made the spot on his cheek which her lips had brushed still tingle. That he could still feel the fleeting touch of her lips to his skin. It was only his own appreciation for that friendship that had given him the mad impulse for a second to turn his head so that her lips would touch his lips and not his cheek. It was only friendship...

He shook his head slightly, dismissing his thoughts as simply an aberration in the heat of reaction to his conversation with Hermione, his thoughts returning to what she’d said.

Loneliness is a state of mind, not a state of being.

He sighed. She was right, of course, but part of him still felt he needed to do this, needed to try, in any way he could, to keep Hermione from being lonely. He needed to do something. After all she’d done for him, to not act while she was feeling lonely, was unthinkable. He cared about her too much not to act…

His thoughts turned to David Lawson, someone he’d become friendly with while at the Ministry. Lawson worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well, although in the Wizengamot Administrative Services section, which was how Harry had gotten to know him. He was a few years older than Harry and had attended Hogwarts for his first three years before being transferred to Beauxbatons because his father had been appointed the new Ambassador to the French Ministry of Magic. It had occurred to Harry a few times in passing that something about the way Lawson was very organized and the precise, logical way he spoke and thought reminded him of Hermione. It wasn’t until the week before though that his idea had fully formed.

What if David Lawson and Hermione…? He knew Lawson was clever; he was steadily rising within the Wizengamot Administrative Services and he was certainly an extremely conscientious worker. And while Lawson wasn’t the wittiest wizard he’d ever met, he did have a sense of humor. All in all, Harry rather thought that David Lawson and Hermione could do very well together.

He’d first broached the idea with Ron, when they’d met up for dinner the next day (Ron being at something of a loose end with Luna off on one of her occasional weird creature hunts).

“You know, I think I know a fellow who would suit Hermione,” he’d begun at the first pause in their conversation. He watched Ron for his reaction but saw only curiosity and interest. Apparently his date with Evelyn had served at least one purpose in convincing Ron he didn’t care about Hermione in that way to make him want to date her.

“Oh really? Who is he? Do I know him?”

For a moment, Harry studied Ron; there was something slightly odd, suspicious even, about Ron’s sudden enthusiasm for his plan of finding Hermione a boyfriend but he dismissed the thought. This was Ron, after all, his best friend whom he’d known for so many years now.

“His name’s David Lawson and he works at the Ministry with me.” He’d gone on to tell Ron what he knew of Lawson and when he’d finished, Ron was nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, seems like you’ve thought this through a lot already, mate.” Then he’d grinned and added, “But then this is for Hermione and no one but the best for our Hermione, eh, Harry?”

Harry grinned back. “Right.” No one but the best for Hermione… She deserved nothing less.

“So I’ve got six box-seat tickets to the next match between Puddlemere United and the Kenmare Kestrels. I’m going to ask Evelyn Scott and Lawson to join you, me, Luna and Hermione. We can make it a sort of triple date,” he’d suggested.

Ron had agreed readily, even eagerly. (Then again, he rather suspected Ron would have happily agreed to go watch the match with Snape, Malfoy and maybe even a Hungarian Horntail for company as long as it meant he would be there watching the final qualifying match to determine who would be playing against the Cannons for this year’s League Cup- especially given this was the closest the Cannons had come to winning the League in a century.)

All had gone well (Evelyn and David having both accepted his invitation gladly) until he’d brought the idea up the next time he saw Hermione, at the dinner to welcome Luna back and hear of her adventures in search of the Winged Fromgak. Luna had agreed readily enough (with a smile at Ron whose enthusiasm was obvious). Hermione had said little, then, until they were alone when she’d confronted him.

He sighed. Thinking about it now, he supposed he should have known Hermione would see straight through his plan. She always had been able to know what he was thinking without his saying a word. This plan was no different.

He’d only thought to make her happier… He saw again the flicker of hurt in her eyes and winced. He hated knowing she was hurt by something he had done. He would rather cut off his right arm and go back to live with the Dursleys than cause her any sort of pain. But it was too late to do anything now, except resolve not to try to set Hermione up again…

~*~*~

He couldn’t believe this was happening.

For the first time in his life, he couldn’t concentrate on a Quidditch match.

It was an exciting match as the Kestrels and Puddlemere United were well-matched, keeping fans of both sides on the edges of their seats and requiring the referee to step in and prevent several overly-enthused fans from causing havoc with their wands by shooting fireworks off into the stands and onto the Pitch.

And yet he couldn’t concentrate.

Beside him, Ron (and Luna and Evelyn) gasped, cheered and applauded with the rest of the fans. He was aware of it all on a peripheral level and stood up along with the rest of the crowd as if by rote, usually not quite sure what had happened to bring all the fans to their feet (and finding out afterwards).

The first (and second and third and…) time Puddlemere scored, he started at the roar that went up. Ron’s cheer when the Kestrels scored, while not really that loud, nearly deafened him simply because he hadn’t been expecting it.

At any other time and any other game, he would have thrilled when the Kestrels formed the Hawkshead Attacking Formation to finally break the tie that had existed for most of the match, bringing the score to 180-170. Or when the Seeker for Puddlemere United, Lionel Snaith, tried the Wronski Feint (which, while an impressive show of his flying ability, failed as Peter O’Neill, the Kestrels Seeker, in an equally impressive demonstration of deft flying, avoided crashing into the ground.)

But for once, none of that mattered much.

His eyes kept wandering from what was happening on the pitch to Hermione, sitting at the other end of their box, beside David, usually smiling and gesturing as they conversed animatedly. He tried but couldn’t hear anything of their conversation beyond scattered words here and there, for all the noise the rest of the audience was making. Were Quidditch games always this loud? Was it necessary to constantly yell encouragements to your particular team? (He decided that there was a fortune to be made for anyone who could invent a selective Silencing Spell that would only silence the noises one didn’t want to hear while allowing you to hear what one did want to hear.) Occasionally, he heard Hermione’s laugh, rising above the din, followed by David’s deeper chuckle. And for maybe the first time in his memory, hearing Hermione laugh didn’t make him want to smile as well.

He should be happy, he told himself. He should be happy. Smug, even. This was his idea, after all; he’d been the one to think that David Lawson and Hermione would get along well. And they were. They were getting on like a house afire, to use an old Muggle expression he remembered reading somewhere. He tried and failed to remember when he’d last seen Hermione so animated while talking to someone she’d just met. While not shy, she tended to be more reserved, quieter, on first meeting people. Lawson, damn the man, had her talking and smiling and laughing as naturally as if she’d known him for years. As naturally as if, he suddenly realized with a sharp stab of surprise and something very like dismay- and could it be? jealousy? (of course not; that was absurd, preposterous in the extreme)- she were talking to him or to Ron.

His gaze narrowed as he studied Lawson. There was something almost too congenial and friendly about him, he decided. As if Lawson practiced how to make people feel at ease with him. And who ever heard of coming to a Quidditch match as someone’s guest and then monopolizing that someone’s best friend without paying the slightest attention to the actual game itself? That was rude and showed a lack of consideration to other people’s feelings. He mentally added Courtesy and Thoughtfulness to his list of qualities required in Hermione’s boyfriend.

And Lawson was too tall for Hermione. He was a full head taller than her and it required her to look up at him constantly, especially when they were seated next to each other in the box. If only for the sake of sparing her neck the strain, Hermione’s boyfriend should be shorter, he decided.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when the entire stadium went up in a roar that was nearly deafening. The Kestrels’ mascots, the leprechauns, were dancing around and throwing out leprechaun gold pieces with gleeful abandon. Out on the pitch, the Kestrels were swarming around Peter O’Neill, who was wildly waving one hand in which he could just see the glint of the Golden Snitch, struggling futilely to get free of O’Neill’s grip. The score-board read 360-240.

He had just had time for his mind to register all this when Ron was turning to him, grinning ear to ear and cheering as loudly as Harry had ever heard him cheer for the Cannons. “Did you see that, Harry! Never seen anything like it; O’Neill just dove and then basically pulled a Starfish and Stick and caught the Snitch, almost before Snaith knew what was going on! It was absolutely bloody wicked!”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Harry found himself saying and for the first time knew a moment of keen regret that he had been so preoccupied with Hermione and how well she and Lawson were getting along. To have missed such a move as that! He made up his mind to borrow Ron’s omnioculars as soon as he could. He had to see what sounded like it had been a move that would go down in the annals of Quidditch as one of the best catches ever- and move Peter O’Neill forever into the ranks of history’s best and most famous Seekers. (Quidditch vs. Hermione- when it came down to which was more important to him, Hermione won easily. But still, this sounded like a move not to be missed…)

Evelyn too turned to him, grinning widely, still applauding. “That was incredible, wasn’t it, Harry?”

“It was,” he agreed, much more heartily than was warranted by the fact that he hadn’t actually seen what it happen.

Evelyn threw him a teasing glance. “You were awfully quiet during the game, though, Harry. Are you always that quiet at Quidditch matches?”

He felt himself flush uncomfortably. No, he wasn’t always that quiet but at this particular match, he hadn’t had any attention to spare from the suddenly annoying prospect that Hermione and David Lawson might actually begin dating. He opened his mouth to answer lightly but was spared the need to when Ron answered for him.

“Oh, of course. He’s too busy analyzing every move the Seekers make to pay attention to the people around him,” Ron quipped, winking at Harry.

He managed to laugh along with Ron, thankful that Ron had intervened. And then glanced at Hermione again. She and Lawson had stood up along with the rest of the audience and were applauding (without as much enthusiasm as most of the others admittedly). He saw Hermione give Lawson a bright smile, one she usually used with him, and was surprised to feel a pang of something very like- jealousy. But that was ridiculous, of course. He wasn’t jealous. He couldn’t be jealous. He had just decided that Lawson wasn’t good enough for Hermione and he didn’t like to see such a clear sign that Hermione did like Lawson.

They had already planned to go have dinner after the match. Which was, at this point, both good (he would have more time to watch Lawson and Hermione interact and hopefully find a way to somehow ensure that Lawson and Hermione didn’t begin dating in earnest) and bad (he would have more time to watch Lawson and Hermione interact and the last thing he wanted at this moment was to see yet more evidence of how well they were getting along). At least, at a dinner, Lawson couldn’t monopolize Hermione’s attention the way he had been. He still felt that this was going to be one very long afternoon and evening.

4. Desire

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you to everyone who’s reviewed this fic so far!

The rating for this fic has been increased to PG-13 for this chapter and may go up to R for the next.

Dialogue is not my forte, and in this chapter, I finally gave up trying to force it.

Enjoy!

For Goldy- thanks for all the support!

~*~*~*~

The Reasons for Dating

Chapter 4: Desire

He could never explain exactly why the moment happened.

It shouldn’t have happened. At least not then. Why did it happen that evening and not any other evening? Shouldn’t there have been something different about an evening when something so momentous occurred? But there wasn’t. It was just another of the big family dinners at the Burrow, which Mrs. Weasley insisted on holding every month now that all her children had moved out of the house. It was, she said, the only way she could keep up with everything that happened in their daily lives. (And woe be it to anyone who missed one of those dinners for anything less than life-threatening reasons…) It was just another of those dinners.

They were eating outside, as they always did, weather permitting. There was as much food as usual (Mrs. Weasley outdid herself for these dinners); the conversation was as lively as always (then again, no meal-time conversation with Fred and George present was ever calm) and he was, as usual, talking to Mr. Weasley about various things which had been going on in the Ministry lately (the head of Magical Maintenance had been somehow offended by the head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and so the weather outside the Ministry had been a daily curiosity, with one day of blizzards followed by a week of thunderstorms, followed by one sunny day, followed by three days of a hurricane) while also bantering with Ron, the twins and Bill.

He was sitting across from Hermione. He had only seen her once since the day of the Quidditch match more than a week ago. Once but that had been enough to at least put to rest one worry. “David Lawson is very nice, Harry, and you’re right we got along very well, surprisingly well,” she’d responded to his commenting on how well she and Lawson had gotten along (trying desperately not to sound displeased about it). “I think we’ll end up being very good friends. But, Harry, I’m not going to date David Lawson or anyone else no matter how nice they are unless I really want to, and right now, I’m happy as I am. Don’t worry about me.” Which had spared him the need to try to sabotage Lawson’s cause without making Hermione suspicious—and that, given how well she had always been able to understand him, was nearly impossible anyway. He’d been able to simply breathe a sigh of relief and move on.

He never knew what strange coincidence of timing or plan of fate made him look up at precisely that instant. He couldn’t remember hearing any particular sound which would have made him look up. But he did. And ridiculous as it seemed, his life was changed forever because of that one look, that one fleeting moment. It was one of those moments all the rest of life can’t undo.

Hermione was smiling as she talked to Ginny about their plans to go shopping in Diagon Alley soon. A dab of the ice cream they were eating for dessert stayed on her lip and she licked it off before continuing to eat her ice cream.

And he stared, involuntarily and irresistibly fascinated. He didn’t know what it was about that moment and that smallest of movements (he was sure he must have seen her lick her lips a hundred times before) but somehow it was only now, seeing her tongue come out to lick off that one drop of ice cream, when he reacted this way. With a flare of something hot, primitive, inside him. A flare of desire.

He didn’t understand it but he couldn’t deny it. There had been something so very sensual about seeing her tongue lick her lip like that, even if she didn’t mean the action to be so. He reacted instinctively, automatically, his entire body clenching with lust, a pool of molten heat settling in the pit of his stomach.

And so he stared. She looked up and met his eyes. Maybe she could read his feelings in his eyes as she usually was able to read his thoughts but her eyes met his and held. And then, unmistakably, she blushed. Hotly and her gaze faltered beneath his as she looked away, trying to regain the thread of her conversation with Ginny.

His heart leaped involuntarily. He knew he’d seen her blush before; he was even almost positive her eyes had faltered and she’d been unable to meet his eyes before, for other reasons. But tonight- tonight that one brief meeting of gazes and changing color of her cheeks seemed imbued with abnormal significance.

The sound of Mr. Weasley’s conversation with Bill, the twins’ laughter, all the usual noises of a happy family dinner, faded until all he was aware of was a vague buzzing in his ears, drowned out by the sudden thumping of his heart. The world simply ceased to exist for that one moment; there was no one and nothing in it except for himself and Hermione.

Hermione who was still studiously avoiding his gaze (or so it seemed to him) as she chatted with Ginny. Hermione, with her brown hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail, her face devoid of make-up, who was, he was suddenly convinced, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or ever would see.

Hermione, who had been his best friend for so long he couldn’t imagine his life without her by his side… Hermione, whom he wanted to kiss, to touch as he explored the body he’d never before really thought of. Hermione, whom he wanted with a simple, yet powerful and age-old need he’d never even dreamed of feeling for Hermione before…

“Don’t you think so, Harry?” The sound of Ron’s voice jerked him back to attention and the knowledge that he’d just been asked a question and he had absolutely no idea what it was or what Ron had been talking about.

“Oh, er, yes,” he said quickly, devoutly hoping he hadn’t just agreed to something like his admiration and respect for Snape (although, admittedly, given that this was Ron, that particular possibility wasn’t at all likely).

At any rate, Ron seemed to find his answer completely normal and he breathed a small sigh of relief, making up his mind to curtail any more thoughts on Hermione until later when he was alone and not here, surrounded by people.

He could ignore Hermione- or at least ignore the desire he felt for her and any other troubling thoughts about her- for a few hours, surely. She was his best friend; she was his platonic best friend. And maybe if he kept on repeating that steadying thought, he could forget the jolt of sheer lust he’d felt for her…

It didn’t work. Oh he managed to keep up with the rest of the conversation (even if he didn’t contribute much) despite his straying eyes and attention every once in a while. But always, he was aware of her. He seemed to have developed a sixth sense that told him what she was doing at all times even when he wasn’t looking at her. He knew when she smiled, heard every laugh, every word she spoke, knew when she looked at him (and resisting the urge to look at her and meet her eyes nearly killed him). Had he thought defeating Voldemort was hard? That had been positively easy when compared to the task of trying to keep his mind from wandering to Hermione every other minute. Or so he discovered that evening.

He knew Ron was giving him curious looks because he was acting so absent and preoccupied but at the moment, it didn’t concern him.

And it was with a feeling of intense relief that he finally said his goodbyes to the Weasleys, accepting Mrs. Weasley’s customary motherly hug and kiss on the cheek and Mr. Weasley’s smile and hand-shake. He hugged Ginny goodbye as he usually did (noting that she was also casting odd glances his way but dismissing it.) For then it was time to say goodbye to Hermione and he looked at her fully for the first time in what felt like hours (but was really only about an hour and half) and felt again the sudden desire to kiss her. (How had he never noticed before what a lovely mouth she had? And had her skin always looked so smooth and tempting?)

He didn’t give in to his impulse. Thankfully. He only managed something approaching his usual grin and said lightly, “I’ll see you around, Hermione” and gave her a quick, scrupulously platonic, hug, keeping as much distance between their bodies as possible and letting go as quickly as he could. That way he wouldn’t act on his insane impulse to kiss her or hold her in a less-than-platonic way. (He was rapidly beginning to hate the word platonic.)

She favored him with her usual smile (since when did her smile have the power to make his heart beat faster?) but only said, “See you, Harry.”

For the first time in his memory, he was glad to leave the Burrow, having escaped as soon as he possibly could without arousing suspicion. He was so distracted by his unprecedented reaction to Hermione that, as he reflected later, it was really a miracle he hadn’t splinched himself on Apparating back to his flat.

He headed straight for the sitting room and his favorite armchair, sitting back with a brief sigh.

Harry wasn’t overly given to self-analysis but his reaction to Hermione tonight jarred him into it. What had happened tonight anyway?

He had only happened to glance up and see Hermione lick her lip, a perfectly mundane action. And he’d reacted with a flash of sheer lust. That had subsided somewhat—after an entire evening spent trying to ignore it—but had subsided leaving behind an insidious attraction that heightened his senses to a nearly uncomfortable level. He’d positively tingled every time he felt her eyes on him.

But his physical reaction to her wasn’t what terrified him. Merlin knew he’d felt lust before—for Lilah Harte, Carolyn Bridgeton, and Viola Stirling most recently. He tried to picture them in his mind— Lilah with her wide, sensuous mouth, Carolyn and her figure to rival a Greek goddess (as he’d thought in a fit of lust-induced madness on first meeting her), Viola with the exotic contrast of her pale, pale skin (made paler with liberal applications of make-up) and black hair—and failed. Their images kept on being blurred, nudged aside, and replaced with images of Hermione—Hermione smiling at him, laughing at something Fred had said, hugging Mrs. Weasley, taking a drink of butterbeer… (Was the sight of a woman drinking from a glass bottle always so sensual or was it just the sight of Hermione drinking from a bottle that suddenly made him think about what her lips would feel like on his mouth, his skin, his—he cut his thoughts off abruptly. He would not think about that.) Okay, so maybe the strength of his physical reaction to Hermione did scare him a little.

She was his best friend, for Merlin’s sake! He should not be thinking such things about her.

And that, after all, was what scared him.

She was his best friend. So he knew that he couldn’t just dismiss his reaction to her nearness as simple lust. It was more than that, complicated by his other, more innocent feelings for Hermione—affection, loyalty, protectiveness…

And sitting there in the darkness of his flat (not having bothered to turn on the lights), Harry realized he’d been wrong.

He did want to date Hermione. He did want to be more than just her friend.

He’d never seriously considered dating Hermione before, had dismissed Ron’s suggestion of it as rank insanity. But suddenly, he realized, there was nothing he wanted more.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

He could already see it happening—the initial happiness followed by the disillusionment and then the disagreements and then the loss of interest… It had happened before; he quite simply got bored with the witches he’d dated before. Once the first flush of heat was gone and he realized that there had been very little feeling beyond that, he got bored.

And then there was always the problem that they didn’t know and couldn’t understand the scars he still had, invisible though they might be, from his last few years at Hogwarts. He remembered the way Carolyn had asked, with wide-eyed curiosity, “What was it like, facing him? Were you scared?” He had realized, chillingly, that she felt only curiosity and some awe as well; there was no sympathy, no real understanding at all. She was looking for tales of heroic grandeur. (He had a sudden mental image of himself astride a rearing horse, with a cape billowing behind him, brandishing his wand threateningly at Voldemort and almost laughed at the absurdity of it.) She wasn’t really interested in the reality of it; what would she know of the death, the darkness, the loss of his godfather, his mentor, and his friends? He’d answered tersely, “It was dark and cold and yes, it was terrifying,” in a tone that closed the conversation permanently, before changing the subject. That moment had sounded the death knell of his relationship with Carolyn.

Then again, none of those usual problems were issues with Hermione. She wouldn’t bore him; he already knew her so well and she still managed to surprise him at times. And perhaps most importantly, she knew what it had been like, knew of the unseen scars he still carried, and understood. She’d been there with him up until the very end when he’d had to face Voldemort alone; she’d always been there beside him.

But the idea of moving their relationship beyond what it was now, a comfortable, dependable friendship, sent bolts of pure nervousness and something very like panic shooting through him.

If they did begin dating and it ended for any reason, that would be the end of their friendship too.

They could never go back to being just friends.

It was a risk. Could he risk losing Hermione’s friendship? Dared he risk it?

He didn’t know—but even as he thought it, something stronger than his finely-honed instinct to avoid trouble emerged, and conquered all his vacillation. Perhaps it was the Gryffindor in him that refused to be put off by risks; perhaps it was simply his own heart telling him this was too important, too strong an emotion, not to act on it. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn’t simply ignore this desire for Hermione, mixed up with all his other confused feelings for her, and hope it would go away. Whatever the risk, he had to act.

He cared about Hermione, not to mention being attracted to her (and part of him still couldn’t believe he was). He wanted to be not just Hermione’s friend but her boyfriend and yes, her lover.

He wanted her.

Now he needed to decide how to tell her that…

5. Love

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Notes: The rating for this fic has been raised to R for one part of this chapter. And this is the end, except for an Epilogue.

Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing this fic so far. I’m so glad to know you’ve enjoyed this so far.

For Anne U- enjoy the smuff! And thanks for all the faithful reviews and for your friendship. *hugs*

~The Reasons for Dating~

Chapter 5: Love

He didn’t think he’d ever been so uncomfortable in his life. And with Hermione of all people. Hermione, with whom he’d always felt so comfortable. Hermione, whose presence had been something of a haven for him in those last dark months before Voldemort was defeated.

Lusting after one’s best friend was a decidedly discomfiting thing.

He’d finally gotten around to deciding he needed to do something, to tell Hermione somehow. How, he hadn’t quite decided but he’d sent her an owl yesterday suggesting they meet up at his flat and then have dinner together, anyway. And spent the rest of that day and today until now, wondering just what he was going to do or say.

Simply kissing her the way he wanted to was hardly advisable, not when he wasn’t sure how she felt and not for something this new, this first step that might very well permanently change one of the truly vital relationships of his life. And he still didn’t know what he should say or do.

And now she was here, looking at him curiously, since he wasn’t saying anything after the first, rather awkward, greetings.

“Harry, what’s bothering you?” she finally asked directly.

He swallowed. “Hermione, I-um- I think I’m in love with you,” he blurted out desperately and then stopped short. Oh Merlin. What had he just said? He thought what? He—he hadn’t thought that! Or at least, he hadn’t until that very moment.

In love with Hermione? In love with Hermione… He cared about her, trusted her, respected her, wanted her… With all this, did he love her? Was he in love with her?

Yes.

The question answered itself as soon as he thought it. Yes. He hadn’t thought to define his feelings for Hermione in those terms, hadn’t even realized how his feelings had slowly but surely been deepening, changing over the past few years, until his sudden realization that he was attracted to Hermione. But now hearing that admission slip out unconsciously, he knew. Knew why the thought of losing Hermione’s friendship had terrified him so much. Knew why seeing Hermione with Lawson had disturbed him and why he’d been jealous (which he had been, he could admit that now). Knew why he’d reacted so strongly to his suspicion that Hermione was lonely. And after all, knew why he hadn’t been able to seriously consider not acting on his attraction to Hermione. Knew what it was that had overcome any fear of risking their friendship: love.

He finally dared to look at Hermione, half-afraid of what he would see. She had sucked in her breath in surprise at his words and was still staring at him as if she wasn’t quite sure what he’d just said or if he’d meant what he said. But there was something in her eyes- something that looked like the beginning of hope and even joy… And that something gave him the confidence to continue.

“I think I’m in love with you. And I was wondering if you could love me and if you wanted to, um, that is, start dating and maybe move in together and, um, spend our lives together. But that’s later and- uh- and now I just want to know what you think.” He stopped, becoming aware that he was babbling and writhing inwardly at how incoherent he’d sounded. (He knew he wasn’t the most eloquent fellow in the world but really, would it be too much to ask that he not sound like an idiot during one of the most important moments of his life so far?)

But she was smiling her beautiful smile, even though he saw tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Yes,” she said simply. “Yes, I love you and yes, I’d like to start dating. Yes, to everything.”

Yes. She said yes. His heart began to pound in his chest and he felt a surge of relief and happiness so powerful it nearly made him dizzy. “Really?”

“Oh, Harry… Of course I love you and of course I’d say yes.” There was mingled exasperation, affection and amusement in her tone. And then she was in his arms, her body pressed against his and her face so close to his that all he could think to do (not that he minded) was kiss her.

Afterwards he never quite knew whether she had made the first move and ended up in his arms or whether he had moved first or maybe they’d both just moved toward each other. Then again, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered in that moment (and indeed for several minutes after that) was that she was in his arms, so close he could feel her heart beating against his chest, and his lips were on hers and it was right. Kissing Hermione was simply right. Her body fit his as if it had been made for him (then again, maybe it had been), he thought fuzzily, before he lost the ability to think coherently or think about anything at all except the blood rushing southward from his brain, the pounding of his heart and the growing tightness of his trousers.

Dear God. And he thought he’d felt desire before? That had been a pale imitation of desire, a purely physical sensation. This was desire, this meeting of mouths that somehow felt like a meeting of hearts, of souls even. This feeling that went beyond the purely physical and almost approached the spiritual- this was desire.

He was the first one to end the kiss (nearly killing himself in the process) to ask breathlessly, “Are you sure? It’s so soon, so sudden. Are you sure?”

(He should be canonized for saying this; he knew it. Where he got the strength or the will to say it he didn’t know but somehow he knew he had to ask. But, dear Lord, if she said no right now, he might just spontaneously combust on the spot…)

Hermione choked on a breathless laugh. “Sudden? Harry, I’ve wanted to hear you say you love me for 8 years now. This isn’t sudden for me.”

The significance of what she’d said didn’t hit him until later. All he understood at that moment was that she was sure; she hadn’t said no…

She kissed him, long and thoroughly, and when it ended, said softly, “I want you, Harry.”

Thank God, he thought fervently, as he kissed her again, tightening his arms around her and then felt the familiar tingle of Apparition before he felt his bed underneath them.

He’d never heard any words more beautiful than Hermione saying she wanted him. And then all thought of words left his mind and it was just a blur of lips and tongue and hands and skin against skin… Hands touching, exploring, caressing… Worshipping… Breathless gasps, a few murmured words (“You’re so beautiful…”, “Now, Harry, please…”, “Ooh, yes”), throaty moans…

He kept his eyes open, wanting to see her, all of her as he’d never seen her before (and God, she was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen or would ever see)… He looked down at her, learning the way she felt beneath him, around him, learning the way she looked, learning the sounds of her, the sound of her moans and her gasps… Learned what she looked like at the point of climax, her head thrown back, her eyes closed… The things about her he’d never yet discovered after their 13 years of platonic friendship but was discovering now at the start of another phase in their relationship… Learning the sound of his name on her lips as she came… And that was what pushed him over the edge; he forgot to look at her (his eyes closed automatically), forgot everything except the sheer glory (that was the only word for it) of his release.

And then fulfillment… The completion of a circle begun 13 years ago on a train and continued, cemented, later with a rescue and a shared secret… A circle that had, unknown to him and maybe to her too, been leading them to this moment, together, no barriers, no walls, nothing between them except this feeling of fulfillment, of peace… This was what they had been made for…

He collapsed beside her with a soft sigh, relishing in the feel of her naked body tucked next to his, moving his hand in a slow, idle caress on her stomach and breast, brushing his lips against her hair. The thought drifted through his dazed mind with all the wispiness of a puff of smoke. This was what it meant to make love, a physical demonstration of a deeper, more profound emotion, actions fueled not so much by lust but by love, the physical and the emotional melding into one beautiful act…

It was later, much later, that what Hermione had said returned to his consciousness and he turned to look at her, amazed at how much effort the simple movement seemed to take. “Hermione, did you mean what you said, that you’ve wanted to hear me say I love you for 8 years?”

She flushed slightly but met his eyes directly. “Yes.”

8 years? His still-foggy mind struggled for a moment to come to terms with this, finally realizing what it meant. “You’ve loved me since you were 17?”

She sighed and smiled. “Oh, Harry, sometimes I think I’ve loved you all my life and I just didn’t realize it until I was 17.”

He blinked, staring at her. “I- I don’t know what to say. Except I’m sor—mmph”

She stopped his words with her mouth. “Don’t. You love me now and that’s all that matters.”

And somehow, hearing her say that, seeing her smile and the way her eyes shone into his, that was all that mattered.

She loved him and he loved her—and that was all that mattered…

~*~

There was something different about Hermione today.

Ginny tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes slightly as she studied her friend who was browsing the racks of clothes in Madame Marguerite’s Clothing for the Discerning Witch.

She was positively glowing today. There was a sparkle in her eyes, an almost perpetual smile on her face and Ginny could have sworn she’d heard Hermione humming under her breath a few times.

Hermione- humming? At any other time, Ginny would have said the sky would sooner fall down than Hermione do something like hum in a public place no less. She glanced out the window at the clear blue sky. Well, the sky didn’t look to be falling.

And Hermione was acting decidedly oddly. Even the fact that she was actually browsing through clothes was odd, given that Hermione’s usual behavior on their occasional shopping outings was to wait with carefully disguised impatience while Ginny tried on clothes and to shrug off at least half of Ginny’s suggestions for clothes as being “too revealing”, “not her color” or just to say she didn’t feel like trying on clothes. (In all honesty, Hermione’s main purpose at these outings was to serve as a critic since Hermione was the one friend Ginny knew she could count on to always tell the truth about how an outfit made her look and to know whether an outfit would pass Mrs. Weasley’s judgment.) Today, well…

Ginny glanced around and picked up a simple summer dress, with an A-line skirt and a halter-top bodice, the sort of thing she would normally never even bother suggesting for Hermione because she knew her friend too well. She held it up for Hermione’s inspection. “Hermione, why don’t you try this on? I think you’d look smashing in it; you know blue is your color.”

Hermione looked, smiled and agreed easily, “It is pretty, thanks. I think I will.” And taking the dress from Ginny, who was trying not to show her surprise, disappeared into one of the dressing rooms.

Ok, there was definitely something going on with Hermione. Really, if Ginny didn’t know better she’d say Hermione was in love… Surely Hermione hadn’t actually started dating Lawson… Ron had told her all about Lawson along with some extended grumbling about the man’s cleverness and humor adding, as well, the most scathing indictment Ron could give of anyone, “plus, he’s got no sense of Quidditch at all. Didn’t even pay any attention to the game!” (For Ron, the force of condemnation could no further go, at least for a man. In girls- in Hermione for example- he could shrug it off as just being a “girl thing”; in a fellow wizard, a lack of interest in Quidditch was tantamount to a branding as an outright criminal.) But no, she couldn’t believe Hermione would be so fickle as to immediately begin dating Lawson (she’d only met him a week ago!) when Ginny was sure (or as sure as she could be when she had heard nothing to confirm her suspicions from Hermione herself, who, about some things, could be very reserved) Hermione had, at least until very recently, had feelings for Harry.

Unless, of course, it was Harry who was behind this sudden change in Hermione…

“Well, what do you think?” Hermione turned around for Ginny’s inspection. The dress bared, by Hermione’s usual standards, an enormous amount of skin since it left her shoulders and arms and her back down to her shoulder blades, exposed. The design emphasized Hermione’s lithe, slim figure and the color became her.

Ginny grinned. “You look great, Hermione. That style suits you.”

“I think so too,” Hermione responded lightly. “I’ll get it.” (It was amazing how much more she cared about her appearance when the added thought of, I wonder what Harry will think when he sees me wearing this, was constantly in her mind.)

When she got out of the dressing room, she found Ginny waiting with her hands on her hips.

“Ok, Hermione, what’s going on?” she demanded, without preamble. “You’ve been acting positively giddy all day.”

Hermione manufactured a look of innocent surprise. “Have I? I guess I’m just in a good mood today, that’s all.”

“Oh really?” Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re practically exuding happiness that in anyone else I’d say made it seem as if you had a really great shag last night.”

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed in a whisper, blushing scarlet. “Honestly! Someone might hear you.”

Ginny glanced around at the nearly empty store and raised her eyebrows expressively but said nothing.

Hermione finally relented. “It’s Harry,” she admitted. They hadn’t talked about what to tell everyone or who to tell first but she knew Harry wouldn’t mind Ginny knowing; he would probably be telling Ron tonight as it was. Oh but it had been a precious secret to have for these few hours, a wonderful hidden source of constant happiness. He loves me. Harry loves me.

“I knew it!” Ginny exclaimed. “I knew you were in love with Harry. So he’s finally realized he loves you too, is that it? Brilliant!” She paused, glancing around to make sure no one was in hearing distance and then asked in a teasing whisper, “So, how is he?”

Hermione just knew her face was turning twenty shades of red. “Honestly, Ginny! I can’t tell you that!” she exclaimed, although she kept her voice low and there was amusement warring with mild embarrassment in her eyes.

“Oh, fine,” Ginny huffed in mock disgruntlement but her dancing eyes gave her away and she smiled, giving Hermione a quick hug. “I’m so glad for you.”

Ginny entered Ron’s office in the London headquarters of Quality Quidditch Supplies with so much flourish Ron half-expected to hear a fanfare of trumpets announcing her arrival.

She struck a dramatic pose. “I,” she announced triumphantly, “am a genius!”

Ron gave her a look that implied he strongly suspected she was either completely sloshed or completely insane. “Um, Gin, what have you done?”

Ginny waved a hand with exaggerated carelessness. “Oh, nothing much, but I knew it would happen. I just knew it! Didn’t I predict it would happen this way?”

“Knew what would happen?”

“Harry and Hermione, of course, you dense thing.”

Ron sat bolt upright. “Harry and Hermione!”

“Yes! Now, come with me. You have to see this.” Ginny grabbed Ron’s arm, dragging him with her. “Come on; you’re taking your lunch break now.” She stopped when they were outside the building. “I’ll meet you outside the Avalon Café in Diagon Alley.” And with that, she disapparated.

Ron blinked, stared at the spot where Ginny had been, shook his head and then disapparated as well.

Outside the Avalon Café, Ron favored his sister with a curious look. “Um, Gin…”

“Sssh. Just follow me and be quiet.”

She went inside the café and shaking his head again, Ron followed her.

She stopped so suddenly he nearly bumped straight into her. She pulled him down so his head wouldn’t show above the top of the potted tree she’d stopped behind and said, “Now, look straight ahead through the branches to that table by the window.”

Ron looked. And felt a grin begin to grow on his face. She’s just your friend, eh, Harry? Silly git.

Harry and Hermione were sitting at a small table for two, not really eating the food on their plates; they were more occupied with the person across from them. And it was quite clear that the rest of the patrons, the servers, the café itself didn’t really exist for either of them. As far as they were concerned, they were alone. As Ron and Ginny watched, Harry reached across the table to take Hermione’s hand; she smiled at him and then fed him a bite of her pasta.

Ron glanced at Ginny, grinning widely. “Just look at the two of them, so cozy. And after all Harry’s protests that she was just his friend. I’ve half a mind to go up there and say, I told you so.”

Ginny grabbed the sleeve of his robe. “Don’t you dare, Ronald Bilius Weasley!” she hissed in a sharp whisper. “You’ll ruin their romantic lunch.”

Ron blinked and grimaced at her use of his middle name. “Ok, ok, Gin, I was only kidding.” He paused and then quirked his eyebrows at her. “And did something happen to Mum, ‘cause I think you’re channeling her spirit. You sounded exactly like her just then, you know.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Wigged me out, honestly.”

Ginny couldn’t help but smile. “Come on, we can have lunch in the Leaky Cauldron.”

Ron glanced at his two best friends again, completely absorbed in each other, and grinned, before he followed Ginny out of the Cafe. It was about bloody time.

“I told Ginny about us. Or rather, she guessed and I confirmed her guess,” Hermione told Harry.

He nodded. “I was going to tell Ron tonight,” adding with a smile, “He’s smarter than I am apparently, since he told me weeks ago you and I should start dating.” He shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly. “I told him he was crazy. But I’m an idiot that way.”

Hermione laughed softly and shook her head. “Don’t say that. Sometimes we just don’t see certain things until we’re ready to see them. And it doesn’t matter now.”

“I suppose not.” They exchanged smiles and another silence, comfortable as silences between them always had been but now charged with an added element of desire—this need to touch each other even if it was only their hands—fell.

“I’m going up to Hogwarts this weekend,” Harry began after a few moments.

“For Dumbledore?” she asked, although she knew the answer already.

“Yes.” Harry went up to Hogwarts and Dumbledore’s grave every year during the week of the anniversary of Dumbledore’s death. He tried to go there on the actual day but when it fell during the week, as it did this year, he usually couldn’t and so went the weekend before or after. “Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested, adding, “We can go on a date to Hogsmeade afterwards.”

She smiled. “That sounds nice. I can visit with Professor McGonagall while you visit Dumbledore’s memorial.”

“Okay. Then we can spend the rest of the day wandering through Hogsmeade. I feel like I owe you a date at Hogsmeade to make up for all those times I should have asked you out during all our years at Hogwarts,” Harry grinned.

She laughed softly. “You don’t owe me anything. But it’s a sweet thought. And come to think of it,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I always wanted to go to Madam Puddifoot’s with you.”

Harry recoiled with a look of exaggerated horror. “Oh please, not Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“But don’t you just love the décor there, Harry?” she teased.

He pretended to shudder at the thought. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, alright then,” she relented with mock reluctance. “No Madam Puddifoot’s, since you insist.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief and then added, more seriously, “If you want to, though, we can go there.”

“Would you really?” she asked in some surprise, knowing just how much Harry detested that tea-shop.

His eyes met hers, all traces of humor gone now. “For you, I’d do anything, go anywhere,” he said quietly. His lips quirked in a half-smile, though his eyes remained serious. “Even spend an entire day at Madam Puddifoot’s, if that’s what you wanted.”

She smiled at him, feeling a surge of pure emotion well up inside her. Dear, dear Harry. Her Harry, she suddenly thought with a flare of possessiveness. “I love you, Harry,” she responded softly.

He tightened his hold on her hand. “I love you too.”

For a while, nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be said. They could simply be silent, silent and happy just to be together like this and know that this love, based as it was on such a strong friendship, would last forever.

Harry suddenly realized that he had succeeded brilliantly in his initial plan after all. He had made Hermione happy and he had found her a boyfriend, the last boyfriend she would ever have (he was as sure of that as he could be of anything). And after all, love was the best reason for dating of all… Just love…

Life with Hermione loving him as he loved her—he couldn’t ask for anything more.

6. Epilogue: Happiness

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Author’s Note: Thank you, everyone, who’s reviewed and been following along with this story. I hope you enjoyed it!

Here, finally, is the promised Epilogue, which is pure, plotless, pointless fluff simply for the sake of fluff. Enjoy!

The Reasons for Dating

Epilogue: Happiness

It was the Quidditch match of the century.

Ron was so excited he was barely coherent. And getting him to talk about anything besides Quidditch and the Cannons was just about impossible. As for how many times he’d mentioned the year 1892… Harry was beginning to suspect that Ron’s entire mental calendar of history began and ended with that year (the last year the Cannons had won the League Cup, though not the last year they’d actually competed in the final game for the League Cup- that had been in 1905, he knew, also thanks to Ron).

It was the Quidditch match of the century. The stands were absolutely exploding at the seams with fans dressed in orange (including Ron who was a sight to see in his Chudley Cannons shirt and with an orange Cannons cap on his head, that, thankfully covered his hair so it wasn’t visible.) The Kestrels fans were grouped together in the one area of the stands that was a mass of green rather than orange although they tried valiantly to cheer as loudly as the Cannons fans, despite being outnumbered nearly 3 to 1.

The match wasn’t due to begin for another half hour and already Ron was in a rather pitiful state of anticipation. Luna was watching it all with a tolerant smile and loyal enough to Ron that she, too, was wearing orange.

He exchanged grins with Bill and joked, “I sometimes think the main reason Ron keeps me around is because I can get good seats at Quidditch matches.” It was about the only perk of his fame and status in the wizarding world which he actually used and even appreciated, the fact that he could almost always get box seats to watch any Quidditch match no matter how quickly tickets sold-out.

Bill, Mr. Weasley and Ginny all laughed when he heard a vaguely familiar voice call his name.

“Harry!”

He turned to see Viola Stirling waving at him as she made her way through the stands towards them. He felt Hermione stiffen a little beside him as she saw his former girlfriend and slipped his hand into hers, giving it a slight squeeze.

He managed an easy smile at Viola. “Hi, Viola.” She looked as exotic as always with her dramatic coloring and the red lipstick she favored to further highlight the contrast with her pale skin and black hair. But somehow the allure was gone. He could look at her and acknowledge her strange beauty dispassionately. He laced his fingers with Hermione’s as he realized, with no surprise and only a feeling of odd satisfaction, that there really was no other woman in the world for him. Only Hermione…

He saw Viola glance down at his hand holding Hermione’s and her smile froze for a fleeting second before she met his eyes. “Hi, Harry. It’s good to see you again.” She glanced at Hermione and the Weasleys. “Hello.”

They murmured greetings, glancing between him, Hermione and Viola. He inwardly grimaced, wishing Viola hadn’t seen him and decided to come say hello. He hadn’t seen her in more than six months since they’d broken off their relationship but to see her for the first time since then in front of Hermione, only days after beginning their new relationship, made for a decidedly awkward situation.

He forced himself to grin. “Looking forward to the game?”

“Oh, definitely. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Quidditch for years; I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Are you supporting the Cannons?” Ron asked at this point, sparing Harry the need to respond and Harry couldn’t help but smile at Ron asking this, reminded for a moment of Ron confronting Cho for her support of the Tornadoes.

Viola laughed. “Yes. It’s about time they win the Cup again. For this match, I think everyone who’s not a die-hard Kestrels fan is a Cannons fan since they all know how long it’s been.”

The tension lessened by a miniscule amount as everyone relaxed a fraction at this answer. (Harry shuddered to think of what Ron’s response would have been had Viola answered otherwise, especially at this particular game.)

Viola turned back to Harry. “Anyway, I saw you sitting over here and thought I’d drop by to say hello, since it’s been a while. Take care, Harry.” She turned to go, paused, seemed to consider for a moment, and then turned back to face him again. Her smile seemed quite genuine as she added, “I’m glad to see you finally realized how you felt about Hermione.” She turned to Hermione. “He used to talk about you all the time.”

He sensed the Weasleys’ amusement at this and was annoyed to feel heat creep into his cheeks. Great Merlin, he was blushing! So he’d been a blind idiot not to realize his feelings for Hermione before now; did everybody including his former girlfriend need to remind him of it?

Hermione’s smile this time was genuine. “Did he, really?” Her tone was amused now.

“Oh he did. I always suspected it and he only confirmed it with the way he talked about you.” She turned to leave again, saying, “I’d better get back to my friends. Enjoy the game.”

“We will, thanks. Bye, Viola,” he said lightly, deciding he’d never been so glad to see anyone’s back in his life.

He turned back to Hermione, meeting her amused gaze, and shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. “I haven’t seen Viola in more than six months. It was interesting to see her again.”

Her smile grew into a grin. “I’m sure. She is very pretty, isn’t she?”

He shrugged again. “I’ve seen prettier.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a meaningful look.

She understood, colored and laughed slightly, shaking her head. “You need your eyesight checked.” She spoke lightly but her eyes softened, telling him silently, thank you, and that she trusted him, knew she had nothing to fear from Viola or anyone else.

He returned her smile with a look, his gaze lowering to her lips and lingering there in the visual kiss he couldn’t give her here, in public as they were.

“If you two would stop making me sick…” Ron’s dry voice interrupted and they both turned, startled, to see Luna nudge Ron with her elbow and Ginny do the same on the other side, with a hissed whisper, “Ron!”

He looked unrepentant, only smirked at Harry. “Come on, you two, the game’s about to start.”

They grinned at him and returned their attention to the pitch where the Kestrels leprechaun mascots were beginning a lively jig, ending the display with their usual shower of leprechaun gold Galleons into the stands.

Then all thought of gold vanished from the minds of everyone in the stands as the Kestrels zoomed out onto the pitch as the announcer called their names. “Ahern… Malloy… Mackenzie… Tooley… Gunerman… Boyd… and Peter O’Neill!” The Seeker was the last, as always, announced to a positively deafening roar of cheers from the Kestrels fans and some of the Cannons fans as well, all of whom remembered perfectly well his brilliant maneuver that had won the last match for the Kestrels. Ron appeared to have forgotten his admiration for O’Neill after that last match and was glowering at O’Neill as if he saw in him the embodiment of the Cannons’ doom.

Then there was an explosion of sound from the entire stadium as the Cannons made their entrance. “Leonard… Helsen… Halley… Vincent… Parker… Reynolds… and Matthew Farrell!” Hermione winced slightly at the crescendo of the cheers that ensued when George Helsen, the star Chaser who was considered by many to be the reason the Cannons were even playing in the League Championship game this year and the best hope for the Cannons winning the Cup, flew out onto the pitch. And inwardly sighed. This was already shaping up to be a headache-inducing afternoon…

But then perhaps not. After all, this was the first major public event she and Harry were attending together.

A temptation to try a sudden thought grew inside her and she decided she’d try it. If nothing else it would serve as a diversion for her during this game.

She looked down at her hand, still holding Harry’s, resting on his knee, before glancing at him. His attention was on the pitch, as she’d expected.

She moved her thumb in a lazy caress of his palm, wondering if he’d react or do anything. He didn’t. He only relaxed his hand slightly, allowing her better access. Deliberately, she traced her finger from the point where his fingers met his palm to the tip of each finger and then down again, before continuing her aimless and yet purposeful caress.

Harry shifted in his seat, giving up the attempt to pay any attention to what was going on on the pitch. He couldn’t believe this. She was touching his hand, for Merlin’s sake, only his hand, and he was already as hard as a rock. But the touch of her fingers on his palm seemed to be sending bolts of sensation straight to his groin and making him think, inescapably, of what her clever hands would feel like on other parts of his body… He grimaced, crossing his legs, thanking Merlin that he was wearing wizarding robes, not daring to look at her as he did so. He could sense the amused smile on her face and knew if he saw it, he would give in to his impulse and simply Apparate them both back to his bedroom, the one place he really wanted to be right now. To heck with Quidditch, the entire Quidditch League, the Cup, the Cannons, everything.

Some part of his mind that was still thinking clearly and not completely focused on the feeling of Hermione’s finger on his sensitized palm, smirked in detached amusement at his blithe dismissal of his favorite sport and this event he’d been looking forward to for weeks now. And all because of Hermione. Hermione and her evil, wonderful, torturous, delightful finger tracing his hand…

Her finger paused in its path and then began again, tracing two parallel lines then another one, perpendicular to them, followed by one line and then a curve, followed by a very circular line… He glanced down at his hand, to see her repeat the pattern.

H J G

Her initials. He smiled, the desire raging through his body momentarily (very momentarily) forgotten in a wave of tenderness and sheer happiness. She’d traced her initials on his palm… And somehow he felt as if he’d been marked in some visible way, as if she’d branded him as being hers. As if there were suddenly a sign on his chest declaring to all around him, Property of Hermione Jane Granger. Because he was. He belonged to her, just as she belonged to him. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After all, the Quidditch League Cup came and went every two to three years. It was a game, its victories and losses transient joys and sorrows for fans. How could it— how could anything compare to the simple, lasting happiness of just being here, with the people he cared about most in the world, hand in hand with his Hermione? No matter whether the Cannons won or lost…

Harry was startled out of his unusually sentimental thoughts with a noise that sounded much like he imagined a nuclear bomb exploding would sound, shouts, whistles, yells, the popping sound of (illegal but still occasionally used) wizarding fireworks being set off suddenly bursting out from everyone. Huh- what?

His gaze was drawn sharply to Ron who was jumping up and down in the box yelling like a madman, and just managed to decipher in all the incoherence and deafening din, what he was screaming. “He caught it! He caught it! We won! We won! Ha! We won!”

And saw the Cannons swarming around Matthew Farrell, their Seeker, who was staring at the struggling Snitch in his hand with comical amazement before he was drowned out of sight under the mass of his team-mates, all wild with exhilaration.

He felt himself grin, a cheer automatically coming from his own throat. The Cannons had finally won the League Cup!

Beside him, he heard Hermione laugh, exclaiming, “First time since 1892! That’s incredible!” And then felt Ron pulling both him and Hermione in for an exuberant, celebratory hug, heard Ron’s voice yelling, “We won! We won!” in his ear, and had to laugh. He couldn’t deny the excitement he felt; it was contagious from everyone around him, especially Ron who looked as if he’d temporarily gone mad (which he supposed, Ron had). Even Mr. Weasley had forgotten the dignity of his years and was cheering as loudly as anyone.

And amid all the jubilance, he had a sudden memory of himself telling Lilah, when she’d accused him of caring more for Hermione than he did for her, that the likelihood of the Cannons winning the League Cup was higher than his feeling anything like lust for Hermione. (“She’s my best friend; I’ve known her since forever, practically,” he’d protested—stupidly, he thought now.) He had to laugh at his own blind stupidity, tightening his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. The laugh was really on him now. The Cannons had won. And he definitely lusted after Hermione, lusted for her, loved her, was in love with her.

Looking at Hermione’s laughing face, seeing the happiness in her eyes and smile—if that was what came from being wrong, he’d gladly be wrong any day, he decided. Their eyes met and for a moment, all the noise of celebration around them faded into a vague buzzing. Oh, he loved her and even if he made mistakes every day for the rest of his life, it wouldn’t matter as long as she was happy. That was all he needed to make him happy; she was all he needed.

Happiness- the happiness of loving and being loved- was really all that mattered…

~The End~