Friends are Friends, Lovers are Lovers

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops gently crashing on the roof echoed throughout the unassuming muggle flat. The pipes squeaked as Hermione Granger shut the water off and reached for her fluffy towel.

“Is this your towel? It's so rough!”

Hermione fingered the soft terrycloth material, recalling how she had charmed it to retain its softness after repeated laundering.

“You should get a softer towel like mine. It's the only way to go.”

Turning to her reflection, she swiped a stray water droplet from her eyebrow. She shook her wet hair before carrying her towel-wrapped self to her bedroom. Her fingers lightly danced over the garments hanging in the closet; they hovered momentarily over a blue sweater before the dove for the adjacent plum turtleneck.

“You know, I shouldn't be surprised that your closet is color-coded. Anything else would just go against the fiber of your being. I suppose it'd be the same as me saying I found quidditch boring.”

Hermione had just freed her hair from the confines of the turtleneck when she heard noises from the fireplace.

“Hermione! Can you hear me? Ron said he set everything up with the Ministry but I -” Ginny cut herself short when she saw her ex-flat mate appear in the grate. “Oh, good, it works. Ron told me he connected you to the floo network, but I wasn't sure if he actually knew what he was doing. It is Ron, after all,” she added with an impish grin. “Then again, you of all people should know how he can be.”

“Harry, I've told you already. I can't live in the wizarding world right now. I just need to be away from the wreckage of our teenage lives.”

“But Hermione, it's been years since Voldemort fell! Why are you leaving now of all times?”

“Just trust me on this. I need the space.”

“If you must leave, at least tell Ron to hook you up with the floo network. I'll need to talk to you somehow.”

“I of all people should know how Ron can be. And I do, only too well, Ginny?” Hermione smiled indulgingly at her friend. She shifted her position on her knees before continuing. “How are you? It's been some time since I've heard from you. And I love what you've done with your hair.”

Ginny smiled and ran her hands through her newly cropped hair. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by an indiscernible noise behind her. Her brow creased with a frown before she bent and picked up the smoky gray cat calling her attention.

“Terribly sorry about the distance, Hermione darling.” Ginny stroked her cat behind the ears as she spoke. “Draco and I have just been so caught up, what with moving into our new place, and the baby. I've barely had time to make myself an occasional spot of tea.”

The blustering wind was picking up autumn leaves with such zeal that Harry and Hermione had to cover their faces to prevent getting pelted with dried foliage.

“Harry, we really don't have to be doing this. We could just go inside, you know.”

“Wouldn't dream of it. We said we'd give Crookshanks a proper sendoff, and that is exactly what we'll do.” He bent down to the makeshift grave, and laid a single white feather across it. “Here lies Crookshanks, loyal pet and companion to Hermione Granger. He had wisdom beyond his years, refusing to trust elusive family pets. He will always bring a smile to my face. Especially when I remember how he clawed Malfoy's leg shortly after Ginny left me at the altar for the sodding git.” Harry's grin took the venom out of his words.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed, finally unable to hold in her laughter. “This is the most ridiculous eulogy I've ever heard! But thank you for the lovely ceremony, Harry Potter. Let's go in and get some cocoa.”

“No worries. I'm sure you have loads on your plate,” Hermione responded. “We'll get around to meeting up soon enough.” She was trying desperately to hide how distracted she felt.

“Yes, well that's actually why I'm here,” continued Ginny with a shrewd look in her eye. “Draco and I are having a house-warming Friday after next. You will come, won't you?”

“Yes, of course I will. I'll make a note on my calendar.”

“You know,” Harry was staring at a calendar chockfull of markings in various colors, “when most people say, `I'll make a note on my calendar,' it's usually just figurative. Is it really necessary for you to write on here that you moved in today? I hardly think you'll be forgetting that anytime soon.”

“Hermione, you're doing it again.” Ginny's accusatory tone made the older girl's head shoot up at a surprising speed. “Have you even heard one word of what I've said?”

“Why did you two split up?” Hermione's abrupt change of subject caught Ginny off guard. It wasn't as though she hadn't asked the question before, or that Ginny hadn't expected the non-sequitor. Ginny just missed the girl who had shared most of her childhood memories .

“Everything was crazy during your sixth and seventh years, you know that, Hermione. We were all looking for something to keep us sane. Harry and I just seemed to fit at the time. It was an itch we had to scratch.” Ginny repeated the words she had told Hermione countless times. The lines were coming like second nature to her. “We were young, we didn't know any better, and no one was there to tell us that marriage isn't always the next logical step. I think we both knew all along that we wouldn't be able to go through with it, though. And the rest is history.”

“You were in love with Malfoy.”

Ginny stilled her petting motion and regarded her friend carefully. She breathed deeply and decided to ignore the subtle accusation in Hermione's voice.

“We had both left each other long before I told Harry I couldn't marry him.” There was a steely edge to Ginny's tone. “Yes, I fell in love with Draco, and Harry...well let's just say he was equally relieved.”

“Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry!” Hermione blushed as she went on, “I didn't mean to imply anything. I know what happened between you two wasn't anyone's fault. And of course everyone's happier now. It's just that sometimes, I - ” she trailed off, finding a deep interest in the shag of her carpet.

“It's all right, Hermione, I know you didn't mean anything by it. Don't you think that maybe you should just come back?” Ginny continued over Hermione's impatient sigh. “I know we've talked ourselves blue about this. But you obviously can't just run away from him. It's clearly not working. I just miss you, is all.”

“I miss you too, Ginny. I'll see you soon though.” Hermione thought she could hear Ginny mumble something that sounded suspiciously like `that's not what I meant.' “Well I've got to run, but good luck with the new place. Send my love to baby Isabelle.”

“Isabelle Narcissa Malfoy. That's what Ginny said the new baby's going to be named. I was holding out for Harrietta. Better luck next time, I suppose.”

The kitchen pulsated with the pungent aroma of onions in time with the rhythmic thunk thunk of the knife hitting the chopping board. Nearby, a bowlful of potatoes were peeling themselves while water boiled away in a pot.

“Are you sure you should be putting onions in that gravy? You know Harry hates them.”

“Yeah Ron, but he'll eat them the way I make them. As long as he doesn't see them, he's fine.”

Hermione leaned over the stove, and got a face full of steam. She slowly stirred her soup and noticed how the onions somehow seemed invisible to the unassuming eye. Tapping her wooden spoon free of the liquid, she laid it next to the pot.

“Get a grip, Hermione,” she muttered to herself. “Friends are friends. Lovers are lovers.” Just as she reached her hands up to rub her own temples, there was a distinct thumping at the door. Opening the door revealed a soggy mess of a man hiding under his cloak and clutching his broom for support.

“Harry?? Come in, you'll freeze!” Hermione dragged him in by the arm and tried to settle him by the fire, but he refused to sit. Staring up into his face, Hermione was taken aback by what she saw reflected in the green of his eyes. There was some kind of determination, as though he had come to a decision after hours of internal debate. This wasn't unusual though, as it was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and then some. What caught Hermione's attention was the nervousness that extended beyond his typical good-natured shyness. There was something strange and new about his uneasiness that set all of her nerves on fire. After spending fourteen years of her life being best friend to this boy, that he could still show her a side she was unfamiliar with frightened her beyond her wildest dreams.

“Hermione, I'm going to say something to you, and I don't want you to say anything until I'm done.” Harry placed his hands on Hermione's shoulders and drew himself up before going on, “Since the first time I boarded that train at King's Cross station fourteen years ago, there hasn't been a day of my life that hasn't included you. You've been everything to me, from a shoulder to lean on, to someone who knew how to laugh with me. You've devoted such a large part of your life to protecting me and looking out for me, even when I've been an extraordinary prat.

“You let me hold your hand and reassure you when Ron married Luna, and you held mine when my marriage never happened. Hermione, you're the first person I think of in the morning and the only person that haunts my dreams so regularly. I'm tired of pretending that friends are just friends. I'm tired of denying everything you make me feel. Hermione Granger, I'm in love with you and have been for longer than I can bother to remember.” Harry's chest was heaving with the force of exploding after years of holding back. His hands began making gentle massaging motions on her shoulders. “Don't make me deny it anymore.”

“Harry,” she rasped, suddenly finding her voice had run away from her, “what if it - that is, how can I be -” Hermione scrubbed her face with her palms, idly wondering at his uncanny ability to render her speechless for the first time in her life. “How are you so sure that you l-l- that this is how you feel? Maybe you're just feeling lonely, and we're the only ones of our friends not paired off . . .” she trailed off when she felt his fingers lightly dancing across her chin. Harry's eyes suddenly became fixated on the slight tremble of her lower lip.

“So much of my life,” his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “has been shaped by Voldemort and everything he had done and everything I didn't want him to do. I spent so much time learning and growing to hate him with a burning passion. It got to a point where I hated him so much that I didn't know if I had room left to love anyone. I panicked, and took Ginny into my heart as a last ditch attempt to save myself. But it wasn't real. For either of us. I left her in my heart long before she left me at the altar. Hermione, look at me.” She reluctantly raised her eyes to his and he rested his forehead against hers. The bushy bangs across her brow brushed against the soaking wet mess of hair hanging in his eyes. “This is real. Always has been.” Water was dripping down his raven locks and trailing down her cheekbones, mocking the tracks her tears had fallen countless times while thinking of the boy she loved.

Harry slid both his hands to rest along the curve of either side of her neck. His fingertips gently brushed the hairs at the back of her neck. Her breath hitched, whether from the shock of his cold hands on her neck, or from the shock of that look in his eyes, she would never know. His face leaned closer to hers and he nudged the side of her nose with his. His thumbs came up under her chin to angle her face towards his. By the time Harry's lips descended on hers, Hermione had lidded her eyes shut and gripped his forearms for balance.

The feel of pressure on her lips set a riot of emotions loose inside Hermione. Her body was raked with a first sob when she felt him press closer to her, as though calling to her. She felt infinitely joined to him by this one simple connection; a second sob. Harry moved his lips over hers and she realized he was finally claiming the ownership over her that she had unknowingly given him ages ago; a third and fourth sob. Hermione's body was shaking uncontrollably when Harry pulled away to turn his concerned eyes to her. She leaned her head on his chest and let the real tears spill in earnest down his sodden robes.

Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his body. The wetness from the rain washed over her body. A new realization hit her like a wave and she was flooded with a new emotion so long forgotten it had almost become foreign. This was real happiness. Not the kind of euphoria following an exceptionally good dream just before the land of wake called permanently. This was real.

“Always will be,” Harry whispered into her hair.

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