Chapter Two - Plans in Motion
Hermione adjusted her too-small white polyester top and smoothed the fabric of her skirt. There were three weeks left in the summer holidays and Hermione was finally going to Grimmauld Place to meet her friends. The Granger family trip had been postponed from the beginning of her break from school to the middle because of a dental conference in Brighton. Now that she was back, however, Hermione was eager to begin her plans.
It was with some surprise and a little bit of pleasure that her mother took her out to shop for new clothes instead of books on their holiday in Florence the previous week. Hermione knew that there would be little time to utilise the Muggle clothes that weren't worn at Hogwarts to their full advantage, and that first impressions were extremely important. Well, not first impressions, but the first after being away for a good while.
"Good morning, Hermione," Tonks said cheerfully as she stepped off the Knight Bus to grab Crookshanks' carrier. Stan Shunpike nodded absently on his way to take her trunk but did a double-take as they walked onto the giant purple bus.
"Hello, Tonks," Hermione said cheerfully, beaming up at her pink spiked hair. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" She was satisfied to see Stan stumble a bit on the steps as he kept more than one eye below her chin while wrestling with the heavy, book-filled trunk.
"I'd say," Tonks replied, seeming to take a second glance at her as well. "Looks like it's going to be beautiful for a certain wizard, eh?"
Hermione just smiled knowingly and took her seat on one of the many moving beds on the first floor. She made sure to cross her legs like her mum taught her, careful to preserve her modesty, and focused on her pet's gleaming yellow eyes.
When Hermione first tried on her blouse and skirt, it was with gleeful anticipation of the looks her friends would give her upon her arrival. Now that the moment was almost at hand, however, she felt more than a little nervous that she was being someone she wasn't. Then a familiar voice appeared in her head and reminded her that if she was going to change the balance of her relationship with a certain boy, she needed to change how things had always been. If that meant utilizing her assets more than she had previously, then so be it.
Tonks was whistling an old Beatles tune while the Knight Bus sped around London. Every so often, the Auror would turn an eye to Hermione and smile. Yes, Hermione thought, this was going to be an interesting three weeks.
*
With a loud rap of her knuckles, Tonks knocked on the front door to Number Twelve. Hermione's insides writhed with worry. She ran a hand over her recently tamed hair, ending at the bit of coloured elastic that held it close to the base of her head. Satisfied that it wasn't frizzing-out like her nerves, she grasped Crookshanks' carrier and set her chin.
The door opened and she was smothered in Mrs. Weasley's warm embrace. "Oh, Hermione!" the cordial woman declared and moved back, standing silent for a moment as her eyes swept up and down her new exterior. After a silent spell, she continued with an oddly knowing smirk, "We're so very glad you've finally come. The boys have been bored to tears without you." She gathered her inside and they were followed by a chuckling Tonks, who was levitating Hermione's trunk behind her.
The first thing she noticed was that the portrait of Mrs. Black was gone; a bright patch of broken plaster the only sign she had every hollered invectives at her only a year ago. The troll legs were missing, along with, thank Merlin, the elf heads. It was a testament to Hermione's love for her friends that she had endured last summer here with them still hanging along the entryway. Her only regret had been that Kreacher had died before she could convince him to accept wages.
Tonks walked up the stairs with Hermione's trunk in tow while Mrs. Weasley continued to dote on her. "Such a beautiful woman you've become, Hermione. We're all lucky to have you with us." She was crushed in another warm embrace when Tonks made a startled cry and a sound like an elephant stampede reached their ears.
Hermione broke free from Mrs. Weasley's arms and was instantly presented with the faces of her friends bounding down the stairs. Harry's black hair stood at odd angles from the top of his head, as messy as ever. It was his smile that she noticed first, however. Throughout the whole of last year, Hermione had made it her mission to bring that smile back to her friend's face. She was so very glad it was there again.
Before they could utter a word, Hermione launched herself at Harry, smothering her face in his shirt. Once upon a time, they were the same height, but puberty had doled out different results to each of them. The boys had grown a head taller than her and she had been given... well, different assets. As Hermione pulled away from Harry, she kissed his cheek, much like she had for the past few years, but this time, she left behind the red impression of lipstick. She lingered for a moment as his hand automatically covered the spot on his face.
Just before it became too awkward, however, she latched onto Ron and hugged him just as fiercely. "Oh, Ron," she breathed into his shoulder. "It's so good to be with you two again." Ron patted her back awkwardly and when she pulled away, his face had flamed a red as deep as she had ever seen.
Both boys were still looking at her, soppy grins on their faces, when Hermione knelt to open Crookshanks' cage. The bandy-legged feline tore from his erstwhile home and up the stairs, presumably to see if any of the mice he had found last summer were still infesting the attic.
"You look...good, Hermione," Harry finally said. He reached a hand behind his neck and pulled on it nervously.
"Y-Yeah," Ron agreed, digging a toe into the worn carpet. "Looks like Italy was good for you."
"It was wonderful," she gushed and hooked her arms in each of theirs. "I can't wait to show you my pictures!" Hermione pulled on them until they were upstairs and in the room the boys had been sharing for the past two weeks. "We've got so much to catch-up on."
*
"So," Harry asked, fingering the collar of his shirt, "this is that Ryan bloke?" He was holding a picture that Hermione's mother had slipped into the shoe-box she kept her pictures in at the beginning of the summer holidays.
"Yeah," Hermione confirmed. "I told you how horrible that date was, didn't I?" she asked, watching his expression carefully.
Harry didn't take his eyes of the picture, but nodded his head. "He's good looking, wouldn't you say?" When he said this, however, he lifted his head slightly - enough to pin her with a penetrating stare.
Hermione forced her emotions to the side and averted her gaze, picking up a stack of pictures from Hogwarts. She could feel Ron's eyes on her as well. "I suppose," she said as nonchalantly as she could. "If you're into that sort of thing; he's too...arrogant."
She looked up again to see Harry still staring at her. Ron made a huffing noise on her left.
"You can tell that from a picture?" He rolled his eyes and tossed the picture he was looking at back onto the pile. "Blimey. How's a bloke supposed to hide his insecurities?"
Harry smirked a little at this and Hermione turned to answer him. "I don't know, Ron. Ryan's as big a git as one can be without having it stamped on his forehead. Every time I see this picture, I can't shake the feeling that he's mentally undressing me."
Ron's reaction was predictable, he looked like he wanted to find Ryan Miller and pound him into the ground right then. Harry, however, held out the photo to Hermione and said, "Why do you keep it, then? If it's such a bad thing, why not get rid of it?"
Hermione considered his question, pulling her legs underneath her and tilted her head slightly. "Sometimes," she began, keeping her eyes fixed on Harry's, "we need to remember the bad experiences to motivate us to make new ones."
The pictures in Hermione's hands became sweaty, and she put them back into the box. Then, she reached out to take Ryan's photo from Harry's hand and their fingers brushed for a moment.
"You're right, Hermione," Harry said softly. "Sometimes, we just need the proper motivation to make happy memories."
There was a call from Mrs. Weasley for lunch, and the three of them put away the photos. As Hermione followed Ron and Harry downstairs, Ginny appeared beside her, sweaty and covered in cobwebs.
"Hey, Hermione," the perky redhead said and they stopped to embrace. The boys kept walking.
"Ginny!" she cried as they hugged. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you."
Ginny rolled her eyes, a trait that she seemed to share with her brother. "Mum had me cleaning the library. She knew you'd be anxious to see it now that we've got the doors opened. When I saw Crookshanks chasing another mouse, I knew it was time to take a break. Besides, I had to see what you have in store for my brother and his equally dense friend."
Hermione blushed slightly that her plans had been so transparent. Still, Hermione had been planting subtle hints in her letters to Ginny since before her trip to Italy. It was no wonder then that the intelligent younger witch had figured her out. "Well," she said and took a step back. "What do you think?"
Ginny eyed Hermione carefully. "I think," she said with a feral grin, "that if they don't get the hint, especially one in particular, then they're beyond hope. Hermione, you're lovely."
She blushed again and took her friend's hand. "Thanks, Ginny." They began to walk down the stairs again and it occurred to her that maybe Ginny could help her with something that had been gnawing at her since she first decided on having a boyfriend. "But...I'm a little nervous about something."
"What?" Ginny asked as they set foot on the landing before the entryway.
"Well," Hermione said with hesitation. What if confiding in Ginny spoiled her plans? What if she didn't think Hermione's choice was suitable? With one of the boys being her brother and the other someone she, herself had had feelings for... "I don't want to hurt the other one's feelings."
Ginny stopped them outside the closed kitchen door. "So...you've chosen, then? You know which one you want to be with?"
Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek in despair. Finally, she found her resolve and locked eyes with Ginny. "Yes," she said at last. "I have."
Much to Hermione's surprise, a smile formed on Ginny's lips. "Good," she declared. "I think it's about time those dunderheads moved on. You've been holding them back from serious dating for the last three years, did you know that?"
Her face contorted into a mask of confusion. "Huh? I-I-I..."
"It's true," Ginny confirmed. "When I asked Harry out last year...he told me." There was a note of sadness that passed on her freckled face, and then she continued. "He said that he really liked me, but that he needed to sort out things with you and Ron before he could get serious with anyone."
Hermione's hand inched up to her mouth as it dropped slightly open. "He - He said that?"
"Uh, huh," Ginny said solemnly. "So...if you've chosen the one I hope you have...things will work out all right. The other one's all wrong for you, Hermione. You know that, don't you?"
She so dearly hoped she did, but Hermione couldn't help but second-guess herself. "I know. It wouldn't work with..."
"No," Ginny said, taking both of her hands in hers. "It wouldn't. You know how it would be if you and he got together."
A vision of the future unfolded in Hermione's mind. Being with him, fighting about stupid things, never feeling like she could be who she wanted to be...the jealousy if she did try to pursue her dreams. "No, it wouldn't be good at all," Hermione verified. "Neither of us would be happy."
They stood for a moment longer, each considering what was about to happen when Ginny spoke again. "Well," she said, pulling her own hair back into a ponytail. "If you're worried about how he feels about you, don't." A twinkle appeared in the younger witch's eyes that reminded her strongly of Fred and George when they were about to prank someone. "Let's just say that I've heard some things during my cleaning of the library; it'll work out fine. You just need to go for it."
Hermione took a deep breath and nodded her head sharply. "Right. Just go for it." She gathered her Griffindor courage and pushed open the kitchen door. Two pairs of eyes fell on her as she walked to sit by the one she had chosen. It was time to begin the relationship she had wanted for years.
*
That evening, Hermione had had enough with the tight clothes. It became apparent that she had certainly gotten the boys' attention and the need to constantly keep her legs crossed for fear of showing off her knickers quickly became tedious. Dressed in a soft cotton jumper and baggy sweats, her hair still pulled back, Hermione made for the library and the promise of some of the most obscure books in Wizarding Britain - if Sirius' will had been halfway truthful.
She stole into the brightly-lit room and began to run her fingers over the spines of the books. She wasn't looking for anything in particular, only that she wanted to read something new. Her finger stopped on a barely-worn binding bearing a title she'd been told didn't exist any more.
In Goblins We Trust was one of several books devoted to the banking industry, but it was the only known one actually written by a goblin. She pulled the book from its shelf and cracked it open.
The smell of ancient parchment and dusty leather assaulted her nose. She padded carefully over to a cosy loveseat and plopped down for a good read.
When she had finished the fourteenth chapter - detailing the methodology for assigning risk factors to loans - an hour later, she rested her head on a pillow on the armrest and held the tops of the open book from the back with her hands. There was a creak from the door and a person appeared on the edge of her peripheral vision. She tried to ignore the person encroaching on her personal reading time, but as she became engrossed in the text once more, the intruder appeared at the sofa and lifted her feet from the other cushion. He sat down, sending a small ripple across the pillows that caused her to lose her place, and then put her feet onto his lap. Again, she tried to ignore him.
It was only after her slippers were removed and warm hands enveloped her feet did she relinquish her hold of the book and set it on the floor. "Mmm," she moaned and turned onto her back, allowing her masseuse greater access to both feet. "That's good."
"You looked a little tense," came Harry's voice. "Though not as tense as you did in your new clothes."
She cracked an eye and looked on as Harry continued to work the muscles in her feet. "Why do you say that?"
His hands paused for a moment, and then he brought his thumbs across the sole of her right foot, using his other fingers on top as counter-pressure. "You looked like one of the girls Dudley likes to drool over. It was too...different."
"Different can be good," she pointed out and relaxed once more.
There was a long silence as he switched feet, releasing stress she didn't know she had. "You just didn't look like Hermione is all."
Once again, Hermione opened her eyes to look at Harry. This time, he was looking back at her. "What does Hermione look like, then?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders as he held her feet, his hands warm and comforting. "I dunno. Like this." He nodded at her.
Hermione let out a low growl. "What's that supposed to mean? Give me a little something to work with, here."
Again, he shrugged his shoulders. "Like you are now, I guess. The Hermione I know doesn't like to hit boys over their heads with her...um, well, with the fact that she's a girl."
"I did at the Yule Ball," Hermione countered, pleased that they were getting somewhere.
"Yeah, but that was because you had to wear a dress...and makeup...and...do your hair."
He wasn't looking at her anymore, so Hermione sat up, making sure to keep her feet in his lap so he wouldn't have an excuse to stop the wonderful pressure he was exhibiting on them. "I didn't have to do any of those things, you know. I could have worn a dress that didn't show off my shoulders or my cleavage, I didn't have to wear makeup, and I didn't have to change my hair." The air seemed to grow heavy as Hermione stared anxiously at Harry. "I didn't do any of those things for Victor, either."
Harry's head cocked to the side ever so slightly, as if he hadn't ever considered that before. "You...didn't?"
"No," she confirmed and placed her hand on top of his. "I didn't."
She could see the wheels in his mind turning; he had always been easy for her to read, and this time, she forced herself to wait for him to speak.
He never did. Suddenly, he shot off the sofa - how he managed to do so with her feet still in his lap, she'd never know - and began to pull on his neck again. "I, uh...need to...um, well, I've got to go to bed. G'night," he said, and was gone.
Hermione sat in her place on the sofa, staring at the closed door, feeling the heat from Harry's hands slowly melt away into the suddenly chilly air of the library, and wondering what had just happened.