A/N: I think I should have called Chapter 5 something else that alluded to the choice between what is right and what is easy. I dunno. Oh well, too late now! So…last chapter, but I think I might add a little outtake or something, cuz I have a little inkling but it doesn't fit anywhere. Sorry, babbling.
Disclaimer: No own HP (not Hewlett Packard). Shucks.
Chapter 6 The Way of Things
After his conversation with Hermione, Harry left the flat, seeking solace in the bright city lights of London. Several questions were rampaging chaotically throughout his brain, but one stood out more definitively than the rest: why was she rushing this? He knew the answer before he'd even finished forming the question. Hermione wasn't impetuous, but she was unhappy.
Looking back, he realized with a heavy sigh that her behavior of the past few months was clearly indicative of a lost and desperate woman. And it was true that lately her gaze had been drawn to the laughter of children playing whenever they'd been out together, even if she wasn't aware of it. Of course, he'd been a fool not to see this coming. Her wistful smile should have been enough of an indicator for such a gifted Auror.
"But I'm in love with her," he emphatically declared to the parking meter.
Then why aren't you the one volunteering your best swimmers? came Ron's voice from within his head.
Of course, the real Ron had been aware of Harry's feelings for Hermione for some time, undoubtedly why he brought up Harry as one of his counterpoints in his and Hermione's little spat. Poor, tactless Ron. Harry couldn't be angry with him-he had meant well after all. Of course, he'd also planted the idea of moving out into Hermione's head as well. The prat.
Harry smiled grimly at his conscience's suggestion. Sure, Hermione would gladly take up that offer, especially when she had Unspeakables and professional time-travelers as options. Who was he kidding? At least she would be happy. And then maybe, by chance-because Fate so often loved being cruel to him-she'd meet the frozen pop himself, fall in love, and his vision of her future come true.
He screwed up his eyes and ran a hand through his messy hair in frustration. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be! The country home, the pool, Ron's stupid sign-they were supposed to exist, yes, but they were meant to be shared. His and Hermione's. Not Hermione and the Spermsicle.
Why had he waited so long to tell her? Well, the time had never been right. And what if she laughed in his face? He knew she wouldn't, but she might shuffle her feet and avoid his eyes and say, "Sorry Harry, but I think we're much better off as just friends." And then she'd start coming home later and leaving earlier and starting to stay at Hogwarts over weekend "to shorten the commute." He knew that he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help torturing himself.
And then she'd go to Ginny or someone else for dating advice and all that-- not that he'd ever particularly enjoyed giving her dating tips. He preferred messing with her dates instead. Of course that was easier with wizards, because they were automatically intimidated by the Boy-Who-Lived and the Chosen One, but there was that time that he and Ron managed to convince some bloke Hermione was seeing that she was a very, very liberated woman who hated when men picked up the tab or opened doors for her. Naturally she found them out though-if he squinted hard enough, he could still make out the hex mark.
So up until this point, he'd used the fear-of-losing-her-friendship excuse. But what about now-was telling her now too risky? He shook his head to clear the instant onslaught of voices telling him what to do. Merlin, he thought, even in my head Ron and Hermione argue. He weighed his options carefully, imagining a scale in his mind's eye.
What if he took the chance and told her, just like that?
The scale tipped in one direction.
And if she wasn't completely revolted, but actually felt the same way?
The scale tipped a little more.
And if their friendship wasn't negatively impacted, but got even better?
The scale was hard over.
Suddenly he stopped. Passers-by jostled roughly into him from behind, looking curiously back at the young man with the widening grin. No, he didn't have to tell her-but he could show her. Swift and determined, he turned back the way he came, heading not for the flat but for an alternate destination. And all the while he was pleading fervently to whatever particular deity felt inclined to listen, Please don't let me be too late. Please, please don't let me be too late!
Hermione stirred with the first rays of morning, glad to have dreamt of nothing unpleasant. She lingered in bed watching patches of pale sunlight creep across her bedspread and thanking the creator of Saturday. Though she'd only slept a few hours, it had been the most restful sleep since before Voldemort regenerated.
Throwing the covers back onto her feet, she sat up and stretched thoughtfully. She rose from the bed and padded to her full-length mirror, scrutinizing her reflection carefully. The logical part of her expected that some sort of glorious transformation would have taken place-some tangible evidence of the previous night's happenings that would somehow grace her features. She was not disappointed; Hermione glowed with a radiance she felt in every movement.
She quickly dressed and shut the door behind her, making her way to the kitchen. As she passed both of the boys' doors, she noted that neither of their beds appeared to have been slept in. Ron's absence could be explained away as his having camped out at Luna's flat, but where was Harry?
She found her answer at the kitchen table, the young man looking in much the same way as every morning, ruffle-haired and puffy-eyed as always. He showed no awareness of her presence, so she hovered in the doorway a few moments studying her best friend. He looked a little worse for wear, as though he hadn't slept much either. Her brow knit with worry as she too noticed that he appeared not to have changed his robes from the previous day and that they were now wrinkled beyond belief and covered in some thick, colorful substance that she couldn't identify.
Putting it all together, she asked him concernedly, "Harry, did you stay out all night?"
He jumped a little at the sudden sound of her voice, but relaxed when he found the source. Giving her small and rather mysterious half-smile, he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her own.
Any other day and she would have assumed that it was only her natural propensity to protect him that caused her to worry over him, but almost a full night of deliberation can yield realizations that otherwise might have gone unnoticed.
It was a moment later that both simultaneously remembered that no one was speaking, and yet they were still staring at one another. Hastily, both looked away and pretended to busy themselves. Hermione kept her back to him as she went to the counter to pour herself a cup of water and tried the evidence of her abrupt nervousness. It was no good; the rattling of the tea cup in its saucer was a dead giveaway. She forced herself to breathe deeply several times before turning to face Harry.
Perhaps he could sense her tenseness because he chose then to break the silence. "I had to take care of some business that couldn't wait."
She nodded as kept her eyes on her cup on the pretense of cooling it to a drinkable temperature with her breath. Even from across the room, Harry could feel the anxiousness pulsing rapidly from her body.
A thought occurred to him that filled him with dread. Had she already selected a donor and was afraid to tell him because she thought he'd be angry? Of course, he though, that's why she looks different. She's practically glowing, aside from her nervousness. What else could it possibly be?
The news settled into the pit of his stomach as though he'd just swallowed a bag of ice and looked down at his hands hopelessly. He'd gotten them horribly dirty in the construction of his project, but as he gazed at them in his lap, he couldn't help but think that it had all gone to nothing.
Across the kitchen, Hermione was having similarly negative thoughts. Perhaps she had made a mistake or misinterpreted the signs? Divination had turned out to be her least favorite subject after all. There was only one way to find out.
Summoning the Gryffindor bravery she suspected had lay in waiting for this very moment, she cleared her throat and said, "I thought a lot about what you said yesterday, about a baby not being the only thing to help me achieve happiness."
Excluding the hissing of steam from the tea kettle, the absence of sound made her voice ring throughout the room. Harry made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but Hermione knew that he was listening carefully. The seconds ticked and Harry wondered whether she would add, "But I decided to do it anyway."
To his surprise, Hermione cleared her throat again, and continued, this time a little less certain of what exactly to say. "In fact, I stayed up half the night thinking about it. What you said about my future, it-it unsettled me. But it comforted me too, to know that you cared about each of us enough to imagine for us a future. You literally gave us, and yourself, a reason for living, something to look forward to. And I've gone and botched things up for myself."
She smiled a little sadly at his inquisitive expression and slumped into the chair across from his. "There's a way to things," she went on, gaining direction, "A way that things progress naturally. And it's different for every person, because it is our choices that shape us, that show who we truly are.
"Last night, I sort of re-evaluated my actions from the past few days, but this time in a new context. I was afraid that if I blinked my chance of having children would be gone, or if it was left up to me alone I wouldn't be able to tell if I was really in love or if I was deluding myself into thinking I was so that I could hurry the process along or something. That scared me more than anything, the possibility of my life spinning out of control. That's why I chose artificial insemination, because it was something that was completely mine and completely in my control."
Harry found that he had nothing to say, so he just nodded dully, believing that she was only preparing to tell him that she was pregnant. If he left now, he could probably remove last night's project before she noticed it. But her words had him glued to his chair. It would be torture to hear those words from her lips, knowing that his chance had been there for so long but he'd hesitated and missed it, but he couldn't tear himself away.
"Harry, I didn't go through with it," she confessed.
He went through several emotions-relief, hope, doubt-before settling on confusion. His face must have been some indication because she further explained, "It's true that my window of opportunity so to speak has been limited. But I've got ten good years left. Ten years to let the chips fall where they may. And while I would hope to be a very responsible and reasonable parent, the future you envisioned for me planted the seed of doubt-"
"Hermione, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to-it wasn't supposed to-" Harry stuttered uncertainly. He stared into her eyes and told her sincerely, "Hermione, you're going to be a wonderful mother."
She once again smiled sadly. "Thank you," she said quietly. "But I alone am not enough. My child will need a father, even if I'm scared to death of putting myself out there. If I am capable of it, who am I to deny my child a father?"
"You need more than just a profile," he said, reaching for her hand as he had several times. But this time was different, and they both sensed it. He was reaching across more than just a wooden surface, but she would always be there to accept his hand when he got there.
A lump grew in her throat at the gesture, but she forced her words past it. She felt she owed Harry this for some reason. "Harry, there's something else you should know."
She perceived the sudden coldness of his hand and hastened to clarify herself. "It's nothing bad, but it is important. When I went to see Madame Pomfrey, she told me that there was one other Muggle-born witch that shared my condition. Your mum, Harry."
She gave a small smile and squeezed his hand in a comforting manner. "Don't you see, Harry, I was never alone! I was in good company. But, I think, if she had never met your dad, she would do the same thing I am doing now in waiting."
Wow, Harry thought to himself, she certainly did have a lot on her mind. Although he'd always just assumed that his parents hurried things due to the war at that time, somehow this new information didn't faze him. He returned Hermione's smile and nodded in understanding, his eyes shining with something that heartened her considerably. She'd been right in reading the signs after all.
"So what were you up to last night?" she asked, smirking at the playful grin that had just appeared on his face.
His intense gaze was burning into her but she refused to look away. "Do you really want to know?" he asked quietly in a deep voice. She sensed that this was more than a mere question but a confirmation of something neither of them were brave enough to address. Strangely, her nerves from earlier had practically evaporated and had been replaced by an unfamiliar fluttery feeling that made her smile widen. Feeling no fear where Harry was concerned, she nodded resolutely.
Harry rose from the table and walked around to her side, never releasing her hand and gently pulling her from her chair. He guided her slowly through the kitchen and delighted in seeing the blush creeping up her cheeks. Stopping by the sink, she looked at him confusedly, then down at the sink, expecting to find a dirty dish and wondering why Harry had wanted to show it to her.
After a moment, she looked back up at him and saw that he was looking out her window. She followed his gaze and her breath caught in her chest.
There, painted on the side of the windowless building nextdoor, was a beautifully intricate mural. Images of Hogwarts, dragons and what suspiciously looked like a three-headed dog next to an unconscious mountain troll seemed to chase each other around the crude canvas, though they weren't actually moving.
She turned to Harry, beaming broadly. "Did you do this, Harry?"
He gave her a lop-sided grin and replied, "I told you I'd been out all night."
Closer examination of his robes revealed splotches of what turned out to be paint. She was just wondering how long it had taken him or if he had done it by hand, when he squeezed her hand a little and interrupted her thoughts.
"Hermione? Did you look at the whole thing?"
Without answering she turned back to the mural and let her eyes roam it, eager to see more glimpses of their past. Then, there, next to a depiction of an annoyed-looking Ron shielding his head as Pig flew over, was what Harry had obviously been waiting for her to catch.
Written in Harry's boyish scrawl were the words "Harry loves Hermione."
The declaration swam in her vision as she gasped and held her other hand to her mouth, trying to analyze her reaction. A warm elation was bubbling within her, seeming to envelope her from her head to her toes.
"Hermione?" asked Harry, a little unsure. Doubt was growing as the silent seconds ticked by,
She faced him, trying not to reveal her feelings just yet. "I slept very well last night. No confusing dreams or sudden awakenings," she stated with only a hint of a smile.
"You-what? Er, that's great, Hermione-" Harry stammered.
Hermione continued on, seemingly oblivious to the interruption. "In fact, I dreamt of your future. Your house in the country, your wife rising to meet you from her patio chair, you hugging all of your children at once in a beach towel…" She trailed away wistfully, telling him with her eyes what she couldn't put into words.
Harry was trying to curb his rising hope, but couldn't keep the grin from growing on his face. "Are you saying-?"
"Yes, Harry. I'm so sorry it took me so long to realize, Harry! It's always been you, that's why I've been so unwilling to take dating further. I guess I just thought you'd never feel the same. I've only just started recognizing the signs," she implored earnestly. "I love you, I think somehow I've always loved you. I've never felt as whole as I do at this moment."
Harry's mouth broke out in what was unmistakably the widest grin she'd ever seen as he scooped her up and swung her around the kitchen. They were both laughing like they were ten years younger when he placed her back down, looking into her eyes and cupping her cheek gently with the palm of his hand.
"You don't know how long I've waited to hear that, Hermione," he told her seriously.
"There's nothing missing, Harry," she answered.
Harry laughed a little. "Oh yes there is," he replied, his eyes fixing on her lips.
Though somewhat confused for a moment, she leaned into him longingly as he brought down his lips to meet hers in what resulted in a very passionate first kiss.
Things were progressing naturally indeed.
A/N: There! Done! Just in time for me to head off to work, yay work. Hmm, what do I have to say for this piece? Other than the fact that I am the Run-On Sentence QUEEN, it's been a lotta fun to write. I'm more of a reader, which is why I had to borrow so much for this fic, but I think it turned out all right. And thank you all for reading! There will be just one more addition to this story, but it will serve as an insert/outtake scene that I hadn't thought of until after I wrote this. And thanks to those who offered to be my beta, I appreciate the thought even though I didn't take you up on it. I need the instant gratification of immediate posting. That being said, all the typos and grammar errors are my fault! So, yeah, please review and let me know what you think!