That Summer.
All of his life, Harry Potter had dreaded staying home for months on end when summer break came. It meant more time spent doing chores, running from Dudley, and being holed up inside his little cupboard under the stairs as a child. As a teenager, it could mean a variety of things, and whether it was bars on his windows or the pig-like Aunt Marge, the summer was never pleasant.
Never until that year. The war was being waged around them, and they were diving headlong into it, knowing the risks and accepting them. They weren't returning to Hogwarts that year, and Harry had to learn how to defeat the most dangerous dark lord to ever exist. And, because he wished to honor Dumbledore's wishes, he was forcing himself to return to Privet Drive one last time.
He knew that the Dursley's wouldn't starve or hurt him. The year before, Dumbledore had come to get him himself and the Dursley's had been terrified. But just dealing with the Dursley's, just being in the Dursley's house, brought back enough humiliating memories to permanently put him in a bad mood.
Besides, what was there to do at Privet Drive? Sure, there was a children's park down the street, and there were a few small stores in town, but for the most part Privet Drive was boring. Harry hated being bored.
They spent the first two days playing chess, discussing the war and any plans they had, watching TV, (Ron was fascinated) and laying around the house, but eventually it got old, and Harry discovered that doing what Dudley did, which was absolutely nothing, was a lot harder than it looked.
Finally, Hermione couldn't take the house anymore and wandered into the back yard. Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged from his spot in front of the telly, and then followed Hermione out the back door. She had to be better company than Ron, whose eyes were glued to the television screen.
He found her walking around in circles, agitated and anxious. Harry watched her pace nervously around, amused, and finally just sat down on the grass with his arms around his knees, watching her.
When she screamed as loud as she could, his only reaction was to raise his eyebrows. After she finished…well, whatever it was she was doing, Hermione threw herself down on the ground beside him.
"And…what was that?" Harry asked, eyebrows still in his hairline.
"I scream when I'm angry." Hermione answered simply, staring at the sky. It was around seven, and the sun was just setting, leaving the sky a variety of sunset colors. Harry too leaned back and stared at the sky, saying,
"I've never seen you scream when you're angry."
"Well, I wouldn't do it in school, now would I? And anyways, I've never been as angry as I am now." She replied nonchalantly.
"And…why are you angry again?" Harry asked slowly, mentally questioning his friend's sanity. This was the best the Dursley's had ever treated him, and there wasn't really any reason to be angry with them. Had Ron said something again?
"Because." Hermione replied in a dull tone. "I can feel my brain cells dying."
Harry fought the smile that threatened to grow on his face as he pointed out, "Ron's been watching for hours."
"Ron doesn't have any brain cells to lose, now does he?" She answered stuffily, returning to the Hermione he was familiar with. Abruptly, she stood and resumed her pacing, "There has to be something to do around here."
Helplessly, Harry sat up and shrugged. "There's a park a little ways away from here, but that's about it." Hermione lit up at the mention of a park and grabbed his wrist.
"Which way?" She asked, walking towards the front yard.
"Hermione, it's just a children's park." Harry argued, massaging his wrist. Hermione had gripped him hard!
At the look she sent his way, Harry sighed and pointed right.
She was holding his wrist the first half of their walk to the park, and by the time they got there Hermione and Harry were holding hands. Neither noticed that they were doing it because physical contact between them was normal.
Both noticed when the other let go though. Because both of them wanted to hold hands a little longer.
A little while later, when both were sitting on the swings in silence, Hermione broke through that silence by saying, "Did you ever notice that even though we're best friends, and we spend time together all the time, and we've saved each other's lives before, we're always either talking about what's happening right now or what's going to happen. I mean…we never really talk about what life was like before Hogwarts and magic."
Harry pretended to think about this for a moment, as though unsure about his answer, when really he just wanted to avoid the topic completely. "I guess."
Hermione saw right through his act. "Don't bother trying, Harry. I know you too well."
Harry shrugged from his swing, and then began to kick off of the mulch under them and swing. "What's there to talk about?" He mumbled, not meeting her eyes.
"Well…just, tell me about you when you were little." Hermione answered, watching him.
"I came here a lot." Harry answered, almost too quietly for her to hear.
"With your friends?" Hermione asked, trying to imagine a younger Harry here playing with others.
"By myself." She couldn't see Harry running around as a child playing tag with the others. She saw him as the weird kid with the glasses and black hair that sat alone in the same swing he sat in right then, watching the other children play.
"What else?"
Somehow, Hermione broke through to Harry and eventually heard about just how horrible they were to him, and then about how he hadn't had any friends at that time, and then about how horrible Dudley was. She heard about the kitten Harry had found once when he was six in the bushes, and how he had buried it in those same bushes a few weeks later when he had found it dead nearby.
He told her about how once, he'd accidentally turned his teacher's wig blue, and how one time, he'd gotten stuck out in the rain at the park, and had hid in the tunnel near the slide.
Once he started it was like he really couldn't stop. A part of him had always wanted to talk about the things no one really cared about, like his muggle childhood, and Hermione seemed to understand slightly, because she'd grown up as a muggle to.
Hermione told him about the time she had almost drowned in the neighbors pool, and the time her dad had taught her how to fish, and how one time she had been so angry at Beth McGregger that she had accidentally turned Beth's skin a bright shade of red.
They traded stories about things like that for a long time before it was finally too dark to keep it up. As they walked back home, once again holding hands, Hermione was quiet, thinking about everything they had talked about.
Finally, she said, "Did you notice that all of the stories we told each other were…you know, little?"
"What'do you mean, little?" Harry asked. "We were younger."
"I just mean that it wasn't somebody trying to kill us, or somebody breaking up with us, or some incredible magical happening. I mean, it was usually just a moment you remembered from when you were really little that always stuck with you."
"Yeah, I guess so." Harry replied, slowly understanding what she was saying. Had he told anyone else about that time getting caught in the rain, and hiding in that tunnel, they wouldn't have understood, especially not in the wizarding world. But Hermione did understand, because she'd had simple moments too, like the time she'd made a small tree fort in her backyard. Looking back, he wondered when things had gotten so complicated.
"Do you think things'll ever be like that again?" Harry asked. " I mean, I know we're basically grown up, but do you think that there will be moments like that still."
Hermione considered this question carefully, and replied, "You know, I think this was one of them."
"What was?" Harry asked, confused.
"Just you and me, walking around the park talking about how we grew up." She replied, as though this were obvious.
Harry considered it, and realized that this might not be a life-changing moment, but it was definitely one he'd remember.
Every night for the next week and several days, when Ron sat down to watch television, Harry and Hermione headed for the park. There wasn't much to do there, but somehow they always enjoyed it all the same.
It was during this small amount of time that Harry learned more about Hermione than he'd ever known before. He learned that when she was deep in thought, she'd bite her lip. He learned that when she laughed, she'd usually shake her head. He learned that she had a small white scar on her left knee that she'd gotten when she was six and had tripped on the stairs to their basement.
He learned that she was scared of bees, and hated all muggle sports except tennis.
He learned that when she was listening to you, she played with her hands in her lap, and she had always wanted blond hair.
He learned that she liked white roses better than red ones, because white was pure and simple.
He learned that she tasted like summer.
Summer was the only way to describe the taste that was uniquely Hermione. She tasted like blue sky, and fresh fruit, and lemonade in a way he'd never expected. And as indescribable as the taste was, he knew he'd never forget it.
They'd only kissed once, on their last night spent at the park. The sky had been grey all day, and it wasn't the weather they had wanted for their last night at the park, but it hadn't been enough to keep them away. They were sitting up in the tree that had become their usual spot, the one Harry had climbed all the time when he was little, when it started to rain. Both of them hurried to scramble down the trunk, scraping their arms and stomachs while they were at it, and had run to the nearest shelter.
Both of them immediately saw the irony when they saw that the nearest shelter was the little play tunnel Harry had hidden in years and years ago. Hermione actually started laughing as she pulled him towards it, and Harry couldn't help but laugh as well. When she began to crawl inside the little space, and looked back up at Harry, he shook his head.
"It's way too small, and there's no telling how long it might rain." He argued when Hermione gave him a pleading look.
"Please, Harry. I don't want to get soaked." Harry sighed and clambered into the little red tunnel.
It took a while for the two of them to get comfortable, but eventually Harry ended up with his legs to the side while Hermione had her sandals off and her legs tucked under her. There was a long silence where they just stared at each other, and slowly they both leaned closer, neither of them hesitating or unsure. This had been coming all summer.
As Harry relished the memory of Hermione's kiss, he realized that he could think of another way to describe her taste.
Hermione had tasted like rain.
He sighed remembering how they had both agreed not to do anything about their feelings until after Voldemort was defeated and the world was once again safe. He regretted the decision now, but at the time it had seemed logical, and Hermione had been nothing if not logical.
He closed his eyes for a moment, still trying to wrap the memories around himself. She'd been gone for years, and it still hurt so badly.
Hermione had died in the final battle, killed, like so many others, by the Adava Kedavra curse. Unlike others, Hermione hadn't died because she had lost. She had died because he had won, and the Death Eater hiding near her hadn't liked it.
Harry had been ready to run to her, to pick her up in a hug and hold on. When he'd turned to see the happiness then shock on her face, he'd been horrified. He'd watched her fall, unable to do anything.
But when he thought of Hermione, Harry didn't think of war. He didn't think of her death, or of revenge, or of the final battle.
He thought of rain, and the rainbow that had shown brightly as they had walked back to Privet Drive after their first and last kiss.
Sighing, Harry pushed his wet bangs from his eyes and gently set a white rose in front of Hermione's tombstone. He ignored the rain that was pouring down, and stood there for a moment more, just remembering her, standing in front of her grave, like he did every time it rained.
And for the first time, Harry accepted that even if she couldn't be with him, he could still taste her. He tasted her every time it rained…a slight smile started on his face, and stayed there as he turned and walked through the rows of graves back to the street, where Ron was waiting for him. Ron never asked why he came to Hermione's grave every time it rained, and he never complained about going with him. He left the couch and the telly in their small flat and never asked why Harry wanted him to come when all he did was wait near the front of the graveyard, where Molly, Arthur, and Charlie were buried.
Instead, he just waited for Harry to do what he needed to do, then always put his hand on his best friend's shoulder and asked the same question.
"Are you okay?"
But instead of Harry replying with the usual `fine', Harry thought for a moment before saying, "No. But I will be."
Ron nodded in acceptance of his answer and used the hand he had resting on Harry's shoulder to steer his best friend towards the end of the anti-apperation wards.
With a smile, Harry noticed the rainbow forming in the sky behind them.
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