SPECIAL THANKS to my beta reader Aurabolt! Really, this entire fic would be a disjointed mess without him! And his true love for H+Hr is inspirational indeed. ^_^
Standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter Two - Milk for Her Bitter Tea
In which Hermione deals with the women in Harry's and Ron's lives and somewhat appreciates the men in hers.
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"The Snarky Shoes sold as well as we expected," said Fred.
George grinned. "Which was about as long as blokes could stand to take a beating from offended witches."
Hermione looked between them clutching her stack of newly bought books. She grinned at the twins' account of their latest to late product: the Snarky Shoes. The shoes looked relatively ordinary, and even fashionable, until they began to get comfortable to the wearer and started to criticize other people's shoes with hilarious commentary. Sometimes the shoes "looked" up witches' robes and criticized more than just footwear, hence offended witches everywhere who didn't like their under-things being called "Lacey Daisies."
As Fred and George said, they expected that the product's monumental sales of the first and second week fell by the third, when the shoes began to get too comfortable.
"I suppose I'd be a little upset with a bloke whose shoes called mine names," said Hermione, thinking that her footwear deserved more respect than that. She looked at them lovingly. "Harry thinks I spend too much money on them, but he said that if I was going to give an arm and a leg for each pair, he may as well say nice things about them. He likes these in particular, he said." She shoved her foot out from beneath her robe to show it to George who stood closer to her.
She stared at her Mary Janes, remembering fondly Harry's smile when he saw her modeling them in front of the drawing room mirror.
"I think those are worth the arm and leg, at least," he had said.
"Oh, you think so, don't you?" She was vastly amused at the time, as Harry never really gave his opinion about her footwear before, unless she asked him. She figured this particular pair must be quite extraordinary indeed to warrant his unsolicited critique.
"In my humble opinion, of course. You make them look good, I suppose. Merlin, what do I know?"
It was no surprise that it quickly became her favorite pair.
The twins grinned.
"And how's Harry…?" asked Fred.
"…by the way?" finished George.
Hermione looked up from her musings, recalling that she was in other people's company. "Oh, he's alright. Auror training tends to wear him down every once in a while, but you know Harry. He thrives under challenges. Poor man hardly has enough time to go out and have fun anymore. He's usually out of the house before either Ron and I are up, so I haven't caught up with him today. Ron keeps extending invitations to him for parties and such, but Harry's just too overworked to go to any of them. Personally, I think Ron's overdoing it, himself. All those wild parties would find him passed out drunk on some curb somewhere one day soon…"
She found a secret satisfaction in the fact that Harry didn't like those kinds of things in the first place. She supposed it was because one could hardly be expected to find the girl of one's dreams in a house full of intoxicated wizards and witches, with music blaring, the lights dimmed and everyone smoking Merlin knew what.
"Poor Harry," said the twins in unison.
She shot them both a wry grin. They always teased her whenever she began to sound like Molly Weasley. "Shut it."
"No sympathy for Won-Won, though," said George.
Fred shook his head. "Doesn't deserve it!"
"Plays the field, that!"
Fred went from gravity to all smiles. "And we don't mean the Quidditch pitch!"
Hermione frowned at that, but not wanting to be too much of a wet blanket to the ever laid-back twins, she managed to chuckle lightly. "He does seem happy, doesn't he?"
"Delirious!" Fred said, laughing.
"Wouldn't resent him for it if he had a real job, though," George pointed out.
"Did ickle Ronniekins agree to do the product endorsement for us, yet?" Fred asked his twin.
"Of course he did! Knock him over with a bludger, I will, if he didn't!"
Hermione laughed. No matter how high Ron rose, Fred and George would always be there to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground.
They spoke a bit more after she presented her new invention to them, laughing conspiratorially at the thousands of delighted pranksters who would enjoy the use of it. By the time they were done, it was past noon and the twins invited her to go with them for a bit of lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.
Hermione agreed. She hadn't thought much of Fred and George while they were in Hogwarts. She liked them fine, of course, but apart from being far from model students, they were in a different year and they picked on Ron incessantly. Naturally, she was a bit biased then, but since Harry and Ron began making friends she didn't know, she realized she had to make friends of her own. Fred and George had become such friends, although originating from a business relationship.
Fred and George were as at-ease in her company as she was in them, and she appreciated the way they understood how she was their friend because she was Hermione, not because she was housemates with Harry and Ron.
Hermione thought that no one would have thought she, of all people, would be such friends with pranksters like Fred and George. That was a joke in itself, which the twins no doubt enjoyed.
She walked between them, her hands hooked into their arms as they divided their conversation between them, one twin beginning a sentence while it was being finished by the other. It always made for twice the laughs.
They passed Flourish and Blotts and Hermione let her eyes linger briefly over the store display. There was a display of magazine publications, set up like a fan, and her gaze lingered briefly on Business of Magic. She recalled that Fred and George had been given a two-page article in it because of their interesting histories before they put up the immensely successful Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. It was a perfectly respectable magazine, read by very few because the articles were sensible instead of sensational. The magazine prided itself on being informative, insightful and intelligent. Even Fred and George admitted that the only reason they agreed to be in it was because it was important to get the confidence of their colleagues.
"Boring sods though they are," Fred had said.
Something suddenly clicked in her mind, recalling an article she had read not so long ago regarding a Wizard Billionaire whose ancient family made their fortune buying, selling and developing enchanted real estate in Ireland in the last seven hundred years. Manor Lord Group of Companies had since then expanded to other businesses and investments in the Wizarding World and the Muggles. It occurred to her that she had seen Lysander Athanasius before: On the cover of Business of Magic.
The article also mentioned that he was of the peerage in Muggle society.
Duke, I think. Goodness, that's practically a prince!
"Hang on," she said, finding herself thinking out loud before she could stop herself. "I think maybe I met a billionaire today!"
"You don't say!" said Fred.
"Stellar, this day," said George to complete the rhyme.
"Stop teasing, you two! I did meet a billionaire; at the Ministry, even. None other than Lysander Athanasius, thank you very much!"
George's eyebrow quirked. "Athanasius! Owner of the Kenmare Kestrals, no less!"
Hermione almost groaned. It always boiled down to Quidditch.
Fred mirrored his twin. "Have the Vrasta Vultures beaten them since the last World Cup?"
George shrugged. "Not sure. Ask Hermione. I'm sure Vicky Krum keeps her constantly informed."
She should have known it would lead to that. "Viktor does not bore me with details of his games or his 'spectacular' Wonky Faints."
"Wonky Faints!" cried Fred, laughing.
George shot him a comical scowl. "Don't laugh. Ron still gets conniption fits when he hears Hermione say it!"
"Oh, honestly! You boys and your Quidditch!"
They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and they were given a table amidst the lunch crowd. The waiter immediately served them drinks.
Hermione was just about to examine the menu when she looked up and saw Harry. She was about to eagerly call out to him when she saw that he wasn't alone. He was with a statuesque woman with sleek brown hair. She wore robes identical to his. Hermione was sure the woman was an Auror-in-training, but it was difficult to shrug off that familiar twist of jealousy in her stomach, seeing as the woman had a lovely chiseled face on her, and judging by the way she held herself, she seemed strong and intelligent.
Hermione went back to scanning the menu as if she didn't see them, praying that Fred and George wouldn't spot Harry and call him over.
They did, of course, spot Harry from across the room and were loudly calling Harry over before she could finish examining the appetizers.
She did a splendid job pretending she was delighted to see Harry and whoever his companion was.
Harry immediately pulled up a chair beside her. Hermione could at least take pleasure in his proximity. She was even more pleased to note that Harry hadn't pulled up a chair for his companion, opting instead to gesture to the space between Fred and George. The woman grabbed her own seat and squeezed a place on the table.
Harry draped his arm casually over the back of Hermione's chair, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Hermione, this is my training partner, Gail Coppercane. I was telling you about her last night."
"Oh!" Hermione managed to say, setting her eyes alight to seem delighted/interested/intrigued to hide the jealousy/indignation/heartbreak.
Harry grinned, no doubt pleased that Hermione had remembered. "Gail, this is Hermione Granger, and these are Fred and George Weasley."
Gail was better at appearing delighted/interested/intrigued. She probably was, anyway. "Hermione, Harry has told me so much about you! I swear to Merlin he thinks everything you say is scripture."
Hermione drank from her pumpkin juice to hide her blush, elbowing Harry for it even if she was, in actuality, very pleased.
He chuckled. "Oww…"
Gail looked at the twins, grinning. "Weasleys… I've heard of about you two! You're Ron Weasley's brothers and you own that brilliant joke shop down the alley."
"Guilty!" peeped Fred.
"As charged," finished George.
"So which one of you blokes have the honor of dating her?"
Hermione almost choked on her pumpkin juice and Harry gave a soft cry that was a cross between showing concern for Hermione and scolding Gail for it.
Fred didn't bat an eyelash. "Forge, do you have the honor?"
"I'm not sure, Gred. I thought the honor was yours."
"Well I did invite her to lunch."
"But I'll likely be the one to pay for it."
"We'll both have the honor, then!" they cried in unison, grinning.
Hermione took a napkin and wiped her mouth with it. "Taking the mickey out of me, aren't you?"
"Never!" Fred cried.
She waved their teasing away. "Let's stop picking on Hermione Granger, then."
Gail looked only slightly befuddled, but she was polite enough to silently acknowledge that everyone on the table except her were old friends.
Harry drank some of Hermione's pumpkin juice. "I thought you'd be at the Ministry. I dropped by the Legislative Committee's Office early this morning to catch you. You didn't show."
"I ran a few errands before I went to the L.C.O.," Hermione explained. She didn't want to tell him about WizCOF yet, lest she jinxed it. It was her first real (and perhaps the only remaining) prospect in the Ministry. She would tell him about it when she got the job. "I got there pretty late so there was no way you could have caught me unless you skived Auror training."
He shrugged. "You might have run by the Squad Office. Shaklebolt would've let me take an early lunch to go with you. He still believes I can convince you to be an Auror."
Hermione exchanged knowing glances with Fred and George. "I had a few more errands to run after the L.C.O., so that would've been impossible, Harry."
Fred grinned. "She was busy meeting billionaires. They have a few of them in the Ministry, apparently."
Hermione turned beet red. She hadn't expected Fred to say anything about that. It wasn't exactly top-secret information, but considering the feelings of attraction she had upon meeting Lysander, it wasn't the sort of thing she would have brought up with Harry.
Harry's eyebrow shot up upon reading her expression. "Billionaire?"
"Lysander Athanasius!" said George.
Gail's blue eyes widened. "Ah, owner of the Kenmare Kestrals! I thought I saw him lurking in the Ministry. There was talk of him being expected today, besides. Is he as good looking in person as he is in the magazines?"
Hermione realized that Gail had directed the question at her and she blushed even more. "Er-yes. I mean, I think so. Nice eyes." She couldn't believe she said that. She hurried on to other things. "He had a bunch of robes with him; looked like he was there on official business."
Gail nodded. "They were all a-flurry in the Improper Use of Magic Office. Apparently, the Department of Magical Games and Sports confiscated the team's Four Leaf Shamrock because it seemed to possess powers that enabled them to win every single game in their last ten matches. Athanasius was apparently set to make a personal appeal for the Shamrock's return."
Hermione frowned. "Is the Shamrock enchanted?"
Gail shrugged. "Who knows? Say, didn't you date Viktor Krum before? The Bulgarians haven't won against them since they lost in the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, have they? Does he think the Shamrock's enchanted?"
"I like the way this witch thinks, Gred."
"Me too, Forge."
Harry shot Gail a wry look. "How's Hermione supposed to know what Krum thinks? Honestly…"
Gail rolled her eyes. "Well, the gossip column in the Daily Prophet did say she and Krum 'got together' every now and then."
"Nice source, Coppercane."
"Oy, what's wrong with the Daily Prophet?"
Hermione and Harry swapped knowing looks. Fred and George snickered, muttering something about "Scarlet woman."
Hermione snorted. "I haven't believed the Daily Prophet since that same year of the Quidditch World Cup. You're better off reading the Quibbler."
Gail nodded eagerly. "Oh, I agree. Aurors are required to give the Quibbler a read, daily. They're very good at spotting Dark Wizards in hiding. They usually mistake them for rogue creatures and beasts, though. Still, it serves its purpose."
The rest of the lunch period breezed by with similar conversation. Hermione found that in spite of her jealousy, she was actually beginning to like Gail. There were times that Gail would exchange a private joke with Harry, which was only fair considering she was sort of an outsider with Fred and George being there sharing private jokes with her and Harry, but Harry didn't seem to make a big deal of the Auror-jokes, as if he was conscious of the fact that the majority on the table wouldn't know how to appreciate them.
When they were done with lunch, George insisted on picking the tab, saying that he may not be a billionaire but he pretty damn well had a lot of money.
The twins offered Hermione their arms as they stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron but she shook her head.
"I'll be heading home from here, thanks," said Hermione. "Floo me, though, won't you?"
Fred and George promised they would and made their goodbyes before setting off back down the alley to return to their shop.
Hermione smiled at Gail. "It was nice meeting you."
Gail grinned. "Likewise. I had fun at lunch. We should do this again."
Hermione thought they shouldn't, but she nodded anyway.
"I think I'll be home early tonight," said Harry. "D'you want me to bring home Chinese take-away?"
Chinese take-away indeed! she thought, half endeared because he was offering such a thing to give her a break from her cooking and half indignant that Harry would think she'd let him eat take-away when she had all the time she needed to make a home-cooked meal for them both. "Sod off, Harry, I'm cooking your favorite."
"S-Seafood casserole?" he asked hopefully.
"No less," she said haughtily.
"You're amazing, you know that?"
"Humph! I know that, Potter."
"She cooks, too!" cried Gail. "What else can you do?"
"I can do anything. Haven't you figured that out, yet?" she replied dryly before rolling her eyes at the sheer absurdity of it.
Gail giggled.
Harry grinned and gave Hermione a half-hug with an affectionate kiss on her head. "I'll see you later."
Hermione nodded, stepping away just as eagerly as she wished she could stay in his arms. His touch lingered a bit, she thought. She always thought it did, but she had learned to shrug off whatever extra warmth she derived from it.
She watched Harry and Gail disapparate, Gail giving Harry a wink before they disappeared.
Isn't there some law against flirting and apparating? thought Hermione, rolling her eyes at her own insufferable thoughts.
She went back into the Leaky Cauldron to use their passageway to Charing Cross, deciding she wanted to shop for the ingredients of that night's dinner in Muggle London.
She needed a break from the magic at this time.
I wonder if that exquisite muggle book in my favorite series is out yet…
0000000000000000000
The book wasn't out, but Hermione did find comfort walking through the market and buying her ingredients.
When she got home, it was almost time to start cooking anyway.
She took down a volume from the growing Black library annotating the constitutional laws of the Wizarding world. She wasn't being presumptuous about her job in the WizCOF, she was merely gearing up for the possibility that they wouldn't hire her, in which case she'd fight her way into that office if it killed her. McGonagall was, after all, on her side.
She read the book as she cooked. She had learned, since she could legally use magic outside of Hogwarts, that using magic to do household chores made multi-tasking so much easier. Carrots, for instance, were more manageable with magic than with any kind of muggle knife, and magic was a joy when it came to cleaning fish. No more fishy fingers!
Crookshanks, drawn by the smell of fish, tried to wile her into giving him some. She wasn't forthcoming, and thus offended, Crookshanks sauntered off with an outraged hiss, possibly to wreak havoc with the remaining doxies that cropped up once every few months.
Time flew by, and before she knew it, the casserole was down to its last few minutes in the oven and she had filled up rolls of parchment with her note-taking.
She was pleased to hear Harry's resounding clap of apparition just when the oven's timer went off. She congratulated herself for her perfect timing as she put her books and parchment away.
"Smells wonderful," said Harry, walking through the kitchen archway and unhooking his bag from him. "Need help?"
He dropped the bag unceremoniously at a counter-top corner while enchanting the center of the kitchen table to protect it from the heat of the casserole. As was common of late when it came to simple spells, he didn't need to draw his wand.
Hermione levitated the dish from within the oven and placed it right on top of the enchanted spot. "Thanks for that, Harry."
Harry leaned over the casserole and savored the aroma. "Is Ron going to be joining us?"
"I'm not sure. He hasn't flooed and I tried calling him on his mobile but he wouldn't answer. You think he's ignoring me deliberately?"
He shot her a confused look. "Of course not, Hermione. He's just probably somewhere he couldn't hear his mobile ringing." He went to gather plates as she gathered their utensils.
She pouted slightly. "He's never home," she grumbled. "Sometimes I wonder if he still likes us."
Hermione knew it was an absurd thing to say, but she wasn't sure if she didn't believe her words to be true. Ron was always so preoccupied, and not that she didn't like having Harry all to herself, but Ron's her best friend too. She missed the stupid git.
Harry chuckled as he levitate and set the placemats. "He-you know-" He was grinning and his ears were a shade pinker. Whatever he was going to say, he had a bit of trouble spitting it out. "-loves us."
Hermione rolled her eyes. Boys and their aversion to the "L" word.
He went on. "Just that right now he likes his-um-parties."
She found herself stifling a smile at his obvious hesitation. She charmed some table napkins from their drawers and slid two of them in napkin holders. Harry levitated the plates on the mats just as she arranged the utensils with a flick of her wand.
"You mean he likes his groupies," she said, laying the ringed napkins across the plates by hand. She set down two small side dishes and set out the gravy for the casserole. Seeing that Harry had pulled out some white wine, she plucked two glasses from the cupboard with her wand's swish and set the glasses down.
Harry sat across from her, giving her that same look he gave her the previous night.
Hermione frowned as she unhooked her napkin from its ring and shook it out. She daintily spread the napkin on her lap. "Alright, I give up. What is that?"
"What's what?" He adjusted his glasses as if they weren't a perfect fit and carefully began to undo the cork of the wine with a corkscrew. He was doing it the muggle way. Magic tended to make it bubble and spill over.
Hermione gestured in his direction. "That look. You were giving it to me last night. Don't think I didn't notice."
For a moment, he looked as if he was going to deny it, but then he let out a breath, defeated. He was able to pop the cork from the wine and he began pouring some out for both of them. "Just… well, Ron, you see…"
She arched an eyebrow, cutting a block into the casserole then gesturing for his plate. He gave it as she asked, "What about Ron?"
He watched her put casserole on his plate, the steam rising from the rich filling and from the missing block in the dish, but it didn't look as if Harry was thinking of food. "This thing… it's just a phase, Hermione. He'll get over it, and when he does…"
Heat rose in her face, and it wasn't from the casserole. For a moment, she was mortified.
Wonderful. Even Harry thinks Ron dumped me before we even began dating.
And then her mortification was gone, her self-respect taking root. She gave him his plate back, beginning to cut her own piece of dinner. "Oh, Ron is having a grand time. It'll be a good ten years before anyone expects him to settle down."
He frowned, as if she had completely missed the point. "You're-You're thinking like a muggle," he said, sounding somewhat flustered.
"Harry, a man doesn't have to be a muggle to want to remain a bachelor."
"And just because a man's a bachelor doesn't mean he has to go out and shag as many skirts as he can."
Hermione stared at Harry in mild shock. Harry, or anyone else for that matter, had never put it quite that bluntly. She knew Ron was having the time of his life, but she never really considered what he did. She supposed shagging girls on a regular basis was part of it. Heck, it wasn't as if Ron stayed out all night to have wholesome fun.
She didn't know if she was jealous, exactly. She was a little miffed, maybe, but not because she wanted to shag Ron. She never thought of it in that sense, but she wished at least that he found her sensible, wholesome company more appealing than the boatload of shallow slags throwing themselves at his feet. But then, that was the thing, wasn't it? He didn't quite see her the way he probably used to.
Ron used to fancy her. That had changed, and that was regrettable because it was always nice to feel that someone she could have loved fancied her back. She wasn't exactly the kind of girl that inspired men to line up and crowd at her door. Oh, she had a smattering of them, every now and then, but not so many that she'd consider the advances of men commonplace. Besides, her best feature was her intelligence, and it wasn't as if BEST N.E.W.T. SCORES written on her forehead was all that flattering, anyway. She didn't think herself attractive enough to get men to look her way twice; it was usually because of something she had said that got them interested enough to pursue her, so that narrowed down her choices considerably. She wasn't like Ginny, or Cho, or even Lavender, whose looks gave them all the choices they could ask for.
It was depressing to realize that the only other significant man in her life was Viktor Krum, and that wasn't saying much, considering she hadn't thought about him romantically since they parted ways in fourth year.
First Viktor, then Ron, and then there was none.
She wasn't even sure if Harry considered her a girl. He had asked her advice about his love life for goodness sake. That was a clear enough indication of his regard for her.
She lowered her gaze, reaching for the seasoned potato wedges. "That's true, too," she said in response to his statement.
Harry's apologetic look was heartbreaking, like he had hit a puppy and he was regretting it horribly. "They're all just flings, anyway. Slags, really…"
"Try not to sound so jealous of the girls, Harry," she joked.
He reddened. "My point is, when reality sets in and he comes to his senses-"
"What, he'll look to me?" She might as well put it out there. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Did someone crap desperation all over me and am I now reeking of it? Honestly, Harry… maybe I expected things from him at some point of our… relationship, but things have changed. I've changed, and I have more important things to worry about than wanting Ron to 'come to his senses' and asking me out. Besides, Ron isn't the only wizard in London."
Harry was staring at her as if waiting to catch her in a lie.
She sighed again. "Yes, contrary to popular belief, Hermione Granger isn't lovesick for Ronald Bilius Weasley." It somewhat sucked to be so obviously lacking in male attention. "There. I finally said it!"
Harry began to look a bit lost. "It happened in sixth year, didn't it? You completely lost interest in him when he overdid the snogging bit with Lavender."
She began to eat. "Well, I don't know, Harry. Don't ask me to explain when and how. When did you decide that getting back with Ginny wasn't as easy as you thought?" She regretted it the moment she said it. She wasn't ready to face that truth, but it was there, and she had no one to blame but herself.
He blinked, his fork freezing over his plate. "What are you-what does that have to do with any of this?"
Before she could stop herself, she went on. "Well, you said you broke up with her because you had to focus all your efforts on defeating Voldemort, and that you didn't want Voldemort using Ginny to get to you. Now that you've defeated him, what's stopping you from going back to her? She's right there, Harry. I bet she's waiting."
It was, perhaps, a good time to kick herself, probably in the mouth; get her foot stuck there. Smashing, Hermione! Just keep turning the knife in your own heart. That's the spirit!
For a moment, all he could do was blink and blush, looking mightily uncomfortable, and then just as quickly as the tension came, it disappeared and he shrugged. "It's complicated."
"Umm-hmm. My point exactly."
He frowned. "It's different! Ginny is Ron's little sister! Even then, it was rather-well, I had to be breaking some kind of best friend rule…"
"Ah, and me, dating Ron, who happens to be my best friend, isn't breaking any best friend rule?"
His brows knotted while he poked his casserole with his fork. "I don't know… just that it was supposed to be you and Ron… or something."
"Right. Thank you for your wisdom, Madame Trelawney."
He smiled wryly, chuckling. "You know it isn't as ridiculous as that."
She returned the smile. "I suppose it isn't; rules and all."
"But you do know what they say about rules, don't you?"
"Yes. They're made to be broken by Gryffindors."
"Snarky," he said, threatening her mildly with a fork before using the very same one to shove casserole into his mouth. "Oh, delicious… Hermione-"
"I know. You love my cooking."
"Yes. And if I'm following this conversation correctly, you're certain you're not in love with Ron-or his cooking."
Interesting how he juxtaposed being in love with Ron and his culinary (non-)skills.
"Indeed, I'm certain. I know what love looks like, after all."
Harry seemed surprised. "You do?"
Hermione felt her face warm. In the words of Hagrid: Reckon I shouldn't ha' said tha'. "Yes, but don't ask how I know."
"Who-"
"I said, Don't ask."
This time, Harry listened, but he shot her a questioning look. She ignored it.
Let him wonder. He'll never figure it out. He hasn't in the last eight years filled with anvil-sized hints. He'll miss this anvil too.
"So, Harry," she said in an attempt to get their easy conversation back. "How was your day?"
He spooned tartar sauce on his wedges. "Exhausting. After Gail and I got back to the Ministry, Shaklebolt thought to punish us for having a good lunch. He assigned us the Red Caps infestation in the dungeons of Level Ten. Bothersome little buggers…"
Hermione tried not to choke on her potato wedge. "Interesting, that Gail. Nice girl."
Harry arched an eyebrow at her. "She's just my partner."
"I didn't say anything."
"You have this look."
Hermione didn't know she had one of those, particularly when it came to Harry's women. "I do?"
"Yes. Right now; and at lunch, too. You were sizing her up. You're deciding whether she's good for me!"
Hermione felt her temper bubble for an instant. Was she doing that? Of all the sad things! Maybe she indeed had a habit of determining whether his women were any good for him on some unconscious level. After all, she had accepted that Harry didn't want her, so she supposed she would feel better about it if she knew the girl he chose was better than her in brains and in the way she would take care of him. She had conceded defeat to most women in the looks department, but she was never going to live it down if someone stupid and less caring won Harry's affections. She had invested too much of her brains and her tender loving nature on him to give him over to some negligent, insipid bimbo.
However, she'd like to think that she wasn't that pathetic of a martyr. She was more inclined to believe that she wanted these women to fail miserably at measuring up to her standards.
"I hardly think my opinion important if you happen to actually like the woman, Harry," she said with a haughty sniff. "Do you like her?"
He frowned. "Not like that, no. And I don't think she likes me like that, either."
"She flirts with you."
"She flirts with everyone. She thinks flirting is great fun. Understandably, it upsets her husband every now and then."
"She's married! More's the pity," she muttered.
"And I'll have you know that your opinion is always important to me."
"Thank you very much, Harry Potter."
"I'm serious."
"Alright, but can I still be Hermione?"
He laughed. He always did when she cracked that particular joke. Only with her, though. She doubted if he'd find it amusing coming from anyone else. Ron didn't like the joke at all; he said it wasn't respectful to the dead.
Harry seemed to enjoy it because it was the sort of joke Sirius himself would appreciate, especially because it was about him. Sirius always did have a healthy ego.
They finished dinner and they set the dishes aside to be cleaned later. Hermione moved to the seat beside him so that they could share really good tea.
It was in the midst of creamed Earl Grey that Harry shook her out of her calm once again.
"Ginny sent me an owl the other day," he said.
"What about?" she asked, without batting an eyelash. God, why do I keep doing this to myself?
He shrugged a shoulder. "She's asking whether we should give it another try. The relationship, I mean."
She set her cup down, leaning over the table to cradle her head on her propped up hand. Steeling herself for the kill, she managed a small smile. "What do you think, Harry?"
He mirrored her position, tilting his head back just a bit as he thought his answer over. "It's like what you said earlier: Things have changed. I've changed. Everything… it's just different now. If I give it a chance, I suppose it might work out, but I don't know if I'd like to make the effort anymore. What's important to me these days weren't as important to me in sixth year… or maybe I just didn't realize how much it meant to me then. Now that I've become this person, I don't know if someone like Ginny would be able to understand any of it."
Hermione watched him for any sign that he was just babbling nonsense; any indication that he still loved Ginny just that he was being as hesitant about it as he tended to be about personal relationships. But all she could see was Harry; what he'd become because of the last two years. The changes made little difference to her, but only because she had grown with him.
He knew what he was saying; she could tell that much. He had thought about this before Ginny wrote him the letter. And it was true what he said a while ago: it was complicated. She saw that now.
"I would've liked Ginny for you, you know," she said, and she meant it, too. If her opinion was indeed as important to him as he said it was, then she was going to give him one that would allow him to love Ginny entirely if he ever got the notion. It hurt her to say it, but she wouldn't begrudge Harry the blessing.
He smiled tiredly and he reached across to give her head an affectionate rub. "I know."
She liked the idle circling of his fingers, the sensation of his touch trickling all the way down her spine. He played with her hair a bit. If it weren't so strange, she would be purring.
If he knew how much electricity it was generating in her, he might be more careful about administering it. She blinked languorously, grinning stupidly at the intimacy of the moment, when there was a tap at the kitchen window.
Harry turned on his seat, removing contact. Hermione could have hissed in aggravation.
"I'll get it," he said, scraping his chair back as he got up.
He swung open the windowpane and unhooked the bundle of owls. He gave Hedwig her treats, praised Hedwig's hard work and watched the owl fly off.
Harry sat back down with Hermione, sifting through the mail. There was a time when a deluge of fan-owls was inflicted on Grimmauld Place. Harry claimed that he hadn't seen so many owls since his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tried to keep him from getting his acceptance letter from Hogwarts. The fan-owls were definitely a problem, but after the first week, Hermione had had enough and she set up enchanted mail baskets in the rooftop. She left treats out for the owls which they could only get if they deposited the mail in the right bag. Howlers were given their own tin can, and for several months, there were tiny explosions emanating from the roof.
Harry handed Hermione three letters with an upraised eyebrow: One from Viktor Krum (it was rather thick), one from the Ministry (thin, almost insubstantial) and one unmarked envelope (just right).
She liked seeing that look on his face when she got anything from Viktor. She could pretend he was being jealous.
"If he doesn't talk about Quidditch with you, what else could he possibly write so much about?" asked Harry.
She rolled her eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, the man is well informed about many, many things. And he's glad I don't talk about Quidditch with him. He once said that if he hears someone mention the Wonky Faints one more time, he'll AK himself into oblivion."
"Good gracious, Hermione, it's not Wonky Faints! How many times does Ron have to tell you that? The poor bloke dies a little each time you mispronounce it."
She grinned. "I know what it is. I just say it to annoy everyone in the house. Wonky faints, wonky faints…."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "What's that fancy envelope there?"
"Goodness, you're quite nosy about my mail tonight, aren't you?"
He reddened visibly. "Sorry."
She grinned, stealthily putting away the Ministry letter. She didn't want Harry asking about that. If it was another refusal, he'd want to comfort her and she'd be forced to talk about it.
He fidgeted. "I'll leave you with-"
Well, she didn't want him leaving her, either. She grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe. "Oh, honestly, Harry. Don't be ridiculous. I was just teasing! Sit and drink your tea. Open your mail, if you want."
The discomfort in his expression faded and he did begin to check his owls while she checked hers.
It was so nice to be doing such domestic things with him, like they had been doing such things forever; like they never lived apart.
He sat but an arm's length away from her, and from her seat, she had an urge to rub her foot against his leg. It wasn't a new thought; she had been stifling the urge to touch him in the most un-platonic ways since he and Ginny broke up. There had been thousands of opportunities when she could have spontaneously kissed and caressed parts of him that could have sent their friendship crashing and burning, but she had successfully pushed every urge away by telling herself, "If you do that, you'll either have him for a moment or lose him completely. Are you willing to risk losing that much, Granger?" Her answer was always "No," of course.
She gripped the unmarked envelope with fingers that were itching to brush through his rich black hair. It was, as usual, a fierce mess on his head, but she loved that his hair was like that.
Hermione fluffed her own hair, made more comely by a simple long-layered cut. Harry said the hairstyle fit her really well. She'd probably keep the style forever on account of it.
Breaking the seal on the fancy-looking owl, she peered inside. There was a note and a sheet of expensive-looking stationary. She pulled out the note first, and it was personalized; the monogram L.A. gleaming in elegant silver-leaf.
Dear Ms. Granger,
I hope this owl finds you well and in calmer spirits. Though I would not exchange the circumstances of our unforgettable meeting for the world, I hope that by the time you finish reading this, you'd have developed a kinder opinion of me since this morning.
The man was taking responsibility for her acidic behavior. It was gallant, if not a bit embarrassing. She read on.
I have enclosed an invitation to the grand opening of my Muggle/Wizard gallery in Paddington. It is a gallery of modern art and the exhibits are quite fascinating. There will be wine and cocktails served and everyone there could either afford to buy the art or are pretending they could. All in all, you understand why I am desperate to have someone there with whom I could speak about intelligent and more important matters with.
You are in no way required to attend, and I do confess that my primary agenda is to see you again while letting you decide whether I am worth the trouble. The invitation admits you, plus two, should you feel more comfortable bringing companions.
She arched an eyebrow. Usually, invitations were for two, but it seemed Lysander at least had the intelligence to realize the importance of her two best friends.
I pray you decide to come, as I have thought of nothing else but you since you "crashed" into me this morning and knocked me senseless.
Hopelessly smitten,
Lysander Athansius
P.S. Please don't forget that attire is strictly Muggle cocktail couture. Personally, I'd like to see you in Muggle wear. Bears promise of great felicity. ~l.a.
Hermione never realized she could be this girlishly thrilled. A billionaire-a handsome, possibly kind and intelligent billionaire, who was a Duke (practically a prince)-was wooing her! How she managed to steel her features while she read the note would remain a mystery forever. All she knew was that there was this warmth on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, possibly marking the line of her blush.
She felt a tiny bit like Cinderella, sweeping soot from the hearth and then being called upon to try on the glass slipper for His Highness the Prince. The shoe will fit. It always does in the fairytale.
She wondered if Lysander actually had a butler and whether his dinnerware at home was as elegant as crystal goblets and silver spoons. It had to be wonderful, having meals prepared everyday by award winning chefs. And while the food was fantastic, Lysander didn't have to worry about getting flabby. He would no doubt have a trainer who was paid an exorbitant amount of money to harden his abs and firm his arse. And even if Lysander did gain weight, his suits were tailored and custom made to make him look perfectly fit.
The man's a fantasy in himself.
"Anything interesting?" asked Harry, looking up from one of his owls.
She felt herself jerked back to her senses, Harry's beautiful green gaze washing away the silly daydreams Lysander's letter brought.
She began to blush again, but this time at her own thoughtlessness.
So Lysander had offered her elegant hors d'eorves, expensive champagne and impossibly gorgeous people aside from his charming, debonair self. She would take such offerings in a heartbeat if she didn't know where true warmth and belongingness was.
She loved being in Grimmauld Place; she loved her best friends, and she loved that they loved her back, though one didn't love her the way she wanted him to and the other was a little too in love with himself at the moment. Nevertheless, the solidity of what she had right now; the preciousness of the last few hours with Harry, and the bond she shared with her two best friends, was more than enough for her.
She wasn't going to give up what she had for a quick fix, because that's what Lysander would likely be: a quick fix who would shower her with expensive things and then drop her when he was done. That was the way with his type, anyway. They might fall in love, but they fall out of it just as quickly.
Hermione slipped the note back into its envelope, not even bothering to look the invitation over. "It's just one of those invitations. Nothing new."
"Strange. Hedwig should have known better than to deliver it here. She should have left it in the basket on the roof."
She shrugged. "It's spelled as important. Not Hedwig's fault." She tucked the invitation away with the Ministry letter and prepared to rise from her seat. "More tea, Harry?"
"No, thank you. Are you folding in, then?"
"With the dishes dirty? Are you nutters?"
He chuckled. "Leave them. I'll take care of them in a while. I just have to read some of these. Auror stuff, you know."
"But-"
"You cooked; I'll clean. Go to bed and be assured those dishes will be sparkling clean in the morning." He gave her head a brief caress while going back to reading his letters, as if it was all settled.
Hermione had a feeling he knew his affectionate touches almost always defeated her during their arguments.
She stifled a pout, cursing her own weakness. She rose from her seat. "Fine, then. Goodnight."
"G'night."
She left the kitchen.
As she climbed the steps to the rooms, she caught one last glimpse of Harry flipping through parchments with lazy ease.
She sighed. What was it about seeing him so studious that she found so attractive? Must be the entire thing she had with libraries and learning.
Hermione, get a life.
I will. As soon as I get over him, I will.
So… never?
Hundred years, tops.