SPECIAL THANKS to my beta reader Aurabolt!
I'm really sorry I did a double post a while ago! But to make up for it, here. I'm done revising it! *And* I have the next chapter out as well. Least I can do for the false alarm.
Standard disclaimers apply.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Six - Across the Silent Chasm
In which Harry and Ron seek penance while Hermione finds respite from her pain in latte, shopping and a billionaire's sweet attentions.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tomorrow was not best; or at least it didn't start that way.
By the time Harry woke, Hermione was gone. She had left her bedroom door open, everything inside it neat and perfect just like she was. There were no clatter of pans from the kitchen and she wasn't in the library either.
She was out of the house, and it was only nine in the morning; on a Sunday, too!
It occurred to Harry that she was that pissed at them; to leave the house so early to avoid them, even when she went to bed so late.
When he got to the ground floor, he found Ron in the viewing room, snoring on the couch in front of the open television. Harry was surprised Ron found the gumption to turn it on. He supposed sleeplessness can do that.
Harry certainly hadn't gotten that much sleep. He kept seeing Hermione's anger; kept hearing her wounded voice.
If she only knew why he had been so upset. If she only knew how jealous he was, or how protective Ron was being; maybe she wouldn't be so angry; maybe she'd understand.
He woke up Ron, telling him Hermione had left the house.
Ron's scrunched up morning face turned up at him from the couch. "She hates us, doesn't she?"
"I s'pose."
"Bugger all… this Athanasius is going to abso-bloody-lutely get it from me when this is over."
Harry had to smile at that. "So you do believe me when I say there's something wrong with him?"
"I believe you now," said Ron, pushing himself from the couch. "She was furious at you, Harry. That's just unnatural."
Harry realized that Ron did indeed mean to say that if Hermione had been furious with Ron, that wouldn't have been so out of the ordinary.
They lumbered to the kitchen.
Crookshanks rose from the counter and hissed at them both when Harry tried to pat him.
"Even the cat knows we're arseholes," muttered Harry.
Crookshanks didn't leave, fully expecting Harry to do something to appease him. Harry fed him.
"What do we do now?" asked Ron as he began making coffee.
"We call her," said Harry.
"Floo her?"
"No, call her, on the telephone. If she doesn't pick up, we'll leave a message. I don't know if it'll get her to talk to us, but I know she'll like it."
"She will?"
Harry nodded, smiling wanly. "Saw her face when she thought you were calling her. Like a kid who got exactly what she wanted on Christmas."
Ron reddened, remembering. "That wasn't me."
"I know. You prat."
"Yeah, you and me both. Wasn't my idea to follow her last night."
Harry sighed, conceding it.
He summoned his mobile telephone from his room. It passed through his bedroom window and zipped through the kitchen window quickly. He looked at Ron pointedly. "I don't hear you accio-ing, Ron."
Rolling his eyes, Ron did what he had to.
0000000000000000000000000
It was maybe the sixth time Hermione listened to her phone ringing that day, and she found it much to her satisfaction that it was either Harry or Ron calling. She had finally gotten them to use their mobiles.
She stirred her iced latte with her straw, pushing around the cream that swirled atop it. The goat-cheese panini on her canopied table remained untouched as she thought about the last time she spoke (or yelled) at Harry and Ron and wondered what they possibly had to say to her as they busied her mobile phone.
Leaning back on her chair, she made sure shrunk package at her feet was close at hand before she let her eyes rove to Muggle London. She watched the people walk by, totally unaware of the magical world existing beyond theirs.
I would've been one of them, without Hogwarts. I wouldn't have known Harry and Ron if I weren't a witch.
And that thought was just the tiny bit terrifying and unspeakably sad.
She would still have her parents, likely, and while she'd probably do almost anything to get them back, she wouldn't exchange her life with Harry and Ron for the world.
I love those two insensitive idiots, she thought, half-glumly. And hex me, how they know it!
It was a mixture of fondness and slight resentment; that they knew they had her wrapped around their fingers.
In fact, even in her anger, she had managed to find Harry a birthday present while she moped in the muggle shopping district.
How pathetic, she thought, tapping her wooden swizzle stick viciously against the rim of her tall coffee mug. She had been planning to buy a load of books, instead she managed to find the one wizarding shop among the muggle stores and bought a present for the one responsible for her foul mood.
That's just dandy of you, Hermione.
She ate her panini.
Moments later, her phone rang again, and when she ignored it, it buzzed seconds later. Someone had left a message. It did the same thing again after a few minutes had passed.
She finally checked it. It was Harry and Ron.
Humph. Let's see what Harry Bloody Potter has to say.
She put the phone to her ear.
Harry's voice came clearly through. "Hermione, please… just please pick up the phone…" He sighed, and it was filled with such dejection that she felt her heart begin to melt instantly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I said those things. I'm sorry I-I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren't special, or that someone like-like him can't like you. He should be so lucky that you like him back. Ron and I… we've been terrible to you these last few months… years, maybe, haven't we? We've neglected you… I've neglected you. And I promised I'd take care of you, too. I promised when you were… asleep."
He still can't talk about the coma, can he? she thought, a wave of warmth washing over her. He can't even say the word for it. Oh, Harry…
He went on, his tone repentant in every way. "I was so afraid you'd… leave us then, that I promised-I don't know-God maybe, that if He let you live, I'd take such good care of you; protect you… but I suppose I botched that one right good. I'll not try to make excuses for… any of my behavior last night, but I was protecting you, Hermione. This bloke you're seeing…" His voice took on a slightly edged tone. "He knows you're special. That's why he wants you, but he doesn't know how special you are to me and to Ron, and I think he's just a randy little fucker-"
He stopped, but Hermione was already slightly astonished by the profanities. Still, she couldn't help but feel a bit endeared, too, bad words and all.
"S-Sorry. Just that-I can't-he's a stranger to me, Hermione. What the hell does he know? How could he know any better when it comes to taking care of you? How can he be better at taking care of you than Ron and I are? I just don't want you to get hurt. I worry about you even if you think I don't care. Just please… please tell me you still think I'm your best friend. Please don't be angry. Please talk to me."
The message ended.
Goodness, I have to be a major bitch not to forgive him after that. But Lord, do I love him like an idiot.
The second message began in Ron's embarrassed, grumbling way. "Whatever Harry said, that's how I feel too, Hermione. Really sorry… can you get back here, already? Harry's more worried than mum ever was about all of us put together!"
Harry's "Ron!" came over the background and the message ended.
Hermione couldn't help but giggle, flipping her phone shut as she did so.
She was going home. And she was going to forgive her boys.
Protective. She scoffed, but she was not entirely disapproving. Must be all that testosterone, Merlin bless 'em.
She decided, on her way home, that she would make brownies for them, as a peace offering. She shopped for her ingredients quickly enough and was on her way to one of the apparating stations when she passed by a shoe store and saw the shoe of her dreams.
This was, of course, the nth time she saw a "shoe of her dreams" and decided to make it a "shoe of her reality."
Laden with packages, she pushed through the store doors. The ladies in the store eyed her disapprovingly, unaccustomed to getting customers that carried grocery bags. It was a fairly highbrow store that definitely wasn't impressed by her burgeois casual-chic canvas cut-offs and brown paper bags, but she was determined to buy, and no one was going to intimidate her. Besides, she faced Voldemort and lived; a store full of snobby ladies couldn't scare her if they tried to, all at once.
She put down her belongings and swung her shawl over her like an absolute prima donna. She haughtily pointed out half a dozen pairs of shoes, one of which was the one she wanted, and it effectively sent everyone scurrying.
I may know what I want, but I'm not going to make it easy for them, she thought snootily.
When finally, all her selections were piled up before her, a shoe attendant appeared and had the decency to assist her.
She was beginning to have a wonderful time when from the corner of her eye she noticed a commotion at the door. Half the clerks in the store scuttled to attend to the newly arrived customer.
For the most part, Hermione didn't care. It wouldn't be a headline stopper if some actor or celebrity graced the boutique's threshold. This was a ridiculously expensive store, after all.
She was trying on her fourth shoe when her shoe attendant was tapped politely on his shoulder by someone in a crisp, tailored suit.
"May I, good sir?" asked the stranger to the attendant.
Hermione looked up and saw Lysander, breathtakingly handsome in his Muggle thousand pound suit. A flush instantly rose in her cheeks and her spine tickled briefly.
"If the madam is amenable," said the attendant.
Lysander seemed amused, glancing at Hermione with a wink. "Is the madam amendable?"
Her stomach flip-flopped and she scolded herself inwardly for being a ditz. But always the picture of poise, she merely shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not?"
Smiling, the attendant rose and Lysander knelt on one knee while he took her foot up gently upon the other.
His hands cradled her heel delicately, careful not to overstep her boundaries and he looked up at her with twinkling purple eyes. "This is not the shoe you want, madam."
And it wasn't. She smiled and pointed to the perfect pair lying in a box of packaging tissue.
"Ah, that's more like it," he said, reaching for it.
Delicately, as if he were handling crystal, he removed the unwanted shoe from her foot to slip on the beautiful stiletto concoction. The shimmering blueness of the shoe was the perfect shade. He caressed the arch of her foot and the bend of her ankle.
"You like?" she asked, breathless.
His eyes traveled from her foot upward. "Very much so."
She let the pleasant flutter in her stomach still before she rose to her feet and walked on the pretty shoes. She posed her feet as she looked in the mirror.
"Lovely," he said, looking her over.
She cocked a smile at him, hand to her hip. She felt flustered enough to have seen him there, and his oblique compliments made her insides ripple with suppressed thrill, but she had learned to hold her own in the worse of situations; this was a situation far from bad. "And what a coincidence, your being here. Are you following me, Lysander?"
He chuckled. "Like I'd have the time."
"Oh, yes. How silly of me." She wasn't the least bit embarrassed. It was likely he hadn't followed her, but possible that he had seen her and had decided to make an impromptu appearance in the store. It made her feel the slightest bit empowered.
"I was hoping to get my mother a scarf," he explained without further prompting. "She's feeling a bit under the weather. I thought a token would delight her."
Classy cover story, she thought wryly. Expensive silk scarf, maybe, for a moody mama. Nice touch.
She shrugged. "I'm sure your mother will feel better after she receives it."
The saleslady came over, holding out two flat boxes containing a scarf each.
Just as I thought, Hermione thought with smug satisfaction.
The lady showed them to Lysander.
He turned to Hermione. "Tell me what you think is prettier."
She arched an eyebrow pointedly before looking the scarves over. One was an exquisite silver and deep red with tinges of gold and royal blue. The other was a lemon yellowy with orange, red and green accents. The yellowy one was beautiful, though it wasn't her type of coloring. She wouldn't buy it for herself, but she would buy it for her mother.
"The yellow one," she said with absolute certainty.
He smiled. "The yellow one, it is." He nodded to the saleslady.
The lady left to pack his purchase.
"It goes well with that bag," said Hermione, pointing to a bright red Kelly. "Your mother might like that, too." The bag cost a fortune, but if he was going to lie to her, she was going to make him sweat it out a bit.
"And so she might." He nodded to a saleslady who was watching their exchange with clear fascination.
A large box was pulled out from a covered cabinet underneath. The contents of the box were shown to him and he nodded, confirming that it contained the exact same bag on display.
Inwardly, Hermione was half-impressed, half-scandalized. I can't believe he's really going to buy it! she thought. But I suppose what costs a fortune to me is pocket change for him.
Soon they were at the counter, her with her shoes and him with his outrageously expensive PROPS.
When she finished paying, she was mildly surprised to see that he furnished no card or cash.
He must have figured out what she was thinking, because he said, "Store credit."
"Of course." As much as she knew about rich people's store credit in fancy boutiques, it was still a bit of a shock. She steeled her facial expression and gathered her packages. Well, it was great fun while it lasted, but I have two offenders to forgive. "I'll see you around, then?"
His charmingly amused smile, when he realized that she wasn't planning to spend the rest of the day flirting with him, was devastating. "Is that a promise?"
She flushed. She hadn't exactly expected him to say something like that. She thought he would simply say farewell and good day. He was apparently better at this than she thought.
"It's a possibility," she managed with equal finesse. "'Twas charming to have bumped into you, Lysander. I hope your mother feels better soon."
"Thank you, Hermione."
The sound of her name from his lips jolted her. From him, it wasn't merely her name; it was sweet golden honey ladled with and cascading from a silver spoon.
He took her hand and kissed it, the warmth of his lips spreading from her arm to the rest of her body. She stifled a shudder before she took her hand back.
The magic was instantly gone, but his eyes upon her made her blush and think very pleasant thoughts.
Turning with what poise she could muster, she took the rest of her parcels and made to leave. She realized instantly that leaving the store with her grocery bags wasn't all that sexy looking, but she managed it with practiced dignity. Goodness knows, after turning herself into a cat and having her teeth grown out to beaver size, she had learned to endure the worse kinds of humiliation.
It occurred to her as she walked down the sidewalk that she had never given Lysander her phone number or her floo designation, but there was hardly anything to worry about. She was certain he'd find out for himself if he cared.
00000000000000000000000
Harry heard the pert clap of an apparition from the viewing room and he looked at Ron who sat beside him on the couch.
Ron was asleep and Harry decided it would be better to meet with Hermione without Ron's emotional range of a teaspoon botching things up.
Crookshanks, who was contentedly purring beside him under his light caresses perked up at the sound of his mistress's arrival.
"You're glad she's back too, aren't you boy?" Harry whispered to the half-kneazle.
Crookshanks gave a small meow before hopping off the couch to dart out of the viewing room.
Bracing himself for the worse, Harry padded meekly to the living room and then to the kitchen, where he could hear her clattering about.
Crookshanks was already rubbing circles around Hermione's calves as she waved her wand about with her newly bought groceries. There were a few more packages set in the far corner on the floor.
She's gone shopping. Good. At least she's in a better mood, thought Harry. He watched her for a few seconds, gauging his chances. She certainly looked like she was glowing, probably flushed from purchasing shoes. She looked lovely, anyway. Her cut-offs, flattering halter-top and high-heels was feminine and becoming to her body-type. She must have seemed terribly sophisticated with her shawl around her and everything. He was just admiring the shape of her backside when she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled.
Brilliant.
"Hullo, Harry! I'm making brownies. I know you don't like almonds so I'm using walnuts. But I guarantee you'll love the icing."
His heart soared. She had forgiven them! And such a sweet peace offering too. She was going to bake them brownies. This was what he loved best about being best friends with a girl. Girls were such sweethearts; thoughtful and tender. Where Ron would be content to buy him a shot of firewhisky (which wasn't bad at all, but…), Hermione would bake brownies.
He loved her that way.
"Hermione?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm sorry." He'd already said it on the phone, but he wanted to be able to say it in person.
She smiled, a blush rising in her cheeks. "I know. And I'm-I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to push you and Ron away last night… or lie about the invitation. I was just so… well…" She took the apron and put it on.
His brows knotted. "Hurt?" he said softly.
She smiled again, this time brightly enough to coax one from his own lips. "Anyway, I'm over all that. I swear, Harry. Sometimes, I don't know how you and Ron put up with me!"
Harry hadn't even thought about the invitation. He was just glad she was talking to him again and he couldn't bear to think about how utterly abandoned they had made her feel that she felt she had to lie to them just to prove she can do things on her own.
The tragedy was he already knew how independent she could be. Sometimes, he wondered what he would do if Hermione woke up one day and realized that she didn't need them, the two blithering idiots who talked about Quidditch all day, burped in her presence and spilled beer on the viewing room carpet on rugby weekends.
"We don't put up with you," Harry said. "Ron and I'd be sodding lost without you. We'd be wearing mismatched socks and we'd always be too banjaxed to be of any use to anyone!"
She giggled and it was a wonderful sound.
He grinned. "We'd probably be sitting around in our alans and scratching ourselves-"
She laughed, shrieking in scandalized delight. "Oh, shut it, you! Too much information! Sit down, Potter. We're done with all that talk, aren't we? So we'll move on to other important things! Tell me about auror training. How's Ginny? Have you spoken to her yet?"
Harry was glad they were working things out famously, but he didn't think he could take another Ginny-talk, and he really didn't want to talk about Auror-training. He wanted to talk about Hermione; he wanted to catch up on what she had been doing. "I haven't spoken to Ginny, but I'll have to get to that. Ron already has my neck on the chopping board for it."
She laughed softly, cracking eggs mid-air into a bowl.
"But Hermione, I want to know how you've been. I want to hear all about you today."
She grinned as she arched an eyebrow, but she flushed too, and it looked like she was glad he asked. "Alright then. I was going to tell you and Ron, but I suppose if I put it off any longer it would never get told; I got a job at the Ministry."
Harry absolutely hadn't seen it coming, but he was ecstatic for her. "Hermione, that's wonderful!" He gave her a hug, squeezing her affectionately. "You must be so proud!"
She chuckled. "I am! And oh, Harry, guess where!"
There were so many offices she was qualified for. He could roll off a slew of Ministry positions and she'd be perfect for every one of them, but the excitement in her eyes told of something extraordinary. "Are you an Unspeakable?"
Hermione laughed at this. "Merlin, but wouldn't that be exciting! But no; not quite that mysterious. However, the position is rather-shall we say-unspeakably important."
He couldn't think what. He was too thrilled for her. "The suspense is killing me! Tell me already."
Smiling madly, she began mixing ingredients with circular motions of her wand. "I'm Assistant Interrogator to the Wizengamot Counsel's Office. Harry, I'll be prosecuting Death Eaters. I'll be putting them in Azkaban!"
Harry had heard about this obscure office in the annals of the Department of Magical Law. It was headed by a couple of kooks that made him feel rather queasy when he heard about them. He couldn't help but wonder if they were competent enough for the job, but with Hermione now there, he thought life better already.
Hermione in charge of prosecuting Death Eaters in the Wizengamot! It was brilliant! She was going to make sure every single one of them paid for their crimes, and he had complete faith in her.
"This is beyond phenomenal," he said, still in a slight state of shock.
She laughed again, obviously pleased with herself.
He draped an arm over her shoulder, grinning ecstatically. "I wouldn't trust anyone else with the job. You deserve this and when Ron finds out, it'll blow his mind. And you know the best part? We'll only be a couple of offices apart! We can go to lunch together; go to work and leave for home together… we can interrogate criminals together, too!"
She seemed to think this hilarious. "Oh, don't be silly, Harry. That one we can't do together! You run them through the gauntlet first before I even get around to interviewing them, and I can only build a case against them based on the evidence your department provides, so you better do your job well, Potter! Makes mine easier."
He grinned. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn't suppose he'd be able to stop himself from going further, so he pulled himself away, taking his seat at the table while he worked. "When do you start?"
"Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I really have to go on over to Hogwarts to thank McGonagall for recommending me to the office. Heartcomb and Archibald… do you know them?"
Harry nodded.
She went on, grinning. "Those two are the oddest men I've met! But they seem to think highly of McGonagall's recommendations. I don't think they would've taken me without her telling them they should. They weren't very pleased with the way I want to-err-change certain laws."
He cocked a smile. He knew the entire Ministry had been giving her a hard time because of the Elf Law Proposals she'd been submitting, but he thoroughly admired her for sticking to her wands. In spite of the flack she had gotten for it, she did not waver in the least, not even when she couldn't get a job in the Ministry because of it.
True Gryffindor if I ever saw one. What a woman.
"Well, when you're through with the Death Eaters and the Ministry, they wouldn't even know what hit 'em!" he said.
She giggled again. It was pleasant to hear, and he realized that she really was thrilled with her job. He could now rest easy, knowing all his hard work as an auror catching the bad guys won't go to waste in her capable hands.
She told him about her first meeting with the oddball WizCOF ("Care for a cough-drop?" asked Harry, to which he earned a sprinkling of flour) and he laughed at the bizarre dialogue. He could just imagine Hermione getting frustrated at the utter lack of logic in her conversation with them.
The entire time they talked and laughed, she was mixing the brownie batter, and after she scraped the last of it in a baking pan, she popped the pan in the oven and sat down, mixing bowl on hand.
"Best part!" she cried, handing him his own plastic scraper while she ran hers down the residue chocolate mix.
Harry thought the entire thing perfect.
He scraped his share of brownie batter, and while he looked at the sweet, chocolatey goodness of it, he realized, with a slight twist in his stomach that there would be none of this if he never knew her; or if the troll had managed to kill her; or if Dolohov's curse had succeeded; or if she never woke up from her coma.
If you lost her during any of those times, you'd be dead.
The magnitude of it all gripped him, and he felt a little lightheaded for it. He can't ever lose her. He put his scraper back in the bowl.
Hermione looked up and her eyes became concerned. "Harry, what's wrong?"
He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. "Everything you've ever done for me; everything you've been for me… it's why I'm here now. It's why I'm alive."
"H-Harry…" Her voice was softly chiding, like she was scolding him, and she reddened at the cheeks, embarrassed.
"I think maybe I'd have been a goner first year if you and Ron weren't there beside me. You've both gotten me this far. And I think if Dolohov had done you in when we went to the Department of Mysteries-"
She shushed him. "You don't-you don't have to talk about that."
"Maybe I should. I thought you were dead, and then when it was all over and you were alive, nobody even explained to me what happened to you. I couldn't ask; I was too afraid that the curse had done something terrible to you."
"I'm fine," she told him, almost emphatically. "Nothing very bad happened to me, Harry, so you can just stop feeling guilty about that. Alright?"
He smiled wanly. "And then Voldemort killed you."
She scowled, spatula held up in one hand and the other cupping the rim of a huge mixing bowl. "I'm right here."
And she was. She looked like she was going to curse all the brownies in the world with her eleven-inch flexi-plastic, chocolate tip spatula from Baker-ware. All things considered, it was quite funny.
He sputtered into a laugh and she got the joke quickly. She shrieked when the batter threatened to drip off the spatula and onto the floor. She rushed to catch it with her mouth and tongue.
Harry found himself watching her acrobatics with prurient fascination. He could hardly be blamed for it. There she was, a beautiful woman with her plump lips and tongue and there was chocolate involved. What else was there to think about? And now Hermione had some of that chocolate on the corner of her lip.
Sweet Merlin, the torment! He wanted desperately to clean that spot off in the best way he knew how, but that would be the end of all things platonic.
She grinned. "What?"
He pointed to the corner of his own lip before pointing to hers. "You have-umm-chocolate."
"Oh, my!" She giggled, sticking her tongue out to lick it off. "Mess I've made of myself, haven't I?"
"Never," he said, taking back his spatula. "You're never a mess. You're perfect, and you don't even try."
Her giggling dwindled and she blushed. "Oh, shut it, Potter, I've already forgiven you. No need to kiss my arse."
"I mean it," he said somewhat softly, blushing himself. "I think-I think anyone who ever likes you should understand that, and appreciate it, so that they give you the respect and love you deserve."
She quieted. "I'm… I'm not perfect, Harry. And I don't particularly have unreasonable demands of-men. They're not exactly lining up at my door, you know."
He frowned. Is that what she felt? That she had to settle because there were so few who seemed to want her? She had it all wrong, then! Honestly, did she think so little of herself? "Hermione, the only reason they're not lining up at your door is that there are very few men who would have the guts, or the nerve, to think themselves worthy of asking you out. Lord knows… Neville would've asked you out if he wasn't so afraid you'd take house points from Gryffindor, and there were others in Hogwarts who were stupid enough to talk to me about how best to ask you out."
She seemed utterly surprised by this. "You're joking."
"No, I'm not. I don't even know how many shit-for-brains went to Ron for help."
"That can't be right, Harry. I didn't get a lot of invitations…"
Harry sniffed. Maybe because Ron and I were less than helpful.
"Well, I don't know why. Probably lost their balls, or something." Which was actually quite true. Harry didn't feel the least bit guilty. If any of these boys had had the slightest bit of gumption; the slightest bit of spine; and if their intentions were true, they would've asked Hermione out anyway. As it turned out, they were all bloody cowards, Gryffindor or not. And then something clicked in what she said. "Wait, didn't get a lot, you say? You mean some actually-" got away from us?
She began to scowl and he realized what he was saying.
"What I mean to say is, some guys actually gathered the bulloks to-"
"Harry!"
"Sorry! But who were they? Just curious, really." So that next time I see them…
She shot him a suspicious look before replying. "Oh, just a few, really…"
"Go on, then."
Hermione shrugged awkwardly. "Lee Jordan…"
Harry's jaw dropped. "Lee! He's practically ten years older than you! When did he ask you? He was gone by the time we got to sixth year!"
Hermione shot him a reproachful glare. "He's barely two years older than me, Harry, and I did happen to like Lee. He asked me out after he left Hogwarts and I think I would have liked to go out with him some more, but there were more pressing matters then… so I couldn't give him a second date when he asked…"
Harry wondered if Lee happened to be the one who "showed" Hermione what "love looked like". It seemed unlikely, since by Hermione's narration, they only went out once, but then again, love could take as long as forever to happen yet in some cases happen in a second.
"Then," said Hermione, "there was Justin…"
"Finch-Fletchley?"
"Yes, but he had such a lame pick-up line… I didn't go out with him."
"How lame?"
"Oh, he went on about how we were both petrified by the 'basilisks', as if there was more than one, and how we're both 'mudbloods' like it was some sort of thing we could joke about. He also bragged about being down for Eton before he found out he was going to Hogwarts; as if I should be impressed."
"What a moron."
"And then there was Ernie McMillan…"
Harry scowled. "I knew it! I knew he would try something, being Head Boy and all that!"
"Oh, give him some credit. He stuck up for you a lot during your worse times, and he joined the D.A. just to prove he believed in what he was saying. You haven't forgotten, have you?"
Harry muttered that he hadn't. And then a thought came to him, which made him slightly queasy. "You didn't-I mean to say-you had your private quarters as Head Boy and Head Girl… you don't have to tell me, though! Just-erm-"
She frowned. "Oh, honestly!" She got up from her chair, gathering the bowls and spatulas to dump them in the sink.
So, what does that mean? Did she, or didn't she? Not that it mattered all that much, but Ernie McMillan? He was a good chap, and all, but really, she could've done so much better. McMillan, for all his virtues, was almost as annoying as Percy Weasley, except Ernie was even more boring as far as personalities went. At least Percy was interesting enough to be the butt of Fred and George's jokes. Then again, maybe that had more to do with Fred and George than Percy.
Regardless, Harry might have felt better if he knew Lee Jordan had been her first time. At least Lee Jordan looked like he'd give her a good time in the sack. Then again, he didn't know if Ernie McMillian even got as far as snogging her.
Hermione would, of course, strangle him if she knew what he was thinking.
Suffice it to say, none of those mentioned had approached Harry for advice with regard to Hermione. Apparently, they had more nerve than all the others.
He already knew what he was going to say to Ernie McMillan when next they saw each other, but Lee Jordan was going to be a problem. Harry had liked Lee Jordan, and he was Fred and George's friend. He would have to approach the matter delicately-and then kick the stuffing out of Lee.
"That look on your face frightens me, Potter," she said in a warning tone.
Harry blinked, mustering his best look of innocence. "What? Why?"
She stared at him a moment before she laughed.
They were momentarily distracted by two unfamiliar owls tapping on the windowpane. They were carrying a rather large parcel together and Hermione immediately went to the window to relieve them. She took the package, gave them treats and sent them on their way.
Harry eyed the package with sudden hostility. It looked fancy. Too fancy, and lately, that meant it could only come from one person.
He observed Hermione's reaction. She looked absolutely perplexed.
"Who's it for?" he asked nonchalantly.
"For me." She set the box on the table.
"From whom?"
She didn't reply. She lifted the lid off the box and paled immediately, before turning a bright red. As red-Harry observed-as the bag inside it. A silk scarf was tied to its strap and Harry noticed Hermione giving it a particularly horrified look.
He was becoming a bit concerned.
She reddened. "I can't believe he-" Her brows furrowed.
She ripped the store-card from the box and rummaged through her purse for her mobile. She dialed the number from the card and waited, foot tapping impatiently. A few seconds later, she spoke. "Yes, this is Hermione Granger, I was in your store-" She stopped. "No, I don't want his number. I'm sending the bag and the scarf back. N-No, there's nothing wrong with the bag or the scarf; they're perfect, but I can't-I can't take this. I'm sending everything back." She listened for a bit before crisply saying, "I'm sending it back." She clipped her mobile shut. "Where's Hedwig?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Up on the roof… problem?"
"No problem," she muttered, grabbing the box to head on up. "I just-I'm just so mortified right now, is all. Lysander-"
His eyes widened. "What's he done to you? What did that bastard-"
She seemed surprised. "N-Nothing horrible, Harry, just…" She paused then sighed as she climbed the stairs, box in her arms. "I'll explain in a bit."
He accompanied her to the owlery and summoned both Hedwig and Pigwigeon. It was quite a task attaching the box to the owls, and it tested Hermione's temper in the extreme, but soon enough, she sent the owls off to the Muggle-Post Service Center. It was where packages from the Wizarding world that needed to be sent to the Muggle world were brought. Similarly, muggle packages that needed to be sent to wizards came from the service center.
They watched the owls go as a latent howler exploded in the howler bin.
"I could be such ninny sometimes," muttered Hermione, as if the explosion had prompted her to say it.
Harry arched an eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his gaze to muggle London. "So, what's the story with the bag and scarf?"
She didn't reply immediately, and a single glance at her told him of her shame, but after a moment's silence, she chuckled. "It'll sound silly. You had to be there to appreciate it."
He thought about it. "Try me."
She looked at him sheepishly before shoving her hands in the pockets of her cut-offs. "Well I was shopping for shoes."
He valiantly avoided not rolling his eyes and he could tell she was waiting for him to. When he didn't, she went on.
"It was a rather ritzy store but this particular shoe was divine and I just had to have it!"
His eyebrow finally went arching up again, but he was grinning and she stifled a laugh at the look on his face as she continued.
"Anyway, Lysander walked into the store. I was quite surprised."
"I bet you were. Following you now, is he?"
She smiled. "I don't think so, Harry, but I asked him outright if he was and he came up with some lame excuse about how he wanted to buy a silk scarf for his mother because she wasn't feeling well. Of course I knew he was lying, but it wasn't the kind of bad lie that would make me-you know-angry. So I figured I'd play along."
They were flirting, he thought indignantly, but he said nothing, listening instead.
"I helped him choose the scarf, and since I was feeling impish, I pointed out that his mother would like the Kelly bag, too. You know, sort of punish him for lying? I thought I'd make him sweat a bit because of his cover story. I didn't think he'd buy the bag for real. The damn thing costs almost two thousand pounds, Harry! I mean, bloody-"
"Hell!" he finished for her. And he meant it, too. That bag was almost two thousand pounds? And that man just dropped the cash like it was change? "Well, that's just-"
"Ridiculous! I know! And I really didn't think he was buying it for me, Harry. I swear! But now that I think about it, why wouldn't he think so?" The mortified look settled back in her gaze. "Obviously, his Mother Story was stupid, and he knew I knew it! Damn it all to Voldemort, I made him think I wanted that bag!"
Harry blinked, astonished.
She had turned a deep shade of red, wringing her hands in her adorable, anxious way. She was looking around uncertainly, as if she was trying to find something. "It's so mortifying! Now I've sent it all back and he's going to think I'm some sort of diva and that I'm silly and fastidious! But there's no winning, is there? If I accepted that bag, he's going to think-he's going to think I'd be willing to sleep with him for it, or something!"
He didn't even know what fastidious meant, but he definitely felt like killing Lysander right now. He frowned. "You didn't do anything, Hermione. It wasn't your fault. He had no right to send that bag over because he thought he could buy your affection. I think you dealt with him right properly."
Her eyes widened at something and she looked up at him half-frightened, half hopefully. "But what if I was acting unconsciously-"
"Don't be stupid. Unconsciously my arse! You're not a gold-digger and you don't go around making men buy expensive things for you. Get that ridiculous notion out of your head."
She looked relieved, and his hatred of Lysander Athanasius was definitely waking up monsters in his chest. He hated the man for making Hermione feel this way. He hated Athanasius for making Hermione doubt herself. And he especially hated the fact that he had somehow made Hermione feel that this was all her fault.
"I can't believe I let him-" She stopped, perhaps deciding that what she was about to say wasn't worth saying and turned to go back into the house, muttering about shoving a bubotuber down Lysander's throat.
Harry followed. "Let him what?"
She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling apologetically. "Nothing. Listen, even if that thing in the boutique hadn't happened, I still wouldn't have taken that bag. You know this, right?"
He rolled his eyes. "Really, Hermione, who knows you better than yourself?"
She turned on the staircase, leaning against the railing as she grinned up at him. "Who else!"
He smirked, continuing to descend the stairs. He tugged at a lock of her hair as he stepped past her. "That's right, so you don't need to be explaining to me, Granger. Ron's right. Sometimes, you can be mental."
She laughed, pinching his shoulder from behind. He complained, rushing down the stairs as she followed in hot pursuit. She shrieked as he caught her in his arms at the bottom of the stairs just when Ron emerged from the hallway looking fresh from sleep.
"Something smells chocolatey," he said, his long nose raised in the air.
"Hermione's making brownies," replied Harry, chuckling as Hermione squirmed to get away from his tickly embrace.
She struggled and laughed, helpless. Her petite, five-foot-six frame was no match for six feet of Auror-trained muscle. "Leggo! Leggo or I swear, Potter, I'll step on you! I've got stilettos!"
Ron winced. "Ooh, Harry, better let her go. Last time she threatened me with heels, she accidentally did in my family jewels with her knee."
"Not my fault!" cried Hermione, grinning.
Harry was having too much fun holding her to want to let her go, but he supposed he didn't want her doing in his family jewels… at least not in that way.
He did release her and she collapsed on the ground, giggling and catching her breath.
"You boys…" she gasped "… will be the death of me."
Ron frowned. "What'd I do? I was just standing here!"
She grinned, extending her hand out to Ron who hitched her to her feet. "Nice message on my phone, Ron: 'Duhhhh, what Harry said!' You get a Troll for Emotional Range. Small improvement from teaspoon."
Harry laughed. He knew Hermione would have something to say about it.
Ron scoffed. "That's why Harry's the hero and I'm the sidekick."
This took the laugh out of Harry. "I'm not a hero!"
"Of course you are. Didn't you get the memo?"
Hermione looked over her shoulder at them. "Honestly, you're both my heroes so you can just shut it about all this hero-sidekick nonsense. Ron, I have something to tell you."
"You're married. I knew it!"
Hermione shot him a glare.
Harry, knowing what it was Hermione had to say, rolled his eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake, just let the witch speak!"
"Thank you, Harry," she said. "As I was saying… Ron, I got a job at the Ministry." She proceeded to tell him about the WizCOF and what kind of work she would be involved in.
It took Ron a bit longer to find his senses and realize just what she was saying. Seconds later he had her in his arms, spinning her around the living room with her feet off the ground.
"Wicked!" he cried as she laughed in his arms. "Those Death Eaters don't stand a chance!"
She grinned, leaning her elbow on Ron's shoulder as he held her. "Oh, you think so, don't you?"
"Know so! Now let's celebrate by eating your brownies." Ron easily turned her on the side of his hip, carrying her like a rug. She demanded to be put down, which he easily ignored.
Harry chuckled, following behind Ron. It was so much easier to pick on Hermione being the size she was, especially for Ron, who was huge.
Ron easily hefted her on the kitchen counter and left her there as she hissed and scowled like Crookshanks. Ron's primary concern was the brownies in the oven.
"I swear, the abuse I get in this house!" she said, barely managing to hold down her smile.
Harry's primary concern was, as always, her. He leaned his hip against the counter beside her. "Are we alright now? You still love us both?"
She smiled, tilting her head as she looked at him. "Of course. That was never the issue. The question was whether I would ever speak to either of you again, and as you can see, I've decided nagging you both is so much more vicious than giving you the silent treatment."
Harry laughed. So did Ron.
She reached out and gave Harry's arm a gentle caress.
The touch made him flush to his roots. He wished she'd stop, or else he'd kiss her right there. She was close enough, anyway, for him to do it in a second, but he supposed it wasn't the sort of thing he should be doing in front of Ron. Whether Ron still liked Hermione or not, it would be extremely awkward for him who had just recently graduated from having the emotional range of a teaspoon to a troll.
He must have projected some of his discomfort because her gaze dropped and she pulled back her touch. He regretted her withdrawal, but he took advantage of it, too, smiling at her as he moved to sit at the kitchen table.
Ron and Hermione began to bicker. On any other day, Harry may have found it annoying, but on this day, it gave him a welcome sense of normalcy.
For a brief moment, he wondered if Lysander Athanasius was still going to be a problem.
He decided rather quickly that if Athanasius persisted, Harry wasn't going to play nice anymore.