Storybook Love

Bingblot

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 07/10/2005
Last Updated: 07/10/2005
Status: completed

"Dad, when did you first know that you wanted to marry Mum?" Harry tells his daughter a story. One-shot.

Chapters

1. Storybook Love

1. Storybook Love

Disclaimer: JKR owns all (no matter how much she might not deserve it). No money is being made, etc etc.

Author’s Note: I borrowed a metaphor from Lori’s brilliant HWTF- which I’m sure you’ll all recognize. First posted at the Fanfict00bs LiveJournal community. Enjoy!

Storybook Love

Come, my love, and I’ll tell you a tale,

Of a boy and girl and their love story…

~ “Storybook Love” from the Princess Bride soundtrack

~~~

“Hey Dad?”

Harry stopped on his way out of his daughter’s bedroom and looked back. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I was just wondering, when did you first know that you wanted to marry Mum?”

Harry turned and sat down on the couch next to his daughter's bed. “What brought this on?”

His fifteen year old daughter tilted her head as she smiled at him. “Well, when my friends and I were out today, we started talking about our parents and how they’d met. I just started wondering- when did you first know that you wanted to marry Mum?”

Harry grinned a little. “I honestly don’t know.”

Emily threw a pillow at her father. “Honestly, Dad! You can do better than that! Come on. I know you and Uncle Ron and Mum were best friends since you were 11 and that they both helped you defeat evil and all that. I want to know when you started thinking about Mum differently.”

“It can be a bit of a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” Emily grinned triumphantly and settled back more comfortably on her bed.

“Then I guess it really began in what should have been our last year at Hogwarts when we were out searching for the horcruxes and hiding in different places and moving every couple nights. We’d spent a lot of time together before, obviously, but that was school and we still had class time when we were apart or during Quidditch practice when Hermione would usually be in the library. And there were other people around so it wasn’t always just the three of us. But that all changed that year. It was only the three of us, in remote locations, together, all the time, every waking minute of every day and usually for some of the nights too since one or another of us was always up to keep watch. And maybe it had just been building for years and I’d been too dense to realize it, but whatever it was, I couldn’t spend that much time with Hermione, see her at all hours and in all moods, getting ready for bed, sleeping, or just waking up in the mornings- without somehow becoming aware of her as a girl.”

Emily hid her smirk and just listened, enjoying how her father’s tone had become more thoughtful, reminiscent, as he remembered out-loud, forgetting that she was listening…

“Hey,” Harry said quietly as he joined Hermione in the main room of the tiny little cottage they were hiding in that night. Remus had mentioned it as one of the places he had stayed in during his period of moving from place to place, in the years before he’d come to teach at Hogwarts during their 3rd year and so they’d decided to use it as their base for a few nights.

Ron was sleeping soundly in the bedroom which he and Harry were sharing, while Hermione kept watch that night.

Only Harry couldn’t sleep and so had come out with some vague idea that since he was up, he may as well let Hermione get some sleep.

“What are you doing up?” Hermione asked him in a whisper, conscious of Ron sleeping in the next room.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry explained laconically.

“Did you have a nightmare or anything?” Hermione asked worriedly, her eyes searching his face.

“No, no,” he assured her quickly. “I just couldn’t sleep; too busy thinking about everything. Since I’m going to be awake anyway, there’s no point in two of us being sleep-deprived tomorrow; why don’t you get some sleep?”

Hermione shook her head, even though he could clearly see her fatigue visible in the shadows under her eyes. “No, that’s ok. I’ll stay up with you. It’s my turn to keep watch anyway.”

He looked at her in silence for a moment, frowning, and then he said, “I wish I hadn’t dragged you into this.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“I wish I hadn’t dragged you into this whole thing. I mean, you should be at Hogwarts, as Head-Girl and happily studying for your N.E.W.T’s. Instead you’re here, in a tiny little shack in the middle of nowhere and helping me follow a lot of false leads to find horcruxes with no real end in sight. It isn’t fair to you.”

Hermione sighed. “Oh, Harry. When will you ever stop blaming yourself? None of this is your fault and you didn’t drag me into anything. I volunteered, remember? I wouldn’t have let you come alone. As for being at Hogwarts, do you really think I could be happy letting you go off alone to face goodness only knows what danger? I couldn’t, you know that; being Head Girl or whatever means nothing in comparison.”

He stared at her for a moment, in silence, amazed at the sheer depth of the loyalty he could hear in her tone and see in her eyes. He knew she hadn’t come with him without knowing what she was getting herself into; she had known. She knew about the dangers and the risks—she’d basically given up her parents for his sake…

She would do anything for him, he suddenly realized with a feeling that was a mixture of awe and gratitude and a wave of affection. He found himself remembering- for the first time in years- how she’d been the only person to believe him when he said he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet of Fire. When even Ron hadn’t believed him, she had and she’d stayed his friend in that time when no one else had, had stayed his friend even when he’d been such a prat to everyone in his 5th year…

“I- thank you,” he finally said, lamely.

She smiled a little and hugged him.

His arms went around her and he returned the hug.

It was just another of the hugs they had shared, a hug of friendship—but then she drew back and their eyes met and somehow, something changed. He saw the years of steadfast friendship in her eyes, her familiar features that he knew so well—and before he even knew exactly what he was doing or why, his arms tightened around her and his lips brushed hers…

His arms fell from around her and his eyes opened, to stare into her wide eyes. “I- I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I- I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean—I just…”

“It’s okay,” she said softly—and leaning forward, brushed her lips against his again.

And then she settled back, leaning her head against his shoulder, as he kept his arm around her. Neither of them said anything—but somehow, sitting there like that, Harry felt a sense of—of peace, of safety—he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Just sitting there, with Hermione…

“But that wasn’t when you knew you wanted to marry Mum, though, right?”

Harry laughed slightly. “I was half-convinced I wasn’t going to live to see my 18th birthday so I wasn’t exactly thinking in terms of forever then. No, all I knew then was that somehow- without my knowing exactly when or how it happened, Hermione had become the most important person in my life. I didn’t think about love, didn’t think to even put a name to the feeling—but then I was only 17 then and while I may not have been a normal 17 year old because of having a Dark Lord out to kill me, I was normal enough that that kind of love wasn’t exactly on my mind. But then—then…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he stared absently at a picture on the opposite wall.

“Then what?” Emily prompted.

“Then the last battle against Voldemort happened…” Harry finished slowly, a slight shadow of remembered pain crossing his face.

It was time.

They both knew it. The last of the horcruxes, Hufflepuff’s cup, had been found and destroyed—and Voldemort now knew it too. So he was coming.

They were ready, or as ready as they could be. The Aurors and the Order were there, prepared to face the remaining Death Eaters who would come with Voldemort and Ron and Hermione were there—along with Neville and Luna and Ginny, the last skeleton army remaining of the DA from their 5th year.

It was almost the first time since their break-up that Harry had seen Ginny (the first time had been at Bill and Fleur’s wedding) but he didn’t care, had only said a rather absent hello to her when she’d arrived at Hogwarts—where they’d decided the last battle should take place, counting on the defensive measures of Hogwarts to help them somehow. It was odd, but somehow, seeing Ginny, all he could do in the small portion of his mind not completely preoccupied with the upcoming battle, was to remember how—easily—Ginny had agreed to their break-up and to compare it with Hermione, who had never, in their seven years of friendship, let him go through any danger alone.

He turned, his gaze automatically searching for Hermione, finding her close to him, also looking at him. Their eyes met and held and for a moment, in his mind, he heard her voice from the evening before, when they’d been talking after finalizing their strategy for the coming battle.

They’d been sitting in silence for a moment when she’d suddenly said, “I’m scared for you, Harry.”

It was the first time she’d admitted anything of the sort. She’d always been the calm, confident one up until then, the one that kept them focused on the next step. Until now, when she admitted to the fear and worry he’d sometimes seen in the back of her eyes.

She was scared for him—and it suddenly struck him how quintessentially Hermione-like that sentence was. Anyone else would be scared for themselves, knowing that they’d be fighting a battle. Not Hermione. He knew that. Hermione wasn’t afraid for herself, wasn’t scared of what might happen to her, or at least not much; she was afraid, very afraid, for what might happen to him.

“I am too,” he admitted. “I keep wondering what will happen if I fail, if I’m not strong enough, if I can’t do this…”

“You are strong enough, Harry, and you can do this. I believe in you; I always have. You have more power in you than Voldemort has ever had.” She paused and then smiled a sort of sad smile. “But believing that doesn’t stop me from feeling scared for you.”

Remembering that now, he tried to smile, to reassure her, but his lips refused to obey his command and he could only look at her and hope she saw in his gaze and his expression, that he wasn’t afraid any more. He knew he had to do this—and the certainty didn’t leave room for any fear.

The sound of the defensive shields, which the Aurors had put up around them, coming down was the first sign they had of Voldemort and the Death Eaters’ arrival—and from that moment, it was a blur of chaos, of spells cast and being dodged, of cries of pain, of warning shouts, flashes of deadly, green light everywhere…

And then it was over with a last burst of blinding light and a shriek from Voldemort mixed in with the cry of a phoenix as Voldemort’s wand burned…

He had had no time to think or look to see how the battle was faring for anyone else until he turned, not sure how he was staying upright on his feet but somehow managing it and looked for Ron and Hermione to make sure they were alright.

He saw Ron and then Ron glanced up and croaked, “Harry, over here,” and he ran, as words of denial and dread crowded into his mind, to where Ron was kneeling down by the still form of Hermione on the ground.

She was so pale—dear God, she was so pale! He collapsed beside her, reaching for her hand and shuddering at how cold and limp it was. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—he tasted a bitter taste like ashes in his mouth and knew that, without Hermione, this victory over Voldemort, his future—everything—meant nothing. He needed her; he loved her; he didn’t even want to imagine life without her… Couldn’t imagine it. He needed her for her strength and for her cleverness, but more than that, he just needed her for her…

Dear God, let her not be dead… Please, Hermione, don’t be dead… You can’t die; you can’t… You have to stay here, with me…

His frantic mental litany was cut off when Ron gasped out, “She’s not dead; there’s a pulse, I’m sure of it—it- it’s just not very strong…”

Oh thank God… He felt light-headed with relief, only to have dread come crashing down on him again at Ron’s words on how feeble her pulse was. If anything happened to Hermione, if- if… he couldn’t even think the word…

Harry’s voice trailed off and he shuddered at the memory, while Emily studied him with sympathetic eyes, suddenly realizing afresh just how much her dad loved her mum.

Of course, she’d always known her parents loved each other; she’d grown up seeing them look at each other with what she called “goo-goo eyes” from when she’d given it that name at the age of seven; she’d seen them kiss and cuddle and say, “I love you” to each other… But somehow, it was only now that she really understood that her parents hadn’t always been, well, parents, that they had been young too and hadn’t always been sure of how they would end up…

“But Mum got better…” she finally said, her voice soft, prompting him since he seemed to have fallen into a reverie of less-than-pleasant memories.

He looked up and managed a wan sort of smile. “Yes, she did. We got her to the Infirmary and Madam Pomfrey fussed and fretted over her. And I waited. It was the longest 30 hours of my life—but she woke up, eventually, and she was fine… I told her I loved her once she woke up, practically.” Harry laughed softly, self-deprecatingly. “On second thought, I could probably not have picked a less romantic time and place to tell her that for the first time, than in the Infirmary when she’d just regained consciousness from a combination of very serious curses and was still pale and weak—but I just needed to tell her.”

Emily smiled. “And what did Mum say?”

Harry grinned at his daughter. “She said, ‘I know.’”

Emily laughed. “Did she really?”

“Well, your mum always was a know-it-all, you know,” Harry responded, half-jokingly.

“I’m going to remember you said that.”

Emily and Harry both turned sharply at the sound of Hermione’s voice.

“Mum!”

“Hermione!”

“Hello, sweetheart,” Hermione said to Emily, walking over and dropping a kiss on her daughter’s head. “Hello,” she said, in more crisp tones, to Harry, but then ruined the effect of her mock annoyance by smiling in spite of herself.

Emily hid her smile as she saw how her father visibly relaxed.

“Telling tales?” Hermione asked.

“I asked Dad to tell me when he first knew he wanted to marry you,” Emily volunteered before Harry could respond.

Hermione’s smile softened a little. “What did he tell you?”

“I just finished telling her about the final battle,” Harry answered, putting his hand over hers.

“Oh.” Hermione looked at Harry, her gaze soft.

“Mum, when did you first know that you wanted to marry Dad?” Emily asked curiously.

Hermione laughed slightly as she studied her daughter. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that question by telling you stories of some dramatic moment of revelation like your father did. It didn’t happen like that for me. It- it was more just a natural thing, just a feeling that had been growing for so long and so gradually it was hardly a surprise when I finally did realize it. I had loved him for so long before I realized I was in love with him that it only seemed natural… It was like a rag or something on the ground that I’d been stepping over for so long and not looking directly at until one day, I looked at it and actually picked it up.”

“And I’m that rag?” Harry asked in a less-than-flattered tone, raising his eyebrows as he looked at his wife.

Hermione laughed, winking at her daughter. “You’ve always been that rag, Harry,” she teased. Then she added, “But you’re my rag and a rag that’s precious so I’ll never throw you out.”

“Thank you, I think,” Harry grouched, pretending to sulk.

“Aww, poor baby, are you feeling under-appreciated?”

Emily joined in with Hermione’s laughter until Harry gave in and joined them in laughing. Emily looked from her mum to her dad at that moment—and decided, not for the first time, that she really did have the best parents in the world.

It was several hours later, when her mum and dad had gone, after wishing her a goodnight, that Emily pulled out her diary and wrote a few sentences before turning off the light in her room and going to sleep.

One day, I hope that I have what Mum and Dad have, that same kind of love, how they’re friends as well as husband and wife. You read in love stories about how people can communicate without words, about how you can tell just by looking at two people how much they love each other and how happy they are together, that you just know those two people are destiny and couldn’t possibly be with anyone else… I always thought those descriptions sounded familiar and now I know why. It’s what Mum and Dad have. They have that storybook love, even if they do fight sometimes. They have that air of still being completely in love even though they’ve been married for more than 20 years now. And that’s what I want too…

~The End~