Home Is Where The Heart Is by Vanilla

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 12/10/2005
Last Updated: 12/10/2005
Status: Completed

A very cute story about Harry and Hermione buying their first house. Harry's POV. Please
Review!




1. Chapter One
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It was not that we couldn't afford or wanted a big house. To be perfectly honest we looked
at nine relatively comfortable homes, five large houses, and three mansions. However, it was the
tiny blue vinyl house with the broken windows, and three-foot tall grass that Hermione fell in love
with.

We had been on our routinely morning walk down a respectable muggle suburban street, after we
had celebrated the news of finding out we were going to be parents, with a hot breakfast in bed and
steamy passionate sex.

“This is it!” she said, stopping me in my tracks.

“What?”

“The house,” she said. “This is our house.”

“Er…Hermione, that house isn't for sale, see people live there.” I said, staring at the
respectable red brick house with the children playing on the lawn.

“No, not that one silly,” she said. She turned me in the opposite direction and pointed out the
small house she was referring to, “That one!”

“Oh.”

It was all I could say. The house looked hideous in my opinion. The house was small and painted
an ugly ocean blue color. Several of the windows were smash while others were missing glass
entirely. The grass looked as if it hadn't been cut since the Goblin Revolution of 1827. It
definitely was not much to look at.

“You know, Hermione. I don't think it's…”

She ignored my words and left my side. Her brown eyes transfixed as she crossed the road,
jogging in the direction of the tiny blue house.

“Hermione!” I called after her. She rounded the back of the house without a response. I darted
across the street catching her arm as she was about to climb through a glassless window.
“Hermione!” I cried. “What are you doing? You're pregnant!”

She turned her head around to face me. “As a pregnant woman, you don't think I am incapable
of easily sliding my bottom through a glassless window, do you?”

“I know you're quite capable,” I said. “But please don't put yourself and our baby in
jeopardy.”

“Harry, what are you playing at?” she demanded. She looked angry but a weak smile was tugging at
the corners of her mouth. “I'm not jeopardizing anything, I am just…”

“Hermione.”

“Fine!” she surrendered. “Then you come through the window and unlock the door for me.”

“No.”

“Okay then,” she replied in a sassy tone, attempting to move her leg over the sill.

“Alright!”

She smiled amusingly, as I helped her down, and hopped in the window myself to open the back
door for her. Leaves and dust littered the floor. Broken plaster and old wires hung from the
ceiling. It was a dump. Hermione lingered behind inspecting every inch she could set her eyes on.
She ran her fingers along the old torn wallpaper, gently blowing the dust off the ancient
fireplace.

“What do you see, Harry?” she whispered

“Er…I see a broken lamp in the corner and what appears to be animal dung on that rug. Broken
bits of…”

She fixed me a skeptical glare. “Harry, no, what do you really see?” She turned back to
examining the oak fireplace, still awaiting my answer. “And be honest!”

What did I see? I saw a rundown shack that had no potential. But, telling her that would no
doubt offend her. “I-I don't know what I see,” I said trying to sound honest.

She turned to me, and sighed. “Oh, Harry.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “What do you see?”

I watched her pace around the room, taking a moment to take all of it before she spoke. “I see a
home. I see us…. I see a family.”

I just smiled.

She turned to look at me, disappointed with my response she continued through the house and into
the kitchen. I wasn't surprised to find all of the cupboard doors missing from there places,
and an old kitchen table broken and scattered amongst the other bits and pieces littering the
floor.

She made her way down the hall, and I followed. I spotted the bathroom and cringed. She came to
a halt in front of a narrow room, with large window in the corner. She walked inside and stopped
again. She placed a hand on her belly and beamed.

I knew what she was thinking.

“This will be the baby's room,” she said.

I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waste, cherishing the life that was
growing within her. I kissed her head and rested mine against hers.

She turned in my arms, wrapping hers around my neck. “Build me a home, Harry.”

I looked down at her. “Do you really want this place?”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

I smiled at her. “Then I will build you your home.”

^-^-^

When Hermione and I told Ron about the house we bought, he snorted with laughter. Hermione
pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips, *“Oh honestly, Ronald!”* she snapped. I sat
torn between them. I hated the house, yet at the same time, I loved it because I loved
Hermione.

I had rung up the realtor a few days after Hermione had discovered her new dream home. He was
strongly surprised that after all the houses he had showed us that we settled on this one. I was
too. He gave us a key and told us that the house hand been abandoned since muggle World War II.
That I could believe.

I wanted us to remain living in our cramped flat until the house was completely finished, but
Hermione wouldn't have it. She wanted to move in as soon as possible. So our first Saturday
after purchasing the house, we spent cleaning up what we could. Hermione wanted to move in the
following day, but I convinced her to at least wait until we had the windows replaced.

We moved in the day after the windows replaced. We slept on a small pull out couch in the living
room. We ate our simple meals outside on the patio furniture in the backyard. When I wasn't at
work, we spent most of our time fixing up the house. I didn't want Hermione doing too much work
alone, since she was pregnant.

Our first target was to redo the bathroom. Ron came over early on the first weekend and helped
me rip everything out. While Hermione made a trip to the hardware store to pick out tiles and a
paint color she liked. By the end of the weekend the bathroom was finished, and Hermione settled on
a soft peach color for the walls, and faux hardwood flooring. I have to admit, the bathroom did
look nice.

On an early Sunday morning, Hermione spent a superb morning outside watching me mow the lawn
shirtless, and the muggle way. She sat on the patio in a lawn chair wearing only my favorite
t-shirt and her white-cotton knickers, teasing me with the straw in her iced tea glass. I can
honestly say there was no work done on the house that day

By the third week we had the kitchen completely redone, in an eggshell color, complete with new
counter tops, cupboards, and flooring. The living room had been cleared out, replaced with a new
rug and awaiting for new wall paper to be put up.

On a Thursday afternoon I got off work early, thinking it would be a nice to surprise Hermione
and take her out to a late lunch at her favorite restaurant. However, my plans were short-lived
when I came through the door and could not find her. I paced my through the house, and caught the
sound of sobbing. I followed the sobbing down the hall and found the closet door open with a
stepladder jutting out the door. I moved closer to examine it, and discovered it lead up to an
attic, which I had no idea the house had. I climbed the ladder, and found Hermione kneeling on the
floor surround in old news paper clippings, and hovering over an open chest. She was crying.

“Hermione?”

She turned at the sound of my voice. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “Harry,” she said through a
snivel. “What are you doing home?” she added, wiping her tears.

“I got off work early, I said. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”

She didn't respond, only making a hand gesture for me to sit next to her. I made my way over
to her, careful not to step on the news paper clippings.

“What is it?” I asked.

Again, she didn't respond, only handing me a news paper clipping as another tear rolled down
her cheek. I took it from her my eyes not leaving her face, until she nodded for me to read it. I
looked down at the yellow paper, and saw a photo of a young man in navy uniform.

“What's this?” I asked.

“Read the caption,” she said.

I glanced back down at the news paper clipping, and read the caption aloud. “Local war hero
dies. Dale Perkins, aged twenty-two died on the evening of January 23, 1943, in Florence, Italy.
Perkins died when British Jet Fighter crashed near enemy lines. Perkins is survived by
twenty-one-year-old wife, Charlotte Marr-Perkins.”

I looked up at Hermione to see her wiping another tear away.

“This is it?” I asked soothingly. “You're crying over a muggle who's been dead for fifty
years?”

She nodded as her face scrunched up as more tears sprang to her eyes. I pulled her into a hug
and softly began rubbing her shoulder. “He used to live here,” she mumbled through sobs.

“What?”

“Dale Perkins,” she said. “He used to live here.”

“How do you know?”

She leaned forward and pulled the large oak trunk closer to us, listening as it scraped along
the ancient wood floor. She pulled out an assortment of books, papers, photographs, articles of
clothing. “Because of these,” she sighed. “I was putting towels away in the closet when I found the
attic. So I came up here and found all this.” She handed me an old navy hat, and a photo album.
“They're belongings of Dale and Charlotte Perkins,” she said, holding out a small black book.
“This is Charlotte's Diary.”

“Why was all this left here?” I asked.

“I don't know.”

I took the diary from her shaking hands, and began to flip through the yellowing pages of the
diary. The handwriting was a neat scrawl in dark fading ink.

“They were so in love!” Hermione sighed. “I had just finished reading it when you came in.”

“Was it good?”

She looked at me like I was a moron, I mumbled a quick apology, and grinned weakly at her. “Will
you read me a little bit” I asked.

She looked up at me skeptically, but still took the book out of my hands and began flipping
through it for a passage to read.

*February 11, 1941*

*Dear Diary,*

*I think I have met the love of my life!*

*Tuesday night, Lonnie and I were invited to a small get together at Peppy's house.
To*

*be honest, I really didn't want to go. I wanted to go to the cinema with Veronica
and*

*Lonnie. But, I am so glad I went. I met this wonderful man, Dale Perkins. He is a
friend*

*of Peppy's brother, Ted, and Military man! He is so handsome, and says he wants to
see*

*me next weekend! I can't wait. I have to go now, Lonnie is here to help me pick out
a*

*dress.*

*Lots of Love,*

*Lucky Lotte*

“Hermione, are you alright?” I asked.

More tears were now running down her beautiful face. She inhaled deeply and wiped them away with
her sleeve. “Yeah, but it just ends up so sad. They were crazy for each other and so very much in
love. They were each other's world. They did everything together, they went everywhere
together, and then…he died. It's so horrible!”

I pulled her into me, and kissed her temple. I hated seeing her cry.

She handed the diary back to me, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Read the last entry,”
she whispered. “Please.”

I hesitantly picked up the diary and flipped through its pages until I found the last entry. I
looked at Hermione quickly just to be sure she wanted me to do this, she nodded swiftly. I began to
read.

*January 27, 1943*

*Dear Diary,*

*I have died.*

*Two days ago I received news that my Dale was killed in Italy, when a British jet*

*plane had mechanical problems, and crashed near the enemy line. Thirteen soldiers*

*were killed in the accident.*

*I don't know how to go on without him, he was my world. Now I am left alone. I
want*

*to die, because I am already dead. I don't know what to do anymore. I am in so
much*

*pain. I want him back. I want him back so much.*

*Knowing I will never se him again hurts. I hurt. Living without him hurts.*

*I can't write anymore, everything is just so wrong.*

*Lost Lotte*

“Wow,” I gasped. “That is horrible.”

Hermione was back to hysterics. She threw herself into my arms, almost climbing onto my lap,
tears rushed down her face. She pulled back and looked straight into my eyes. “We are so
lucky!”

I traced the curves of her body with my finger tips, and nodded. “I know.”

She threw herself back into my arms and I welcomed her with a tight embrace. I won't lie,
reading that last diary entry made me feel uneasy. How close we came to that fate, almost scares me
to think of it. I am just so fortunate to have won the war, and to have her. We are both
fortunate.

She pulled away to look into to my eyes again. “You know that diary mentions Charlotte and Dale
wanted to paint the bedroom sea green,” she says. A small grin tugged the corner of mouth, and her
eyes flashed quickly to the doorway. “And from the looks of it I don't think they got their
wish. I know you think it's a horrid color, but let's paint it for them. We owe them that
at least that.” She looked at me, as if she was expecting me to say `no'. “Please?”

I rested my forehead against hers, and gazed right into those eyes I loved so much. “I
couldn't agree more,” I replied.

^-^-^

Painting on the bedroom started the day after we found the diary. We found the perfect shade of
sea green, which would brighten up the room nicely. The floors were already hardwood, and with some
polish they would be as good as new again.

That night Hermione and I worked late on the bedroom; we really wanted to finish it. She wore a
pair of very short white cotton shorts, a blue tank top covered by one of my large flannel shirts,
which was so large it hung lower than her white shorts. Her hair was pulled up in an untidy
ponytail. I grinned as I watched her happily prance around the room slopping paint on the walls. I
had never seen her looking more beautiful and free. She paraded past me again, this time
intentionally splattering paint on my pants.

“Hey!” I smirked. “These are my good pants.”

“Oh, really?” she smirked back, dropping the paint brush back into the bucket. She backed away
into the corner. “What are you going to do about it?” She stuck out her tongue mockingly.

“What am I going to do, huh?” I replied. She nodded in response, the silly smirk still planted
on her face. “Oh, well, I'm just going to do this.” I grabbed her and pulled her against me. I
tickled her until we were both on the ground and she was letting out high-pitched giggles.

“Harry!” she laughed. “Stop!”

I finally gave in after the third round of begging. Still laughing she rolled on top of me,
straddling me. I brought my hands up to her hips, and her laughing ceased. She looked deep into my
eyes. I ran my hands up and slid them inside the flannel shirt, where she neglected to button up
the last few buttons. I ran my hands over her tight tank top and I could feel the bulge in her
stomach, where my baby was growing inside her.

She smiled down at me.

I grinned back.

Hermione leaned down and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. My hands wrapped around her waist and
held her there. I kissed her back and she let a low moan escape from her throat, as she ran her
fingers through my hair, and I knew I had to have her then and there.

^-^-^

The next morning I woke up find Hermione already awake and watching me. She was beaming, and I
swelled with love for her.

“Morning, sleeping head,” she mumbled to me, with a lazy grin.

I grinned back, and pulled her face to mine to give her a kiss. “Good morning.”

She crawled me again like she did the night before, and straddled me. “Ooh, are we going to do
this again?” I asked excitedly. She slapped me lightly on the shoulder, and I back down.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” I asked.

“Everything,” she replied. She leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. “I know you hate this house,
and you've done everything all for me, so thank you. You're great.”

“Hermione, I don't hate this house,” I began. “I just—“

Hermione placed a finger to my lips to shush me. “It's okay,” she said. “I know you do.”

“No, I don't hate it,” I admitted honestly. “It's not the house I would have picked, but
it's growing on me, and you love it…so I love it.”

She smiled. “I love you, Harry,” she said gazing into my eyes. She leaned in, and gave me
another kiss, which I happily accepted.

“I love you, too,” I replied, pulling her down for another kiss.

She pulled away from the kiss, giggling happily. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes, I would love some,” I replied, with a smile.

“I'll go make some pancakes,” she said, climbing off me. I watched her pull the flannel
shirt around her shoulders again, and exit the room to make me breakfast. I lay in the middle of
our freshly painted bedroom, grasping how lucky I really was to have Hermione in my life. She is
absolutely perfect.

A few hours later after a hot breakfast, Hermione and I decided that today should be a lazy day.
We had spent so many days working hard on the house, that we thought a break would be nice. As I
was walking down the hallway I heard a soft humming floating from the baby's room. I poked my
head inside and found Hermione sitting in the rocking chair by the window; she was rocking back and
forth with her hands on her stomach, as she gently hummed a song to our unborn. Knowing that a life
was growing inside of her, a life that I helped create, my child was the most amazing feeling.

As I watched her I grinned; it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. It was at that
moment I was hit with an over-powering feeling, that I was home. For the first time I truly
understood the saying `Home is where the heart is'. I have never had that feeling before and it
was great. Hermione was my home, and that is where my heart lies. I know my world and she is it.
She is my home and together we are great!

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