Contentment by Anne U

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 02/11/2005
Last Updated: 02/11/2005
Status: Completed

After 11 years of friendship, Harry realizes that he wants to be more than best friends with
Hermione. It takes a few shoves from Ron to get him moving in the right direction.




1. untitled
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**Author's Note:** I wrote this fic in September 2005 for the H/Hr Serendipity ficathon on
LiveJournal. The prompt for this fic was**:** *Several years after the war has ended, Harry
and Hermione find themselves single and sharing a flat with Ron. Ginny had long ago broken up with
Harry because he just wasn't what she'd always built him up in her mind to be. Ron and
Hermione realised over time that they were meant to be friends instead of lovers, although the
attraction will always be there. Either H or Hr realises their growing attraction to the other and
they set out to see if the other person feels the same way - and make sure that their best mate
doesn't feel left out or hurt by the possibility of H/Hr getting together. Realism and
canon-compliance; Light angst okay; No weepy or wangsty H or Hr, sappy true love stuff, making
Hermione a trophy or a prize to be won.*

**Disclaimers:** JK Rowling owns them all. I'm just giving them the lives I wish she
would give them but probably won't.

**Summary**: After 11 years of friendship, Harry realizes that he wants to be more than best
friends with Hermione. It takes a few shoves from Ron to get him moving in the right direction.

**Length**: 3,204 words

**Other ships**: None

**Rating**: PG-13, for drinking, language and sexual innuendo.

**Notes:** Many thanks to **bingblot**, **tome_raider** and my dear friend Diana for
reading this over for me on very short notice. Special thanks to Diana for her help getting me over
the hump in writing this J

^*^*^*^

Sunset at the Burrow had never been prettier, Harry thought. As the orange disk of the sun
slipped slowly below the line of trees and hills on the western horizon, the heat of mid-August
gave way to a cool, calm evening. Here, in one of his favorite places, among his favorite people,
almost everything was right in Harry Potter's world.

From his perch on the stone bench at the edge of the pond, Harry watched as Ginny Weasley
languidly dried off from taking a swim. She wrapped a thick towel around her body, covering up the
lush breasts he remembered so well from his brief relationship with her at Hogwarts. Harry and
Ginny hadn't gone much beyond kissing back then; still, the limbic part of his brain remembered
the feel of her skin when he'd slid his hand under her jumper during one of their idyllic
snogging sessions near the lake. She was the first girl who'd let him touch her beneath her
clothing. For most boys his age, this would have been reason enough to be grateful to her. For
Harry, though, Ginny had been much more; she'd been his ideal girl at a time when all he wanted
to be was a normal teenage boy. That brief interlude of happiness, of course, was just the calm
before the storm that began with Dumbledore's death.

Five years later, Harry remembered his time with Ginny like a happy dream, as though it were an
episode from someone else's life…too happy, too easy. At least he and Ginny had finally gotten
over their delusions. Harry had admitted he wasn't just any teenage boy, but one with a mission
to fulfill, while Ginny (she told him later) realized that her adolescent fantasies about Harry
were just that, fantasies. He wasn't a rock star, or a sex god, or a knight in shining armour,
he was just Harry, a young man who wanted different things from life than Ginny did, and who also
spent too much time talking about his female best friend.

As Harry continued to gaze across the pond, Ginny wrapped another towel around her long, ginger
hair, then leaned over and spoke to Hermione Granger, who was floating on her back with a serene
look on her face. Hermione nodded, then righted herself and stood up to get out of the pond. Not
for the first time, Harry noticed curves in places he hadn't noticed when they were teenagers,
how tendrils of her wet hair clung to her shoulders, the way the water glimmered on her skin in the
sunlight, accenting the curves of her breasts and hips. That last thought snapped Harry back to the
present, where Hermione arched an eyebrow toward him as a tiny smile played on the corners of her
lips. She wrapped a towel around her middle and strolled toward the house.

Harry frowned. Part of him had been enjoying the view, while another part of him felt guilty for
enjoying it. *This is Hermione*, he told himself for the thousandth time since he'd first
let himself notice her that way, earlier that summer*. I shouldn't enjoy seeing her all wet
like that. Yeah, she's a girl, but she's* Hermione*…*

A baritone voice cut off Harry's reverie. "She looks great in that swimming costume,
doesn't she?"

Ron plopped down on the bench next to Harry, a half-full glass of firewhisky in his hand.

"I…uh…you mean Hermione?" Harry tried to sound disinterested.

"No, I mean the Giant Squid." Ron rolled his eyes, chuckling. "You're kind of
obvious, you know."

Harry felt a surge of heat creep into his face, which was probably a good thing, he realized, as
a lot of heat had crept in the other direction when Hermione got out of the pond. Maybe he could
feint his way out of this. "I don’t know what you mean."

Now Ron smirked. "Don't try to act all innocent for my benefit, Harry. I caught you
checking Hermione out. You were ogling her. I think she noticed too."

Harry propped one elbow on his thigh, then leaned his face into the palm of his hand. "She
must think I'm the biggest prat around. And you…" He cut his thoughts short. He'd
expected Ron to be angry or upset, not smirking and joking with him.

Ron pulled a serious face and sighed. "I don't think you're a prat. Well, not about
this anyway. I think Hermione's finally grown into her looks. She's not gorgeous or
anything, like Fleur, but she definitely doesn't make your eyes hurt. She's just…Hermione,
you know? With her, the beauty comes more from the inside. But now she doesn't seem to mind
letting people see the rest of the package, too." He leaned against the back of the stone
bench and shoved his hand through his ginger hair.

Harry could see the wheels turning in Ron's head. "You mean, people like me."
Averting his eyes, Harry stared into his glass of firewhisky.

"Maybe," Ron said, raising an eyebrow as he elbowed Harry, who finally looked at him
closely. Ron's eyes twinkled salaciously.

"I never let myself look at her that way until a few months ago," Harry admitted.
"It was…at first I couldn't, back before I got rid of Voldemort. She was --"

"--with me, and you needed her too much." The words seemed to fall easily from
Ron's mouth, as though he'd thought about them before.

"How'd you know?"

"It was pretty obvious, except in sixth year."

Harry paused, not sure if he wanted the firewhisky to take him down this road. "Even when
we were hunting for the horcruxes?"

Ron drained his glass, then chuckled. "Bugger, even then. Especially then. She went back to
hugging you and touching your arm and all that stuff she was doing in fifth year. I'm not
blind, Harry. Even if the two of you were too stubborn to admit it, I could see there was
*something* between you. She was *my* girlfriend, but she always seemed to save some
really special affection for you." There was no rancor in Ron's voice, just a sort of
weariness.

The best mates stayed silent for a few moments, Harry pondering Ron's last few words.
Feeling suddenly brave, he decided to ask about the last thing that held him back. He'd had his
own thoughts on the matter for a couple of years, but needed to know how Ron felt. "So
why'd you and Hermione break up? I mean, was it something besides the arguing?"

Ron laughed mirthlessly, then took another gulp from his glass of firewhisky. "You know how
sometimes you wish for something for a long time, and then when you finally get it, it's not
what you thought it would be?"

Harry nodded, his thoughts momentarily drifting back to Ginny and the end of sixth year.

"Well, it was like that with me and Hermione. I thought dating her would make everything
easier between us, take out the unresolved sexual tension or whatever. But it turned out it was
harder to be with her that way than to be just friends. The snogging and all didn't solve
anything. So we decided to stop dating, for the good of our friendship. I think we'll always be
attracted to each other. But things feel better this way."

Harry was about to compliment Ron on his and Hermione's maturity on the matter when
Ginny's voice interrupted him.

"Are you two going to sit out there all evening?" she called from the back door.
"I want to blow out the candles on my birthday cake before they turn into Catherine wheels and
explode all over the house!"

Rolling his eyes, Ron pulled himself up and gave a hand to a slightly tipsy Harry, who filed
their conversation in his brain under "reasons I should stop being such a wimp about
Hermione."

^*^*^*^

August turned into September, and still Harry had done nothing about his attraction to Hermione,
despite the fact that he was sharing a flat with her and Ron in Muggle London and, thus, had plenty
of opportunity -- had he been braver -- to do just that.

There were several times when he almost believed she wouldn't hex him back to Little
Whinging if he made his interest known. Once he followed her into the pantry to retrieve the
condiments for dinner and accidentally brushed up against her lovely bum. Somehow he resisted the
urge to rub up harder against her. Perhaps he was hallucinating, but Hermione seemed almost as
flustered as he did.

Blushing furiously, Harry excused himself with a quick "Gotta visit the loo." There
was no way he'd ever let Hermione know exactly what he was doing in the loo, or just what his
right hand had been up to besides undoing his jeans. Standing in front of the toilet, he finally
let himself imagine Hermione using her hand that way. With that thought in mind, Harry didn't
have to spend much time in the loo. As he entered the kitchen for dinner. Ron raised an eyebrow and
almost spit out his shepherd's pie. Thinking Ron was choking, Hermione pounded on his back,
looked Harry up and down and rolled her eyes.

"You've not pulled your zipper up completely, Harry," Hermione pointed out.
"Good thing it's only me here and not some other girl who doesn't know you as
well."

"Oh…shit…sorry…"

Ron, the bloody berk, gave Harry a knowing look across the table while Hermione, apparently
oblivious, tucked into her dinner with more gusto than Harry had seen in a long time.

Soon after dinner, Hermione left the flat and went back to St. Mungo's to check on a new
patient in the Janus Thickey Ward, where she was researching cures for spell damage from the
Cruciatus Curse. *At least that was her cover story*, Harry pondered as Ron was about to
trounce him for the three thousandth time at wizard's chess.

"Maybe she was embarrassed to be around me this evening," Harry muttered into his
third glass of firewhisky.

"I dunno, Harry," Ron said thoughtfully as his knight knocked Harry's blubbering
bishop off the chessboard. "She looked awfully pleased about something while you were in the
loo. And even if *she* didn't know exactly what you were doing in there, I did."

"You mean the zipper?" Harry could feel heat rising above his collar yet again.

"Nah, I mean that goofy grin on your face when you came back -- unless you find pissing
extremely enjoyable."

"Just wonderful. She knows what I did in there."

Ron, however, was smiling. "Harry, how thick are you? Thicker than that wand of yours?
Thicker than a post? Seems to me Hermione's interested in you, too. Maybe she just doesn't
want to make the first move. Where's your Gryffindor courage, mate?"

Harry sighed heavily, waving one of his rooks toward Ron's pawns. "Good question. I
can't seem to force the issue to find out if she really is interested. I mean, what if I say
something and she thinks I'm completely mental? I'm crap at this relationship stuff, Ron.
You know that. I don't know what women want. If I did I would have--"

A loud shriek from the chessboard cut off Harry's thoughts. As his queen wailed and his king
quivered, Ron said, "Checkmate. Harry, you're too distracted by this little melodrama with
Hermione. You barely gave me a fight this time. Do something about this soon, or I'll have to
give you remedial chess lessons."

Harry snorted. "Okay…though I guess remedial chess lessons couldn't possibly be as bad
as remedial Potions lessons…"

"Owww." Ron grimaced. "Do *not* mention that bugger Snape around me. Another
game? Best two of three?"

Harry shook his head. "No, not tonight. I’m going to turn in early. Maybe I'll do
better with Hermione in my dreams than I've managed in real life -- or at least figure out how
to make that first move."

Ron nodded as he packed up the chess pieces, which were muttering mutinously, and put them and
the board away. "I've got an idea. Tell me what you think about it. The next time the
three of us are together and I can sense something going on between you and Hermione, I'll find
a way to leave the two of you alone. That would probably make things easier for you,
right?"

Affection swelled in Harry's chest for the man who'd been his best mate for eleven
years. "That would be bloody brilliant. Thanks, Ron. I'll owe you."

Shrugging, Ron waved away Harry's thanks. "Nah, we'll finally be even. I reckon
helping you get together with Hermione will cancel out that bezoar you saved me with in sixth
year."

"You might be right about that. Of course, if this doesn't go well, I might wish
*I* were dead…."

"Go to bed, Harry. Or whatever it is you're really going to do…"

"Wanker."

"Takes one to know one…"

"One more word, Weasley…" He shook his head.

"See you later, Harry. Don't dream anything I wouldn't dream."

^*^*^*^

"Good morning, all!" Hermione said brightly a few days later as she sat down at the
kitchen table for breakfast.

Harry stood at the cooker, supervising a rasher of bacon that was frying in one pan and half a
dozen eggs cooking in another. With a quick flick of his wrist, born of many years of practice in
his Aunt Petunia's kitchen, Harry moved the contents of each pan onto a platter, then levitated
the platter over to the kitchen table. As Hermione reached for the platter, Ron stuck his
much-larger hand in front of hers and snagged four crispy slices of bacon off the platter. The
bacon was history quicker than Hermione could say, "Ron Weasley! Where are your
manners?"

"Sorry, Hermione," he shrugged as she glared at him. "Today's a big day at
Quality Quidditch Supplies. We've got some new brooms coming in and I've got to get to work
early to accept the shipment. No time to eat politely this morning."

As Ron spoke, Hermione's glare softened to a small frown. Harry sat down opposite him and
katy-corner from Hermione, then tucked into his own breakfast.

"Berr temme bowdose brooms lair," Harry mumbled through a mouthful of eggs.

Hermione suddenly grimaced in Harry's direction, then began to giggle. "Honestly,
Harry, you're almost as bad as Ron."

"I am?"

Harry wondered about the cause of Hermione's mirth. In the eleven years he'd known
Hermione, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard her giggle. A giggling
Hermione usually meant trouble. He swallowed hard, his mind racing in twenty directions, not
knowing what might come next.

"Well, not really," she said quietly, her brown eyes locked on his. "But
you're eating rather messily this morning. See? You've got some egg on your face." She
leaned toward him, laid her right hand gently along his jaw line, and slowly, carefully, wiped a
bit of egg yolk from the corner of his mouth with the pad of her thumb.

A herd of Erumpents, disguised as his heart, suddenly rumbled through Harry's chest,
pounding furiously against his rib cage. In the next fraction of a second, Harry saw Ron's eyes
widen, then a grin crossed his best mate's freckled face.

"Oops, getting late here, gotta run," Ron sputtered, apparently struggling not to
chuckle. "Have a good time, I mean, day," he finished, then Disapparated.

Hermione glanced distractedly over her shoulder as Ron disappeared. "We will…I
mean…"

Her small, warm hand continued to cling to Harry's jaw line, her thumb still resting at the
corner of his mouth. She seemed to be in no hurry to remove it.

That was when Harry knew. This was it. This was his chance. He swallowed hard, willing himself
to go on.

The hand that vanquished Voldemort would play a happier role now, reaching out and circling
Hermione's wrist. She gasped, her face returning to Harry's, her eyes shining with concern
and anticipation. As she started to remove her hand, Harry grasped her wrist more tightly.

"Hermione."

"Yes, Harry?"

"Your hand feels nice there. Don't move it. Please."

"Okay." The tiniest smile crossed her lips.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would it be okay if I did this?" he asked quietly, and slowly, gently, moved her hand
until his lips barely touched the center of her palm. Feeling bolder, he finally looked at her
again. The smile on her face grew wider and brighter.

"Yes, that would be okay."

Harry kissed her palm a few times more, holding his breath. "You haven't hexed me yet.
That's good."

"Did you think I would hex you?"

He finally released Hermione's wrist and shrugged. "Dunno. I don't know anything
lately. Not since I started noticing how pretty you are and wondering what -- what it would be like
to be more than best friends."

"I think," Hermione said slowly, "we're more than just best friends now. I
would never let my best friend kiss my palm that way."

That hand that had caressed Harry's face was now wrapped around his neck, pulling his head
ever so gently closer. Harry found himself staring at her slightly-parted lips, wondering if they
were as soft as they looked.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Did you want to kiss more than my palm? Because I need to go to work soon, and if you
don't want to kiss me, that's okay, I mean I'll be disappointed, because with
everything that just happened, I was sort of thinking maybe you really *did* want to kiss me.
But if you really *don't* want to kiss me, I guess I'll just get up and --"

Hermione's lips were just as soft as they looked, her breath as warm and moist as he'd
imagined. Pulling away slightly, Harry ran his tongue lightly across Hermione's lower lip and
was thrilled when her tongue peeked out and met his.

A few seconds later, Hermione pulled away from him, wide-eyed, and touched her fingers to her
lips.

"Was that okay?" he asked, a bit worried by her reaction.

"That was very nice," she said quietly. "See, no hexes."

Harry laughed. "I'm glad. I might not want to kiss you again if you'd hexed
me."

"But you do want to kiss me again?"

"Yeah, I do. But I wouldn't want to make you late for work. I know how busy you
are."

Hermione rose from her chair and stood behind Harry's shoulder. Then she leaned down and
whispered, "Actually, I don't have to be at work for half an hour."

She offered her hand to Harry, who smiled as he took it and rose from his seat at the table. As
they went off in search of someplace more comfortable, Harry remembered the monster that used to
rise in his chest (or sometimes lower) back when he was infatuated with Ginny. She'd had never
managed to tame that monster, but Hermione had done it with a single kiss that made him feel like a
purring kitten.

Sitting on the sofa, snogging Hermione, Harry felt something he'd rarely felt in his
twenty-two years -- content, and glad he'd finally found his Gryffindor courage again.

^*^*^*^