Passive

swashbucklet

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 23/02/2006
Last Updated: 23/02/2006
Status: in_progress

“And Harry felt his heart go splat and he wanted to tell her how he felt and thank her for being his source of light… But he didn’t. He was passive that way.”

Chapters

1. Preface

1. Preface

So this is something I've wanted to try for a while. It's my first Harry and Hermione fanfic, so please be gentle. I hope someone enjoys this, and I'll see you at the bottom.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is not mine, though I sure you guys know that.

Passive

Preface: The start of their beginning

“Anyhow, it was nice seeing you here Harry, but I must be going. I hope you enjoy the evening.” The minister gave a little wave and scurried off to another group of old men in lush robes.

Harry nodded stiffly and sipped his champagne, swirling it so that minuscule air bubbles rose and trapped themselves between the glass and liquid surface. It was, of course, the finest he had ever tasted. Only the best for the grandiose one-year anniversary. Not that he had tasted much alcohol in his lifetime. He was, after all, a mere nineteen years old. Still a teenager.

To think that all his life had been leading up to, all he prepared for, had ended just a year ago. He could hardly remember it coherently. It had been one huge mass of protect and kill and hatred and don't you dare touch my loved ones. It had been one excruciating night after another spent with Hermione and Ron pouring over everything they could to find any sign of a horcrux. Days of hopelessness and despondency and goddamnit where was that last horcrux?

In retrospect, it was surprising that they were able to find them all in less than six months. With Ron and Hermione by his side, he destroyed them all, and by the time he was done with the seventh, it was only a matter of hours before he found the mortal Voldemort, in shock that Harry had found them so soon. The fight itself was a blur, a searing anger and wanting to justify the deaths of his loved ones, of wanting to protect those still living. He cursed and he jinxed and he hated, and then he was shouting something and Voldemort was hissing and he had passed out. Hours later he woke to Hermione holding his hand, staring at the pile of ashes in front of them.

He did remember walking back to the base. Through Hogwarts empty corridors. He remembered holding her hand the entire way, embracing her when they finally reached Dumbledore's office. They had done it. Harry had finished it. It was over. Harry had never felt so young, so free to do whatever he chose.

The only thing that made it better was the fact that no one had died. Or, at least no one he knew. There were the muggle massacres and the few death eaters they had to dispose of, but other than that, no one. It was selfish to think like that, Harry would admit, but he couldn't believe that his remaining group of loved ones was still going to be around. The order, to continue Dumbledore's legacy, had been so discreet with finding and destroying the horcruxes that Voldemort truly didn't have a clue. They said he was biding waiting for an opportune moment, somehow unaware that Harry had grasped the moment first and wasn't going to let go.

Not that there hadn't been close encounters. There had been plenty. Ron said it was because he was Harry Potter and he just happened to be lucky. Hermione claimed it was Harry's desire to make sure no one else he cared for died. However, Harry didn't really care for the specific reasons. It was enough that they would be together, live happily ever after.

And they did. Eventually. Harry finally forced himself to go back to the Grimmauld Place, and figured, if Sirius could live here, then so could he. It took him two months to fully renovate the place, and once he had gotten rid of that god-awful painting, it was complete. After all, how could Hermione live there with that witch of a woman spouting derogatory phrases all the time? He then asked Ron and Hermione if they would live with him. Both hesitantly agreed to come, and Harry realized that maybe it wouldn't be as easy as he thought.

It wasn't. The first few weeks were a bunch of weak hellos and forced grins. Ron and Hermione were extra careful around each other, and Harry wanted to punch himself for not seeing it sooner. They had had a falling-out of sorts; that much was obvious to him now. When he mustered the courage to ask Hermione about it, she frowned and her cheeks colored. Apparently they weren't going to be getting together as they all thought.

He didn't press much after that. He didn't really want to know after all.

And then Ron came home flushed and grinning, smile only faltering when he spied Hermione sitting by the fire with a book in her hand. He politely asked Harry to leave the living room and Harry moved out to the hall, shuffling his feet a bit. There were muffled voices for a few minutes before he heard a squeal and Hermione ran out and locked eyes with Harry's. Hers were overly bright and she pulled him into the living room and sat him next to her. He couldn't remember the conversation very well, a mass of Oh I'm so happy for you Ron and Thanks Hermione, I'm glad we can still be friends and Aren't you happy for him, Harry?

He did remember that he had never noticed before how adorable she was when she smiled. Or that she smelled fresh and her excitement for Ron was palpable. He could practically taste it.

That should've been the first hint. Or maybe there had been a million hints before. Either way, it was the first time he noticed.

Luna's father was a bit old-fashioned, so whenever Ron wanted to take her on a date, it had to be chaperoned. Being his best friends, Ron appointed Harry and Hermione as the lucky ones.

“It's just a double-date,” Ron had declared, slapping Harry on the back. “You'll be with Hermione for crying out loud. Everything will be fine.”

Only it wasn't. Harry had never felt so constricted by Hermione before. It was utterly mind-boggling. He watched her every move, noticed everything she did. She had never looked so good to him before, seemed so different. It was just so wrong. Hermione was his constant, the person he came back to for everything. This new attitude had to stop, and if he could defeat the greatest Dark Lord of all time, then hell, he could rid himself of these plaguing thoughts.

He asked Ginny to get back together the next night.

Ginny was, needless to say, ecstatic. He didn't remember much of that night, only her crying and Finally what took you so long? and the kiss they shared. He did remember, however, greeting Hermione in the living room that night and telling her of Ginny. He could recall Hermione's split second blank face before she grinned and hugged him. Her scent of apples and Hermione washing over him and he hugged her closer, not knowing what the hell was going on. And then it was gone, and she smiled sort of crookedly before saying that she was surprised it had taken him so long to do it. Then Ron had walked through the door and she was telling him the news and Ron became all brotherly and pulled the You hurt my sister you die routine.

And he didn't. He was the attentive boyfriend she had always wanted. They took walks together and ate out and held hands and sometimes more. But never sex; while that was definitely on his mind, he thought of other things. Of Hermione. But why? He supposed making love could wait; after all, he wasn't going to die anytime soon.

Meanwhile, things were still the same at number twelve. Harry was still enraptured by Hermione and they still took turns making coffee and she still gave Harry the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet while she took the news section. Ron still knocked stuff over and every now and then Ginny would stop over for tea.

However, the ruse could only last for so long before Harry realized something was wrong with him, and that something was his know-it-all. He had wondered for a while why his heart would palpitate when she came down the stairs dressed in one of his shirts or why he wanted to touch her when she was lying on the sofa reading. Why he started to notice the little things about her he had never noticed before. The small scar caressing her collarbone, that when she smiled her left cheek dimpled just so, and that she was, he decided, the most wonderful creature he had ever known.

Hermione was the only woman for him. Whether she remained his friend or anything more, it had to be her. It was time to admit that he didn't want her as a friend anymore, but perhaps something more.

He broke up with Ginny two days after the revelation. He wouldn't date Ginny under false pretences. He just wasn't that type of guy.

To say that Ginny was upset would be an understatement. She screamed, ranted, pounded her fists, cried, and begged him to take her back. He almost did at first. He never liked seeing his loved ones hurt. When he was about to reach out to her, he pictured Hermione and realized if he continued this, it would only hurt them more in the end.

Needless to say, the Weasleys weren't very pleased with him after that. It took Ron a few weeks to finally talk to him again, and only a week ago was Ron able to laugh with Harry again, leaving the “Ginny thing”, as they called it, alone.

Which brought him back tonight. He glanced at Ginny, who was dancing with her date, Dean. Dean looked happy tonight, and Ginny did too, a bit too much. He spared them a glance more before turning to put his glass down. Perhaps he would find Hermione and ask for a dance. She was after all, the only woman he was truly comfortable with.

The hall was enormous so it took a bit of time but eventually he found Ron and Hermione talking with the Weasleys. He paused, not wanting to put a damper on their spirits. He watched as Ron said something and the group laughed. Hermione slapped Ron's arm gently and then Ron was saying something else and she looked up and caught Harry's eye. Her smile faded and she excused herself from the group.

Harry smiled. Just being near her made him giddy. “Hey there.” He nodded towards the redheads. “You didn't have to do that.”

Hermione scoffed, “Nonsense. I don't mind. How are you?”

“You mean besides the fact that this party is full of old people and kind of a bore?” Hermione's eyes twinkled and he grinned. “I can't breath, it's so stuffy in here.”

She looked concerned and Harry's heart constricted. God, did she know what she was doing to him? She grabbed his hand, “Do you want to go outside? Walk with me?”

“Sure.”

They maneuvered their way out and walked down a worn pathway. It was beautiful out, a light breeze blowing through the cherry trees. Hermione shivered and Harry took his robe off and hung it over her shoulders. She raised an eyebrow, “So gallant, Harry Potter.”

“Well, I do try.” He held his arm out to her and she took it. They walked through the gardens and gazed at the scenery in silence. She looked pensive, worn, and still gut-wrenchingly attractive. What was going on with him? It was a while before he spoke. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

Surprise filtered through her face and she looked at him, “Why would you ask that?”

“You look as if something is bothering you,” he said plainly, and it was awhile before she responded.

A tired grin broke onto her face, “You're the first to notice.” She sounded almost delighted. “I was just worried about work.”

“Have they told you who your assignment is going to be yet?” Harry asked. Clever Hermione. She was too good for the job, but also perfect for it. After all, she did have the most inquiring mind Harry knew of.

Only a week after the defeat of the Voldemort, after the partying and happiness had started to subside, owl after owl flew to deliver job offers. Harry was wanted for his numerous talents, Hermione for her superior intelligence, and Ron for his ability to strategize. Hermione and Ron took a four-month vacation after their graduation before choosing their appropriate jobs. Ron underwent an intense training program to become an Auror Trainer, and already he was magnificent. Hermione worked for the Daily Prophet as a key reporter, a “voice of truth”, as a lowly worker there had declared. And it was true, people immediately liked her voice on parchment, knowing she wouldn't lie, knowing she wasn't one to twist things. She was, after all, the Hermione Granger.

Harry was something else entirely. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with his life. For the longest time, he didn't think he'd have a future to worry about. It took many months and an empty house with both Hermione and Ron gone for him to get his act together. It was just a week ago that a letter came by owl, and while he normally would've tossed the thing, the name intrigued him, and he opened it with curiosity. Oliver Wood, offering a position with Puddlemere? It seemed he was the keeper there, and thought perhaps the team could use a new seeker. Tryouts were in two weeks, and would Harry please consider the proposal?

Harry did, talked with Hermione, and accepted. It seemed he had found his niche for now as well. The trio was set.

Hermione shook her head; her curls bouncing slightly with the movement, tamed with the numerous hair charms she had been forced to create due to the numerous parties the trio were expected to attend. “They are determined to keep it absolutely confidential. I do know I'm going to find out tomorrow, then meet him the day after that.” She huffed, “I just…why are they being so secretive? It makes me think I'm going to seriously dislike this person.”

“Well,” Harry tilted his head, pretending to be thinking, “Perhaps it's because he was a former death eater.” The assignment had been given her a few days ago. Miss Granger, you are to befriend someone who knows quite a deal of the dark arts, someone who was `in the loop', so to speak. In a month, you are to write a report on this person, someone who everyone is dying to know about. You will clear the fog around this man. We wish you the best of luck, for you'll definitely need it.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “They already assured me that he wasn't at any point a death eater. More of someone who interacted a lot with them.” She chuckled humorlessly, “I think you can see why that didn't make me feel much better.”

Harry reached a hand to rub her arm gently. “Want me to come with?”

She looked surprised and a bit amused. “Oh, it's not like I'm in danger or anything. I'm sure I will be perfectly safe. And what about you? You've got tryouts in a couple of days.”

“I suppose,” Harry said, removing his hand from and running it through his haphazard locks. Cold. He breathed in the air; it smelled lightly of cherries. He glanced back at Hermione whose eyes were unreadable in the night.

A light roar could be heard and they both looked up at the blinking light that was passing above their heads. “UFO?” Harry teased.

“Oh, don't be dumb.” Hermione was laughing. “We both know it's an airplane. UFOs aren't real.”

“Magic isn't supposed to be either.” Harry reasoned, and she looked at him and gave him a small grin. She lifted her face to the sky and Harry's breath caught as the light from the hall hit her face so it illuminated her. He desperately wanted to touch her.

She let out a soft, sort of reminiscent sigh, “A year.”

Harry stopped himself from staring and looked at the sky with her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, time sure flies.”

It was quiet for a moment before she turned suddenly toward him.

“Harry,” she said quietly, pulling his hand out of his pocket and grasping it, “Harry, I want to thank you for everything you've done. Beyond Voldemort and saving the world. For saving me, Ron; for being there. Thank you for being you.”

And Harry felt his heart go splat and he wanted to tell her how he felt and thank her for being his source of light.

But he didn't. He was passive that way.

Instead he gave her hand a small squeeze before releasing it, “Well, thank you, Hermione Granger. It if weren't for you, I don't know where I'd be now.”

Her eyes twinkled, “Probably mismatching your socks and leaving the tap on and forgetting to turn the coffee-maker off.”

“Probably.”

And they walked on in a nice sort of silence.

Author's Note:

Hmm…it sort of makes a good one-shot I suppose. However, this story was meant to have more than one chapter, so if you think it needs another one, let me know (and no, this isn't begging for reviews, more like asking politely). It'd be really great if you could let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!

--swashbucklet

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