Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: I realize it's been an unconscionably long time since I posted the last chapter but RL got busy and distracted me. I'm sorry!! I swear by everything holy that the next chapter will not take nearly so long to post!
Miracle
Chapter 2: Maybe
Harry blamed Ron.
It was all Ron's fault.
He had brought up the possibility of Harry dating Hermione-and, even though Harry still thought-no, knew- that it was impossible-he somehow couldn't stop himself from looking at Hermione- when she wasn't looking- and wondering- wondering all sorts of things he'd never wondered, never allowed himself to wonder before, wondering things he should not be thinking about now. Wondering what her hair would feel like between his fingers (about the most innocent of his wonderings), wondering what her skin would feel like, wondering what her lips would feel like, wondering what she would taste like, wondering what sort of knickers she wore and wondering about taking them off her-at which point he slammed the figurative door shut on his wonderings and mentally backtracked fast enough to nearly make himself dizzy.
But it was bothering him.
And worse, he knew she'd noticed.
They had met up for dinner and a drink as the three of them did at least once a week when Ron wasn't off traveling with the Cannons, and he had learned several things.
First, that eating dinner could take an incredibly, amazingly long time-when you were uncomfortable and wanting it to hurry and end. (He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to escape Ron and Hermione's company-but now, because he was uncomfortable with Hermione and his somehow-changed view of her, he did.)
Second, that eating and drinking could somehow look seductive, even though seduction couldn't have been further from the intentions of the person eating and drinking. (It was! Seeing the way her fingers curved around her glass, seeing the way she licked her lips after a bite, seeing the way she closed her mouth around her fork-he nearly envied her glass every time she drank from it because her lips were touching it.)
Third, that trying to act normal when your thoughts were absolutely not normal and absolutely forbidden wasn't easy-especially when you were with the two people on earth who knew you better than anyone else.
Fourth, that trying to carry on a normal conversation with your two best friends while also trying not to look at one of said best friends doesn't work so well.
He had thought it was going pretty well, actually. He didn't appear to have said anything egregiously out of character or out of place as neither Ron nor Hermione had reacted with surprise to anything he had half-said, half-mumbled tonight and he had managed to talk with Ron about Quidditch for about five minutes before Hermione had put an end to that conversation.
He had thought he was doing a good job of hiding his distraction-until Hermione had paused, sighed a little and pinned him with her eyes. "Okay, Harry, what's wrong?"
"What? Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," he hastened to assure her, inwardly wincing at how much his voice had risen on the first two words and then how he'd protested too much. This was Hermione, after all, and he'd never been able to lie very well to her, certainly not after 14 years of friendship.
She gave him a look, half-exasperated and half-concerned. "You've hardly said two words to me all evening, Harry. Something's bothering you. What is it?" Her voice softened, as did her expression. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
He swallowed hard. The level of affection and caring on her face both warmed his heart-and terrified him, because of how much it affected him. But he also caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes and he had to reassure her. "Yeah, I know," he said, sincerely this time. "It's nothing serious, really; I'm just a little tired."
She didn't look entirely convinced (she was too smart and she knew him too well, he decided) but she let the subject rest as he managed what felt like his first real smile of the evening for her.
Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.
He couldn't stop thinking about her now. It was as if Ron's words had opened up a Pandora's box and now all these forbidden thoughts, all these things he'd never allowed himself to think, were crowding into his mind.
Dangerous thoughts-thoughts that, if true and if he acted on them, could rock his entire existence off its stable foundation. Thoughts that could make the floor tilt beneath his feet and turn his world upside-down and inside-out, to say nothing of the potential for future disaster.
And yet… And yet… He couldn't stop thinking about her.
Remembering all the years of friendship, remembering how he'd sometimes felt- though he'd never really put words to the feeling or said it aloud- that seeing her smile or hearing her laugh was the brightest thing in his life during the dark months after Dumbledore's death and before the final battle. Remembering how she always seemed to understand him and know what he was thinking, even without words.
The level of comfort, of trust, of- intimacy- he felt with Hermione had never been matched-not even close-by anyone.
But it was, he thought, the sort of trust and understanding Ron had with Luna, somehow, what he wanted for himself.
From somewhere in his mind, he heard a small voice ask, Then why not simply date Hermione?
She's my best friend.
And again, the small voice that actually sounded a lot like Ron now, retorted, So what?
She's my best friend.
That's not a reason not to date her.
And now he couldn't even insist that he was not at all attracted to Hermione in that way-he was, he couldn't deny it now, not after spending hours earlier that evening distracted by very un-platonic thoughts of Hermione. Thoughts that, now that he reflected on it, weren't as unprecedented as he'd thought-except for the first time, he was openly acknowledging their existence and not attempting to rationalize them away.
He thought of the girls he'd dated, their open, uncomplicated smiles, their easy laughs, the simplicity of some of their questions about his experiences in the war-the boredom he'd felt so quickly and the closing himself off.
And he thought of the one girl in his life who had never bored him, whom he trusted, who he relied on and who had been by his side for everything and so understood him better than anyone else in the world.
He caught his breath, his head suddenly spinning with the revelation, of sorts. Maybe, just maybe, none of his relationships had worked out because none of the girls could compare to Hermione. Maybe, just maybe, his subconscious mind had been comparing every girl he dated to Hermione and they had all fallen short…
He wanted to date someone like Hermione; that was what he'd been subconsciously looking for all this time. Someone like Hermione.
But no other girl he'd ever met- no other girl- could possibly be like Hermione.
Hermione was-Hermione. Unique.
Hermione, who understood him so well and who had been there with him for just about everything. Hermione, whom he trusted more than anyone else on earth. Hermione, whom he cared about more than anybody else. Hermione, whose smile or whose laugh brightened his day like few other things could. Just Hermione…
Maybe, just maybe, he really did want to date Hermione.
She's my best friend, the small voice spoke up again, persistently, although with a little less conviction.
She was his best friend-but maybe, just maybe, she could also be more than that… Because, he realized, he wanted her to be more than just his friend. He wanted her to be his girlfriend-his everything, he thought.
But what did she want?
He was just Harry, her best friend, to her.
Wasn't he?
~*~
If he didn't know better, Harry could almost think that Professor McGonagall had set out to do this.
In his more irrational moments, he could almost feel angry at Professor McGonagall. In his rational moments, he knew perfectly well that Professor McGonagall was only doing her job and had probably never stopped to think of him.
But knowing that didn't mean he liked the situation any better.
It started with a Floo call from Hermione suggesting that they meet up for dinner as she had something to tell him. (She mentioned that she would be sending an owl to Ron to let him know since Ron was away for training with the Cannons and would be for the next week.)
He had only noticed that there was some emotion he couldn't quite place in her tone and in her expression but he'd been in the middle of going through a file on the latest information about the whereabouts of a serial Muggle-baiter whom he'd been tracking for the past three months and had been somewhat preoccupied at the time.
It was the first time he and Hermione would be alone together since he'd realized that he had more-than-friendly feelings for Hermione-but he figured that he would be able to act normally and perhaps find out if she had any feelings beyond friendship for him.
The acting-normally plan lasted as long as it took for him to greet her and for them to be seated at a table in the café.
Because that was when Hermione began, "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you could meet up tonight because I really wanted to be able to tell you my news in person. I can't quite believe it yet myself but the most wonderful thing has happened. Can you guess what it is?"
She was positively beaming, he realized, and looked more thrilled and excited than he could remember her looking in a long time. And he surprised himself by feeling a pang of something very like- envy- that someone, something unrelated to him, could make her so happy. (Irrational as it sounded.) His own heart lightened at the sight of Hermione's bright smile and brighter eyes-and he could only wish that he could one day bring the same look to her face.
He grinned involuntarily, responding to her smile. "I can't guess. What is it?"
"I'm going to teach at Hogwarts!"
He gaped at her. Whatever he might have been expecting- she'd found a new cure for some magical ailment, perhaps- it had not been this. "You- what? How?"
"Professor McGonagall Floo called this morning, completely unexpectedly, and said that Professor Flitwick had decided to retire this year, after teaching at Hogwarts for more than 70 years, and would I be interested in taking over Charms for him."
Harry stared again. "Flitwick is retiring?" He blinked. "Wow. I guess I always figured he would end up like Binns and keep on teaching after he died. I mean, Hogwarts without Flitwick- that just seems odd."
Hermione nodded. "I know. But he finally told Professor McGonagall he didn't feel he could keep on teaching, that he'd been there for too long and wanted to enjoy the rest of his life without working. And Professor McGonagall asked me to be his replacement." Hermione paused and colored, her eyes lowering to look at the table instead of at him as she confided, half-shyly, "According to her, I did the best on the O.W.L's and then the N.E.W.T's in Charms than anyone in the past 50 years, even without our 7th year."
He managed a smile although he felt oddly numb. "Of course you did. That doesn't surprise me at all."
Hermione was going to teach at Hogwarts.
She was going to be at Hogwarts.
He mentally shook himself out of his stupor to ask something that was rather bothering him-the least of the many things about this that bothered him but the only one he could give voice to. "I didn't think people so young could teach at Hogwarts."
"They normally can't," Hermione admitted. "In fact, Professor Snape was the youngest professor in Hogwarts history when he was hired at 31."
"Until you," Harry interjected.
"Yeah. I just couldn't believe it; I mean sometimes it still feels like yesterday that we were all at Hogwarts ourselves. But she said she couldn't think of anyone better qualified," Hermione admitted looking a little embarrassed as well as pleased and flattered.
"Well of course, she's right," Harry managed to say. "Wow, Hermione, that's great. I'm so happy for you." He inwardly winced. Even to him, his words sounded lame and unenthusiastic.
He knew he should be happy for her. This was a great opportunity and a wonderful chance for her and it was an honor to be the youngest professor Hogwarts had ever had. He was her best friend; of course he should be happy for her.
This was-great news. A wonderful thing. Something to celebrate.
He should be thrilled for her. He should be-he should be…
He wasn't.
This was-a catastrophe. A terrible thing. Even tragic.
He was a truly horrible best friend, he decided. His best friend in the world had received this honor-and he couldn't bring himself to feel happy.
His insides felt as if they had decided to congeal into a large cold mass of dismay.
Hermione would be leaving. She would move to Scotland, to Hogwarts-that was, he suddenly realized, an incredibly long distance away.
He wouldn't be able to see her nearly every week or drop by randomly at her flat whenever he felt like it. He wouldn't even be able to Floo call her when he wanted to.
She was leaving.
Oh, he knew he'd be able to owl her and he'd probably be able to see her every few weeks, even, during the school year and more often during the summer term. But it wouldn't be the same.
He knew her, knew how much she would devote herself to teaching and how busy she could get.
He would hardly get to see her.
Dear Merlin, he wondered desperately, how was he supposed to live without her nearby?
She hadn't even left yet and he was already missing her.
It wasn't even that he had just realized days ago that he wanted to be much more than just Hermione's friend; it was-everything.
He suddenly realized just how much he relied on Hermione's nearness, the comforting knowledge that she was just a Floo call away, a moment's Apparation away, that he could see her almost any time he wanted to. She was always there when he needed her-but not anymore.
She was moving on, to another life-one that didn't feature him as a central or even a particularly large part of it.
This was a disaster.
And it was only now, when faced with the loss of it, that he realized just how essential it was to him, to know that Hermione was nearby. The knowledge of her nearness was somehow inexplicably vital to him, to know she was close enough to see whenever he wanted to.
It was only now when faced with the thought of Hermione moving on, so far away (and the distance between London and Hogwarts may as well have been thousands of miles for the intensity of his reaction), that he realized it wasn't that he wanted to date someone like Hermione or that he wanted to date Hermione.
It was that he was in love with her.
That was why he had subconsciously compared every girl he'd ever dated to Hermione. That was why there had always been something missing in every other relationship he'd had. He was in love with Hermione and he couldn't pinpoint a time when it had begun but it was real and it was deep and it was-
It was hopeless.
He was just Hermione's best friend and she was moving to Scotland.
He bit back a sigh and met Hermione's eyes to see that she looked somewhat deflated at his less-than-enthusiastic congratulations.
Oh God…
He felt a pang of self-reproach for his own selfishness and promptly manufactured as wide a smile as he could manage and put it on for her benefit. For her, to make her smile again… "I think I envy your future students. You'll be a great teacher, Hermione." He grinned, sincerely this time, and added, "You certainly got enough practice at teaching from all the times you helped me and Ron with our work. If it hadn't been for you, Ron and I would probably have gotten D's in all our O.W.L's and not a single N.E.W.T."
She laughed a little and shook her head. "That's not true. You weren't that bad."
"That's because we had you to help us."
She smiled softly. "Thanks."
"I mean it, Hermione. I always thought you would make a good teacher."
Hermione felt herself flush at Harry's words and then stilled as she saw a flicker of a shadow pass across his face as he looked at her. It was a fleeting expression, gone almost before she noticed it, before being replaced with a smile but she could detect a hint of strain in his smile now, the same strain from a few moments ago, the almost imperceptible stiffness in his smile that told her he was forcing his smile. It would have been unnoticeable to anyone else but her eyes were made sharp by years of friendship and worrying over him and she caught it when no one else would have. And felt a flicker of hope, of uncertainty-could it be? Could he possibly care--?
She swallowed and felt her smile fade as she met Harry's eyes directly. She didn't know if she had any reason to hope but now, with this offer, she had to try. Just once. "Harry," she began softly, hesitated and then finished, trying not to let her voice tremble with pent-up emotion, "can you give me any reason why I shouldn't move and accept Professor McGonagall's offer?"
Harry stared, his throat closing. Yes, I can. I love you and I don't want you to move; I want you to stay with me, always. A small voice from his heart shrieked the response-yes, he could think of a reason why she shouldn't move.
But he remembered the radiance of her smile and her eyes earlier as she'd told him about the offer, remembered the mixture of excitement and pride and happiness in her tone and her expression when she told him. She had been so happy…
And he knew he couldn't-wouldn't-try to keep her behind. Not when he knew she'd been feeling rather restless about her job in the research department of St. Mungo's for months now-not when this would be such a great opportunity for her, one she was perfect for.
He met her eyes seriously. "I can't," he said. For her, to make her smile… To make her happy…
"Oh." Hermione stifled a sigh, sternly suppressing the hurt and the disappointment she felt. Of course he couldn't give her a reason. He was her best friend; of course he would want her to take this job that would almost certainly make her happy and certainly represented an honor. Of course…
He lifted his glass to her in a toast. "To you, Professor Granger," he smiled and then added, more softly and more soberly, "I'm proud of you."
"Thanks, Harry."
Their gazes met and held for a long moment-and he thought of how much he was going to miss her and she thought that moving away from him might prove to be among the hardest things she'd ever had to do.
He was the first one to blink and look away, breaking the oddly-charged silence. "I can't wait to find out how Ron reacts."
"Yeah, I know. I wonder how his practice is going."
"I'm sure it's going well. You know he always does better in practices anyway. Besides, he loves every minute of it. The Cannons never had a more enthusiastic Keeper."
They exchanged comfortable smiles, slipping into conversation as only old friends can, and neither of them allowed themselves to think about the lost hope for something more than friendship. They were-and always would be-best friends-and that was something. That was enough.
Wasn't it?
~To be continued...~