Happy New Year

A/N – just a quick one shot in honour of the festive season. I hope you all had lovely Christmas and now a wonderful happy and safe New Year. Enjoy.

Happy New Year

“Come on Hermione!”

“No.”

“It’ll be fun!”

“No.”

“You can’t stay here all by yourself – it’s the end of the century, the turn of the millennium! Tomorrow is…”

“The twenty-first century,” Hermione ends for him, “I know that Harry but I still don’t want to come to the party.”

“Why not?” he asked as he sat down on the edge of her bed where she was sitting, legs crossed, reading a book.

“Because I hate New Year Eve parties. Everyone gets drunk and do things they regret later. It all gets rather messy.”

“Well, I won’t go either then.”

“Honestly Harry, I’ll be fine,” she tries to placate him, “anyway, you have to go. Mrs Weasley would be devastated if you’re not there. Plus Ron. And the other boys. You’re normally the life of the party.”

“I’m not too sure how to take that.”

“Take it in a good way,” she smiles, “look, if you don’t go, you’ll be missed and they’ll come and drag you there. If I don’t go, no one will really care because I’m never much fun at parties anyway…”

“I’ll care.”

Hermione looks at him carefully to see if he’s taking the micky and sees that he isn’t, causing her to frown slightly. But before she could ponder the possible meaning behind his words, Ron enters her bedroom.

“Have you talked her into coming yet?” he asks Harry, who shakes his head while smiling one of his lopsided smiles.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, that’s it mate,” Ron states, slightly flustered, “we have to go. Mum was serving the food at eight and if we wait any longer, it’ll be gone. Hermione, I really wish you’d change your mind.”

“Sorry Ron,” she assures him with a grin, “you two go and have a great time and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ron nods, gives her a parting waves then rushes out of her room, leaving her and Harry sitting on her bed. Harry looks back to her.

“It won’t be the same without you there,” he says softly.

“You won’t even miss me,” she assured.

“Of course I’ll miss you. How could I not miss you?”

“Harry…”

“How ‘bout if I promise not to drink,” he suggests, “you and I, staying sober so you don’t lose control like you did last time you got drunk…”

“You had to bring that up, didn’t you,” Hermione grumbled, blushing terribly.

“Yeah,” Harry grins, “well, you did kiss me…”

“Which made things awkward between us for ages afterwards,” she states firmly, “hence me not going tonight. We both know you can’t go to a New Year’s party without getting sloshed, and we both know that when I get drunk, I get a bit…”

“…amorous.”

“Yes, amorous. So I think it’s just safer for me to stay here, do my assignments and have a couple of glasses of the 1996 premier reserve merlot I’ve been saving for the turn of the millennium, okay?”

“Harry!” Ron bellowed, making both of them jump, “we have to go! Now!”

“Ron’s a bit tense,” Harry explains, turning back to Hermione, “I better go.”

“Have fun Harry,” she quipped as he made his way to the door.

“You know where we are if you change your mind,” he smiles at her from the door jam, “and just so you know, I liked you amorous.”

With that parting comment, he was gone, leaving a confused Hermione behind. She sat there for a moment longer, looking at the last place Harry had been and thought about what he had said.

He’d care if she wasn’t at the party.

He’d miss her if she wasn’t at the party.

He liked it when she had got slightly tipsy at one of the many victory parties after the death of Voldemort and had kissed him. She had kissed him a lot.

The logical part of her brain started to tell her he was just saying all this stuff to get her to go, that of course he’d miss her – she was his best friend, they had known each other for over nine years, they now shared a flat (along with Ron). They were close.

But not that close. She sighed and put her book down.

She hadn’t lied to Harry, she did hate parties and especially New Year Eve parties. But that wasn’t the main reason she hadn’t wanted to go to the Burrow. It was because it hurt to see Harry with other girls, for him to have fun without her, to have a life without her in it.

For so long it had been her at his side, helping him, being there for him that now…now that they’re all grown up and he doesn’t need her that much anymore, well, it was taking some adjusting. And it wasn’t like he had a different girl every night or that they didn’t have fun hanging out and being together. It’s just that the imaginary line that one doesn’t cross with your platonic best friend has never been attempted to cross.

Except by her one drunken night two years ago.

Getting up from her bed, she made her way through the silent house until she got to the kitchen. She had already had her dinner, it was nine o’clock after all, and her special bottle of wine was sitting on the counter breathing, a lone glass next to it waiting. She went to the freezer and got out a tub of chocolate ice cream, collected a spoon, then sat at the dinning room table and started to eat.

There were signs of Harry and Ron everywhere – Quidditch gear, discarded shoes, un-opened mail. She had given up cleaning up after them pretty early on, tolerating their mess until it got to a point where she had a fit and they tided up. Harry was better than Ron, of course, but neither were as…anal as she was.

Hermione sighed again. How pathetic was she; the last day of the twentieth century and she was sitting alone in her kitchen eating ice cream. Grabbing her ice cream, she went to the lounge and switched on the television. The flat was more muggle than wizarding, with muggle appliances working fine in the magically enhanced house. Flicking the remote’s buttons, Hermione settled on a re-run of a Billy Connelly concert (she ignored the foul language because the man was really quite hilarious), sat back, ate her ice cream and enjoyed the show.

It ended at ten thirty and it looked like there was nothing worth watching after that. Hermione sat there patting a sleeping Crookshanks and tried to think of what to do next. Her gaze went back over to the lonely glass next to her bottle of wine and a wave of sadness flowed over her.

She should be with her friends, not here alone with her cat. She had self control. She could say ‘no’ to drinking and just take it easy – she was a grown woman, for goodness sake! She could be restrained and watch everyone else make fools of themselves.

She should go to the party.

Suddenly determined, she switched off the tele and stood, disturbing a disgruntled Crookshanks as she did so, then went to her room, opened her wardrobe and tried to work out what to wear. She decided on her new dark blue jeans, slightly heeled boots, a copper-coloured, high necked top under a dark brown jacket. She looked pretty smart. Leaving her hair to its own devices (trying to tame it never really worked), she put on a light coating of make-up and deemed herself ready.

Putting on her outer cloak, she re-corked her bottle of wine, turned out the lights in the flat and apparated to the Burrow.

The party was raging. They had put a tent of some sort up outside the house and as she walked closer, she could see more and more familiar faces. It seemed the whole gang was here.

“Hermione!” Neville called out, the first to spot her, “you made it!”

“Hi Neville,” she greeted, smiling at his extra rosy cheeks and glassy eyes. She was soon engulfed by well wishers, all a bit worse for wear but then again, it was just past eleven. Her coat was taken, but she held onto her bottle of wine tightly.

“I was starting to get worried you really weren’t going to come.”

His voice was so close to her ear that she only had to turn slightly to be able to see his face, his green eyes twinkling with fun.

“I guess I finally realised that sitting at home alone was all rather pathetic.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” Harry laughed then looked around conspiratorially before looking back at her, “we will need to hide your wine so no one else will drink it.”

Harry grabbed Hermione’s spare hand and led her over to the edge of the tent where he conjured up a small table and two chairs, gave her a smile then dashed away before she could say anything. Puzzled by his actions, she tried to follow him through the crowd but he was quickly swallowed up by the mass of Weasley’s and ex-Hogwarts students. It didn’t matter though, because he was quickly back at her side with two bottles of butterbear.

“I thought you’d be onto something harder,” she joked as she took the offered drink, placed her wine on the table then sat down, thanking him.

“Nope,” he says, rather proudly, “I am totally sober.”

“Why?”

“In case you came,” was the answer, “I was going to give you until eleven forty-five, then it was going to be straight onto the firewhiskey.”

“I guess I just made it then.”

“With minutes to spare.”

Hermione took a swig of the beer and wondered what the hell was going on. All around them were their friends, all slightly drunk (or very drunk, in Fred and George’s case) yet Harry wasn’t because of her. No one was really giving them a second look, sitting in the corner, quietly drinking their non alcoholic drinks.

“Ron’s going to ask Luna to marry him,” Harry reports casually.

“What?”

“Once we hit the year 2000, Ron’s going to ask Luna to marry him,” he repeats, looking at Hermione intensely, “that’s why he’s been so strung out lately. He told me earlier.”

“Ron’s going to get married?”

“I know,” Harry continues with a sigh, “when did we start to grow up?”

“And who would’ve thought Ron would be the one to grow up first,” Hermione adds, her shock evident in her voice, “wow, Ron’s getting married.”

There’s a moment of silence, then:

“You wanna dance?” Hermione looks at Harry with surprise.

“You hate to dance,” she states.

“Yeah,” he admits before grinning, “but it’s 1999. I’m willing to break the mould if you are.”

“What about the wine?”

“The wine will be fine,” he assured, “come on, lets dance.”

Never thinking they would be words she’d ever hear coming out of Harry’s mouth, she takes his offered hand and follows him to the make-shift dance floor. It seemed that their friends found the idea of Harry and Hermione dancing quite hilarious and soon Hermione was surrounded by people laughing and joking with a bit of friendly teasing added in. The strange thing was, she found herself not caring. Harry never left her side and was laughing along with everyone else. She couldn’t help but join in.

One of the funniest things was that Harry really did not have any rhythm. He was trying very hard to dance, but ended up just looking…bad. He didn’t seem too worried about it, however, and continued to jump about always a few beats off.

“What’s got into you?” Hermione shouts at him, leaning in so he could hear her above the noise, “are you sure you’re not drunk?”

“Nothing but butterbeers,” he shouts back, “what, you don’t like how I dance?”

“Harry, you look ridiculous.”

“Now, that’s just mean.”

“I’m sorry,” she laughs, not sounding too sorry at all, “but…”

“Oh no! It’s nearly midnight,” he interrupts, leading her off the dance floor and back to their table, “you need a glass for you wine!”

“Two glasses,” she corrects, making him look at her with surprise.

“You’re letting me share the bottle of wine you’ve been nurturing for a year?”

“Just get the glasses, Potter.”

Without another word, he dashes off to get the glasses. Hermione watches as the dance floor empties, the dancers finding their own drinks, ready to cheer in the New Year. The music dies out and, just like every radio in England, wizard and muggle alike, the countdown to Big Ben’s chimes begins.

Harry rushes back with two glasses and quickly Hermione fills them with her special wine. With a smile, she joins in the countdown from ten, and then the deep, welcoming chimes of London’s clock tower is heard. Big Ben signals the start of the new millennium.

The tent erupts into shouts of joy while Hermione turns to Harry, raising her glass.

“Happy New Year,” she says to him.

“Happy New Year, Hermione,” he replies, and ‘clinks’ his glass with hers. She goes to take a sip, but notices he doesn’t do the same, instead he looks at her in deep thought.

“Harry, are you alright?”

“If I ask you something,” he starts, his voice low amongst all the happy cheering, “do you promise to tell me the truth?”

“What is it? What going on?”

“Do you promise?” he insisted. Hermione was getting really worried now, her premier reserve merlot forgotten.

“Of course, of course I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Do you love me?”

She took a step back, his question shocking her to the core. All noise faded away and all that she was aware of was her and Harry. He was looking at her, watching her with an intensity that is so Harry in so many ways. What should she say? She’d promised him the truth, but would the truth destroy them? Tears filled her eyes as she realised she had no choice, she had promised him.

“Yes,” she whispered, ready to see him recoil from her and their friendship ruined. It had been her secret for so long and to voice it to the man that meant everything to her was unreal. She felt her tears leave her eyes, but still she didn’t look away from him.

“Good,” he replied, a small smile playing on his lips as he took her forgotten glass from her hand and placed it, along with his, on the table.

“What?” she squeaked, not really sure of what she heard.

“I said good,” he repeated, wiping the tears away with his thumb, “because that means tonight I can do this without worrying about if I did the right thing, whether you feel the same as I do or whether I’d just made the biggest fool of myself.” And he kissed her. Softly and chastely on the mouth, a kiss that only lasted a few seconds but was something Hermione had been waiting for what felt like her whole life. When she drew away, she looked into the eyes that she loved, searching for confirmation.

“Does that mean you love me?” she asked somewhat hesitantly.

“With all my heart.”

Hermione grinned then, laughing when he grinned as well. Not caring who was watching them, totally unaware that most were, she took his face in her hands and kissed him again. This time there was nothing chaste in the kiss as her pent up passion of many years overcame her as she melded her body into his and became lost in the exchange.

“Oi, you two.”

Hermione heard Ron through the haze that was her brain, and with some reluctance, broke the kiss. Harry was looking down at her with a longing that she knew she was also feeling, his breaths ragged and shallow. She tried to tell him with her eyes that it wasn’t over – he seemed to understand, and as one, they turned to their friend.

“Happy New Year Ron,” Hermione ventured, her voice a few shades lower than normal, Harry didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, Happy New Year,” Ron chuckled, “good to see you plonkers finally sorted your shite out. I won’t keep you. Just thought I’d let you know she said yes.”

It took a moment or two for Hermione to work out what he meant but Harry knew instantly.

“Congratulations mate,” he exclaimed happily, pulling Ron into a manly hug, “couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news,” Hermione cried, joining in the hug, finally remembering about Ron’s proposal to Luna, “I’m so happy for you both!”

“Thanks you guys,” Ron said, returning the hug before pulling away and smirking at them, “now, you two bugger off before my mother has to set the hose on you.”

Before they could profess their innocence, Ron turned and went to find Luna, who was talking adamantly to Ginny and Neville.

“Should we go?” Harry asked, uncertain.

“I don’t know. Would it be rude to leave now?”

“I don’t think anyone really cares, to be honest.”

“No, you’re probably right.”

“Do you want to go?”

Hermione looked up at him and gave him a smile.

“Yes,” was all she said.

Epilogue

“Perhaps we should go back,” Hermione suggested pretty lamely as she moved her head slightly so Harry could access her neck easier.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied as he continued to nibble softly, making his way to her bare shoulders.

“Can you believe it’s the year 2000?”

“Just,” Harry mumbled, his hand cupping her breast as his mouth slowly made its way towards it.

“Harry?”

“Mmmm?”

“Does this mean we’re dating now?”

Harry stopped mid caress and looked up at her.

“I certainly hope so,” he tells her with a twinkle in his eye, “considering I had been saving myself for my true love and, well, lets just say after the last few hours…”

“You’re beyond saving,” Hermione giggled, rolling over so they faced each other, “tonight has been amazing.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you plan it all? I mean, you were acting so strange at the party.”

“I didn’t plan to end up with you in your bed, which is so much more comfortable than mine, by the way…”

“That’s because I didn’t go into the shop, sit on the first one I saw, and buy it,” she admonished with a grin, “I did some research…”

“Of course you did and that’s why I love you…”

“Because I’m a girly swot?”

“Because you don’t just rush into things like I usually do,” he states before kissing her gently.

“So…did you plan tonight?” she asked again, prodding his shoulder with her finger, “remember? The whole ‘acting strangely’ thing?”

“Yes and no,” Harry replied cryptically as he ran his hand down the side of her face in a soft caress, “I knew I had to find out how you felt about me one way or another because it was driving me insane and I was determined to do that tonight…last night. But how really wasn’t that clear. Especially if you didn’t come to the party.”

“I’m glad I did,” Hermione breathed, searching his eyes with her own.

“So am I,” he smiles then kisses her at first tenderly but then with a passion that turns the kiss into more.

Until the phone rings.

“Bloody hell,” Hermione curses.

“Just leave it,” Harry instructs, returning to her breast he had left moments before, “it’s two in the morning – who’d be ringing at this hour?”

“My parents,” Hermione nearly shrieks, pushing him away, “oh God, it’s my parents. Harry, put some clothes on.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not going to talk to my mum and dad naked and with a naked boy in my bed,” she replies, slipping her nightshirt over her head, smoothing down her hair slightly before taking a deep breath and answering the phone. Chuckling to himself, Harry searches the discarded clothes that littered the floor until he found his underwear. With a shrug of his shoulders, he puts them on.

“Hello?” Hermione says, Harry returns to the bed and sits behind her.

“Hi mum! How’s your trip? Oh yes, happy New Year to you too!”

Pause. Harry moves Hermione’s hair out of the way of her neck and starts trailing little kisses down it.

“No, no you didn’t wake me.” Pause. “Actually, I went to the Burrow with Harry and Ron…yeah, yes I er had lots of fun. So, what did you and daddy do?”

Pause. Harry began moving his hands up Hermione thighs while working on the other side of her neck with his mouth as she moves the phone receiver to the other ear.

“Wow, that sounds brilliant. You and daddy must be having heaps of fun.”

Pause. Hermione slaps Harry’s hand away as it reaches the top of her thigh and moved towards places that shouldn’t be touched when one is on the phone to one’s parents.

“Sure. Hi daddy! Happy New Year.”

Pause. Harry’s hands stop roaming and instead he just rests his chin on her shoulder and waits, his arms around her waist while she is snuggled into the ‘y’ of his spread legs so she could feel his readiness.

“Oh no, well, it was a last minute decision and I was glad I went. It was really good.”

Pause. Harry just waits.

“Beautiful, so smooth, one of the best wines I’ve ever tasted. We’ve kept you and mum a taste…well, yes. Um, Harry and I had a glass when we got home…”

Pause. Harry frowns a bit when he feels Hermione tense and can actually feel the heat of her blush. He wondered what her father had just said.

“Su…sure, I’ll tell him. See you soon dad. Hi mum. Yes mum. I’m sure mum. Oh, okay…thanks. Er, well, I’ll see you both on Saturday. Have fun. I will. Bye.”

“What was that all about?” Harry asks as Hermione puts down the phone.

“Um, mum and dad say hi and that we better be using protection and that the second time is always better than the first.”

“They knew I was here?”

“Yep,” Hermione answered, turning around and pushing him back onto the bed by his shoulders, “thanks, by the way, for feeling me up while I was on the phone to my parents.”

“It was my pleasure.”

She straddled him and pulled off her nightshirt in one fluid movement.

“Shall we see if my mother is right?”

“If she’s anything like you,” Harry smirked, pulling her down towards him, “she’s always right.”

“And don’t you forget it.”