The Real Story

Disclaimer: JKR owns all; I only borrow.

Author’s Note: A sort-of experimental fic that ended up being more fluffy than I expected.

The Real Story

The story started with an interview which Harry gave.

Tanya Spelman: Thank you, Harry. Now, this is the last question and I know it’s one that I, personally, as well as all the other witches in Great Britain under the age of 35 (and some over) am very interested in. You’re the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world but your name hasn’t been officially coupled with any lucky witch. Yet. Will you tell us, now, whether we can hope or is your heart already taken?

Harry: [rather embarrassed laugh and the beginnings of a blush] Er, well, Tanya, I’d rather prefer to keep my private life private. [pauses, hesitates, and then straightens] But, well, I will answer your question. Yes, my heart is already taken.

Tanya: [stares for a moment before she recovers herself] What? I mean, er, really. I’m- will you tell us who the lucky girl is? [smiles] Please?

Harry: No, I’m not telling.

Tanya: [persists] I assume she’s beautiful…

Harry: She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And that’s really all I’m going to say. [stands up and shakes Tanya’s hand] Nice to meet you.

~*~

Predictably, the lead story in every wizarding magazine and newspaper the next day was not of the other answers in which Harry spoke in more detail than he’d ever given before of his opinions of the late, great Albus Dumbledore or his godfather, Sirius Black, or the other late and surviving heroes of the Second Voldemort War. Those other responses were mentioned, in passing, but no one really cared. The 5 year anniversary of the death of Albus Dumbledore had, very effectively, become insignificant.

The headline in the Daily Prophet as well as Witch Weekly was a very large, very red, “Harry Potter In Love” with a “Mystery Witch” (according to Witch Weekly) or a “Beautiful Unknown Witch” (according to the Daily Prophet.)

Yes, the wizarding world now knew—was agog at the knowledge—that Harry Potter was in love with a beautiful witch. But with who?

Ron Weasley, when asked, shrugged. “I honestly couldn’t say. I was as surprised as any of you. Harry’s never said as much to me.”

Hermione Granger, when asked, refused comment. “No comment. It’s all ridiculous. Harry wants to keep his private life private and if he wanted you all to know, he’d have told you. Now, excuse me.”

Ginny Weasley smiled to herself as she read about the interview. She was quite sure she knew who it was Harry loved. She’d always known he’d come back to her, always thought he would realize what he’d given up…

One story said that it was Cho Chang, who was now playing Quidditch for the Tornadoes and was known to have been Harry’s first love. How romantic, after all, that the childhood sweethearts would be reunited…

Another story said that it was Ginny Weasley, Harry’s first real girlfriend and the younger sister of his best friend. He’d saved her life and is there a more romantic way to begin a relationship than for the hero to save the beautiful girl’s life?

Another story said it was Gabrielle Delacour, the younger sister of Fleur Weasley nee Delacour, who had been Harry’s rival in the Triwizard Tournament and had been Harry’s friend (of sorts) since then. Gabrielle was one of the latest, most fashionable beauties in the wizarding world with her Veela-like good looks and she and Harry had been seen talking together several times at various events. And after all, if the witch really was the most beautiful girl Harry had ever seen, well, who was prettier than young Miss Delacour?

Another story (by a more scandal-minded publication) said it was Fleur Weasley herself and the reason Harry had been so reticent about the identity of his love was because Fleur was married- and quite happily- to Bill Weasley, the older brother of Harry’s best friend Ron. (That story was published under the sensational headline of “Harry Potter’s Secret Adulterous Passion”.)

Another story said it was Lavender Brown, Harry’s former house-mate and friend. They had known each other for so long and now, Harry had realized who his true love was…

Another story said it was Parvati Patil, another of Harry’s former house-mates and his date to the Yule Ball in their 4^th year. What better way to subtly declare his hidden affection for her than to ask her to the Yule Ball when circumstances and shyness got in the way but now those obstacles were gone…

Another story said it might even be Luna Lovegood, one of Harry’s good friends, who, though not a traditional beauty, certainly had developed her own sort of quirky charm. Never a beauty, perhaps, but with a certain air to her that almost made beauty seem irrelevant. And it was known that she and Harry got along quite well.

Yet another story said it was no one from Harry’s past at all but Miss Viola Nadine, the new singing sensation and famous beauty, who’d been introduced to Harry at a formal dinner held by the Ministry a few months back. After all, love at first sight—and if anyone was going to inspire that sentiment, surely it would be Miss Nadine.

Many, many other stories and quite a few other candidates for the secret love of Harry Potter were suggested in those stories.

But who was right?

~*~

Hermione unlocked the door to her flat and stepped inside hurriedly.

Oh the bother of it all! Every wizarding magazine and newspaper in the world seemed to want to know her opinion on the identity of Harry’s secret love and none of them accepted that she had no intention of saying anything to confirm or deny their guesses.

Really, she wondered at Harry’s deciding to start this whole furor with his answer; he should have known better! And if—as she rather suspected—it was Ginny he was talking about, he could have quite easily told Ginny in a more direct fashion and spared them all this fuss.

And to top it all off, her research at St. Mungo’s had hit a snag and set her back significantly.

Really! Hermione let out a huff and sat down rather heavily in the sofa in her flat’s living room, for a moment, letting herself indulge in an uncharacteristic fit of self-pity.

Her research wasn’t going well; she was frustrated and confused, which was not a state of mind she was accustomed to and did not deal with very well. She was irritated with the press. She was lonely because Ron was off with the Chudley Cannons and Harry was in hiding, or so it seemed, avoiding this media hue and cry which he had begun in the first place. And she was alone. Always alone…

She was just the nice, plain, clever bookworm, Hermione, Harry Potter’s and Ron Weasley’s best friend—everyone’s friend, of sorts, but no one’s love. After all, she wasn’t the sort of girl fellows loved. She wasn’t like Cho and Ginny, with their fondness for Quidditch and their vibrant, outgoing beauty. She wasn’t like Lavender and Parvati with their more common but nonetheless appealing prettiness. She wasn’t like Fleur and Gabrielle with their Veela-like aloofly-seductive loveliness. She wasn’t like Miss Viola Nadine, with her beautiful voice and her sensual face and form, simply made to seduce the opposite sex. She didn’t even have the odd appeal of Luna.

No, she wasn’t like them.

And while she knew she would rather have her cleverness than not, she couldn’t help but wish that just once, she could also have the romance, the love, that all those other girls seemed to have.

She sighed again and then hurriedly stood up, irritated to find that there were now tears pricking at her eyes too. Tears! She, Hermione Granger, to be crying over something like this!

And yet… And yet… she was lonely…

She made a quick decision, closing her eyes and Apparating to the one person she always sought out when she was feeling down, in spite of her current irritation with him for being the perhaps-unsuspecting catalyst to what had brought on this bout of self-pity: Harry.

Harry started up in surprise when he heard the tell-tale popping sound of Apparation as Hermione appeared in the flat he shared with Ron, his heart clenching in automatic, instinctive, reaction.

Something was wrong.

He knew her, knew her habits, knew her respect for his and Ron’s privacy, never mind how close they were, had seen her half-teasing smile and heard her little laugh as she said she wouldn’t Apparate directly into their flat because she wouldn’t want to stumble onto their wild and crazy bachelor love lives by accident. He knew that she only Apparated directly into their flat when there was something wrong.

He took one look at her face and then he was there, in front of her, pulling her into his arms as she seemed to simply melt into them.

“Oh Harry…” she half-wailed, half-sighed.

“Sssh, Hermione. It’s okay,” he murmured, though he really had no idea what was wrong and if it was okay. All he knew, all he had seen from his one look at her was that there was something wrong; there had been a vulnerability, a fragility, in her expression and in her eyes that was unusual for her. And it shook him to the soul. This was Hermione, who’d been his strength and his help for so long, who’d kept him going when he might have given up if it hadn’t been for her—she was so strong and the fact that somehow, now, she looked—fragile—was just the most painfully wrong thing ever.

Gently, he led her over to the couch, sinking down onto it and tugging her down with him. She came easily, curling up beside him, leaning against him with the comfort of repetition and habit. They sat like this often somehow. They weren’t usually very demonstrative in their affection (Harry had never been fully comfortable with casual physical closeness), but when they were alone or just with Ron, it had become almost natural for her to lean on him. It had started one late night when they’d simply been talking, idly, after having dinner and Hermione had dozed off, her head gradually falling until it was resting lightly on Harry’s shoulder. He’d automatically put his arm around her, shifting to a more comfortable position, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she had nestled closer to him, still sleeping. It had been odd for a moment when she’d woken up but he had shrugged it off with a smile and a “What else are friends for? Consider me a pillow, at your service.” And somehow since then, it had become natural for her to end up leaning against him in their more relaxed moments.

And so she rested her head against his shoulder now, feeling her emotional reserves slowly being renewed. Just here, being with Harry, not talking or really doing anything, recharged her somehow. Right now—and always, whenever she was feeling down, all she really needed was him, his silent comfort and sympathy and support, the solid warmth of him to lean on.

He waited, sensing her return to herself. “Hermione? Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

She sighed. “Oh, it was nothing, Harry. Honestly, it was nothing. I was just feeling a bit down for no real reason and I came here. I’m sorry to be such a bother…”

“You’re not a bother,” he interrupted.

He sensed rather than saw her soft smile since he wasn’t looking at her. “Thanks.”

A brief silence fell, comfortable, warm, soothing.

Which she finally broke. “Say, Harry, who is it?”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Who is who?”

“That girl who you said had your heart. Who is it? Everyone seems to have a different opinion and a different story to tell but who is it?”

She shifted positions, tilting her head up to look at him, meeting his eyes with a slight, almost-teasing smile. “Come on, Harry, ‘fess up to your best friend. Who are you secretly in love with?”

He flushed, wishing he could look away but her eyes held him with all their directness, the hint of mischief in her which she showed so rarely but which caught him, charmed him whenever he saw it, along with the world of easy affection in her eyes. He wished he could lie—or evade—or somehow avoid answering but he knew he couldn’t. he never could lie to Hermione; she always knew somehow—and looking at her now, seeing all the honesty and directness of her gaze, he almost didn’t want to lie.

Maybe… Just maybe, it was time to tell the entire truth.

He focused on breathing calmly for a fleeting second, trying to calm himself, stop his heart from suddenly clattering around in his chest like a mad thing. It didn’t work.

He gathered up his nerve and said it. “It’s you.”

For a split second, she didn’t react, didn’t move. The entire world, the universe, seemed to stop as well, hovering, waiting, for her reaction—as he was.

And then…

She blinked, stared, shock widening her eyes and flattening her features slightly. She stiffened, sitting up, and in so doing, putting some space between them.

She opened her lips, closed them, and finally just blurted out the first, not-quite-rational response she could think of. “But- but you can’t!”

He blinked. It was his turn to be surprised. Confused. “Why not?”

She scrambled to explain her automatic reaction, her instinctive disbelief, and the words came in a jumble, all the thoughts she’d had earlier, all the stories she’d read in the past few days, all the speculation and the reasons given for each suggested candidate… “Because- because you said she was beautiful!”

And he understood and for the moment, forgot his apprehension about her feelings for him in his over-riding need to correct the one persistent delusion she seemed to have. “I said,” he began softly, choosing his words carefully, “that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen—and I meant it. You are, you know.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I’m not…” she denied but with a little less certainty this time, mesmerized almost in spite of herself by the utter sincerity in his eyes. She always had been able to tell when he was lying—and he wasn’t lying now.

“Yes, you are. Not like a Veela or even-” he hesitated but then continued, “like Ginny, but you are beautiful.” He paused again, tried to organize his thoughts but then he looked at her again and he knew—he could see all he needed to say. “It’s in how your cheeks get flushed when you’re worked up over something, how your mouth curves when you smile or how you bite your lip when you’re reading something and concentrating intensely. It’s in how your smile starts deep in your eyes and then spreads to your lips, how your eyes shine or sparkle or glow when you’re happy, how they shoot sparks when you’re angry, how I can see your emotions in your eyes… All of that—it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, the most beautiful girl.” He hesitated and then added, very softly, “And I… love you.”

There. He’d said it, those three words he’d been so afraid to say to her, the three words he’d never said to anyone before.

She hardly dared to breathe, hardly dared to think, as she searched his eyes, saw the sincerity in them, heard the palpable emotion in his tone. And she believed.

The incredible sweetness of his words, his look, seeped into her heart and her soul, soothing and healing, completely, the old, old, deeply-hidden and never-acknowledged hurts and scars. She had told herself it was hopeless, had buried all her true feelings for Harry so deep inside her that even she had nearly forgotten about them, had convinced herself that friendship was all she wanted, would be enough for her… And now, amazingly, her most secret dream was coming true.

She closed her eyes briefly, her breath catching in her throat. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

And as he’d said, her smile began deep down in her eyes and spread outward to her lips, her entire face lighting up until she looked so poignantly, amazingly beautiful that his heart stuttered in his chest and he caught his breath.

“Oh, Harry, do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that?”

He stared at her, forgetting to breathe, in his surprise. “But… you never said, never acted any differently…”

“Of course I didn’t. I thought you just saw me as your best friend, thought there was no hope and I didn’t want to do anything to ruin our friendship.”

“I did see you as my best friend—but not only that, not for a long time now. But I didn’t think you cared about me that way. It was part of why I said what I did in that interview; I wasn’t sure I could ever tell you but I wanted to admit it to somebody and I thought—I hoped—it might keep other girls from bothering me,” he admitted, putting into words what had been his almost-subconscious motive for answering a question he normally would not have answered.

Their eyes met, each seeing the regret mingled in with the happiness, their gazes lingering until they both somehow saw the humor in it.

“I guess I’ve been a right idiot,” he said self-deprecatingly.

“We’ve both been right idiots,” she smiled. “But at least we know better now.”

“Yes, we do,” he said softly, lifting his hand to touch her cheek in a feather-light caress as his gaze lowered to her lips and the atmosphere shifted yet again, from amusement to seriousness, as a sudden (or not-so-sudden) mesmeric attraction flared between them.

She was suddenly intensely aware of how close they were, could feel the warmth from his body, could see all the flecks of color in his eyes, could see herself reflected in his eyes…

And afterwards she didn’t know whether she’d moved her head first or whether he had but it didn’t matter who was first because they both moved until their lips brushed, touched.

They kissed—and it was all she’d ever wanted and thought she would never have—sweetness and tenderness and passion and, above all, love…

~*~

Two days later, the story appeared in the Daily Prophet.

Beside a photo in which Harry and Hermione were holding hands was the headline: Harry Potter’s Secret Love Revealed: Hermione Granger.

Witches all over Great Britain will be disappointed to learn that Harry Potter, the most famous wizard in Britain and who has been the most eligible bachelor for several years now, is officially taken. He admitted to being in love with “the most beautiful girl [he’s] ever seen” in an interview just over a week ago and yesterday evening, the mystery lady was revealed to be none other than his long-time best friend, Hermione Granger.

It now appears that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger have been much more than friends for some time now but have chosen to keep their true relationship a secret for undisclosed reasons and Mr. Potter’s uncharacteristically revelatory answer about his personal life last week marked the beginning of Mr. Potter and Miss Granger’s plans to go public with their relationship…

~

But Harry and Hermione only smiled at each other, as Harry lifted their joined hands to his lips for a quick kiss of her hand.

The Daily Prophet could say what it liked—but they knew the truth, the real story, and that was all that mattered.

~The End~