Happy New Year, Hermione

haljordan

Rating: G
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 17/07/2007
Last Updated: 17/07/2007
Status: completed

Spending New Year's Eve alone sucks. Especially when you just got dumped. My gesture of faith for Book 7. A little out of season, but I like writing winter season stories.

Chapters

1. Happy New Year, Hermione

1. Happy New Year, Hermione

Author’s Note: Hey all, this is my gesture of faith before Book 7, a notification that I have not given up on our favorite couple. I haven’t forgotten about my story in progress, but I needed to put something up before Book 7 was released, and this was all I could come up with in so little time. So it’s a little out of season. Bah I say! Bah again even! It was a bit of a rush job, so I hope it’s okay. Enjoy!

Happy New Year, Hermione

“This sucks,” muttered Hermione, taking another spoonful out of the pint of chocolate fudge ice cream she was nursing, wrapped in a blanket on her sofa. She stared into the fire, trying not to cry. “Who gets dumped the day before New Year’s Eve?”

She glanced at the photo on the mantle of her with Harry and Ron, and suddenly found it nearly impossible to hold the tears back. Both of her friends had somebody to be with, and she couldn’t even bear to show her face at her office party, not without the boyfriend they had all heard so much about, and whom they had told her they had to meet.

Watching the flickering flames, she couldn’t keep her mind from drifting back to Harry, as it always did when she was newly single. As every other time, her mind drifted back to that time in 12 Grimmauld place, that closest of calls. She wondered how different her life would have been since then had she not hesitated.

Their escape had not been merely close, they got out with their lives but for a hair’s breadth of probability. She caught the tail end of a Sectumsempra curse on the leg, opening up a deep gash. Harry had managed to find a book in Sirius’ library that addressed first aid spells, and had managed to patch it up fairly well. The leg was still weak, though, and she was still in a fair amount of pain.

Strong as she was, and all modesty aside, Hermione knew she was a strong person, it had just been too much for her, and she had barely stopped crying since they had gotten back. Harry hadn’t left her side except to get the book, and since fixing her up, he had been holding her, trying desperately to calm her down. She hadn’t been having any of it, though. None of his efforts had worked, and finally, in an act of extreme desperation, he had pressed his lips against hers. She couldn’t deny it, it had worked. The pure shock had startled her out of her tears, and she had just stared at him. It was almost as if he had been somebody else entirely, and she had wanted him. Badly. He had leaned in one more time, but in the instant before their lips touched once more, she had hesitated. She had pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” he had muttered, and turned away.

Hermione sighed again, taking another spoonful of ice cream.

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda, didn’t.” Her usual mantra, the phrase intended to get her to stop thinking about what could have been, was no more useful than any other time she had ever tried to use it. She could feel herself getting choked up, and the tears threatening to burn her cheeks, as she thought about how things might have been different.

“Vera, Chuck, and Dave.” Another spoonful for another failed attempt. She didn’t feel lighthearted, she didn’t achieve lift of a single side of her face. She was sure they’d have had kids. “I’d have been a Mommy,” she whispered, and a small trail of fire burned down her cheek.

With a small flick of her wrist, she tossed the carton over the edge of the couch. It wasn’t working, and she never was one to stick with an option that was failing quite so miserably. Shifting, she brought her knees up to her chest, planted her chin on top, and stared into the fire, completely abandoning any further attempt to slow or stop the tears that had since begun flowing freely.

Suddenly, the fire burned green. Hermione quickly grabbed a pillow and held it in front of her face. She couldn’t have anybody seeing her in the state she was in.

“Hermione?” It was Harry. Of course it was Harry. Who else could it possibly have been? Hermione swore softly under her breath at Murphy and his accursed Law.

“Hermione, can I…can I come over?” He was tripping over his words. He only tripped over his words like that when he was nervous or drunk.

It’s New Year’s Eve, she thought, pushing the pillow harder against her face. She couldn’t deal with Harry drunk. Not feeling the way she was.

“Hermione? Please?”

“No, Harry, I just want to be alone right now.”

“Please, Hermione, I…I need to see you.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, cursing herself inwardly. Damn her lack of self-control.

“Thanks,” he said quickly, and tumbled through the fire. She heard him picking himself up off the floor and dusting himself off, but did not remove the pillow from her face. She felt him sit next to her tentatively.

“Why…” Hermione felt her voice quaking, but she had to ask the question. She didn’t want to know the answer, but she had to ask the question. “Why aren’t you with Ashley?”

“We…haven’t been together for three months.”

Hermione lowered the pillow to look at him, completely stunned.

“What?”

“I…” Harry looked down. “I was…I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why not?” She was still in too much shock to be hurt that he hid something of such magnitude from her, but not by much.

Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to tell you why.”

As Hermione watched him, watched his eyes, her own narrowed a little. His words weren’t coming out right.

“You’re drunk,” she said with a sigh. She looked away.

“I had to be if I’m gonna tell you what I wanna tell you,” he replied. “Not doin’ me much good though. ‘M drunk and I’m still nervous as hell.”

Hermione looked back at him. She frowned.

“Gotta tell you why.”

“Why are you not with Ashley anymore,” she asked evenly.

“I couldn’t be with her.”

“Why not?” Hermione felt her heart racing. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. Things only worked that way in stories, not in real life.

“See, I knew you’d ask that. ‘S why I hadda be drunk.”

She kept watching him, trying to stop herself from trembling.

“I didn’t love her, Hermione. I loved you. And she knew it. ‘S why she didn’t wanna meet you.”

Hermione blinked. There wasn’t much else she could do.

Harry shifted nervously.

“So, uh…”

“Does…does that mean you weren’t just trying to make me stop crying?”

“Wh-what?” Harry looked about as confused as an elephant who was just shot with a monkey that came out of a circus cannon.

“That time in 12 Grimmauld Place. Wh-when you kissed me.”

Harry shook his head slowly.

Hermione gaped at him. She was having a great deal of difficulty processing what he was telling her.

“I hadda tell you, I just…couldn’t before.”

“Because I pulled away,” she whispered. Harry nodded.

“You din’t wanna kiss me.”

Hermione started breathing heavily.

“You still don’ wanna kiss me, do you?”

Hermione reached behind her and grabbed her wand from the side table. The time for constant vigilance had long since passed, but out of habit she still kept it nearby. Time had allowed her the luxury of not keeping it constantly strapped to her, however. She pointed it at Harry and cast a sobering charm. Harry winced. The only problem with sobering charms is that they produced instant hangovers.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his forehead. “But I needed to know. Was…was all of that true?”

Harry nodded slowly.

“…do you want to kiss me?”

Hermione nodded. “A lot.” She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, throwing off the blanket she had over her knees. After a quick muffled yelp, Harry grabbed her shoulders and started kissing her back.

Much later, as Hermione took a break for air, one of many, she glanced up at the clock. It read 12:10. She smiled.

“Happy New Year, Harry.” She nuzzled his cheek. “Looks like we got our New Year’s kisses after all.”