Disclaimer: Don't own them. Trust me, you'd know it if I did! (Mutters Litigatum Nullenvoidicus spell, just in case.)
Spoilers: None. This story was completed before the release of Deathly Hallows. As I am unwilling to rewrite the story in order to make it canon-compliant, it must be considered AU. **shrugs** I prefer my universe anyway.
March 9
The fact that Remus had introduced the "L" word into Harry's already confused thoughts only served to drive him spare. It was bad enough that the last week had changed his perspective so that he now saw Hermione as a desirable woman and a sexual creature instead of just his trusty ol' best friend. But since his conversation with Remus at the Leaky Cauldron, he'd been giving his relationship with Hermione a great deal of thought.
It stood to reason, after all this time and after everything they'd been through together, that he loved Hermione. Of course, he loved her. She was his best friend! She'd stuck by his side when no one else, even Ron, would. She believed in him, she encouraged and supported him. She was usually the first person he sought advice from or shared news with … except now.
She knew him better than anyone else, and he knew her, too: she took her tea with one sugar and a splash of cream; she preferred her eggs poached; daisies were her favorite flowers because her mother had once told her that daisies were scattered by fairies to cheer up parents whose children had died; she loved to cook, even though she didn't think she was very good at it; she never wore perfume, but used coconut shampoo and lavender soap; she liked garlic and onions but hated peppers of any kind; she disliked sad books and films because they made her cry; she loved the winter because she could snuggle under blankets ….
The list went on and on.
Once he began taking stock, Harry was surprised at exactly how much he did know about her. Until now, he'd taken possessing that vast storehouse of Hermione Facts for granted, yet he realized that, even though he knew Ron well, he didn't know those kinds of things about his male best friend. He knew even less about Ginny, with whom he'd had an intimate relationship.
To make matters worse, he'd been studiously avoiding Hermione since Ron's party and hadn't seen much of her, and he found himself missing her terribly. They usually talked or got together, or at least owled each other, several times a week, and with only one brief visit this week, Harry realized that he was more miserable without her than he was being with her and feeling uncomfortable.
Of course, he was about to put that realization to the test, as he stood outside her door, wine bottle in hand. He'd had dinner at Hermione's flat countless times, but he'd never been so nervous. He wiped his sweaty palm on his trouser leg, then withdrew his wand from his pocket and tickled the protective wards to let her know he was waiting outside.
He'd taken extra care with his appearance tonight, rifling through everything in his wardrobe before Flooing Tonks and asking her advice. He'd never wanted to look good for Hermione before, although he had told Tonks that he wanted to make a good impression on the well-to-do Frenchman and his wife. He wasn't sure if traditional wizarding robes or Muggle-style clothing was in order, but Tonks had advised him to wear whichever was most comfortable for him. She'd offered to help him transfigure some of his wardrobe, and he had left Godric's Hollow in a conservative but well-fitting black pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt, and deep green tie.
Tonks had said it brought out his eyes.
He wasn't sure he'd liked the twinkle in her own eyes when she'd said that.
Harry drew in a deep breath as he felt the wards lower on Hermione's door, then braced himself as the door swung open of its own accord and he stepped into the softly lit foyer.
"Hermione?"
"In the kitchen, Harry! Make yourself at home … I'll be right out!"
He closed the door behind him, then stuck his head around the corner into the lounge.
It was empty. Apparently the guests of honor hadn't arrived yet.
"I was just putting the finishing touches on the roast lamb …. " Hermione's voice trailed off as she stepped from the kitchen into the foyer, wiping her hands on a towel, and caught sight of Harry. Her wide-eyed gaze traveled from the topmost strand of Harry's never-to-be-tamed hair to the toes of his Dobby-polished shoes and back again,
He held his arms out to the side. "Is this all right?"
She nodded, her mouth opening, but no sound coming out.
"I wasn't sure if this was acceptable for the company this evening, so Tonks gave me a hand. Oh, and I remembered the wine, too."
A flash of annoyance crossed Hermione's face before she reached out and took the bottle from him. "Relax, Harry … Tonks dressed you well." She then spun on her heel and headed back into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "The Bonaccords should be here any moment."
Harry settled himself on the sofa, unsuccessfully willing his nervousness away. He'd always found Hermione's home comforting and welcoming, and tonight was no exception. But he found himself unable to relax knowing that one embarrassingly wrong word from him could jeopardize the security of his closely guarded secret.
Of course, it didn't help that Hermione looked radiant. His eyes never left her as she came back into the room, uncorked wine bottle in one hand and a tray of glasses floating along behind her. Her hair was gathered in a long thick plait down her back. The dress she'd chosen for the evening was straight out of one of those romantic novels she loved to read - cream-colored and decorated with mauve cabbage roses. Tiny fluttery sleeves kissed the tops of her arms while the skirt swished and floated around her knees. Harry's gaze lingered on the top button, situated just at the crest of her cleavage which made her appear demure instead of provocative. Watching her, he decided that she belonged on a blanket in a meadow with afternoon tea in a picnic basket instead of a dinner party with a potentially influential political figure.
"Oh, they're here," she said as she handed him the bottle and smoothed her skirt down over her hips and the front of her thighs.
Harry closed his eyes and sighed, wishing she hadn't done that.
Rising, he poured himself a glass of wine as the sounds of laughter and enthusiastic greetings drifted in from the foyer. As if on automatic pilot, his nervousness was forgotten as he slid into his role as Department of Magical Integration representative.
"Monsieur Bonaccord, may I present Harry Potter." Harry could hear the undisguised pride in her voice as she made the introduction. Her pride in him warmed him, and he felt his chest swell just a little.
Harry extended his hand to the Frenchman, a balding wisp of a man with a graying goatee and snapping blue eyes. "Monsieur Potter, I'm delighted to meet you!"
"Please … call me Harry."
The older man nodded enthusiastically. "But of course. And I am Jean-Claude. My wife, Marie." He stepped aside to reveal a woman who reminded Harry very much of Headmistress McGonagall, only smaller of stature.
"Madame," Harry lifted the petite woman's pale fingers to his lips and brushed her knuckles. "A pleasure."
"The pleasure is mine, Monsieur," she whispered, her cheeks tinged with pink.
Harry glanced at Hermione, hoping for a cue as to how to proceed. But she was staring at him strangely, almost as if she was one of those star-struck fans who clustered around the entrance to the Ministry building in hopes of catching a glimpse of him … almost as if she'd never seen him before.
Clearing his throat, Harry gestured to the wine bottle. "Could I interest you in a drink?"
Harry's question seemed to snap Hermione out of whatever trance had possessed her, and she slipped back into hostess mode effortlessly. "Thank you, Harry. I'll just check on dinner while you pour."
"Is this your first time to England?" Harry asked conversationally as he led Marie to a chair and handed her a glass of wine.
"Yes. Lovely country from what we've seen so far, which hasn't been much, I'm afraid."
"A bit too rainy for my taste," Jean-Claude added. Harry found he couldn't disagree.
They made small talk ranging from the climate to the inconvenience of Harry's celebrity until Hermione emerged from the kitchen again and announced that dinner was ready. Harry rose and offered Marie his arm, then led her into Hermione's dining room and held her chair while she took her seat. He was very conscious of Hermione's eyes on him and was pleased that his pure-blooded father's portrait had been all too willing to teach him the intricacies of impeccable manners when he'd accepted the Ministry position.
Hermione levitated the glasses and the remaining wine from the lounge and Harry refilled the glasses before taking his own seat. Succulent dishes were passed and heartfelt compliments were given before the four settled down to the business at hand.
"Hermione tells me that you're interested in revising the proposed legislation granting trolls Being status."
Jean-Claude's eyes lit up like an instant Incendio. "I am. I am hoping zat I can perhaps find support here, in England, first, before I approach other countries in zee Confederation."
"I'm curious … why here? Why not in France?"
Jean-Claude sighed. "Ah, my countrymen, zey are very opposed to change. Zey do not like to disturb zee status quo, eh? Even if zee status quo is unhealthy. You, however, you have made such strides. Your Ministry's success with zee giants has indeed become newsworzy. Zose of us who work for change take heart in your success."
Harry smiled ruefully. "Thank you, but we're far from finished. We've only taken the first step with the giants."
"Ah, but zat small step is a step in zee right direction, is it not? Zen it is indeed a successful one."
Harry couldn't argue with that. "You said, 'Those of us who work for change.' Am I correct in assuming that this campaign is more than you working alone against the tide of public opinion?"
Jean-Claude chuckled. "While it sometimes feels zat way, zere is actually a group of seven of us, all men of some influence, who are working togezer."
"I've found, in my limited experience, that in order to change public opinion, it is often more effective to illustrate the validity of your point, as opposed to verbally expounding on it."
"And how would you propose zat I show instead of merely tell?"
Harry smiled at the other man's quick wit. "Forest trolls are known to be less volatile and more intelligent than other races of troll. They have been trained and employed for years as security guards. Albus Dumbledore even used them at Hogwarts when deemed necessary. Perhaps the introduction of that elite labor force into France would be a more productive first step. If one of your associates would be willing to allow them to patrol their business … " Harry let the suggestion hang as he watched the wheels turn in Jean-Claude's head.
"Henri might be willing … perhaps zee low-level research facility outside of Nice."
"Something else that might prove useful from a public relations standpoint," Harry offered, "is that there are many witches and wizards with unique abilities that are readily accepted. Take Veelas, for example, or Animagi, or Metamorphmagi. All human, but each possesses certain skills that set them apart from the general wizarding population."
"Very true," Marie spoke up. "Many of zose zat you mentioned hold positions of power in France and are looked up to because zey are unique." She then smiled shyly. "You yourself have unique powers, is zat not correct, Monsieur?"
Harry frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what she could possibly mean.
"I believe my wife is referring to your ability to speak with snakes."
Harry's face flushed. "Ah, yes, well … given the political situation over the last decade, I'm not sure that being a Parselmouth invokes any degree of trust."
"Perhaps not," she agreed, "but it is common knowledge zat, wizout it, you would not have defeated zee Dark wizard." She laid her fork aside, then continued softly, "I know it is asking much, and if you refuse, I would certainly understand …."
"Marie," her husband cautioned, "I do not zink Monsieur Potter …."
Harry sighed and wiped his mouth with his serviette before smiling in her direction. "You'd like a demonstration?"
"I know it is presumptuous of me. Through a Dark accident in his youth, my father became a Parselmouth. I remember as a child helping him to weed our garden. Whenever he encountered a snake, he would call me over. 'You see, Marie,' he'd say, 'you have nozing to fear.' Zen he'd talk to it, allow it to twine around his arm and over his shoulder before sending it on its way. My father died unexpectedly when I was nine, and I have never known anyone else with his abilities. I haven't heard it in so many years … forgive me."
Harry was moved by the tears glistening in her eyes. Without any hesitation he imagined a green grass snake coiled around her forearm and said, "It's all right, Marie, I don't mind giving you the gift of a memory." The resulting hissing sounds brought a smile to older woman's face as her husband covered her hand with his.
Pleased with himself for being able to so readily grant the request, Harry turned to look at Hermione, who was once again staring at him as if he had two heads. Her face was flushed, her breathing was shallow and she was biting her lower lip, a sure sign that she was lost in thought. "Hermione?"
At the sound of her name, Hermione's eyes darted away from Harry and she brushed her hands across her lap. Harry thought she seemed flustered, but before he could find out if she was all right, she recovered her composure and, in a way-too-perky tone, she asked "Anyone for treacle tart?"
They lingered over coffee, discussing ways Remus and Harry could offer assistance without raising objections from those in French wizarding politics opposed to foreign intervention. Harry kept watching Hermione, first surreptitiously, then blatantly, as she refused to look at him. Although the Bonaccords seemed oblivious to Hermione's odd behavior, Harry couldn't help wondering what had her so out of sorts, and what she was thinking.
As the evening drew to a close, they bid the Bonaccords good night over promises from Hermione to provide as much research as she could and from Harry to inform Remus of their informal partnership. All four agreed to get together again soon.
"I'd say that went rather well, wouldn't you?" Harry asked Hermione as he followed her into the kitchen, dirty dessert dishes in tow. "Far better than I anticipated, although I think the lamb roast had something to do with it." When she didn't respond to his compliment, he slid his suit coat off, hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and began to roll up his shirt sleeves. "You were awfully quiet this evening," he observed softly. "Any particular reason?"
She looked over her shoulder to answer, only to stop when she saw him unbutton his cuff. "What are you doing?" she asked with a frown.
"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm helping you."
"That's not necessary," she told him as she turned on the tap and began to fill the sink with water.
"Course it is. I always help."
"Tonight's different."
Harry enjoyed helping her clean up the Muggle way. It was usually relaxed and playful, and one of his favorite activities with her. Confused, he braced his hands on his hips. "And what makes tonight different? Some special observance I don't know about? National Men Don't Have to Do the Washing Up Day?"
Hermione didn't smile. "You're not exactly in jeans and a tee shirt, are you? I wouldn't want to ruin your clothes."
Harry smirked as he grabbed a dish towel. "It's soap and water, Hermione. And I can mange a fairly efficient Drying Charm if I put my mind to it. Besides, you're not dressed down, either." His gaze drifted the length of her body again, lingering briefly over her lower back, and before he could stop himself, he said, "You look beautiful tonight."
Oh, Merlin!
Harry wanted to cut his traitorous tongue out with a butter knife before sinking through the floor.
No, he couldn't say she looked nice, or even very pretty … no, he had to tell her she looked beautiful. Why didn't he just hang a huge sign around his neck proclaiming I want to see you naked and get it over with?
Hermione's frown deepened and then she quickly turned her attention to the dishes in the sink, lifting one out of the soapy water and scrubbing it with a fierceness that had Harry puzzled. Of all the reactions to his blunder that he could imagine, anger hadn't been at the top of his list.
"Did I say something wrong?" he ventured, already knowing the answer.
"No. You said the perfect thing." Her tone was biting and she scrubbed even more furiously at the inoffensive dinner plate.
Harry pretended to slap his forehead. "Silly me! Here I was under the mistaken impression that saying the perfect thing would make someone happy."
"You're a git."
"Most days. Now, want to tell me why you're angry?"
"I'm not angry."
"I'll bet that poor plate would argue with you."
Hermione threw him a glare before dropping her sponge in the sink and rinsing the plate. "Like I said, you were perfect. As a matter of fact, this whole evening you were perfect. You charmed the Bonaccords perfectly."
Harry's brow wrinkled in exasperation. "And this obviously upsets you. Why? Wasn't that the purpose of inviting me … to open a dialogue and establish a mutually beneficial relationship?"
Hermione let the plate drop in the sink and bowed her head, the loose tendrils at the side of her face drifting forward to partially hide her expression. Harry took a step closer and watched as her eyes closed. "Could you please just stop being Harry Potter, Ministry Official for a moment?" she asked softly. "I'd really like to talk to my best friend right now."
Harry's heart gave a lurch as he dropped the towel on the counter and withdrew his wand from his back pocket. With a swish, he set the dishes to washing themselves before he took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. "Hermione," he whispered, "I'm right here. I always have been." He gave in to the urge to reach up and brush the curls back off her face. "What's wrong?"
"You were perfect."
Harry sighed. "You keep saying that, but I don't understand what the problem is."
Hermione rolled her eyes, then reached up to straighten his tie, dripping soap suds on his shoes, all the while avoiding his gaze while she spoke. "I'm … I'm very proud of you, you know that? You've come so far … you've done so much in the years since the war. You're not that shy, awkward boy I met on the train. You haven't been for a long time, but I guess I've always thought of you like that because, well … because you needed me. Even when we were fighting Voldemort, you needed me. We needed each other."
Harry felt his throat constrict as she tugged on his tie. "But now … you're successful, you're influential. Merlin, you're charming, you're handsome, you can carry on an intelligent conversation, even with an imaginary snake …"
Her voice trailed off and Harry swallowed hard before he spoke. "And you think I don't need you any more."
Hermione shrugged helplessly.
Without a word, Harry wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, trapping her hands between their bodies. His cheek pressed against hers as he whispered in her ear, "You are so wrong, Hermione. I do need you, now more than ever. I may not need you in the same way I did when we were eleven, but that doesn't mean I need you any less. It just means I need you differently."
Hermione pulled her head back and finally looked him in the eye. "How do you need me, Harry?"
Harry felt his world tilt as he lost himself in her brown eyes. The desire to kiss her was practically overwhelming and it was all he could do to tamp it down. "You keep me sane," he finally managed to choke out.
And drive me insane.
She smiled a crooked smile. "Toughest job in wizardom."
"And getting tougher every day," he countered, trying to lighten the mood. He tore his eyes from hers, dropping his glance to her lips and wishing he had the courage to see if they tasted as appealing as they looked. She parted them as if in invitation and Harry became suddenly very aware of how closely he held her, and of how little she was protesting.
Merlin, just one taste.
Loosening his hold on her, he suddenly narrowed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. "Is that why you were so quiet tonight? You thought I didn't need you?"
She had the decency to blush. "Well, you did have everything well in hand. It was like watching a master at work."
"Flattery isn't going to get you out of answering the hard questions, Miss Granger."
"Fine!" she cried exasperatedly as she retreated from his embrace. "I didn't think I had anything to add to the conversation, so I kept quiet and let you work your magic."
Harry was stunned that his best friend was torn between admiration and jealousy. How could she not understand that he'd always need her … that she was like air to him? And how could she conceivably believe that she - one of the most intelligent, forward thinking and insightful witches Hogwarts had ever produced - would have nothing to contribute to any conversation?
He hadn't realized that he'd protested out loud until she laughed. "What's so funny?"
Her smile was genuine now, and affectionate. "You, Harry. You've saved me many times over the years, and now you're trying to save me from myself."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the counter. "And she's a formidable foe, but I think I can take her in a duel."
Hermione plunged her hands back into the dish water, ignoring the spelled sponge. "I'm sure you can, Mister Potter. After all, you do know her weakness."
"She has a weakness?" He feigned shock as he grabbed the towel out of midair and dried the plate dancing in front of him.
"Of course she does." Hermione hesitated, then whispered solemnly, "It's you. It's always been you."
Harry felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
He had no idea.
They worked in silence then, the dishes magically washing themselves while Harry dried and Hermione put away. When the last spoon had been stowed in the drawer and the spell cancelled, Harry pointed downward. "You got my shoes wet."
"You're the one with the killer Drying Charm," she countered easily.
Harry's eyes met hers, and he was once more slammed with the urge to ravish her. Unable to trust himself in her presence, he grabbed his coat and mumbled, "I have an early day tomorrow. I should get home."
"All right." Hermione's agreement was quiet, and Harry saw regret in her eyes. Harry had regrets, too -- regrets that he'd ever seen that tantalizing hint of tattoo in the first place. For now, despite his best efforts to the contrary, his relationship with Hermione was beginning to show signs of strain. He wished he'd never found out, and that they could have continued on just the way they were. But it was too late - their precious friendship was already changed, whether Hermione realized it or not, and Harry didn't know what to do to set it to rights.
He stepped close to her, then leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek, all the while cursing himself for wanting more. "Thanks for dinner. I'll see you later," he said brusquely as he headed for the door.
The tears in Hermione's eyes went unnoticed.