A/N - Okaaay yes yes I said a week and a half upload time. Well I lied. Happy? School is rude, let us leave it at that.
On another note, I definitely hope to have another chapter up within a week, but after that I don't know how scarce they'll be until exams are over. Life is hard sometimes -_-
P.S - On the note of reference to Voldemort here, as it is not pivotal to the storyline I don't mention much about it, but let us just assume that all that happened in book 7 happened when they were in year 6 at school, and therefore had a free year at Hogwarts in year 7, kay? Kay.
At least I have something to show for this holiday week's efforts, ENJOY MY PRETTIES ^^
An angered Granger certainly was a sight to behold.
Harry noted this silently to himself as the coffee grew warm in his hands. It was useful, too, that his attention was otherwise occupied by the daily newspaper propped up against the salt shakers, because try as he might, there was no avoiding the Hermione glare.
He would take a glance with a Basalisk any day.
In any case, when an abrupt snap of the usually merry café door carried towards him, Harry kept his head down firmly on his newspaper. Maybe calling in some Aurors wouldn't have been such a bad idea.
`Harry James Potter!'
She practically hissed in his directed as she slid into the booth, not even bothering to remove her scarf. Her eyes flashed dangerously under suspiciously squinted lids as he sneaked a peek at her face.
Though Harry's eyes did not leave the black and white writing of his paper he could practically feel the burn of Hermione's presence in front of him and was too much of a coward to face her just yet.
The minutes ticked by, and not a thing happened.
Slowly, he congregated enough courage to look up into Hermione's accusing face.
To his great surprise, she was not looking at him. He observed her closely as she traced the fingers of her opposite hand, her eyelids down and therefore unreadable. He liked to believe that her anger had diminished, but he wasn't naive enough to think that he was out of the woods yet.
Another minute passed, still Hermione remained silent.
Harry cleared his throat tentatively and she glanced up at him with a slightly dazed expression, indicating that she had been deep in thought. Upon instantly realizing this it vanished as quickly as it had appeared to be replaced with a scowl.
It was to Harry's immense relief that her expression reflected that of colossal disapproval as opposed to direct rage. She made him feel like a disobedient child.
With a falsely cheerful voice, Harry broke the silence.
`Good Morning, sleep well?'
If it were possible, her scowl deepened.
In one swift movement, Hermione swung her bag onto the table. The shakers rattled and the menu tipped over at the loud thump but she bustled determinedly through the bag's contents until she had retrieved a crumpled piece of parchment. Unfolding and smoothing it out on the tabletop briefly, she read it out loud in a curt and irritated voice.
`Dear Miss Granger,'
At your request we have organised your uncollected leave to be activated until five weeks from this date.
Hoping your personal business is resolved,
Emmett Keirnan
Head of the department of International Magical
Cooperation
Ministry of Magic'
There was a pause in which Hermione closed her eyes momentarily, as if attempting to recollect her composure. She then threw the scrunched ball of paper viciously at Harry's head.
Harry blinked, then grinned in spite of himself.
`Don't you smirk at me, Potter,' Hermione snapped, folding her arms across her chest like a sulking teenager, `You lied to my boss.'
Harry rolled his eyes and went back to his coffee. `Lied is a strong world, I merely suggested on your behalf.'
Hermione's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. `On my behalf? It's fraud!'
`Calm down, for Christs sake,' Harry soothed, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. `You work too hard and need a break. It's exhausting just watching you.'
Hermione straightened up in her seat, her hair bristling defiantly. `Who are you to tell me I need a break? I feel I work in a perfectly acceptable manner and in any case, it's none of your business.'
`Suit yourself,' sighed Harry nonchalantly, flipping his newspaper. `But either way, you have five weeks. It'll give you time to relax for once, sort things out.'
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed with irritated confusion. `Sort things o-Harry Potter you had better not be thinking I'm a distraught female in emotional mayhem from all this business with Ron, you of all people I thought would understand that as an independent member of the society I am entirely capable of-
`Hot chocolate?'
The waitress had buzzed over to their table, humming to her own tune and smiling politely, pen and paper poised. She appeared to be apparently oblivious to Hermione's current state of frustration and Hermione huffed at the interruption, stopping mid-sentence, glaring at Harry.
Harry merely smiled at the waitress and ordered for his companion. When she had left their table, tapping her feet merrily as she went, he gave a heavy sigh.
`Hermione, I just think you need a little bit of time to get your head around things. You haven't come up for air since we got out of Hogwarts and I really don't want my best friend having a mental breakdown anytime soon. Please, take some time off?'
She looked at him for an instant, then took the mug of steaming chocolate from the waitress, taking a long first swallow. Once she had replaced the cup on the table, she kicked off her shoes, drew her legs up underneath her and grudgingly mumbled a defeated groan.
`Maybe a few weeks won't kill me.'
Harry extracted a relieved breath and grinned ardently at her, which after a long moment, she sheepishly returned.
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It was surprisingly easy to entertain Hermione for the rest of the day. Harry secretly thanked her muggle born status, briefly wondering if she'd ever done this type of thing with Ron, who had no patience for the effort it took to enjoy muggle entertainment. They roamed the centre streets of London, flitting in and out of the hubbub of the city's happenings as if it was being experienced for the first time. They explored the markets, buying useless trinkets that they would never use. In the afternoon Harry treated Hermione to an ice cream on the way through the park and for a while there was a lax in conversation save for the occasion exclamation about the weather. Indeed it was the perfect day, and Hermione displayed her appreciation by tying her jumper around her waist, lapping up the unusual sun.
He could tell she needed this.
Every so often he would catch her glancing across the street as if expecting to find someone there. Her eyes would flit back and forth near a spot for a moment and then the moment vanished, and Harry would wonder if it had really happened. If they shared a laugh there were a few occasions in which she would falter slightly mid-smile, like a memory had flashed across her mind.
It hurt Harry to know she still cared for Ron. Though, what had he expected? It had barely been 24 hours and he was already jumping to conclusions. Hell, were they even officially over? It wasn't wise to think too much of it just yet, and he internally warned himself of the dangers.
Hermione lived by routine. It was as if she had her own personal checklist going off in her head. She did things the way she wanted, when she wanted, without question. She knew how she liked it to be done and settled for the same, safe road. Every day she would have a hot chocolate with Harry, not once had she ever ordered anything else. Ron was a part of her routine. That was the way it had been done for years, even while they were at Hogwarts, she was used to it and it was safe. It then made sense therefore to say that Hermione wasn't used to change. She'd rarely had the need to alter her routine at all, nothing new ever popped up because she never failed at the previous thing. It was harder than even Harry could fathom for her to let the routine of Ron go. Deep, deep down, Hermione knew that she and Ron just weren't working. There was something different these days, but Hermione's head had always overpowered her heart, and there was no way it was going to admit defeat that easily. The only part she loved about Ron now was the idea of him, the routine of him. Eventually, or so Harry hoped, she would come to notice that it was a lost cause. For someone so intelligent, she really couldn't see.
He watched as she scooped the dripping ice cream from its journey down her cone and popped it messily into her mouth with a finger. At the image of her own ridiculousness she giggled, her teeth flashing him a young smile that reminded him of their days at Hogwarts. He missed those times so much, where they thought of nothing but exams and friendship. Harry's thoughts turned to their seventh year, the first time they had all been without Voldemort's reign. How nice it felt not to have that constant weight on their shoulders, to finally feel free. He would give anything to go back to that time again, where he had no worries of the complications of love.
She was so special to him.
It was impossible to spend this time with her, under the circumstance and not get carried away. The incredible guilt was overwhelming but Harry couldn't help feel elated at the personal time they could now spend together. Of course they'd done things collectively before but this was different, there was a cause, and Harry knew the only way he could help Hermione was to take her mind off anything to do with Ron.
Did she not realise how lovely she was?
Every time she smiled at Harry, he felt his stomach lurch, like he'd been temporarily stunned. When her shoulder would brush his her shampoo would waft over him, make him long to bury his head it it's glory, thinking that nothing else could ever smell so wonderful.
He loved the way she would twist the woven band on her wrist when she was bored or fall asleep with a slightly troubled look on her face for no particular reason. And yet, she had absolutely no idea how beautiful she was.
The day passed quickly, though they headed back to Harry's place as the sun made its descent and ordered Chinese from the lack of anyone wanting to cook. Harry was feeling relatively light and carefree and Hermione seemed to share the mood as they sat sprawled on the lounge room floor, eating from the packaged containers that had arrived moments before. Hermione sat watching trashy sitcoms, fried rice only sometimes making it all the way to her mouth, while Harry sat watching her, imprinting every moment into his memory. For a while there was peace between them and all that was needed was the noise of the television. It felt natural again.
But when night came, and the sun that once peeked through Harry's curtains ceased to glow, the atmosphere changed. With the darkness came rain and with the rain came memories, still fresh from the closeness of the previous night.
He could see it in her eyes.
Hermione became less interested in her sitcom reruns and more preoccupied with the water on the rooftops above their heads. Harry watched as she shrunk back into the shadows of the lounge at her back, seemingly determined to keep her eyes on the screen in front of her. That same tense and frightened look came over her, the one that he had rarely seen on her face before. It still seemed out of place. His eyes travelled to where her long fingers wrapped around her knees, noticing something clutched there. Before he recognised what the little box was, she spoke, more to the room than to Harry himself.
`Why hasn't he called?'
Harry looked at her, not quite sure what to say. The mobile phone lay still and motionless in her hands.
`He always calls.'
He slid over to her side of the floor and took the phone from her grasp. `But you always returned to your apartment.'
There was a pause and Harry could tell she was considering this, so he spoke again.
`It's different this time Hermione, you know it is.'
`I'm just so confused.' She moaned quietly. `I didn't think…I mean, how am I supposed to-Harry I…'
She buried her head into his shoulder hopelessly and clutched at his shirt, tugging on it as if it would help solve her problems. His overbearing sense of protection came creeping into his thoughts again and he wished there was something more he could do. Why did she not see that she could do so much better? She deserved the world, and she wasn't getting it. It was then that a sudden anger filled him and it snapped.
`Hermione, is it going to be over or not?'
She looked up at him, her eyes slightly questioning at his abrupt outburst. `I…well-
Harry's expression grew darker and he made a short noise of frustration. `It's a yes or no question, `Mione. I'm sorry, but this is only hurting you and as your best friend I'm asking you to stop. Give it up, you can't fix this.'
Hermione stared at him through her glassy eyes and he could feel her fingers against his chest through the material of his shirt.
He could have kicked himself for that little charade.
The way she was looking at him, it was so…so curious. The familiar fear of being caught out came creeping back but he pushed it away, back into the corner of his head and out of sight. He didn't need hesitation at a time like this. A fleeting, reckless thought flashed across his mind and for a second he contemplated just telling her, to give her a reason to trust his judgement, to end the unbelievable ache he felt inside. With a hitched breath he searched her eyes for the recognition but he found…nothing. They were blank. Emotionless.
By God he was good.
He must have the best freaking poker face in the entire world.
Harry had little time to bask in his own glory because his mind was moving to other things. Like the way her curls wound their way around her neck and down her shoulders, springing about ever time she turned her head. They teased him, as if daring him to reach out and run a hand through them.
And then there were those freckles. Those golden speckles scattered across her cheekbones like powdered glitter. He longed to wake up to them each morning, count them, know their every location. So often he had dreamt of knowing her top to bottom. Every mark, every inch, his to discover. A land uncharted.
He was brought back from his reverie to find the same dark, chocolate eyes still staring at him but the connection was lost. They lacked their vigour and he could tell she was also deep in thought. A few seconds passed in which she sat lifelessly in his arms until she gave a sudden jerk of the head to flick back into his eyes, a scared but determined look on her face.
They looked at each other, illuminated only by the screen in front of them. The worthless, meaningless screen. Hermione opened her mouth to speak with a kind of wonder and finality, as if coming to a secret revelation.
`Okay.'
Harry paused, then gave a questioning look, which she quickly answered.
`It's over.'
Blinking once, it finally clunked into place what she was talking about and Harry gave a slow but encouraging nod before she continued.
`You're right, Harry, and I…I trust you.'
She gave a hesitant exhale of breath and stared down at her hands.
Harry didn't quite know how to react, so he said `You sure?'
Hermione took a long moment to gather herself, swung her arms around him in comfort and uttered the words breathlessly into his ear.
`Definitely.'
Harry clutched her around the waist roughly and hugged her as tightly as she did him, not quite knowing what to think or what to feel. All he knew was the surge of relief and fierce protection he felt for her at that moment. Hermione, his Hermione.
As they sat there, Harry's thoughts welled up and spilled over and he experienced with a sharp realization a feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time. It leaked through him, reluctant and wary but defiant in its travels through his body. Though he knew all too well the dangers this emotion could cause, he couldn't help it. He guiltily welcomed it as an old acquaintance though kept it at arms length, just in case.
For the first time in years, Harry Potter felt hopeful.
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