First

Disclaimer: Everything to do with the Harry Potter universe belongs to the brilliant JK Rowling, not me.

A/N: Originally posted in the Cookie Jar on FictionAlley Park.

First Part 1

No one could say that Vincent Clow was exciting. He was very intelligent, quite talented and undoubtedly headed for a brilliant future in the Wizarding world as far as research was concerned. And he was nice, a genuinely nice person as everyone who met him acknowledged.

He and Hermione met at a conference discussing a new theory concerning the uses of dragon scales in potions and had gotten along well. They had dinner together that evening, then again three days later.

Hermione liked him and had allowed herself to wonder if a more serious relationship was possible. She dismissed the question though and resolved to enjoy his conversation without worrying about it.

And that was how things stood when it happened.

Hermione and Vincent were just preparing to leave for dinner when there was a pop and Harry Potter apparated into Hermione’s living room.

There was nothing unusual about this in itself. The Trio’s friendship was as strong as ever. Harry, Ron and Ginny were, in fact, the only people allowed to apparate directly into Hermione’s flat and generally did so on a weekly basis.

So Harry’s sudden appearance wasn’t what surprised and dismayed Hermione. Nor was it the fact that there was the distinct beginning of a bruise on Harry’s cheekbone. It was more the look in Harry’s eyes, the hollow, dead look that always made her heart clench.

Vincent, forgotten by Hermione for a moment, watched the look on her face change from glad surprise at Harry’s appearance to dismay and worry.

Hermione quickly summoned a healing ointment for the bruise before turning to Vincent. “I’m so sorry, Vincent, but can we not go out tonight? I have to help Harry,” she said simply.

He nodded, understanding something he had been wondering about and left, after a quick goodbye.

“Harry, what happened?” Hermione asked, frowning as she put the ointment on Harry’s bruised cheek before pointing her wand at it, making the bruise disappear.

“Work,” was all Harry said, briefly. Hermione nodded in understanding. The one word said it all. Harry was an Auror, one of the best in all honesty, but she knew that there were times he detested his job, hated dealing with dark wizards all the time, seeing the evil people were capable of. That always brought the hollow look to Harry’s normally bright green eyes that she hated to see.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes as he stretched out on Hermione’s sofa. He had had a long day. Apparating to Hermione’s flat had been an impulse but he was glad he had. No one calmed him as Hermione did in times like this. And she never pestered him with questions about what exactly was bothering him, was always just quietly capable and sympathetic.

Hermione looked down at Harry, watching as gradually the lines on his face smoothed out in sleep before softly brushing some hair from his face with a gentleness very few people suspected the independent, spirited Miss Granger capable of. Then she bent and kissed Harry’s cheek, as she had done so many times before. “Good night, Harry,” she said softly.

Indecisiveness was never one of Vincent’s flaws and it was the very next evening that he told Hermione his decision.

“There’s something I want to say to you, Hermione,” Vincent said quietly.

She looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

“It’s just this. Hear me out, Hermione. I like you and I thought we might become more than just friends. But I realized yesterday that I can’t. I can’t compete with Harry Potter, Hermione.”

She opened her mouth to say something but he continued. “I saw the way you looked at him, Hermione. You love him and, more than that perhaps, he comes first in your life. He always has. I thought he might after listening to you talk about him but now I know. And I can’t compete with that. We can be friends but nothing more.”

Hermione was at a loss, for once in her life. “I’m sorry, Vincent,” she finally managed to say.

Vincent shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”

And that, Hermione reflected that night, was the end of that, after what was probably a decidedly unique way of ending a relationship that hadn’t even officially begun yet.

Nothing Vincent had said was wrong, she knew that. It was true that Harry came first in her life. He always had since they were 11. it was always Harry, Harry she worried about, thought about, cared for more than anything else. And she did love Harry, had known that for years now, although she had resigned herself to being only his friend.

She knew Harry cared about her, loved her even, as his best friend and that was enough. and if sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to have Harry kiss her or what his eyes would look like when he said “I love you” those moments were few and passed quickly enough.

It was enough to be his best friend.

Or so she told herself repeatedly.

~*~*

Part 2

Harry studied the magical stamp that read “Azkaban” in bold black letters on the page in front of him before closing the file for Jasper Eckart with a snap.

It was done. Jasper Eckart’s career of cruelty and murder was finished. He would never use the Cruciatus on another child, never Avada Kedavra another person.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, allowing that thought to sink in.

He could see Hermione’s face in his mind immediately, hear her voice saying, “Oh, Harry, I know how much you wanted this to happen. You did it, Harry, you did it!” Involuntarily, the beginnings of a smile lifted the corners of his lips. Oh yes, Hermione would understand what this meant.

In another moment he could hear his other best friend’s voice in his head. “Good for you, Harry! But of course you would. How could Eckart hope to outwit you, eh, Harry? Not the Boy who Lived for nothing!”

Yes, Ron would say that. He assumed that Harry’s successes were inevitable; it was part of Ron’s belief in him, his loyalty.

And yet today, Harry was in no mood for blind faith. He knew just how difficult capturing Eckart had been and it was somehow aggravating to have the effort passed over.

Harry made a quick decision and penned a brief note to Hermione, giving it to Hedwig to deliver.

How about dinner at Sally Lund’s tonight? Meet you there at 7. –H.

“You look tired” was the first thing Hermione said when they had been seated.

Harry smiled. “Always good to be able to count on a friend for flattery.”

Hermione flushed slightly but persisted. “Honestly, Harry, you do. You look like you did during O.W.L’s and N.E.W.T’s. What is it?”

Harry sobered. “Jasper Eckart was sent to Azkaban today.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Jasper Eckart! No wonder you look so tired, Harry. But, Eckart in Azkaban! That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah. I wonder, though, what does it do for those children in St. Mungo’s and their parents?” Harry asked, studying the ice in his glass of water rather morosely.

“Oh, Harry, don’t think like that.” Hermione reached over to put a comforting hand on his arm. “You’ve helped make sure that no other children or their parents will ever have to go through such a thing again. You can’t be blamed for what Eckart’s done already.”

Harry sighed but managed to smile at Hermione. “Thanks, Hermione.” And somehow he did feel better. Hermione’s presence, her sympathy and her logical reasoning always managed to make him feel better. It was why she was somehow always the first person he turned to when he was worried, sad or distressed, and why she was also the first person he thought of to share triumphs with, no matter how small or large. And she was always there when he needed her.

They spent the rest of the dinner in comfortable conversations interspersed with equally comfortable silences, as only two people who’d been friends for years and who are completely at ease with one another can have.

They were shrugging on their cloaks when Harry asked something he’d been wondering about. “Hermione, when I showed up at your flat the other night, you‘d just been about to leave for dinner. I hope my showing up didn’t cause any problems for you. You really didn’t have to stay just for me, you know, Hermione.” He refrained from saying that he was immeasurably glad that she had stayed behind. Sometimes being alone with his own thoughts was the worst thing in the world. Instead he gave Hermione a teasing glance. “I’m a big boy now. I can handle being alone in the dark.”

Hermione laughed slightly, as he’d known she would, but shrugged off his unspoken question. “Vincent’s just a friend. And you know, Harry, I could never leave you alone like that, when you so obviously needed someone’s help.”

Harry smiled slightly before kissing her cheek. “Thanks, Hermione. What would I do without you?”

Hermione flushed but managed to smile. “You’d survive, Harry, you always do. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Hermione.”

Harry watched her walk away and then said softly, “You’re wrong, Hermione. I couldn’t survive without you.”

~*~*~*

Part 3

Hermione wearily took out her wand preparing to say the unlocking charm required before she could unlock her door by key, thinking with dread of the dark, empty flat she would be facing when she entered. Ever decisive, even when so tired and dispirited, she made a quick decision and apparated, instead, to Harry’s flat.

She and Ron were the only people, besides Harry himself, who could apparate into Harry’s flat and she thanked Merlin for it now when she wanted to avoid the dim solitude of her own flat.

Once inside, she collapsed onto the sofa in his living room, without bothering to turn on the lights or anything. Darkness was more conducive to her mood and her thoughts this evening, as it was.

Some time later, Harry quickly dismantled the several complicated locking charms on his door before stepping into his flat.

He usually returned home earlier but Ron had returned that afternoon from a Quidditch match in Manchester, overflowing with triumphant excitement at the Chudley Cannons victory over the Appleby Arrows and had, as usual, given him a play-by-play recap of the match over dinner. He smiled at the memory of Ron’s jubilation, which he understood and shared. His love of Quidditch hadn’t lessened in the past few years since he’d actually played in a Quidditch match and would normally have been glad to discuss Quidditch with Ron over drinks as well, but Ron had wanted to spend the rest of the evening with Luna, his girlfriend, and Harry had just grinned and left.

Inside he flicked on the light switch and turned, only to start at the sight of Hermione sitting on his sofa, staring broodingly into space. Something about her posture spoke of dejection and his heart clenched. “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

Hermione looked at him, the tears in her eyes finally spilling over, before leaping up to throw herself into his arms. “Oh, Harry!” was all she managed to say, before the sobs came and she cried convulsively.

Harry frowned in concern. It wasn’t like Hermione to break down like this and he felt his insides grow cold wondering what had caused this, while carrying her over to the sofa and settling down with her on his lap. He rubbed her back and shoulders comfortingly while murmuring soft words of sympathy.

It was some time before Hermione managed to speak. “She’s dead, Harry, she’s dead. And I- I couldn’t do anything. I had to watch and- and her poor parents are heartbroken and, oh, Harry…” Her voice faltered into renewed sobs, while Harry held her tighter in helpless sympathy, understanding what had upset Hermione so much. Hermione was one of the rising Healers at St. Mungo’s, as well as being one of the research witches in St. Mungo’s Department of Research, constantly working to find cures to various diseases, antidotes to poisons, and other things. He knew Hermione valued her job, usually enjoying it, except when the occasional patient was unable to be cured.

Gradually, in between sobs, Hermione managed to explain what had happened. A 7-year-old girl had been brought in after having been poisoned due to a series of accidents and sheer bad luck. Hermione had been assigned with trying to find an antidote and, while she had been making some progress, had not yet managed to find one when the girl had died that afternoon.

Hermione’s sobs had died away, though tears still welled up as she spoke. “I failed her, Harry, and her parents… they had been counting on me and I couldn’t, I couldn’t. I thought I could but I wasn’t quick enough. I should have tried harder, looked into more varieties of antidotes, should have…”

Harry winced at the anguish in Hermione’s tone. “Hermione, no, don’t think like that. I know you and I know you must have done everything in your power to help that little girl. No one could have done more. No one. It’s not your fault, Hermione, it really isn’t. You did all that you could. It’s tragic, it always is when a child dies, but you’re not to blame.”

Harry sighed, eyes darkening with sorrow and helplessness. What could he say to help Hermione? He felt her pain so deeply, understood it, as he often felt a similar sense of helplessness when he arrived at the scene of some atrocity by Dark wizards, and yet he was never quite sure what he could say to make things better.

Hermione reached up to wipe away her tears, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder, feeling exhaustion overtake her, after the emotional upheaval of the past few hours.

Harry kissed her hair softly, feeling her relax against him, thankful that she had stopped crying. He always hated to see any girl cry and seeing Hermione cry was a thousand times worse. It was the one thing he couldn’t bear to see, one thing he would do almost anything to keep from happening, he thought, realizing it was true. He would do almost anything to keep Hermione happy.

Hermione, who had been the first girl in his memory to care enough to cry over him, little as he may have deserved it, who always believed in him, strengthened him and, yes, loved him as her best friend.

And he loved her.

Sitting there in his flat, holding Hermione in his lap, Harry felt oddly content, despite his worry and grief over Hermione’s pain. He could sit like this forever, he realized, could hold Hermione forever.

Harry brushed his lips against her hair again, tightening his arms around Hermione, reflecting that he wasn’t surprised to realize he was in love with his best friend. He supposed he should be and yet all he felt was an idle wonder that he had never realized it before. It seemed so natural, so right. Who else was as important to him as Hermione was? She was the first, the most important, person in his life, more important even than Ron and the Weasleys, although when that had happened he didn’t know.

Hermione’s breathing was deep and even. She had fallen asleep in his arms, thoroughly drained from the events of the day. Her tears had dried on her cheeks, while her face was calm, peaceful in sleep, he noticed to his relief. Slowly, careful not to wake her, he rose, carrying her into the guest bedroom of his flat, laying her on the bed.

He bent and kissed her cheek softly. “I love you, Hermione,” he said quietly, before leaving the room.

~*~

Part 4

Harry pushed the papers he’d been trying to read away with a sigh. He’d been trying to get through the reports from some of the Aurors stationed in Wales, but his mind wasn’t on it. He’d been reading the same sentence over and over for the past 15 minutes.

His eyes strayed, as it had constantly today to the one personal item he kept on his desk, a wizarding picture of him with his arms around both Hermione and Ron’s shoulders, all of them smiling happily.

His eyes lingered on Hermione’s smiling face, as he thought about that morning.

Hermione had been composed, casual, as he had been as he gave her toast and some orange juice. Hermione had assured him she was fine, answering his unspoken question rather than his spoken one of how she’d slept. But her eyes had been shadowed, the smile she’d put on for his benefit not quite natural. It would have fooled just about anyone else, of course, but not Harry, who had known her for so long and whose eyes were made sharper by love and worry. He had refrained from commenting, knowing Hermione too well, only giving her hand a supportive pressure before he’d stepped back as she apparated out of his flat with a pop.

He was worried about her, wondered how she was doing at work today, after the tragedy of yesterday. He knew, better than anyone, of the strength in her, that Hermione rarely, if ever, accepted failure. Yesterday’s breakdown was an aberration, one of Hermione’s rare cracks in her armor of logical reasoning and intelligence.

The extreme youth of the little girl had broken through that shield, more than the sight of death. Merlin knew Hermione had seen enough of death in the Second Voldemort War, as had they all, but she had never managed to inure herself to suffering, especially that of a child, was too kind-hearted to do so. He still vividly remembered Hermione’s preventing him from cursing the Death Eater who’d acquired a baby’s head in their 5^th year while fighting for their lives in the Department of Mysteries. He had been surprised, even a little annoyed at the time, but he had understood and appreciated, afterwards, the values that one action of Hermione’s had shown.

It was what made her such a wonderful Healer, her compassion, her sympathy and her genuine kindness, combined with her intelligence. It was one of the things he loved best about her, the gentleness beneath her calm confident manner, the self-assured competence she showed to the world.

He knew, respected and valued Hermione’s strength of mind and of character. But he knew also the vulnerability she never showed to anyone but him and, occasionally, Ron. Which was why he was neglecting his work today, unable to concentrate because of concern for his Hermione.

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice rose in glad surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how Quentin Durrant is doing and decided to visit my best friend while I was here,” Harry said, smiling. He didn’t say that he had known perfectly well how Quentin Durrant was doing, thanks to the frequent visits of other Aurors to see their injured colleague, but had wanted to see her. “Also, I wanted to know if you fancied having dinner with me,” he continued, keeping his tone carefully light and casual.

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione smiled. “I just have to check on one more patient and then we can go.”

Hermione knew perfectly well why Harry had come. He had been worried about her, after the way she had broken down the night before. He didn’t say it, was acting normally enough, but she knew Harry too well to be fooled by it. And she couldn’t deny the little bubble of sheer gladness in her heart when she’d looked up to see his familiar figure striding towards her down the hallway of St. Mungo’s.

Harry waited until they’d been seated at a quiet table in one of their favorite Muggle restaurants before asking quietly, “How are you?”

Hermione looked up and finally, after a long day of smiling and a determined cheerfulness (she could not allow her grief over one patient interfere with her care of her other patients), allowed her shoulders to slump and a sigh to escape her lips. “It was hard,” she admitted. “I always hate to go to work after something like this happens. Sometimes it’s so hard to always be surrounded by people who are hurt in some way. I just wish I could be somewhere where I didn’t have to worry about everyone around me, didn’t have to see so much injury everywhere. I feel so helpless sometimes.” She left unsaid how much she hated to feel helpless, knew it was unnecessary. Harry knew.

Harry’s gaze held hers across the table. “You are helping, Hermione. You do help, never think otherwise. You’re a damn good Healer, one of the best. Think of how many people you saved since you started working…” He started listing the names of some of the patients he knew she’d saved, the antidote to a poison she’d found, stopping when she smiled a real smile.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Anytime.”

And for a moment there was silence at the little table as two old friends exchanged smiles, both of them thinking back to the many experiences, the many confidences they’d shared over the past 10 years of friendship, before allowing the conversation to become more casual.

Harry watched Hermione as she smiled, laughed, gestured with her hands as she talked, and reflected that she really was beautiful. Not in a model, covergirl sense but with a deeper, more enduring kind of beauty. The beauty in the simplicity of her hair, her clothing, the air of confidence. She was at ease with herself and in the world and it showed. She was radiant.

And he couldn’t help thinking of something Ron had said teasingly, years ago. You may have a great eye for the Snitch but with just about everything else, you’re blinder than a bat in daylight. And he acknowledged that Ron had been right, otherwise it would never have taken him so long to realize that Hermione was his, the most important person in his life.

Hermione, as she talked and laughed with Harry, felt her tension and her grief ebb away. She would find the antidote to that poison, could help all her other patients. Harry believed in her. And for that moment, she pushed away the niggling wonder if he could love her as more than a friend and just enjoyed being with him.

Hermione looked down at the ground, idly kicking a pebble off the sidewalk before looking up at Harry. “Thanks, Harry, for dinner and for listening.”

She half-expected him to shrug it off as he usually dismissed any attempt at praise or gratitude. Harry, for all his strength and kindness, was also one of the most sincerely modest people she knew. He never liked to claim credit for anything, whether it was an act of heroism or of compassion, if only because it never occurred to him that anyone could have done any differently.

Instead Harry looked at her, his face thrown into shadow before he said softly, “I’ll always be here for you, Hermione.”

Hermione felt herself blush, thankful that the dim light hid the color in her cheeks. Something about his tone, the expression in his eyes, made it seem as if he was speaking of more than her thanks. She felt suddenly uncomfortable under Harry’s intense gaze.

There was something, something different in the way he was looking at her, something that made her heart flutter and her breath catch.

Very slowly, Harry put one hand under her chin, gently tilting her head up as his head lowered and then his lips were on hers.

His lips were smooth and firm, gentle, even as her mouth parted beneath his. She was vaguely aware that her hands were on his shoulders even though she couldn’t remember putting them there, that she could smell the familiar scent that was Harry, could taste the wine they’d drunk at dinner on his lips.

She had been kissed before but, like everything else about Harry, this was different.

Harry ended the kiss first, lifting his head and stepping back slightly. Hermione’s eyes were wide, shining, and she looked slightly, delightfully Harry found himself thinking, bemused.

“Harry…” she breathed finally.

He didn’t say anything, just bent and kissed her again, briefly this time, before smiling tenderly, letting his eyes and his expression speak for themselves. And Hermione smiled back, finally letting her love show in her face.

It was one of life’s rare perfect moments as Harry Potter and Hermione Granger smiled at each other, each understanding what the other felt without words.

I love you.

I love you.

It wasn’t so much a declaration as a silent promise.

And it was only a moment after all, before they separated, apparating to their individual flats, with one more kiss, one more look and smile. But it was enough.