A/n: Sorry it's taken so long to get this up. I had family visiting for over a week, so very little spare time. Then, while putting it on my computer, I decided to rewrite parts of this chapter. I realized that there were things I knew in my head that needed clarifying in the text. Just this chapter and the epilogue left.
Chapter six
Hermione was still standing, motionless, completely lost in thought, when Harry returned carrying a tray laden with two ceramic dishes. She honestly couldn't have said whether he'd been gone two minutes or two hours. He placed the tray on the coffee table, grinning at her.
"Hermione?" he queried, seeing her vacant expression. Her eyes snapped to meet his. "Are you all right?"
"Sorry," she breathed, "Just thinking."
"Well, see what you think of this," he grinned, indicating the tray on the table. Hermione glanced down. It took her only a moment to surmise what the ceramic ware held.
"Is that crème brulee?" she squealed. "But…." She stopped, giving Harry a puzzled look. He shrugged.
"I remembered a time when you were telling me about being on holiday with your mum and dad, when you were a little girl. You mentioned having tried crème brulee, and how much you'd liked it. You said that you'd always wanted to try it again sometime to see if it was as good as you'd remembered, but you hadn't had the opportunity."
She nodded. "I remember."
"Well … Happy Sometime, Hermione!" he grinned. She simply stared at him in awe.
"I can't believe you remembered that," she finally stated. Harry shrugged.
"Come on then, Birthday Girl - tuck in."
Hermione sat down on the sofa, picking up one of the dishes and a spoon. Harry anxiously watched her facial expression as she sampled the creamy confection. He experienced a brief, sinking feeling when her brow crinkled.
"Harry," she began seriously, but couldn't maintain the ruse. Seeing the expression on Harry's face, she broke into giggles.
"It's amazing, Harry," she gushed.
Harry let out the breath he'd been holding.
"That was cruel, Granger," he insisted. Grinning madly, he joined her on the sofa, quickly snatching up his own dish and sampling the dessert.
"Mm, not bad," he observed.
"It really is wonderful, Harry," Hermione proclaimed. "Just like you," she added, leaning toward him and kissing his cheek. Her simple gesture of thanks sent a wave of heat coursing through Harry, threatening to melt his resolve. He couldn't let that happen, not yet.
So he began to talk - about anything and everything - and she immediately joined in. They finished the crème brulee, setting their empty dishes on the tray, and continued talking. He asked about her parents and her research. She asked about his new business ventures. They talked about Hagrid, Hogwarts, and the latest antics of their familiars. Eventually, the conversation came around to the Weasleys, and inevitably, to Ron and Ginny.
"It did seem to happen rather quickly," Hermione observed in response to a comment Harry had just made regarding Ginny. "I mean, she'd even come to me several times for advice on how to get you to notice her, because you never seemed to; and then suddenly it was as if someone lit a fire under you."
"When I think about it now, it does seem rather odd," Harry mused. "It really did seem like - all of the sudden - she was all I could think about. I mean, I know that all I wanted at the time was an escape; something that made me feel normal - and Ginny did that - quite well. But at the same time, I think … I don't know. It felt weird - almost as if…."
"What, Harry?" He was gazing into space, pondering something.
"No - she would never."
"Harry?" Her tone conveyed concern as well as inquiry.
"Well, it's just … it didn't feel real; almost like being under the effects of a spell … or something."
"Harry. You're not thinking that Ginny used a love potion on you."
"No. Of course not. She wouldn't have. Would she?"
"No," Hermione insisted. "No. Of course she wouldn't." She paused for a moment, considering. "You don't really think…."
"No," Harry stated, shaking his head. But his eyes were filled with uncertainty. "Would she?"
Hermione didn't offer a reply as she contemplated the idea. Her brow furrowed as her teeth caught her lower lip, causing Harry to smile fondly.
"That was about the same time Fred and George started carrying them in their shop. But surely they would have known…."
"You would think so," Harry stated.
"And Professor Slughorn did brew that batch for class - but how would Ginny get it?" Harry didn't respond, but was now frowning.
Hermione continued. "Well … obviously, if she did use something, she must have stopped. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to break up with her after … when you did." Harry knew exactly what she had avoided saying.
"Right," he agreed quickly. "The obsession would have been too strong. And I did figure out that Ginny's not the girl for me, so … no harm done, right?" Hermione nodded.
"Right. At least there weren't any real consequences. You didn't end up married; she didn't end up pregnant or anything."
"Bloody hell, Hermione! Where did that come from? We never even had…." He stopped, noting the rather apologetic yet satisfied look on her face.
"Hermione Granger, that was just a sneaky way of finding out whether or not Ginny and I had sex." Inwardly, Harry was as amused as he was surprised.
"Oh, don't act so smug, Harry," she smirked. "You were trying to find out the very same thing this morning with your 'has he been staying with you' question."
Harry shrugged sheepishly, turning so that she couldn't see his own guilty grin. They remained silent for several minutes, an obvious tension between them.
"Well," Hermione finally ventured, "Aren't you going to ask me?"
"Ask you what?"
"About Ron and me - whether or not we…."
"Hermione, I wouldn't…."
"We didn't," she quickly stated, cutting him off. "He wanted to, but I … well…." She dropped her eyes, self-consciously picking at the hem of her dress.
"I'll bet that went over really well with Ron," Harry noted.
"It was a considerable point of contention." Beside her, she felt Harry tense.
"Hermione, did he … he didn't try to…."
"No!" she insisted quickly. "If he had, I'd have kicked his arse to the Burrow and turned him over to Molly." Harry chuckled appreciatively.
"God, I can't believe I'm sitting here discussing my sex life - or lack there of - with you," Hermione declared, her cheeks coloring. Harry slipped his arm around her shoulders.
"We've pretty much always been able to talk about anything," Harry observed. "We may choose not to - and we definitely don't always agree," he stressed with a grin. "But if a subject comes up, we can."
"That's true," Hermione concurred, dropping her head to rest against his shoulder.
"I never could with Ginny," he stated softly. He'd begun inadvertently trailing his fingertips ever so lightly up and down her arm. Several minutes passed in a comfortable silence. It was Hermione who finally broke it.
"Harry. Thank you - for everything, all of this, tonight. It's the nicest birthday I've ever had."
"I'm glad," Harry acknowledged. "I wanted it to be special for you. And … I want you to know how sorry I am."
"For what?"
"For before - all those years at school."
"I'm not following you, Harry," Hermione admitted.
Harry sighed. "I hope I can explain without sounding like a total idiot."
Hermione gave him a gentle, encouraging smile.
"You may not believe this, but - all those years at school, well - I remember a lot of things you said to me. You'd probably be surprised at how much. It's because of you that I wasn't killed or at least in serious trouble more times than I can count - beyond all the trouble I did manage. I know it probably never seemed as though I was paying any attention, but I was."
"Well … sometimes it did seem that way," she stated softly. "Though I can hardly blame you. I was rather insufferable at times."
Harry smiled. "Hermione, please. This is my apology here. Anyway, the thing is - at the time I was more worried about Ron taking the piss out of me for listening to you, or about my own need to be right, than I was about how you might have been feeling. Some best friend I was. You'll never know how sorry I am for that." He shifted, turning so that he was facing her, taking her hand in his.
"God, Hermione, how often did we take you for granted … or ignore you or make you feel unappreciated? How many times did we ever remember your birthday?"
"It doesn't matter, Harry," she declared softly, dropping her eyes, knowing there was a certain painful truth in those memories, but not wanting Harry to see it. He gently lifted her chin, forcing her eyes back to his.
"We … I … must have hurt you so many times; yet you stayed with me, kept forgiving me. You're a far better person than I am, Hermione Granger. I didn't deserve your friendship, your loyalty, your … anything. But I won't let that happen again. I don't want you to feel overlooked ever again."
Hermione's eyes closed in response to Harry's touch as he gently caressed her cheek, brushing away a single escaping tear. She was completely overwhelmed by his heartfelt confession, as well as by her own tumultuous emotions. She was taken aback by the sensations she was experiencing, by her body's reaction to Harry's touch.
To herself, she would admit there was some truth to Harry's words; she'd been hurt by Harry and Ron on numerous occasions, been brushed aside. But she'd put it behind her, largely due to the fact that her two best friends had been teenage boys - not exactly the most sensitive of creatures - and that they'd all been under tremendous pressure. She treasured the relationship the three of them had developed.
Her thoughts turned once more to all of the things Harry had done for her tonight; the little things he knew about her that she never would have guessed, things he had to have picked up simply through casual observation, when Ron still hadn't figured out that yellow roses were his mum's favorite, not hers.
Harry seemed to know her so well; she supposed she'd always been aware of that. Why, tonight, did she find that to be so unsettling? Tonight had also brought forth a new - or perhaps, renewed - awareness on her part; something she'd considered once upon a time, but had long ago given up as a childish fantasy. Now, however, looking into Harry's eyes, she had to know.
"Harry," she breathed. "Tonight, all of this … what's it really about?"
Now it was Harry's turn to be taken aback, though he shouldn't have been. She'd always been perceptive, especially where he was concerned. Now, the question was, was he ready to take the risk - to answer her truthfully?
No.
"It's about you not being alone on your birthday," was his reply to her.
'Coward,' was his silent self-reproach.
He stood, completely missing Hermione's fleeting expression of confusion and disappointment. He pulled his wand; with a subtle flick, soft music began to play.
"Care to dance, Birthday Girl?" He held his hand out to her. She took it, forcing a smile, allowing him to pull her to her feet and into his arms. Still holding her hand in his, Harry slid his other around her waist, as hers found his shoulder. He could feel a slight tension in her touch, but as they moved in time to the music she began to relax. Minutes later, she raised her eyes to meet his with a curious smile.
"I have to confess, Harry - based on the whole Yule Ball thing - I've never thought of you as a dancer."
He grinned back at her. "Well, you know … it has everything to do with my partner." Before she could respond, he dipped her playfully. She squealed in surprise, which he responded to with a satisfied chuckle.
When he pulled her back up, he drew her in closer; their joined hands were now pressed between them, his hold on her waist now firmer. Hermione yielded, letting her body ease against his, resting her cheek against his chest as they continued to sway to the music's tempo. Harry reveled in the way they fit together, moved together so easily, perfectly.
"So how come I don't recall ever seeing you dance before?" Hermione murmured against his chest. "With the exception of the Ball, of course."
"Here, in private, with you - this is okay. Actually, it's way more than okay," he grinned. "But the whole out in public, on display for everyone to see thing - that's a bit of an issue."
"Ron had a problem with that, too. He was so self-conscious; but believe it or not, he's actually a good dancer," she revealed. Harry caught a note of melancholy in her voice.
"Are you sorry you and he broke up?" he asked softly. He had to know what she was feeling, where she stood, even though her answer could potentially break him.
"I'm sorry things went the way they did," she began. "But Ron and I … I just don't think we're meant to be anything more than what we were - that first love. I just hope we can still be friends."
"Hmm, 'meant to be', eh," Harry pondered. "Sounds remarkably similar to 'fate'. This from the girl who dropped Divination," he teased."
"That was a bogus class, and you know it," she grinned, swatting him playfully. "But I admit, over the years I have had to reconsider a number of things I believed."
"Do my ears deceive me? Could it be - Hermione Granger - admitting to thinking outside the box?"
She laughed. "Let's just say that I'm far more open to considering alternate possibilities than I used to be."
"And does this enlightened philosophy extend to relationships as well?" Harry asked hopefully.
Ready.
"I don't know - I guess so. Why?"
Set.
'There's your opening, Potter,' he thought. 'Now grow a pair and take it.'
Jump.
Harry took a deep breath.
"Hermione," he began hesitantly. "Did you ever think about us - you and me? Did you ever wonder why we never gave it a go?"
"Umm, I guess - yeah, I suppose I have, once or twice. I mean, I expect it's only natural to - right? But it always seemed like…." She hesitated, unsure of what to say. She averted her eyes nervously, suddenly aware that Harry had taken her hands in his.
"Like what?" he prompted.
"Well … we're best friends. You've never … I mean, that's how we see each other … right?"
"What if it's not right? What if … we could be more?"
Hermione raised her eyes to meet his, seeing in them an intensity that made her heart race.
"What is it that you want, Harry?" she breathed, now aware of his thumbs stroking the backs of her hands.
"You."
His right hand found its way to her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek. Hermione's breath hitched; her eyes closed as she felt Harry drawing her to him, knowing full well what was about to happen. Her entire being flushed with warmth when his lips met hers. The pressure was light at first, cautious, increasing as Harry gained in confidence and need, became more demanding.
Hermione found herself responding, giving in to his demands, then making her own. Her hands found Harry's chest, sliding up to his shoulders, finally making their way around his neck.
Her response to him only fueled his need; he needed to touch her, feel her, taste her. His tongue traced her lips, which instantly parted for him. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they began to explore her, gliding over the silky skin of her slender arms, the graceful curve of her neck, her back, shoulders - anywhere he could find.
He planted feather-light kisses along her jaw line; he nuzzled the hollow of her neck, eliciting a gasp when his tongue found a sensitive spot beneath her ear. Harry grinned at her reaction, finding it exhilarating. He felt as if he were soaring far above the earth. The joy he was feeling when kissing her, touching her, was beyond anything he'd ever imagined.
As his lips and tongue traced her collarbone, he felt her arch toward him, her breasts pressing against his chest. Harry felt his blood pooling southward; felt the tell-tale tightening of his trousers, and wondered if she was aware of the effect she was having on him.
An instant later, something changed. He felt her tense, pull back from him - as much on an emotional as physical level.
"Harry, what are we doing?" she asked breathily.
"I believe it's called kissing," he quipped, continuing to explore her neck and shoulders with his mouth.
"Not funny, Harry. I mean it!"
He pulled back enough to find her eyes.
"I'm doing something I've wanted to for quite some time," he asserted, feeling suddenly dejected. The passion and desire he'd felt from her only moments earlier, had been replaced by sadness, doubt and guilt, now reflected in the chocolate pools gazing back at him.
"I can't … I shouldn't," she stammered. "What about Ron? "It's only been a few days."
"Has it?" Harry challenged. "Or has it rally been weeks - or even longer?"
"But how will he feel if…."
"Don't, Hermione. Don't use Ron as an excuse. If you truly don't feel this, if this doesn't feel right to you, then I'll have to accept that. But don't back away because of Ron. I think you know in your heart this is right. Don't turn away from what you and I might have because things weren't right with Ron. He had his chance. Now I want mine."
Harry held her gaze, desperately trying to convey what he was feeling. His hands cupped her face; one thumb lightly traced her lips.
"Hermione." He whispered her name as if it were the most precious word ever spoken. "We can take things as slowly as you want. I won't hurt you."
Hermione felt a tear well in each eye as she leaned into Harry's hand, bringing her own up to cover his. He swore he could see the shadow of guilt and doubt melting from her eyes, to be replaced by a glint of hope - and something more. As he leaned in to kiss her once more, she met him. This kiss was gentle, searching, two souls exploring a possibility. Harry's arms enfolded her, pulling her firmly against him; hers wound once again around his neck.
When they parted, Harry drew back, searching her eyes. He was rewarded with her radiant smile. He pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, releasing her with a throaty chuckle. Hermione made no attempt to control the tears now spilling down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around Harry's torso, pressing her face into his chest as he began to gently rock her. He kissed her forehead, the end of her nose, then each cheek.
"Happy Birthday, Hermione."
He maneuvered her to the sofa, settling in to the corner, pulling her against him. She wriggled around until she was snuggled comfortably into his side, her head resting on his chest. Harry held her right hand in his. His left arm was around her shoulders, his fingers lightly stroking her arm. She tipped her head so that she could see his face.
Harry," she began hesitantly, "I want … I do need…."
"To take things slowly," he finished for her. Her eyes conveyed mild surprise. "I understand. I do know you fairly well," he teased, grinning.
"So I've learned." She returned his smile, then let her head fall back to his chest.
"Just tell me what you want, Hermione," he whispered. "I'll do anything."
"I just want the same thing you do, Harry - someone who'll love me as I am. That's all."
"That's easy. I already do."
They remained as they were for quite some time, neither finding the need to speak, content to be in each other's arms. Eventually, a yawn from Hermione broke the stillness.
"Getting sleepy?" Harry asked softly.
"Mmhm. I think it might have something to do with four glasses of wine."
"Or it could just be that it's getting late. I suppose I should take you home."
She turned heavy-lidded eyes to his, slowly shaking her head.
"I'm good right here, for now," she stated softly. "If it's okay with you."
Harry's response was to squeeze her tightly. At that moment, he thought life was just about perfect.
Sometime later, Harry felt Hermione's breathing slow, even out, and he realized she'd fallen asleep. He smiled warmly, having no desire to disturb her. The thought crossed his mind that if they remained this way all night, they would both probably be stiff and achy in the morning, but at the moment he couldn't care less. Letting his head fall against the back of the sofa, he soon followed.
Neither of them awoke when, some thirty minutes later, a pale green glow emanated from Harry's fireplace, and a familiar voice called out.
"Harry - are you there, Mate? Do you know where Hermione is?" Seconds later, Ron Weasley stepped from Harry's floo connection, a single yellow rose clutched in his hand. "I went by her flat but she wasn't … oh."
He stopped, staring at the sight before him; the sleeping pair snuggled together quite intimately. A quick visual survey told him enough of the story. Ron flushed red, feeling his body tense. His initial reaction was a wave of anger, jealousy and inadequacy.
He took a deep breath; determined, for once, not to let his emotions get the better of him. He wanted to. He wanted to accuse them of cheating on him; but he knew they hadn't. He wanted to hate Harry, resent him for once again besting him; but he couldn't. Ron suspected that Harry had harbored feelings for Hermione for a long time, possibly as far back as the "she's like a sister" incident. But if he did, he'd stepped aside; hadn't acted on them. Harry'd never tried to undermine Ron and Hermione's relationship. Ron knew he'd done that all by himself.
Ron wasn't sure why everything was always so difficult between he and Hermione; he guessed they were just two very different people, with opposing expectations. He didn't doubt Hermione; he knew she had been sincere about their relationship. It wasn't until they'd ended things that he, for once, had recognized something she had not.
"I see you figured it out," he stated softly, his eyes focused on the girl wrapped in his best mate's arms. "Well done."
This wasn't over. It would take time for him to get over the hurt and anger he was feeling, and it wouldn't be easy. But as terrible as he felt right now, he couldn't imagine his life without the two of them. It would take time and effort to mend the relationship between the three of them, but he owed that much to them - and to himself. They needed each other; they always had.
He stood there, simply watching them, for several minutes. With a heavy sigh, he quietly slipped back into the floo, leaving behind on the coffee table, a single yellow rose.