And She Knew: Four Ficlets about Harry and Hermione

addisonj

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 19/05/2010
Last Updated: 19/05/2010
Status: completed

Four Ficlets about Hermione realizing how she feels about Harry. Post-DH, pre-epilogue. Friendship, angst.

Chapters

1. Ficlet 1: In the Play Park

2. Ficlet 2: The Photos

3. Ficlet 3: What Must Be Said

4. Ficlet 4: The Love of Her Life

1. Ficlet 1: In the Play Park

And She Knew: Four Ficlets about Harry and Hermione

By AddisonJ

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.

This is for my beta, DeeMichelle, who told me “Use it!” when I mentioned a real life experience that led to these plot bunnies.

This isn’t my usual romance HEA story, so please read & review. I’m a bit nervous.

#1: In the Play Park

“Mummy! Uncle Harry! Watch this! See how high I can go on the swing!”

“Be careful, Hugo!” called Hermione, as she looked up from picking flowers with Rose.

“Well done!” called Harry, who was creating a sandcastle with Lily.

“I think he’ll be a flyer,” Harry spoke, nodding toward Hugo, who was swinging his legs furiously, trying to get as high as possible without magic.

“Oh dear, I’m sure he knows his mother’s view of flying,” Hermione said worriedly.

“I’ve always thought that his mother would be an excellent flyer if she could get past her fears,” teased Harry.

“Methinks not everyone can be as brave as the great Harry Potter.”

“Methinks no one is braver than the wonderful Hermione Granger-Weasley.”

They smiled. They were so close, closer than any two people could be. She turned her attention back to her daughter, who was braiding the flowers into a wreath. She glanced over at James and Albus, who were on the edges of the park, dueling with large sticks. They were not acting out of place in this Muggle play park. Even if they pretended the sticks were wands instead of swords, any watching Muggles would think they were playacting.

This was Hermione’s favorite part of the week.

Hermione and Harry were in a play park with their children, as they did every Wednesday afternoon. Their children were in Muggle primary school before their Hogwarts admission at eleven years old. The Muggle school closed an hour earlier on Wednesday afternoons, so Hermione took time from her job as a healer at St. Mungo’s, and Harry could always find time from his work on the Black Family Foundation (for Muggles and Half-Bloods), and they would spend the rest of the day together, like one big family.

Hermione loved Wednesdays. Ron was busy as an Auror at the Ministry; Ginny was working at Witch Weekly. Wednesday was time for Harry and Hermione to reconnect and spend time with their children.

Together.

**

Then, one day, one perfectly ordinary day in an ordinary week of an ordinary year, while doing ordinary things on a typical Wednesday afternoon, Hermione looked at Harry and she knew.

She knew.

She knew that she loved him.

Not that she loved him like a brother or loved him like a best friend, or even loved him like a lover. She just knew that she loved him. All parts of him, all aspects of him. She loved him in every way possible. It just was. It is. She loved him.

I love him.

The words just popped into her head as she sat on the edge of the sandpit, tracing letters in the sand tutoring Lily and Hugo in cursive writing, as Harry stood with Rose across the way, refereeing another imaginary duel between James and Albus.

She just knew.

It was as true as the sky being blue, and the sun setting in the west and rising in the east. It was as true as she knew the spelling of her name and her love for her children.

It was different than how she loved anyone else. She looked at her son and thought, That’s my boy, Hugo. I love him tremendously, even when he infuriates me. Looking at her daughter led to the same conclusion. She then looked at Lily and thought, That’s my niece, Lily, whom I love tremendously, and Lily’s brothers caused the same reaction. She then contemplated Ron and thought, Ron is my husband whom I have spent most of my life with and have raised a family with and I love. For her parents? Mum and Dad I love, although they still feel anger toward me for erasing their memories during the war, but over time they have forgiven me, and I do miss them. For Professor McGonagall? My professor whom I respect and admire and I have love for.

But when she looked at Harry, when she thought of Harry, it was just love. Pure, open, complete. I love him. No caveats, no categorizing, no amendments. Just love.

She must have been staring, because Harry looked at her and smiled.

I love him.

She always knew that she loved Harry, but she thought it was the love of a best friend or almost brother, indeed, as a brother-in-law. In her youth she tried to analyze her feelings, thought they were a crush, then fierce loyalty. Now, over the years, it became a solid truth in her existence. She loved Harry.

And the way he was returning her look, he loved her, too.

They smiled.

2. Ficlet 2: The Photos

And She Knew

By Addison J

JKRowling owns Harry Potter

For my beta, DeeMichelle

Ficlet: #2: The Photos

Hermione was taking Muggle photographs of everyone. Her parents were still in Australia, but they missed their grandchildren. So Hermione bought a Muggle camera and had the photos processed at a Muggle supermarket so that her parents would have the type of photographs they could show their friends and neighbors in Sydney.

Hermione preferred to take candid photos of everyone. She believed it showed their true selves instead of the posed photographs Ron and Molly preferred.

It was a busy day, so she had rushed through the supermarket to pick up the photos and some tea, then ran to pick up the kids from Molly’s (where they went after Muggle school) before rushing home to prepare dinner, help with any remaining homework, kiss the kids goodnight, and spend a few minutes with any outstanding work issues or catch up on some reading. She finally remembered the photos as she was lying in bed, about to fall asleep. She spoke the Lumos command for the light by the bedside (careful not to wake Ron) and found the packet of photos still in her bag.

She opened them. Most of the photos had taken place at Sunday dinner at the Burrow, then also during one of their Wednesday afternoon play dates. She glanced through the photos, smiling. There were a few really good ones of the kids she knew her parents would enjoy. They also wanted to see Ginny and Harry’s children, and the rest of the Weasleys, so Hermione made sure to get some shots of the extended family as well.

After Hermione had gone through all the photos once, she noticed a pattern. It wasn’t a complicated pattern that only a very smart witch would fathom, but a rather obvious one. She looked again, almost not believing her eyes. But it was true. In most of the pictures, Harry wasn’t looking away from the camera, but right at her. He was always aware of her and the camera. Whether it be at the Sunday dinner or the play park on Wednesday or just hanging out, he would be looking her way, and the photo would capture his lovely, smiling face. She stared a bit longer. How would she describe that look? It was happy, content, comfortable, relaxed, genial, love.

Hermione took a breath and looked again. His look was a look of love. Not the crazy-in-love love, but the love of someone who’s known someone forever, knows their ins and outs, knows the good days and bad, and loves them regardless. Forever. Love.

And she knew.

3. Ficlet 3: What Must Be Said

And She Knew

By AddisonJ

JKR owns Harry Potter

For my beta, DeeMichelle

Ficlet #3: What Must Be Said

Hermione was half asleep; that was when she had her best ideas.

Hence, she kept a parchment and an auto-filling quill by her bedside for quick note taking. In the past, she had scratched out things like possible potions for patients, instructions for her assistant, and guest lists for children’s birthday parties. This time, she wrote out the phrases: “I will support you always” and “You deserve the best.”

The next morning, she sat up and read her scribbles. What? Why? Then she remembered. About 2am the night before, these specific phrases stuck in her mind and she had to write them down, and she remembered why. She knew she had to say them to Harry, in those exact words.

Strange. It seemed so out of the blue, but Hermione knew from past experience that sometimes being rational wasn’t always the right response when one’s gut is telling you otherwise. The gut was usually right. She had to tell him.

**

The next few days were the normal routine: children dropped off at the Muggle primary school, then she went into St. Mungo’s for work, then picking up the kids from Molly’s where she took care of them after school, then preparing dinner, overseeing any remaining homework, baths and good night stories, then, only then, some alone time, sometimes (but increasingly rare) alone time with Ron. She only saw Harry on Wednesdays and Sundays; Ginny was usually the one picking up the three Potter children from Molly’s at the end of the day. Hermione was waiting for an opportunity to have a few minutes alone with Harry, to tell him then.

There was no time for just the two of them on Wednesday. The kids seemed needier than ever before, so the adults were fully occupied caring for little hurts, both physical and mental.

On Sunday, Molly kept Hermione busy in the kitchen with the other wives while the men stood outside drinking and pretending to barbeque. She nearly had a moment with Harry when they passed in the upstairs hallway on the way out the door, but it was not meant to be. Hermione had to drag Rose out of Ginny’s old room where she was doing gods-know-what, but Lily was dragging him in the opposite direction that Hermione was dragging Rose. They exchanged eye rolls.

Hermione was beginning to get exasperated, feeling she might need to send an owl, but knowing she needed to say the exact words in person. So she waited.

The next Wednesday was the release. The kids were amazingly well behaved; Hermione almost did not recognize them. They were able to play together without fighting, without tears. Amazing.

“I can’t believe these are actually our children,” Hermione said to Harry as they sat on a park bench and watched their children play school. James and Rose were the teachers, and the rest of the children were the students. Hermione could not recall Hugo being so well-behaved without actual bribery being involved.

Harry leaned back and stretched his legs out. “Would you believe me if I told you that I had them all under an Imperius Curse and they had to act like good girls and boys until either Ginny and/or Ron came home?”

Hermione laughed, her curly brown hair falling along her back. “I would strongly suggest you do it every day then; I’d be much obliged.”

Harry laughed as well, a smaller chuckle than Hermione’s. He stretched, then once again leaned back with his elbows against the bench. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Hermione knew that it was her chance, it was now or never. “Do you—” she began haltingly. Harry, clearly recognizing a change to her usual cadence, sat up a bit straighter and focused on his friend. Hermione began again. “Do you ever get those weird ideas when you’re half asleep in the morning, or in the shower, or queuing for the central Floo network?”

“Y-yes,” Harry replied equally haltingly, seemingly unsure where this all was headed.

“Well,” Hermione continued, her Gryffindor bravery began to kick in, “I had one of those thoughts. Last week, middle of the night. I felt compelled to write it down, and then I knew I had to tell you these exact words.”

Harry waited for the words.

“I’ll always support you. And, you deserve the best.”

Pause. Harry looked at Hermione quizzically, and Hermione suddenly felt quite uncertain of what she had done. Perhaps she was all wrong?

Harry leaned forward, moving his legs closer to the bench and shifting his bottom so that he was no longer reclining. He leaned toward her. “Hermione,” he began, “isn’t that what I’m always telling you?”

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been saying it every single day for years now. Not in so many words, but it’s what I’ve always been thinking and feeling for you. I’ll always support you. You always deserve the best.”

Hermione was rendered mute. This was not the conversation she was anticipating, but it made sense. Other than some missteps during their school years, Harry was consistently the one who sustained her, consistently the one who looked out for her, consistently the one whom she could always rely upon. He was her rock, more than her parents, more than Ron, more than Ginny. More than anyone in the entire world. He was always there for her. And she hoped she was that way for him.

Hermione smiled, and leaned into Harry’s side. He responded by wrapping an arm around her and drawing her close. She felt his cheek pressed against the top of her head. She nuzzled into his torso.

“You know I’ve always felt the same about you. I guess I just had to say it out loud.”

Harry responded by tightening his grip and giving a kiss to the top of her head. “I know.”

She smiled. And she knew.

4. Ficlet 4: The Love of Her Life

And She Knew

By AddisonJ

JKR owns Harry Potter

For my beta, DeeMichelle

Ficldet #4: The Love of her Life

Hermione was not sure when she realized that she no longer referred to Ron as the love of her life. She had certainly teased him about her being the love of his life.

It often happened when she was trying to get him to do something he would be inclined not to do. “Honey, can you pick up the kids from school? I’m in the middle of this formula, and you know I’m the love of your life.” Or, “I can’t seem to get this door unstuck. Can you help me? You know I’m the love of your life.” It was a cheerful phrase that was both accurate and amusing. She didn’t use it so often that it became tiresome..

One particularly wet day when she was juggling groceries and children, and Ron was there at the ready to assist her, she opened her mouth to say “Oh, Ron! You’re the love of my life” then she stopped, and said instead, “You’re just wonderful.”

Ron was busy drying off the children, joking that if they were any wetter they’d be thrown into Grandma Granger’s clothes dryer and would shrink to half their size, so he did not notice that Hermione did not use her usual “I’m the love of your life” idiom.

But Hermione noticed. She remained slightly preoccupied for the rest of the evening, half noticing the food she was cooking because she just felt that something wasn’t quite right.

In bed that evening, as Hermione pretended to catch up on academic journals and Ron was completing some paperwork for his job, he glanced over at her and said, “You all right, ‘Mione? You seemed a bit off tonight.”

“Oh, just trying to stay on top of everything. Just feels so overwhelming at times, y’know?” she replied, smiling at him, grateful that he cared enough to notice and comment, but at the same time fearful that he might have also paid attention to her changed semantics hours earlier.

Ron smiled and patted her hand. “If anyone can do it all, it’ll be you, ‘Mione,” he said.

Hermione returned the smile and felt a dagger of guilt race up her body. “Thanks, Ron,” she responded, hoping the dagger would stop before it flew out of the top of her head. She sighed, placed the journal on the nightstand and said the Nox spell to turn out the light. “I think I’m done for the day. Good night.”

“I’ll be right behind you. I just have a couple more pages.”

“Don’t rush. I’ll just rest my eyes.”

Ron laughed. “Your ‘resting your eyes’ is either completely asleep or wide awake but eyes closed.”

Hermione teased, “You know me too well. All my mysteries have been solved.” She instantly regretted saying the words, but Ron did not notice.

“After almost our entire lives together, what do you expect?” he replied.

Hermione smiled, and leaned over to kiss her husband on the cheek. “Good night, love,” she said, and Ron replied in turn. She then curled onto her side, her back to him.

Why can’t I call Ron the love of my life? The thought terrified her. What had happened? What had she done? She certainly wasn’t having an affair. She hadn’t fallen in love with anyone since she last told him he was the love of her life. What happened?

Harry happened. Since she realized that she loved Harry in such a huge, open, complete way, she simply couldn’t use those words with Ron anymore. She still loved Ron, he was a dear friend to her and partner in life, but she no longer felt he was the love of her life. And she knew that she could never say those words to him again without it being a lie.

Tears pricked at her eyes. It was like the passing of an era, an era that began when they officially became a couple, through their courtship and marriage (Too young, her parents thought, Just the right age, Molly and Arthur thought. What did Harry think? He never said and she never asked), through setting up homes, having children, and developing careers. Was this the end of their marriage? No, it didn’t seem that way. Maybe this was a midlife crisis? She wasn’t even close to forty and witches lived much longer than Muggles. Maybe they have multiple midlife crises? A quarter-life crisis perhaps?

She was thinking too much, of course. Overanalyzing. That would be her epitaph. Not “Here lies Hermione Granger-Weasley, part of the Golden Trio who Defeated He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named” but “Here lies Hermione Granger-Weasley, who overanalyzed and thought too much.”

Was she in love with Harry? No, she knew it was different, even bigger than that. He was her rock. He was the love of her life. She had realized it that day in the play park, and the knowledge kept her going, actually. It kept her grounded and safe and sane. When she thought the world was going mad, when some doubled her work, or she couldn’t seem to juggle all aspects of her life as well as she thought she should, she would think, Harry Potter will always support me, and Harry Potter thinks I deserve the best, and she felt better. It was the embodiment of a thick warm blanket that was suddenly placed over her shoulder> S could pull it tight and close to her, and it would keep her warm and safe and dry. That was Harry’s love for her. It helped her be herself. It gave her sanctuary.

Hermione punched her pillow a few more times in frustration.

“Are you still resting your eyes?” Ron joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and punched the pillow again.

“Maybe it’s best that I shut up now,” Ron suggested.

Hermione turned, then glared at Ron and punched the pillow one more time, before turning away from him and staring at the wall again.

What do I do now? she thought to herself, still frustrated. Now that I know? The love of her life is actually her best friend, her brother-in-law, her rock and foundation. The father of her nephews and niece, whom she loved like her own children. What do I do? She sighed, then decided. Nothing. Because nothing else has changed. She has always loved Harry. She just never knew it. Now she does. And there is nothing more to do. She does not want to end her marriage to Ron, and can’t imagine Harry leaving Ginny. He is much too loyal, too concerned with others. So nothing happens. Nothing.

And she could wonder, what if? What if she had realized this seventh year? And what if Harry had felt the same way, and realized it, too?

No! She stopped that thought before it continued down a path she did not want to pursue.

She gripped her pillow tightly. Go to sleep, she tried to will herself. It will be better in the morning.

No, it wouldn’t.

Hermione punched the pillow again. With eyes closed, she felt Ron shift slightly from his side of the bed, but after their last discourse, he knew better than to say anything at all.

What will she do? Nothing, she silently confirmed. She would go on the same as before. She had always loved Harry. He was always the love of her life. But what was different now? This time she knew. And, with this knowledge, was the capacity for decisions based on said knowledge. And her decision was to do nothing. She had no real complaints about her life or her marriage to Ron. The alternative, to leave, to destroy the past fifteen years together, to destroy two families, was unfathomable. She was comfortable in this imperfect, but good-enough life.

And would Harry ever leave his wife? No, he was too loyal, and would be too upset about the impact on their children. So she would do nothing.

But, upon making that decision and seeking comfort in it, none was to be found. Because she knew, deep down inside, that she was just postponing the inevitable. The downward slide had begun. She could no longer be completely content knowing that she had a deeper love for a man other than Ron; especially knowing that Harry more than likely felt the same.

She knew she and Ron would stay together, but for how long? How long until the tiny cracks that were beginning to form spread into crevices, and the gradual decline of their marriage would increase in steepness and become as fast a decline as a slick water slide at a theme park.

She sat up.

“Can’t sleep?” Ron asked.

She looked at him, shook her head, and trundled off to the kitchen for a glass of water.

This is the first day of the end of my marriage, she thought.

And she knew.

THE END