Unofficial Portkey Archive

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Chapter 17: Sincere

"So…you seem rather fond of Harry," Mrs. Granger said casually, replacing glasses in the kitchen cabinets of her old home.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden slightly, and she quickly began rifling through another box on the counter to disguise this from her mother. "Of course I am," she answered, attempting to sound casual. "Why wouldn't I be fond of him? He's my best friend."

"Of course he is, sweetie. It just seems like you're fondness extends a bit beyond that level. Have the two of you ever dated before?"

"Mother!" Hermione squealed, spinning to face Mrs. Granger with her hands on her hips.

"Oh, Hermione, don't get your knickers in a knot. I was just curious. You two just seem quite close. I won't discuss it if it makes you uncomfortable." Mrs. Granger began to return to her task as a look of relief passed over Hermione's face.

Katherine suddenly spun back to face her daughter again. "So you haven't dated?"

Hermione sighed, quite aware that her mother would continue on the subject until her curiosity was abated. "No, Mother, Harry and I have never dated."

"Really? Not even one date?" Mrs. Granger said, an incredulous expression on her face.

"No, Mother, not even one date," Hermione replied in exasperation.

Katherine pursed her lips slightly and finally turned her back on Hermione. "That's surprising."

Hermione examined Mrs. Granger inquisitively, willing herself to let the conversation drop, but she couldn't resist. "Why is that so surprising?" Hermione asked, strangely agitated that she was actually interested in what her mother had to say on the subject.

"Oh, it's just a hunch," Mrs. Granger said indifferently. "As I said, you seem to like him quite a lot, and it seems to me that he likes you quite a lot as well."

"What makes you say that?" Hermione asked, intensely wishing her curiosity would abate.

"I don't know…just something about the way he looks at you. It's so…" Mrs. Granger paused, lowering her hands to the counter as she pondered the word she was looking for. "Sincere."

"What does sincerity have to do with anything?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

Katherine turned to her daughter with an expression of disbelief. "What does…Hermione, sincerity has to do with everything. Sincerity is what sets people apart- the posers from the genuine." Katherine gripped the glass she was holding with both hands, staring at her daughter with a dreamy look in her eyes. "It separates flings and mere infatuation from true love. You can't really be in a head-over-heels, fairytale sort of true love unless you're sincere about it."

Hermione practically gaped at her mother's rather romantic interpretation, and Katherine responded with a rather indignant look of her own. "Well, what did you expect? I do actually like your father if you can believe it."

Hermione laughed. "It's not that. It's just that your explanations tend to be a bit more blunt and straightforward than that. Not so dressed up."

"Some things need to be embellished. Do you mind finishing this up for me? All this romantic talk makes me want to check up on your father."

Hermione wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. "You're not going to kiss him, are you?"

"Oh yeah," Katherine said, amused. "I'm gonna plant a big one on him." She started to walk towards the door as her daughter resumed replacing the china.

"Mom?" Hermione suddenly blurted.

Katherine turned to face her as she reached the door. "Yes?"

Hermione turned from the cabinet and looked at her mother with an intensely hopeful look in her eyes.

"Do you really think he likes me? Like really likes me?"

Katherine smiled at her daughter softly. "I have no doubt in my mind."

And then she left the kitchen, leaving her daughter standing alone and thoughtful in the kitchen.

***************

Hermione walked sullenly through her house, replacing random knick-knacks throughout the rooms as best she could by memory. A picture frame there, a vase here, books on the mantle, a clock on a particular shelf…

She was paying little attention to her actions, hoping her eyes and hands would accomplish the task while her mind wandered. She was extremely annoyed with herself for giving homage to her mother's suggestions, but she just couldn't help herself. She hated to admit it, but there were some aspects concerning Harry that revealed a certain vulnerability within her.

Hell, most things concerning Harry revealed vulnerabilities within her.

Such as this, Hermione thought to herself as she observed that she had propped books up throughout her living room as if they were picture frames. She probably wouldn't have even noticed had she not attempted to hang a dog-eared copy of The Scarlet Letter on a nail above the fireplace. With a huff she went around the room once more, replacing the items back in the box from which she had retrieved them and abandoning the box next to the sofa; her mother would get to it eventually.

She trudged lethargically up the steps, massaging her brow and desiring nothing more than to collapse into her old bed. She pushed open the door and glanced around happily. Hermione had not needed to move her own possessions to the house in Australia, and so her room looked more or less exactly as she had left it: pale lavender walls, white furniture, a built-in bookcase that took up an entire wall. She knew the only difference would be within the closet, where she had not yet been able to replace the clothing she had packed a year previously.

After her precursory observations, she promptly fell back onto her bed. She sighed blissfully as her head sank into her pillows, and her eyes drifted shut…

"I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

Hermione's eyes shot open and she bolted upright, an involuntary shriek escaping her lips. Technically she had realized it was Harry the moment he had spoken, but her fatigue caused her to realize this about two milliseconds too late. She heard her mother call from downstairs:

"Hermione, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"It's nothing, Mum," Hermione called back. "There's only a boy in my room."

There was a short pause before her mother's reply. "That's lovely, dear. Don't worry, I won't tell you father!"

Harry snickered slightly from the doorway. Hermione wrinkled her nose at him in response. "I'm glad you made it back, and all, but you're a bit too late - all the work's been done."

"Pity," Harry said, coming over and sitting next to Hermione on her bed. A shiver raced up her spine as she felt his arm brush hers. Why did her mother insist on digging up emotions that were buried for a reason?

"What took you so long, anyway?" she said, forcing herself to be calm.

"I got caught up in something," Harry said, giving her a sly grin. Hermione's eyes widened as he stood up and walked back towards her door.

"And what might that be?" she said apprehensively, thinking of the shop girl back in Avalon Square.

Harry stood in the hallway, still beaming, and stooped sideways beyond her view. When he stood up, he had a cage in each hand, from which two owls stared happily.

Hermione sighed in relief, laughter escaping her.

"Oh my gosh, Harry, you didn't just buy me an Australian owl."

Harry held up the cage of one of the birds, a handsome mottled gray-brown owl with dark russet eyes. "Actually, he's American."

Hermione observed that the other bird was a snowy owl with yellow eyes. "So you bought me an American owl?"

A bashful grin crossed Harry's face. "The snowy one is for you, actually."

Hermione cocked her head inquisitively.

Harry shrugged. "I just don't feel right getting another snowy owl. But even if I don't have one, I felt that you should."

Hermione was strangely touched by this confession, and hesitated only slightly before crossing the room to hug Harry fiercely. He returned the hug as best he could, seeing as he was still clutching two rather large cages.

"Thank you, Harry," she murmured into his chest. She then leaned back to look him in the face. "But this means that you can't get me anything on my birthday."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "But if you think about it, this wasn't really a gift. It was a necessity."

Hermione mimicked his eye roll. "I've gotten by without an owl for seven years - it's not a necessity."

"How do you know? I have it on good information that the wizarding community was about ready to excommunicate you. I'd say the prevention of that is quite necessary."

Hermione giggled. "I suppose that's true." She pulled away from him and Harry handed over her respective owl.

"Plus, it's about time Crookshanks got a fellow animal pal."

Hermione smiled slightly. "Actually, I'm probably going to leave Crookshanks here with my parents."

"Really?" Harry said, surprised.

"Yes…first of all, I don't even have a place of my own to keep him, and I probably won't have near enough time to give him the attention he deserves. But the main reason is mum - she won't admit it, but I think she's gotten extremely attached to him. And besides, he's already been with them for over a year…why change things?"

"I guess that's true," Harry said. "I'm sure your mum will appreciate it."

"She will. What type of owl is yours anyway?" she asked, changing the subject as she stroked soft white feathers through the cage. The owl closed its eyes contently.

"It's called a barred owl."

"Hmm. I've never heard of it." She settled down on her bed once more, and allowed her owl to come out of its cage, which it did obligingly. Harry released his owl as well, and they both flew to settle on Hermione's desk. He sat next to Hermione again.

"Do they have names?" Hermione asked.

"Nope."

"Well, let's think of something then. I think I'd like to name mine after something literary -"

"Really?" Harry said, mock-confused. "I had no idea you liked books."

"Shut up. As I was saying, I'd like to name her after something literary… Shakespearean maybe. Like Ophelia or Rosaline…maybe Bianca since she's white -"

"But I have a feeling all the other boy birds would make fun of him."

"Oh. You could have told me."

"I just did."

Hermione paused, pondering names once more. "Well, in that case…there are more male names to go through...Oberon, maybe. Or Lysander. Maybe a Hamlet character, like Laertes or Marcellus -"

"What was that last one?" Harry asked, interrupting her suddenly.

"Laertes?"

"No, the other one," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Marcellus?"

"Yeah, Marcellus. I think I like that one."

Hermione looked appraisingly at her owl. "I suppose he does look like a Marcellus."

"Okay, how about my owl, then?" Harry said, lying back against Hermione's pillows. "Maybe something non-Shakespearean, though."

"Something literary still?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. He looks pretty well-read."

Hermione turned to observe her large array of books, scanning the titles for some inspiration. She paused on her collection of Jane Austen novels, and glanced at Harry's owl, who was moving over slightly to allow Marcellus a bit more room. Quite gentlemanly.

Her eyes lit upon Pride and Prejudice.

"Fitzwilliam," she said immediately. "Definitely Fitzwilliam."

Harry glanced at her strangely. "Fitzwilliam."

"Yes. As in Mr. Darcy. You could call him Fitz for short."

Harry laughed. "Okay, Fitz then. Either way, it's a hell of a lot better than Pigwidgeon."

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