Unofficial Portkey Archive

Behold, the second part. The conclusion to this twoshot. I hope you all enjoy it!! I certainly did when I wrote it, specially how I handled that whole-yeah, okay, can't say without spoiling the end.

Also, you know, I think this is the first fic, in a while, where I've been fair to Ron, pushing aside my urge to bash him into oblivion.

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Title: "when the idea clashes with reality"

Rating: PG/PG-13

Words: 6,510

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #093 - Uniform

Warnings/AN: dh-au, post-ch36. I suppose, while I still think the rating is for caution, there might be a section that warrants it. We'll see. Again, remember this is NON-epilogue compliant, so everything follows canon up until the very end of ch36, as stated before. Is there any more R/Hr? Mm, you'll have to read to find out, but here's a clue: their relationship is running its natural course.

Summary: Sometimes the idea of someone is better than the actual person.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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Their date is cut short, as, obviously, they aren't in the mood for anything at all. They part ways much the same as the met, only there's no kiss and only a mumbled good-bye.

~

Christmas break arrives without much preamble.

As she promised, Hermione goes home to spend it with her parents, bringing along not homework but the painful truth that it's been over a month, and no one knows anything about Harry. So, imagine her surprise, when come Christmas Eve, there's a sharp knock on their door and when her mother goes to answer, she returns smiling with none other than Harry Potter in tow.

Well, Harry plus Teddy.

Hermione stares for several long, eternal seconds, and it's not until Harry gives her a nervous grin, muttering an apology that she reacts. Vaguely, she notices how her mother takes Teddy from Harry's arms before moving aside, just in time for Hermione to slam into the warm, solid form of her best friend.

Then, of course, she's crying.

She ignores her parents' silent retreat, focused solely on Harry and all the bandages he seems to hide under his clothes, on the way he holds himself with care, as if everything still hurt, and yet he still returns her hugs with as much enthusiasm as his abused muscles can muster. Perhaps anticipating the question she cannot as of now speak, Harry mumbles his apologies and explains how he had kept his word, going to Hogwarts as soon as he could, only to find out she wasn't there. He tells her how Madam Pomfrey had simply refused to let him go until he was properly healed, something McGonagall had agreed to.

"I spent this past week practically chained to a bed, courtesy of our resident Healer, and was just given the okay this morning." Harry releases his hold on her, pushing her away slightly to brush away her tears, and smiles apologetically. "I was going to come here right away, but Kingsley asked to see me and it couldn't wait, hence why I'm here in full Auror regalia."

It's just then, when he points it out, that Hermione realizes Harry is wearing his Auror uniform. She steps back, standing at arms' length, and through the remaining tears stares at him. Harry's wearing a pair of snug-fitting black trousers, with a pair of equally black, trekking boots. A burgundy, high-collared shirt covers his upper body and over it, he wears a black, red-trimmed cloak; it buttoned down to his waist in what Hermione can see as a way to give his legs room to manoeuvre freely. An Auror badge shining proudly over his heart.

He looks… smashing, she thinks idly, while her logical mind takes over the conversation, stopping any other bouts of tears. "Is this really the Auror's uniform?"

He blushes, smiling somewhat sheepishly (and why does she care if he looks cute like this?). "Well, when out in missions. The official uniform is fancier and comes in white instead of black. Since I'm not an official Auror, I can't be given it, so Kingsley settled for this."

As they're no longer hugging and Hermione still feels reluctant to let go of him, settling for keeping a firm hold on his hands, she leads him over to the couch and they sit side by side. "How come Teddy is with you, then?"

"Ah, that. Kingsley told me that Andromeda has been worrying sick about me and that I should go see her ASAP. I really wanted to come here instead, but I figured I could spare a few minutes and drop by her house, and see how she and Teddy were doing. Turns out, a few minutes turned into a couple of hours as she talked me into staying for dinner."

Because he looks guilty and Hermione hates is when Harry blames himself for something he had no control over, she leans forwards to give him another of her Harry-only hugs, but her mother interrupts them, leaving Hermione out of balance at the unexpected disappointment she feels.

"Oh, so you won't be staying for dinner?"

Harry turns his sheepish smile on her mother. "I'm sorry, Mrs Granger, but I'm not good at saying no to crying women."

Her mother gives them a knowing smile, one that Hermione cannot quite decipher, and starts ushering them into the kitchen. "Then you will stay for dessert, won't you? After all, Hermione has been worried sick as well."

Dinner turns out to be a much more lively affair than what she thought it'd be an hour ago. With Harry and her parents commanding most of the conversation as Teddy wriggles happily on her lap, trying to grab more of the fruit her mother had cut up for him; the little Lupin had latched on her as soon as her bum touched the chair, which prompted her mother to comment on her affinity with children. This caused her father to make a sour face, mumbling something about someone being too young and Harry-and Harry simply smiled at her, saying it was a little unfair that his godson seemed to like her better than he liked him.

When it's time for dessert, Teddy decides to move over to Harry and let him feed him some of the pie her mother made before he starts to dose off. Her mother, reacting quickly, ushers them out of the kitchen, halting Harry's attempt at offering his help to wash the dishes whilst saying he probably wanted to talk some more with her before it were time for him to go back to Andromeda's house. After a few minutes of Harry's insistence and her mother's refusal, Hermione grabs his arm and takes him to the living room.

They sit side by side again, enjoying each other's company under the Christmas lights. Harry lets out a sigh and leans further back in the couch, completely relaxed in what it's probably years; he has a contented smile on his face as he gently bounces a sleeping Teddy on his lap. She smiles because it's a beautiful sight, seeing her friend at peace, finally, fills her with a warm feeling and makes her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

The lights from the Christmas tree bounce off his glasses, creating an entertaining show and that's why Hermione can't take her eyes off him. Nothing else. Really. It's not because she feels entranced by his calm expression, or that she thinks he looks extremely handsome in his Auror uniform, or that just now she realizes that the butterflies-fluttering-in-her-stomach sensation she's been getting around him is probably due to some very non-platonic feelings. It's not because she's been thinking about him non-stop since he left her that note on Halloween, thinking her life might just end if he didn't come back.

No, of course not. She simply thinks the lights make funny patterns on his face. That's all.

"I'm sorry I couldn't see you before I left on Halloween…"

It's only a soft whisper, but nevertheless Hermione is startled out of her musings by the sound of his voice.

"I really wanted to… But they didn't give me much time to do anything other than say yes before it was time to leave."

Hermione smiles, even if he can't see her. She shifts in her seat, folding her legs under her and tuning to face him more comfortably. "It's okay, Harry. I figured something like that happened," she says, resting her head on the back of the couch. "I'm just glad you sent me that note, even if it had me worried, at least I knew what had happened."

"Hmm…"

Maybe it's the serene, almost intimate atmosphere surrounding them, or that she finally feels happy in what feels like ages. Maybe it's the sleepy feeling sneaking up on her, or the akin connection she feels with Harry now. Whatever the reason, a soft voice, one that sounds remarkably like that of the very friend sitting next to her right now, starts whispering, urging her to cave under her wishes and lean forward-to charge like a Gryffindor and kiss the boy-almost-man at her side.

Be a Gryffindor. Go on, be a Gryffindor.

Averting her gaze lest she do something foolish, something she really wants but knows, although Hermione can't remember why, it's wrong. Her eyes land on a lone mistletoe hanging from the doorframe leading to the kitchen. A fresh, yet lonely looking mistletoe.

Do it, Hermione. Be a Gryffindor and kiss him, you know you want to. You've always wanted to.

Really, she has.

Turning to face Harry again, she finds him in the same position. For a moment, she wonders if he fell asleep, and inches closer to see for herself. Hermione leans closer, and hovers nervously over him for several long seconds. "Harry…?"

His eyelids flutter briefly and he tilts his head in her general direction, giving the answer she wants; he's awake. "Yeah…?"

She says nothing, instead closes the distance between their faces and brushes her lips over his; she pulls back a little and watches as he opens his eyes, giving her a mildly shocked look, to which her only response is a soft whispered word. "Mistletoe."

He nods, staring at her for a long moment, his eyes shining from within before he closes them. Hermione follows his lead and leans forward again, this time pressing a firmer kiss on his lips, and stays there. This one feels real. A beat later and their lips part and brush against each other's, in a slow passionate caress. The world vanishes around her, her focus narrowing on Harry and the way his lips moved under hers. Her right hand lifts from her lap, moving until it slides over his shoulder and neck and her fingers are treading through his unruly hair.

The kiss is wonderful and terrifying, because a tiny part of her knows it shouldn't feel like this; she shouldn't feel like this.

Harry catches her lower lip between his teeth, drawing a soft gasp out of her and making her blood hum with anticipation. But of what? She doesn't know, nor does she care, so Hermione decides to respond in kind, nibbling on his lips and hoping she can evoke the same reactions in him. There's no tongue-battling involved, yet Hermione can honestly say this is the best kiss she's ever had, if the tremors racking her body indicate anything at all. One of his hands, his right hand, fall on her thigh lightly, smoothing over it and to her hip, then around to her back until it finds that small patch of skin where her woollen jumper has ridden up.

She moans, Hermione knows she does, but he swallows the sound and flattens his hand on the small of her back to bring her body closer to his, until she pressed into his side. An uncomfortable positions, but when she's about to tell him about it, his hand slips under her jumper and caresses the warm skin lightly with the tips of his fingers. Her train of thoughts derails rapidly after that and all she can feel is his lips on hers and his hand caressing her skin and the desire to crawl into his lap.

When their tongues finally get involved, Hermione waves goodbye to the last remaining of her complaining logic.

It won't occur to her until much later, that the only mistletoe in the room, is perched several feet away from their heads.

~

Their relationship doesn't change because of that. Except for one thing, of course.

The tension.

No one notices anything, granted during the next few weeks Hermione realizes they're both pretty darn good actors. But she notices, and Harry notices, and that's enough to make it impossible to ignore it.

The kiss breaks suddenly when Teddy shifts on Harry's lap, whimpering a little. They don't jump apart, as it's the common occurrence in such situations, no. They break the contact between their lips, stare into each other's eyes, and watch as realization of what just happened dawns on each of them. Hermione sits back, the colour draining from her face at the implications of her actions. Harry, looking as pale as she does, stands slowly and faces away from her.

For several long minutes, neither says a word, until Teddy whimpers again, and Harry hastens to thank her for dessert and asks her to thank her parents as well before he's walking out her front door. She stays there, staring at the place he had occupied next to her on the couch, feeling dread curl its icy claws around her heart as she thinks she might have ruined the best relationship she's ever had, before she moves to do as Harry requested.

She finds her parents sitting on the back porch of their house, only now realizing they most likely saw it all, and tells them that Harry left. Her mother gives a sympathetic smile, that Hermione doesn't want to think about, and bids her goodnight.

She doesn't sleep much that night.

Her fear, however, proves to be unfounded, as Harry returns, with Teddy and Andromeda, the next morning. Her parents welcome them gladly, excited to have a baby with whom to celebrate Christmas morning again. She doesn't know how to act until it's obvious that, whatever happened between them, Harry decided to put it behind him and act as always.

It hurts, surprisingly so, because obviously, forgetting about it is the best. She has a boyfriend, thinks Hermione, a sweet, if sometimes volatile, boyfriend. She shouldn't be kissing other boys. She shouldn't be wanting to kiss other boys.

Harry smiles and jokes and laughs and is so very Harry that something twist in her chest painfully, because even though she responds in kind, smiling and joking and laughing and being herself, it hurts to think this is his way to say: it was a mistake.

But, hey, she pushed her silly crush for him to the side once. She stomped down whatever non-platonic feelings she had for him once.

She can do it again.

~

It seems after Dolohov, all the remaining Death Eaters that escaped the Final Battle are fairly easy to catch.

She knows this only because, after coming back from Christmas holidays, every few weeks, Harry arrives at Potions with his Auror uniform and a tired look on his face. Hermione worries he's not sleeping enough, but when she asks, Harry smiles and tells her it's nothing and that he'll catch up during the week. Duly, she notes that the green-eyed boy looks as good as he did that Christmas Eve in his uniform, and that she's not the only one noticing, as the other girls are practically salivating over him every Monday.

Even Luna comments on it, in her own way, but leaving Harry blushing even though he ends up laughing with the quirky Ravenclaw.

Yet, the tension is still there, simmering under their normal behaviour, and seeming to be ready to stay for good.

Her attempts at distracting herself in thoughts of her boyfriend backfire spectacularly, too. Because the exchanging-of-letters with Ron is as bland as it was before Christmas break, and the three dates they managed to have before Valentine's are as uncomfortable as well. She tries, of course, and so does Ron, but the spark, or whatever it was that they had, is gone. And no matter how much kissing Hermione forces on herself and on him, it isn't coming back.

And then there's Harry. And the fact that her mind shows no mercy on her tortured soul and plagues her dreams with images of their kiss and what could've been had Teddy not been there. Of the softness of his lips and the warmness of his hand and how very thrilling it all was. She dreams and dreams and dreams. But most of all, she remembers all the feelings he evoked in her with one simple kiss, feelings that are absent when it's Ron with his mouth pressed against hers.

Her relationship with Ron dwindles and dies even before it starts, but she still presses on because she's stubborn and if Harry doesn't want her, at least Ron does.

It's this thought that helps her through her dates with Ron and it's what makes her say yes when, after their last date the Saturday before Valentine's, he tells her of how George would be going to Romania and thus had asked him to look after his flat-the very same flat they'd have to spend the weekend before his birthday alone, together. It's all set and Ron leaves that evening with a smile on his face, even though she can't muster the courage of kissing more than his cheek after realizing just what she had agreed to.

But it all goes to hell the next day, Sunday evening, February 14^th, when she's returning from her weekly meeting with her parents (minus two this time), only to find Harry waiting for her at the Gates.

Harry, who's standing there, seeming nonchalant, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a box of chocolates on the other. He straightens up as soon as he sees her, and gives her a longing look, filled with so much pain. He waits for her to be within reach before he hands over his presents, red roses and chocolates, before he grabs her and pulls her into another toe-curling kiss. Then, just as suddenly, pushes her back and pops away after she's safe within the wards of Hogwarts.

The Gates close with a loud clang, but Hermione doesn't notice. Her mind is fixated on the pained look of Harry's face, the longing, the presents she holds in her arms-the kiss.

She cries, silently, in regret-because this, Hermione knows, might just be the final blow that breaks the entity the Wizarding world knows as the Golden Trio.

~

In the end, even her idea of the blow up is grander than the actual occurrence.

She arrives early in the morning, before the opening time of WWW. She knocks and waits for Ron to answer, hoping he's already awake because she dreads the idea of Verity, the cashier girl, to see her waiting outside and get the wrong idea. Even if the wrong idea used to be the right idea a couple of weeks ago. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait long. Unfortunately, Ron perks up so much at seeing her and smiles so brightly at her that Hermione can't help but feel like someone plunges a knife in her chest and starts twisting it. Especially when he leans over to kiss her and she turns her face away, forcing his lips to land on her cheek awkwardly.

Ron looks bewildered, but invites her in nonetheless, closes the door of the shop firmly behind her. Hermione avoids his eyes steadfastly, trying to keep her resolve from breaking, because she's probably minutes away from hurting him and she doesn't need to make him feel bad if she starts crying. She knows, his anger will be warranted.

The trek up the stairs is stiflingly silent. Ron's expression moves from surprise to concern to confusion to resignation and back, never staying for long on one. She wants to appease his swinging moods, but if she starts reassuring him then he might get the wrong idea and-bugger. Oh, bloody fantastic. Why, oh why, didn't she listen to her mother when she said that dating one best friend without being absolutely sure about him would be a disaster? Why?

Bugger.

Maybe because I actually thought it was the sure thing.

When they finally reach the flat, which is just the upper floor of the shop, Ron leads her to the small living room and they sit on the couch.

He fidgets nervously before giving her a tremulous smile. "So… er, what… what's up?"

Hermione cringes at his nervous, hopeful voice, and turns her gaze on him briefly before dropping it to her lap. "We… need to talk."

And, really, that's all it takes.

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"

She winces and fists her hands, because the dejected tone of his voice tears at her heart and she wants to say no, she won't break up with him. She wants to reach over and hug him and kiss him just so he would stop being so sad, she wants to push her feelings aside and look at this logically and just go with the original plan for this weekend and-she can't. She can't ignore, she can't pretend anymore.

"Ron… it's not-"

"Please, Hermione," he cuts her off. "Don't insult me and give me that `it's not you, it's me' load of shite." He shifts away from her, curling his hands over his legs, a pained frown set on his face.

Sighing resignedly, Hermione nods, accepting his words because that line has been dropped so many times, by so many people, it's had long ago lost its meaning. "Yes, you're right. Because it is you, but it is me as well," she says. "It's you and me, separately and together. It's this bland relationship we've fallen into. It's the shallow kisses and conversations. It's the absent spark between us and how everything started to feel off. It's how we can't even spend a day without diving right into an argument that's one word away from blowing out of proportions. Ron…"

She pauses only due to the sudden lack of air, never expecting this to turn into such a rant. She'd thought to come over, explain her feelings, try to spare his, and break up with him. Clean and simple. Now, she doesn't want to keep going, he looks so hurt, but Hermione supposes that if she's hurt him this much, there really isn't anything else that might be worse.

"It's… how this relationship ended even before it started."

She is wrong.

Ron takes a deep breath, blanching and looking like someone just gutted him, the pain sharp in his eyes, yet he refuses to face her. "I-I didn't know you… felt that way…" He swallows and stands up, walking across the room towards the window. "Why didn't you say something? This… this can't be something sudden, I know you, Hermione, this isn't sudden!"

"No, no it isn't," she concedes. "But it's not exactly surprising, Ron, even you must have felt how wrong everything was."

"Of course, I felt-I just didn't want… I thought if we tried harder…" He spins around, looking pleadingly at her, and it's all she can do not to break and surrender so he would just stop hurting.

"We did. We did try, harder than most would, but it didn't work. We only ended up fighting more."

Hermione stands, and makes to move closer but Ron recoils from her feeble advances, slumping against the wall next to the window facing Diagon Alley.

"Since when…?"

She winces and averts her gaze, knowing things will start getting truly unpleasant now. "The weekend after my birthday," she whispers and prays. She prays Ron won't make the connection, because that's the crux of the matter, when it all started for her.

Her birthday.

But, of course he does; he knows and it shows in the way his face twist in agony. "Does this have… anything… to do with Harry?"

"Yes."

It pains her, greatly, because she cares about Ron a lot, he's her best friend and she might even love him, but-but the thing is, Harry still comes first, both in her heart and head. Harry will always be the most important best friend, and the most important boy-man in her life. And that can't be if she's trying to form a relationship with someone else. She knows, but that's the truth. In the end, if she wants to look for a relationship somewhere else, with someone else, she would have to forsake her relationship with Harry. Maybe not to the point of stopping being friends, but enough to make her heart stop skipping beats every time he so much as smiles at her.

She can't do that, it would kill her. Hermione knows-she has tried.

Ron growls menacingly, but doesn't move from his place, instead pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Why, dammit, why? He gets-"

"Don't," she snaps, probably harsher than she intended, but Hermione knows what he's thinking and it truly enrages her. "Don't you dare say he gets everything. Everything what, Ron? Everything you want? Are you really that shallow?"

He growls again, glaring at her, but remains quiet.

"Everything he has, Harry never wanted any of it! All he's ever wanted is-is what you and I have, a loving family." She takes deep breaths to calm down, and the silence that follows proves to be too much for her, so she makes a hasty retreat. After all, she doubts she even needs to say the words-

"So, that's it? It's over?"

-or maybe she does, just to avoid any potential confusion.

"Yes, Ron, it's over. We're over," says Hermione, walking quickly to the door. "I'm sorry. I'll see myself out."

As she walks into the cold, brisk morning air, and start walking to the Apparition point of the Alley, Hermione realizes she never got to tell him about the kisses, as she'd planned to come clean with him. But, obviously, right now it's for the best. Better let Ron cool down before telling him she cheated on him with his best friend, maybe then the damage between the young men won't be so bad.

But, oh, how wrong she would be.

~

As soon as he steps into the Potion's classroom, sporting a black eye, a cut lip, and a bruised jaw, Hermione knows she's made a mistake about not staying to relay the full story for breaking up with the youngest Weasley son.

Still, his injuries don't deter Harry from greeting her with a smile on his face and, because she knows Harry better than she knows herself, Hermione's certain he thinks he deserved the beating.

After leaving Ron she goes straight to her parents', and then spends the whole day crying on her mother's lap as if she were that little girl that was bullied in school again. Her mother smiles sympathetically, brushing away her short locks from her face and providing the comfort that only a mother could give. Making soothing noises and whispering reassurances. She waits until Hermione stops crying to speak.

"I know, honey, that I could have spared you all this pain, if only I had told you what your letters told me since you became friends with those two boys," she begins. "Your heart, Hermione, decided whom to love a long time ago, it was just your head the part that needed to catch up on that. I wanted to tell you so much when you left for your Sixth Year, but I know you. I'm your mother; I know how your head works and how you would react if I had said you were in love with Harry when your head had decided you wanted to date Ron."

"Mum…?"

"You needed to realize it on your own. How else would you learn from your mistakes?"

Hermione wants to complain, to tell her it wasn't fair of her, withholding information, but she knows her mother is right. She would have gone into a deep sea of denial because her mind had already made a choice back then. Not anymore, though.

After dinner, her mother sends her back to Hogwarts with a bag full of letters and a promise to spend the following Sunday doing whatever she wanted, as they had made plan for tomorrow in lieu of her prearranged absence. Hermione regrets briefly that she'd told her parents to cancel this week's Sunday lunch, but she decided to spend it reading the letters and seeing for herself if she'd really been that obvious without her noticing.

And her mother turned out to be right; rereading the letters, her growing feeling for her black-haired best friend are obvious.

She feels thankful that the letters kept her mind mostly occupied, because from the glares she receives from Ginny, her Break Up is already public news. And while she had hoped Harry remained oblivious, his bruised visage speaks for itself. And she doesn't get to ask anything as Harry mouth a quick later before turning his focus on Slughorn, who probably thinks the injuries are from a secret mission, as does the rest of the class.

Fools.

Only later doesn't really come until they're walking down the path to the Gates of the School, which is good, as this way there would be less chance of someone eavesdropping on them. Hermione waits, patiently, for him to begin telling her what happened. It takes a while, but as the Gate comes into view, Harry starts talking.

"Ron came to see me yesterday morning. And this," he says, motioning to his black eye, "was his way of greeting."

"Oh…"

Harry grins a little, trying not to stretch his lips too much. "It's okay. Honestly, at first I thought he'd gone insane, but then he started yelling and-well, I couldn't exactly fight back. I deserved it, really."

She shakes her head, looking regretfully at him. "Harry, you don't-"

"But I do. Hermione, if some bloke, friend or not, kissed my girl I would react the same. It's a men thing." He grins again, wider this time, even though it must hurt his lip, and bumps their shoulders playfully together. "Besides, it's you. And if you were my girlfriend… I'd react worse than Ron did."

"But, Harry, I kissed you. You were just the unsuspecting victim and-"

He snorts and shakes his head, stopping in the middle of the path and making her stop as well. "I assure you, I was no victim." Harry averts his gaze for a moment, seeming to contemplate his next words before he turns his solemn eyes on her. "I… wanted to kiss you, Hermione, even before Christmas. I just never did because, well, you had a boyfriend, which happened to be my best mate. Also, I never thought you'd ever see me like that."

"You wanted to-since when?"

"Ah, well, you see," he blushes, averts his eyes, and then gives her a sheepish smile. "I realized something over the summer, it… it was one of the reasons why I broke up with Ginny. I realized that I had this fixation with your lips, I mean, I'm always watching them move when you talk and… well, that, and while you were away with your parents, I felt your absence with a visceral awareness. But I only started wondering what it would be like to kiss you, and wanting to do it, on your birthday."

Now it's her turn to blush and she has to repress the need to squirm uncomfortably. "Was it the haircut?"

Harry startles, but then he breaks into a hearty laugh, stopping when he finds himself short of breath. "Sorry, but-no, well, kind of. It's not necessarily that, but it certainly made an impact." Again, he lifts his hand, treading his fingers through her short locks with a content smile. "I loved your hair, wild as it was-"

She laughs gently at this blatant understatement. "Harry! It was a disaster!"

"-but it kind of kept your face hidden behind all its action." His lips twitch when she laughs again, making her feel great knowing that she makes him happy, as he obviously feels great that he makes her happy. "Now everyone can see how lovely you really are. The Yule Ball gave us a glimpse of what was there, just hidden, but now it's all on display. You look beautiful, Hermione."

"Thank you," she replies, her cheeks alight with the bright blush that refuses to go away.

They resume their walking, slowly meandering down the path, until finally they reach the Gates. As Hermione is about to, regrettably, say her goodbyes, Harry rounds on her with this intense look on his face, his green eyes shining with longing and so much hope it leaves her breathless.

"How long does a bloke have to wait to make a move on his best mate's ex-girlfriend?"

"Wuh-what?"

Harry presses on, even with her apparent befuddlement. "Just to seem decent. Would a month do?"

"I… I don't think the men are supposed to care about seeming decent," she says, a little hesitatingly, and it only takes her a second to realize what her words imply.

His surprised look tells her he got the implication loud and clear. The fact that he closes the distance between them faster than she can blink is lost on her, considering her senses are currently drowning in him. "So, can this bloke make a move like, right now?"

"I think, but… there are a lot of people who're going to be hurt deeply by it. And some might even frown upon this b-bloke."

Oh, God, has his closeness always evoked this kind of reaction out of her? Or has it been dampened by the immediate danger they've been during the previous years? Because Hermione certainly feels like she's been like this forever.

"Would it be selfish of me to say that I don't care what people-what they think, Hermione?" His question is whispered over her lips, the words washing over her like a lover's caress and-God, she's getting cheesy-it's obvious Harry got tired of playing the third-person game.

She leans forward slightly, their lips brushing but only just. "I think… you've earned the right to be a little selfish, Harry."

The words have barely left her lips when his crashed against them. But the kiss is brief, merely an instant of brushing lips, because the sudden touch makes Harry pull back with a pained hiss, and Hermione flutters her eyes open to see him touching his bleeding lip lightly. If that isn't enough to break the enchanting atmosphere surrounding them, the laugher that bubbles out of her unexpectedly certainly does.

Harry sends her a withering glare for a few moment before he, too, break down laughing, although less enthusiastic.

"Obviously, you'll have to wait for that cut to heal properly before making your move," she says at last, grinning amusedly at his chagrined expression. "But, honestly, Harry, I meant what I said. You have earned it."

He smiles widely despite his bleeding lip and nods. "Well, I guess I will wait until this is healed. Then it's fair game." Harry grabs her left hand, swinging it from side to side. "So Miss Granger, I'm afraid I have some important business to tend to this Saturday, but… are you free on Sunday?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I must decline, Mr Potter. You see, I already made plans with my best friend."

"Ah, he's a lucky bloke."

"Yes, I should say so."

The bleeding stops, finally, and after checking the little wound won't open again, he smirks at her. "Saturday next week? I'll take you to a romantic dinner."

"It's a date, then," she says, pecking his cheek.

~

Honestly, she should've seen it coming.

Predictably, their relationship status spreads faster than the actual thing. But only three persons express disapproval and, one of them, open hostility. Those persons are Ron, Ginny and, not surprisingly, Molly. Ron, they can understand, as his pain is still fresh, because hey, Hermione barely waited a week before going on a date with Harry. Ginny, though, is arguably understandable as well, she has feeling for Harry still, and Hermione screwed up whatever chance of them getting back together.

It is Molly, however, the baffling one. She has no say in their decisions to date whomever they wanted, nor in their lives; they're not her children after all, no matter how much she wants it.

Fortunately, the rest of the Weasley clan are pretty accepting of their decision. Their only complaint, a valid one, thinks Hermione, is her faulty timing to end her relationship with Ron; two days prior his birthday, way to ruin it for him.

All the drama aside, her relationship with Harry is perfect.

Intellectually, of course, she knows that's not true. They argue, and disagree more often than not, given their stubbornness, but they talk to each other, and their inability to hold a grudge allows them to forgive and forget rather easily. Of course, the perk of knowing each other better than they know themselves helps, because then they're capable of avoiding confrontations that could be potentially disastrous.

They have the one thing they lacked with their past Weasleys; they actually communicate, they share their fears and expectations, they understand each other.

So, while their relationship might not be perfect, it certainly feels so.

Also, the snogging is fabulous.

"Harry?"

Her voice is soft, she doesn't want to break the intimate atmosphere surrounding them. Sitting in front of a roaring fire in the RoR, while cuddling her black-haired boyfriend, is not the way she'd envisioned spending their last night at Hogwarts (well, her last night, as he would be leaving for his place soon), but Hermione considers it way better than her actual thoughts, either alone or partying the night away with her fellow Gryffindors.

Yes, this is definitely better.

"Yeah…?"

He sounds sleepy, and she loathes to think she'll have to send him off to his flat soon. Would it really be so bad if he were to spend the night here…? But no, as tempting as that thought is, Hermione isn't about to betray the Headmistress' trust by sneaking a boy into her private room. Besides, this is her last night here, and by tomorrow…

Blushing brightly, even though Harry can't see her, Hermione turns in his embrace until she has a clear view of his calm face; his eyes are closed and a serene smile graces him lips, if it weren't for the fact that he actually answered her call she'd thought he's asleep. And maybe he is, but still… she needs to tell him something, even if he's not aware of it as of now.

Hermione takes in a shaky breath, and buries her face in the side of his neck, gathering up her courage. Remember, like a Gryffindor, she thinks and then she speaks the words that have been locked within her for too long.

"I love you."

Harry's breathe catches in his throat, and that's the only clue as to his wakefulness, because he remains otherwise still. And silent, so very silent that Hermione starts to doubt her decision to confess her feelings for him. She tries not to be a pessimist; berating herself and thinking he must be in shock or something, because other than his parents, she doesn't think anyone has ever told him that.

But then, her worries prove to be silly, as Harry pulls back enough to give her a sloppy kiss before letting out a breathless laugh. He kisses her again and again and again, until they're both breathless and then he presses their foreheads together, giving her the most loving look Hermione has ever seeing on his face.

"I love you, too."

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The end, for this one.

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Weeeeeell. Was it good? I liked how it turned out, but I still want to hear your thoughts on it. After all, while I write mostly for myself, it's always good to hear what other people think about the random things the come out of the writer's head.

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