Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 14/09/2013
Last Updated: 21/09/2013
Status: In Progress

Aunt Marge visits again during the summer before Harry's sixth year. They talk about some things that get Harry very, very mad. Then, Vernon calls a facility that takes care of 'violent' teens. Little does Harry know, that Hermione's father just so happens to own the facility. AU. Yes, I'm uploading this SIX years later.

1. Imaginary Children

Author's Notes: Re-uploading from fanfiction.net. All mistakes are mine, as I've not gone through the story much.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Aunt Marge visits again during the summer before Harry's sixth year. They talk about some things that get Harry very, very mad. Then, Vernon calls a facility that takes care of `violent' teens. Little does Harry know, that Hermione's father just so happens to own the facility. AU



Nasty little muggle devices, they were. The cold metal wrapping around your wrists, making the veins in your wrists go cold. From the size of it, one wouldn't think it could do anything, but once `it' was wrapped around their wrists, they were done.

That's how Harry Potter felt when he left his `home' with that nasty metal thing around his wrists, hands behind his back.


Earlier that day…

Harry had another nightmare that night. They were all in the Department of Mysteries. Luna was helping Ginny, who had a broken ankle, and they were both limping towards the exit. Harry was watching Sirius duel Bellatrix, who was winning. Suddenly, he was hit with a curse, then flew back through some veil. He was sure that he had just fallen, so Harry looked around. He saw Hermione lay motionless; dead. He saw Ron being chocked from a bunch of brains. Neville had been fighting with Remus Lupin and they weren't in good shape, to say the least. They had blood oozing in spots, others were completely black. The other Order members were no where to be seen.

He lay, thrashing in his bed. He woke up screaming and sweating. He was sweaty all over. His shirt was soaked, as was his forehead and face. It was too humid in the room, Harry thought. The Dursleys were in the cool air, saying that Harry could have any (“Freaks need the heat,” Vernon sneered).

He faintly heard knocking coming from his door; he didn't answer, though. He just lay there, sweating and panting. This was the third time that week he had that dream. They just weren't going away, or at least, not anytime soon.

Just than, someone opened the door: Vernon.

“Boy!” the large man bellowed. Harry moaned and sat up, putting his glasses on to see properly.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Your Aunt Marge is visiting (Harry inwardly cringed), go help with the luggage. She's going to be staying for the week, so I suggest—no, I'm ordering you, no funny business,” he commanded.

Harry nodded and went to change his clothes. He took off his shirt and pulled on a fresh green shirt with khaki shorts. He walked downstairs, avoiding that blasted dog, and went outside, where his Aunt and Uncle were.

“Boy,” Marge said, “I thought this boy would be off at some camp.”

“No… it is summer, after all,” Vernon said. “Besides, who better to help than Potter over here?” He glared at the young man, signaling for him to gather her luggage.

“Yes, boy, get my luggage. Be of some assistance.”

Harry glared at her and picked up her luggage. He certainly wasn't in the mood to be ordered around, but had no choice.

After he had brought her luggage to the guest room, Harry went back to his room.


During dinner…

Harry sat on his bed, shirtless. He really hated the damn weather, he really wanted something cool. When he was in muggle school, he had heard that if he put his wrists under something cool, like water, he'd feel cooler.

Deciding that it was worth a short, he got up and went towards the bathroom. He went in and looked at his reflection first. His hair wasn't too long, but it wasn't short either, it was at about his neck, messy as ever. His emerald eyes stood out behind the round, cracked, classes. He grinned at himself, he'd let Hermione fix his glasses when he visited the Weasleys, just as she always did.

He turned on the sink, looking for the right temperature. Once he found the water cool enough, he put his wrists under there.

“Wow,” he said to himself. It actually worked. He started rubbing his wrists together, making them even colder. He grinned. “Wow, it really works.” After a few minutes of cooling off, he changed his clothes and went downstairs.

Marge, Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were all eating dinner in the dining room. He wasn't paying too much attention to their conversation, but he heard a few lines.

“Yes… boy is messed up, I tell you…”

“That's why… girl… knocked up…”

“Ooh! Knocked up…? Who…?”

“Fifteen… bushy-haired…”

Harry had heard enough. He knew who the bushy-haired girl was, and he knew what `knocked up' meant. He had most certainly not knocked up Hermione! They weren't even dating! How dare they?

“Wait,” he mumbled to himself, “when did they ever see her, anyway?” Quickly putting that thought aside, he walked into the living room and listened to the whole conversation. Apparently they still hadn't noticed Harry's presence.

“Yes, Marge, he has gotten arrested quiet a few times, too. That school, you know which one I'm talking about, he'd gotten some drug addict girl pregnant. Then he murdered her boyfriend. He was arrested for two whole years. Of course, that was two years ago. He visits her summer, at her home, they have two children already. Dudley even told me that they were having their third,” Vernon said, lying through his teeth. Marge soaked it up like a sponge. Harry's temper was slowly building up. How could his `uncle' say those things about him?

“So he was fourteen when he had his first?” Marge questioned. Vernon nodded. “This is what I expected. Two children and a third on the way, and he's only sixteen, too.”

“Yes, you will probably see her here, too, one day. You might not hear too much from her, though. Their tongues are down each others throats constantly. Dudley hears them at night, too, lots of moaning. Isn't that right, Dudley?” Vernon asked his chubby child.

“Yup, dad,” Dudley said. “Tons of moaning, I hear the headboard of Potter's bed bang against my wall all the time,” he said, grinning like a fool. He had noticed that Harry was there and he was going to take full advantage of the situation.

“You should see her, Marge. Plain girl, she is. Bushy brown hair, brown eyes, she's as plain as they get,” Vernon said.

Harry's temper was searing. How could they talk about Hermione like that? They didn't even know her and they were going to talk trash about them. He had enough; he walked in, making his presence very clear.

Marge simply continued her conversation. “So, Vernon, what are his children's names? Have they murdered anyone yet?” She sneered at Harry.

Harry glared at her. If she didn't stop soon, he'd do something he was going to regret soon.

“Yes, I believe one is name after Potter, one named after Potter's father, and the one coming is going to be named after Potter's mother. How cliché,” Vernon said. “Naming his children after drug addicts, pity really.”

Enough was enough. Harry exploded. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY PARENTS LIKE THAT! THEY WEREN'T DRUG ADDICTS AND YOU KNOW IT! AND ANOTHER THING! DON'T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT HERMIONE LIKE THAT, EVER AGAIN!!! AND WHO ARE YOU TO SAY THAT I'M A FATHER?! HUH!? HOW DO YOU KNOW I'M A FATHER?! AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW WHO HERMIONE IS?! I SAID IT ONCE, AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN, DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT HERMIONE LIKE THAT!!! he snarled, red with rage. The glasses on the table shattered and Marge screamed, thinking that she was going to blow up again, like she did the last time she visited.

She quickly stood up, showing Harry who was boss. “Now you listen here, boy. I will talk about your filthy children and girlfriend if I choose to do so. You are a father, Vernon wouldn't lie about it.” More of the glasses started to shatter, leaving Vernon going to the kitchen to call someone and Marge pointing her fat finger in his face.

“Listen, woman,” he said his voice full of venom. “You will not talk about Hermione like that. I don't give a fuck who you are, I really don't. Just like Vernon said, I've murdered, and I'm not stopping anytime soon.” He smirked when her face went pale. A little lying from his side wasn't going to hurt him.

A few minutes later, Vernon returned, grinning like a fool. “Boy, pack your bags, you're going back to that place.”

“What place?” He asked.

“Juvenile Center,” he said, grinning. “You're going to spend the summer there.”

“What?” he nearly shouted. “What did I do?”

“You, boy, insulted Marge and shattered my wife's china. That's what you did,” he said. “I suspect they'll be here within twenty minutes or so. Go upstairs and pack. Go,” he commanded.

Harry glared at him, the Order certainly wouldn't be happy about this. He went upstairs and started packing everything that he owned. He packed all of his magical things. None of the clothes (except his Hogwarts uniform) were his; they were Dudley's. He walked over to Hedwig and told her to go to Ron's. A `hoot' and nip later, she flew away. Harry pocketed his wand and picked up his trunk.

He walked downstairs and waited. He knew that the Dursley's were just doing this to scare him, and that they were going laugh at his sheer stupidity. Twenty minutes later, Vernon true to his word, a car pulled up in front of Number Four Private Dr. Harry was starting to get worried now; he'd only packed his stuff and let Hedwig fly off because he thought this was a joke. He didn't think that Uncle Vernon would actually call a Juvenile Center.

Vernon opened the door and greeted the man. He was tall, about 6'4'', and had blond hair and brown eyes. There was a girl behind him; she looked to be about Harry's age. Harry couldn't see who the girl was, but he thought she must be his daughter. She was about 5'5'' and slim; that's all he saw.

They walked in, then and only then, did Harry realize that the girl was Hermione. His eyes bugged out, thoughts swarming around his head. “Is she in trouble, too? Is she that guy's daughter? Why is she here? Maybe I should stop staring and start talking.” He shook his head and looked at Hermione. She had certainly changed. Her bushy hair was still bushy, yes, but it now framed her face, which had clear lip gloss painted on them. She was taller now, about 5'5'', and she filled out in all of the right places. Harry felt his pants tighten up slightly, so he decided that he needed to get rid of those thoughts fast, and start talking.

“Yes, this is the boy,” Vernon told the man. “Yes, Mister Granger, yes, he has threatened to murder us.”

The man nodded, glaring at Harry occasionally. Hermione still hadn't noticed Harry was in the room, but seemed to have a look of thought on her face.

“My Hermione,” he murmured. Hermione heard that and looked over at him, noticing for the first time, who was in the living room.

“HARRY!” Hermione shouted, running towards him, tackling him in a hug. They fell to the ground, Hermione's arms around Harry's neck and his around her waist. They didn't move, just stayed like that; on the floor, clutching one another. They stared at each other, letting their eyes talking to each other. They stayed like that for a few more minutes, but then they hear loud coughing. Hermione turned her head around slightly, to see the person; Harry sat up a little, supporting his back on the front of the couch. It was Marge, glaring at the two.

“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, still latched onto Harry. Harry moved his left hand from her waist to her hips, and used his right hand to find his glasses, which had been knocked off when Hermione tackled him.

Marge took in Hermione's appearance. Harry knew that it'd be but a few minutes until she started saying things like `how are the kids?' `Kill anyone yet?' `You still on drugs?' and such.

“What were you doing, boy? Do you not know who this is?” She pointed at Hermione. “This, is Mister David Granger's daughter Hermio--” she stopped mid-sentence, just realizing that the name was Hermione, the `mother' of Harry's `children.'

“VERNON!” Marge shouted. Vernon walked in and looked at the two teens (who were still very much holding on to each other).

“Yes?” he asked.

“Hermione… she's… she's…” She couldn't finish. She just opened and closed her mouth.

“Yes Marge, what about this Hermio--” He, too, stopped mid-sentence. “Oh,” was all he said. He glared at them, and then walked away, towards David Granger.

“What was that about?” Hermione whispered, looking at Marge, whose face looked like a fish out of water.

“I'll explain later,” he whispered. “C'mon, let's get up.” They got up, feeling a strange sense of emptiness now that they weren't holding each other, but dismissed that quickly.

The man—David Granger—came in and glared at Harry. “You, boy, get your trunk and get,” he commanded.

“Dad,” Hermione started, “this is Harry--”

“I know perfectly well who this person is.” He said Harry's name like it was poison. “Boy, keep your hands where I can see them. Now,” he commanded.

Harry looked at Hermione, feeling helpless. He put his hands up and saw David walk up to him, some sort of metal circle things in his hand.

“Turn around.” And so he did. He took Harry's hands and put them behind his back, placing those metal circle things around his wrists. They felt cold, very, very cold. He tried to move his hands, but those metal things wouldn't let him.

“Handcuffs,” Hermione whispered, walking towards Harry.

“Hermione, come back here. You don't want to be next to a murder, don't know what he could do,” he said. Hermione looked at him and walked towards her father.

“Let's go, boy. Get.”

“What about my trunk?” Harry asked.

“I'll get that. Go.”

“Bye,” Harry mumbled to the Dursley's and Marge.

Once they were outside, Hermione instantly went to his side. “Don't worry, Harry. It won't be that bad.”

“Hermione! I'm in handcuffs!”

“Handcuffs,” Hermione corrected. Harry rolled his eyes.

“So, where am I going?” he asked.

“You, Mister Potter, are going to my home. I'm not letting dad put you in that Juvenile Center. You're staying at my place. End of story.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling.

“Boy, get in the car,” Hermione's father said after seeing the two. Harry nodded and walked up to the car. He couldn't open the door so he asked Hermione to open it, she laughed and opened it, sliding in. He slid in next to her, her father going up front.

“Hermione, why are you with the boy?” he asked.

“Dad, this is Harry Potter. You've heard of him, mum and I talked a lot about him.”

Harry looked surprised. “You talk about me?” he asked quietly.

Hermione nodded and smiled. “Yes, you're an amazing person, Harry. Don't deny the fact.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, just as I'm the father of our two children and our third one coming.”

At that point, David suddenly stopped the car, turned around at Harry, and gave him a look. “Boy, I've heard a lot of things about you, but what do you mean father of her children? My Hermione has no children. Right?” he pointed the last question at Hermione.

“Honestly, you two! Where did you come up with that rubbish, Harry?” Hermione asked, ignoring her father.

Harry shrugged. “My Uncle and Aunt Marge. They were talking about how I got you pregnant, and now we have two kids and another on the way.”

Her father looked at the two, then at Hermione's stomach. “You are kidding, boy, right?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

Hermione started laughing. “How do they even know me?” she asked between laughs.

Harry started laughing, too, and answered, “I don't really know. But they do.”

After a few minutes of laughter (and a few more glares towards Harry—courtesy of David) they stopped laughing.

He looked out the window, watching the streets of London. He thought, maybe this won't be such a bad summer after all, even if my hands are cuffed.

Author's Notes: Reviews would be much appreciated.

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2. Meeting the Family

Author's Notes: When I see Harry and Hermione, I see then from the fourth movie. So, that's how I'm going to describe them.

Now, JKR once said that Hermione was going to have a sister/brother (I think she did…), but she decided against it. Well, I'm giving that sibling a chance! (Hmm… she did say that, didn't she???)



Hermione sat in the back seat of the car, sitting next to Harry, who didn't seem to like the handcuffs. She took in all of his features (she was mostly staring into his wonderful eyes when she had hugged him). He'd grown about three inches, just under 5'11'' now. His hair had grown a few inches; it was now just about to his neck, messy as ever. He had gotten a few muscles, too, she noticed. He wasn't buff, but he wasn't scrawny anymore, either. He still wore Dudley's clothes, too; she'd have to change that, she thought. Then, she took in his eyes. His wonderful, emerald green eyes; they were always hidden by those wretched glasses, which were cracked, she noticed. His hands were still cuffed, too.

Hermione scooted closer to Harry, not noticing the small smile on his face, and held his hands, which were still behind his back.

“Here, let me,” she said. He looked at her oddly, wonder what she was going to do. “The handcuffs,” she said, seemingly reading his mind.

“Oh,” was all he said. He turned his back a little, letting her hold his cuffed hands.


“Dad, where are the keys to the cuffs?” she asked her father, who was currently taking the exit to London. He shifted his weight a little, taking out a small key from his back pocket, and gave the silver key to Hermione.

“What do you want to do with it? If you want to do what I think you want to do, don't do it,” he said, not once taking his eyes off the road.


“No, Hermione, you're not. I don't care, unless that boy is some famous kid, then maybe I'll let him free,” he said.

Hermione's eyes brightened up and Harry groaned, knowing what Hermione was about to say.

“But dad, Harry is famous!” she exclaimed, ignoring the groaning and whining from the person next to her.

Hermione!” whined Harry.

“Shh, Harry!” Hermione said.

“Dad, can I now? Harry is very famous. Ask mum, she'll tell you the truth,” she said.

He made a grunting sound that Hermione took as a `yes.' She took Harry's cuffed hands and put the key in the key hole. She twisted it and they popped open, letting Harry's wrists free. He twisted his hands a bit, letting the cramps out. After he was free of those handcuffs, he hugged Hermione, tight. She was a bit shocked at first, but then wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Thanks, those things were cold,” he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“No problem, Harry. Just doing a friend a favor,” she whispered in his ear.

“OY!” Hermione's father said, startling the two teens. “Hands off my daughter, I don't want you to get her pregnant,” he said. After a moment, he added, “again.”

Harry and Hermione laughed at that.


“Here we are, the Juvenile Center. Have fun, boy,” David said, handing Harry his trunk.

“B-but-- y-y-you were serious?” Harry stuttered.

“No, he's not serious, Harry,” Hermione said, joining Harry's side.

“Yes I am, Hermione. I don't care if this boy is famous or not, he is staying here,” he said.

“No, dad. Harry is going to stay with us. He did nothing wrong, so it's only fair that he stays with us.” Her voice sounded very serious.


“Dad, talk to mum. She'll tell you everything. I swear, there isn't a single bad bone in Harry,” she said, smiling at Harry (who was currently tomato red).

“I am bad, Hermione. Just not bad enough to kill someone,” Harry said. Saying a bloke wasn't bad was saying something like he liked skipping around and putting flowers in his hair; it made him want to gag.

“Fine, I'll talk to your mother. But, be warned Hermione Granger, one bad thing I hear about this … Harry Potter bloke, and he's off here for the rest of the summer.” His voice was stern, making Harry wince slightly.

He took out his mobile and dialed his wife's number. A few minutes later, Harry and Hermione could hear him talking to her mother.

“Hi, honey … yes … Harry Potter bloke … no … really, you don't say … yes … but … (he sighed) yes, dear … but remember, one thing and he's out … okay … love you, too … bye …” He turned around, taking in the grin Hermione was sporting, and said, “Okay, your mother said that he isn't a bad guy. But I have heard some interesting things about you, Potter. I expect you to tell me everything about you at our home.”

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and Hermione kept her grin, now holding his hand. He looked at her, wondering why she had done that. Hermione shrugged, grin still plastered, and started walking towards her father, dragging Harry with her.

“Okay, c'mon, I bet mum's already put dinner up.”

Harry, who was still bright red, just nodded and got in the car. Hermione slid in next to him, their hands still very much intertwined, and shut the door.


The car ride home was pleasant (at least Mister Granger wasn't glaring at Harry). Hermione still kept their hands intertwined, making Harry's stomach do flips, and occasionally talking about what they were to do over the summer. David, though he wasn't glaring, kept an ear open to listen if the boy had anything bad to say. David still wasn't too sure on Harry, since his uncle said that he threatened to murder, and the things he did in school, the special skills he had, he wasn't too sure if he'd like him to be with his fifteen year old girl. He was a father, after all. He wasn't just going to let any bloke stay in the house with a teenage girl; that just wouldn't be right.

Finally, near twenty minutes later, David announced that they were home. Harry, Hermione, and David all got out of the car. Harry went to get his trunk and then joined Hermione's side.

The house wasn't too small, but it wasn't huge, either. It had a decent sized front lawn, with a small pond in towards the middle. The backyard seems pretty nice, too.

They walked inside and into the living room. David took Harry's trunk and walked upstairs, while Hermione showed Harry around the house. Missus Granger walked in and gasped.

“Well, Harry Potter in the flesh,” Hermione's mother said, walking up to Harry and inspecting him. She was about 5'6'' and had brown hair and brown eyes, much like Hermione. “Finally I get to see the boy that my Hermione has been talking about all these years.”

“Um … hello, Missus Granger,” Harry said, feeling awkward.

“Please, Harry, call me Ann,” she said, smiling at the teenage boy.

She looked at him, as if looking for faults; Harry didn't feel comfortable. After a few minutes of “inspecting,” as Harry liked to think of it, she finally spoke.

“Well, yes, your clothes are much too large. We'll take you shopping tomorrow. You eyes are wonderful, if I do say so myself. A bit thin, but that could always be fixed. Your hair is unbelievably messy; we'll get you a haircut tomorrow, too. Other then that, you're fine!” She said, embracing Harry. He stiffened at the contact instantly, never having been touched like that by anyone other than Hermione. Missus Granger noticed that, too, and pulled back.

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” she said.

“No, it's okay. I … just … no one ever hugs me like that other than Hermione. So, I guess, it's just … new,” he said.

“Okay,” Hermione said, wanting to ease up the tension, “let's eat dinner.”

Missus Granger nodded and led them to the dining room, where dinner was already served. Harry and Hermione took a seat next to each other, while Ann and David went to the heads of the table. Harry took some chicken on his plate, as well as some vegetables and mashed potatoes. Hermione took some of the chicken, too, and took some stuffing and vegetables.

“So, Potter--” Hermione's father started, but was cut off by both Hermione and her mother.

“It's Harry,” they said.

David rolled his eyes and started again. “Okay, Harry, tell us about yourself. What are your interests? Play any sports? How are your grades? Have you ever gotten detention? Have--”

“Dad!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Hermione, I only want to learn more about this Harry Potter boy. You two know so much about him, and I feel out of the loop. So, Harry, care to talk?” He asked, not affected by his daughter and wife's mutterings.

“Well,” Harry started, “I play qudditch.”

“He was the youngest player in over a century,” Hermione added.

“What is this qudditch?” David asked.

“It's sort of like lacrosse in the air,” Harry explained. Hermione's father actually looked interested, so Harry went into full detail about the sport.

After fifteen minutes, Hermione's father spoke again. “So … Ann told me that you stole something when you were eleven. Is that true?”

“Um … well … it was for a good cause,” Harry stammered. David just gave a faint `hmmm.'

“Anything else?” he asked, looking at the three of them. “Anything special this boy can do?”

“Yes,” Ann said, speaking for the first time, “he can speak to snakes. Hermione told me.”

“You told her that?” Harry asked Hermione. She just shrugged.

“Talk to snakes, eh?” he asked.

“Yeah, I and only one other person in Great Britain can talk to snakes,” Harry said, grimacing at the thought of only him and Lord Voldemort being parstletounges.

“One other person? Wow, you must feel lucky then,” he said.

“Not really, most people think it's a curse. They consider it very dark if you're able to speak to snakes,” Harry explained.

“Are you evil?” David asked, eyeing the boy suspiciously.

“No! Never!” he said, clearly offended by being called evil.

“Dad, Harry would never be evil. He has--” Hermione started, but was cut off by a loud `thump' from upstairs.

“Oh, I think that was Catty,” Ann said. “She hasn't been feeling well today, I'll tuck her in again.” She got up and went upstairs.

“Who's Catty?” Harry asked.

“My sister,” Hermione said simply.

“Why didn't you tell me you had a sister?” Harry asked, hurt by the fact that she hadn't told him.

“She's only three, and I didn't think that you'd care much,” she said, shrugging it off.

“But I do care, Hermione. Why would you think I wouldn't?” he asked.

Again, she shrugged. “I don't know. Anyway, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

“I think I should make sure that this boy has no weapons,” David said at once.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Dad, he has nothing that would cause us any harm, really.”

David just mumbled something in reply. Hermione looked at Harry once again.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” She asked.

“Um, I think that maybe we could just walk around, maybe.”

“Okay,” she said, going back to her food.

Once they were finished eating. Harry tried to clean up the dishes, but Ann (who had come down just before they finished eating) wouldn't have any of it.

“You're a guest, Harry. You shouldn't be doing this work. Hermione will show you your room,” Ann said, getting the dishes.

“Nonsense, Ann. This boy offered, so he should do it. It's only manners,” David said, glancing at the raven haired boy.

“No, David. He will not be doing these dishes. Not as long as he is here, he's a guest.” Her tone was final, so David said no more, just went into the living room and turned on the television.

Harry walked to Hermione, who was sitting on the couch with Crookshanks. He smiled and walked behind the couch, just hovering above her. He leaned down a bit, his head just barely touching Hermione's shoulder, and smiled.

“So,” Harry whispered. Hermione jumped a bit, bit didn't move otherwise. “You going to show me my room?”

“You know, Harry, if I didn't know any better, I would've thought that you were just flirting with me.” She turned around, smiling.

Harry grinned. “Maybe I was.”

“Smooth, Potter.” She winked and Harry laughed. “C'mon, let me show you your room.”

She led him upstairs and went for a few doors. “Okay, my parents' room is the one to the left. My sister's room is the one next to theirs. My room is on the right; yours next to mine.”

Harry nodded and opened the first door. It had periwinkle walls, with pictures (most of which were her and Harry) hanging on the wall. Her bed, which wasn't that large, was on the top left hand corner, right next to the window. On the window was a potted plant, and next to it was a hat that she had made for the elves. There was a large bookshelf filled with books next to a computer desk with a laptop on it. He smiled, but it was a little to girly for his tastes.

“Harry, wrong door,” Hermione said smirking.

“Oh. Thought so,” and he chuckled slightly, feeling stupid.

She took his hand, lacing their fingers together. They felt a shock go through each other, but they disregarded that; this was not the time to bring up their feelings for each other. She led him through the door next to hers.

Inside were pale yellow walls. The bed was large, with pastel green and yellow pillows and blanket. There was a dresser with Harry's trunk in front of it, and next to the dresser was a desk with a notebook and pen on it. It was pretty simple, but Harry liked it.

“Nice.” He smiled at her, and not thinking for a moment, he kissed her cheek.

Her eyes enlarged for a moment, but then he pulled back, tomato red.

“Um, thanks, for keeping me here,” he stated awkwardly.

She, turning red, said, “No problem, Harry. You're my friend.” A few moments later, Hermione said, “C'mon, you get settled in and I'll see you tomorrow.” She reluctantly let go of his hand, immediately feeling an absence, and walked out, smiling all the while.

Well, she didn't pull back, so I guess kissing her cheek was okay. I think I'll do it again, Harry thought, smiling.


The next day, Harry woke up to a giggling sound. Harry groaned and took his glasses from the bedside table. He glanced at the clock, eight thirty, and thought that it was too early.

“Silly boy,” someone said. Harry looked to see who it was; she had short curly brown hair with brown eyes. She was young, around four years old or so, and she had glasses on. Harry figured this was Hermione's sister.

Harry got up, barely registering that he was only in his black boxers, and walked over to the little girl.

“Hi,” he said.

“You silly boy,” she said, giggling and running into the hallway.

Harry laughed and walked out of the room. He figured that since it was Saturday, no one would be up. He saw the little girl—Catty from what he remembered—and hunkered down to her height.

“Will you carry me?” the little child asked, opening her arms out to Harry.

“Err… sure.” He picked her up and balanced her on his hip. “So, what's your name?”

“Catherine Elizabeth Granger,” she stated proudly. “I'm four,” she said, holding up four fingers. “My buffday is in December!”

“Cool, I'm Harry James Potter.” Catherine giggled again. “I'm fifteen years old, and my birthday is in two weeks.”

She giggled again. “Silly boy, I know who you are.” She saw the face Harry had on and giggled again. “My sissy loves you. Silly sissy likes silly boy,” she said.

Harry stood there, shocked. He didn't think Hermione would ever like him, but there Catherine was, saying that she liked him. He liked Hermione a lot, but decided that it'd be too risky asking her out since Voldemort was loose and it posed a greater risk for her. He didn't want to lose her, even if it meant that he had to put his feelings aside. He didn't know when he started liking her, but he was pretty sure that it was around fourth year. She was with him, even when everyone thought that he had put his name in the Goblet of Fire; she was the only one that believed that Harry hadn't, not even Ron believed him.

And at the Department of Mysteries… that was horrible. He could've lost the two most important people to him. Ginny broke her ankle, Luna was mostly unharmed, and Neville wasn't too injured, but he didn't know them that much. But he were to lose them, yes he'd grieve, knowing that it was his entire fault. But if he had lost Ron, Hermione, or Remus (Sirius was out of the question), he'd grieve his whole life. Hermione had nearly lost her life that fateful night. If she had died, he wouldn't know what to do; he'd be lost without her. If he had lost Ron, he would've lost his best mate, and he didn't like the idea of that at all. Remus, he was like his uncle, if he had lost him, the last of the Marauders would've been gone. Then there was Sirius… Poor Sirius died behind the veil. He knew that it was his entire fault. If he had listened to Hermione, Sirius would've been able to live. But, no, he was selfish and thought that Sirius was in trouble, so they went, and Sirius died that night. He'd lost the most important person in his life; his godfather.

Harry felt tears form in his eyes, but he pushed them back. He didn't want Catherine to this that he was a crybaby on top of a `silly boy.'

“Silly boy?” Catty asked. “We go to sissy's room?”

“Um, okay,” he said, walking towards Hermione's room. He knocked and heard a muffled `come in' from the other side. He opened the door slowly and walked inside, Catty still in his arms.

“Good morning. I see you've found Catty,” Hermione said, walking up to them.

“Yeah, she woke me up,” Harry said, smiling at the young child.

“Silly boy let me down,” Catty said. Harry let her down and she ran downstairs. Harry and Hermione laughed. After a few minutes, Harry finally registered that he was in nothing but his black boxers. Apparently, Hermione had noticed, too, because she was turning red quickly. Harry looked at her; she was wearing blue sweatpants with a simple black shirt. Her hair was a mess, but he liked that about her hair.

“So, where are your parents?” Harry asked after a minute. Harry still couldn't get the fact that Hermione could like him out of his mind.

“Um, dad is probably still sleeping. I think mum's downstairs cooking breakfast,” Hermione said. A few moments later, she said, “Sorry if you wanted to sleep in late, Catty is an early riser.”

“I can tell,” he muttered.

“How about you take a shower and I'll see you downstairs?” She asked.

“Alright, where's your bathroom?” he asked, hand on the door knob.

“Right next to your room,” she said. Harry nodded and opened the door, walking out.

David Granger chose that moment to walk out of his room. He saw Harry exit Hermione's room wearing nothing but boxers. David went into protective father mode and cornered Harry.

“What were you doing in my daughter's room?” He asked, glaring at the boy.

“Um… we… talking,” Harry stammered.

Harry wasn't a small boy; he had defined abs from playing qudditch, he was pretty strong (fighting Voldemort and his goons had its perks), and he wasn't that short, either. He was just nearly six feet tall, nearly as tall as the other boys in his year. He just didn't like the idea of being cornered by a man that was nearly twenty-three years older than him, especially when that man was a girl's father.

“Right. I'll be keeping an eye on you, boy.” He glared at him, making Harry wince, and walked away into the bathroom.

Harry let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding, and walked into his room. He took out the same clothes from yesterday (he didn't take any other clothes, he didn't want to take Dudley's hand-me-downs) and sat on his bed, waiting for Mister Granger to get out of the bathroom.


Hermione sat contently on her bed. She couldn't get the picture of Harry out of her mind; the way he looked in those boxers. He certainly wasn't scrawny anymore, and the fact that he had grown nearly a foot had helped, too.

She had kept her feelings bottled up for nearly a year now, for fear of rejection. She knew that Harry wouldn't like her; she was the know-it-all bookworm, the ugly nagging, bossy, S.P.E.W. founder. She knew that Harry would go for someone beautiful. He'd probably go for someone that was athletic, pretty, and popular. She was neither of those three, or at least she thought. If she would've asked him out, she knew he'd say no, so she just took whatever she got, which was friendship.

She heard someone come in and sit next to her.

“Hey,” Harry said.

“Hi,” Hermione said.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked.

“N-nothing,” she stuttered. She wasn't about to tell him about her feelings.

“Okay,” he said slowly, not believing her.

“How are you?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

He sighed. He knew that she'd ask sooner or later. He felt the tears form again, but he didn't stop this time, he knew that Hermione wouldn't judge him. “I should've listened to you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No, Harry. You just--”

“No, listen, Hermione. I should've listened to you, and then Sirius wouldn't have had to die. It was all my fault; it's always my fault,” he said, a tear sliding his cheek. Hermione brought her hand up to his cheek and wiped it off.

“Harry, you know that it wasn't your fault. It was Bellatrix's fault; you and I both know it.” She felt tears fill up her eyes, too.

“It is my fault, Hermione! It's always my fault! First Cedric, now Sirius! Who's next?!” He said, tears cascading down his cheeks.

She embraced him, knowing that he needed it right now. “Harry, listen to me, none of this is your fault. Okay? None of this is your fault. Cedric died because Wormtail killed him, not you. Sirius died fighting for you,” she said, letting the tears fall.

“But if I hadn't told Cedric to get the cup with me, he would've have died. If I listened to you, Sirius would still be here,” he said, burying his face in her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist.


“WHAT'S THIS?!” David Granger said. He didn't like this sight at all; his baby's arms were wrapped around the boy (he didn't feel that he was privileged enough to call him by his name yet) and tracing little circles on his back, her face buried in the nape of his neck. His face was buried in the nape of her neck (kissing and sucking it, David thought) and his arms were wrapped around her waist, their bodies nearly molded together.

Harry and Hermione jumped apart. Harry quickly wiped his tears, as did Hermione, and sat (a bit too close for David's liking) next to Hermione.

“I said, what's this?” David asked again, not noticing Harry and Hermione had just wiped off their tears; he was still dwelling on the fact that the boy was nearly on top of his baby girl.

“Um… w-well, you see…” Harry stammered again.

“Dad, stop, Harry and I did nothing disgraceful. Harry and I were just hugging,” she said coolly.

He looked at them suspiciously. “Then why is your neck wet? Was he trying to give you a--”

“Dad!” Hermione said, scandalized.

“DAVID! HARRY! HERMIONE! BREAKFAST IS READY!” Ann shouted from downstairs. Harry thought he heard a distant giggling sound, but shrugged it off.

He glared at Harry, again, and said, “Hurry up, don't want Ann to start yelling at us.” With that, he left.

“He's never going to like me, is he?” Harry asked after he left.

“I'm not too sure. I've never had a boy over,” Hermione said shyly.


Awkward silence…

“Well,” Hermione said after some time, “why don't we go downstairs. Then we can see what we're going to do today.”

“Okay,” Harry said, going into his room to get his clothes.

First boy over, eh? No wonder why Mister Granger is such a nightmare. I just hope I don't end up in those handcuffs again, Harry thought shuddering.

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