II. Adagio
The first time had been a mistake. Harry’s twentieth. He was barely a month single, glowing with abandon as he lounged on the cooling sand of Studland beach. The smoldering remains of their fire coughed up golden sparks in the star-spangled sky. Harry tucked a blanket around her shoulders as he pulled her against him so they could watch the shooting stars together.
It was too easy to kiss him that night. They made embarrassed apologies, promising to not make it change things between them. It played on Hermione’s mind in the still moments between meetings and reports. Her daydreams took her back to the beach, back to watching the stars and sparks in Harry’s eyes as he relaxed with her skin brushing against his.
The second time turned the one-off mistake into a trend of accidents.
The third…
The fourth…
When things escalated, which was inevitable, they told each other that it was just fun… just them enjoying each other and trusting each other. Yet even when the lies dripped fresh from Hermione’s tongue, she used the same breath to cancel a second date she’d nearly forgotten she had made. Summer passed by, months turning colder. She spent more and more of her free time with Harry. Lunch breaks, coffee breaks… they even walked to the exit at the Ministry together after work. She invited him to her family game nights so he wasn’t alone while she was with them. He invited her to Andromeda’s to spend time with his godson, Teddy.
They were acting like the perfect couple… without being a couple.
Yet, somehow, it felt to Hermione that nothing had really changed. There had always been an exclusive part of her heart that belonged solely to Harry. Even when she dated other wizards, it would be impossible to form a meaningful relationship with any of them while such a large part of her love was already invested elsewhere. She lost entirely all her patience with Ginny for being a terrible girlfriend to her best friend. The first Christmas after the war, Hermione had been forced to console a drunk Ginny as she wept and sobbed over how hard it had been when Harry had been carried out of the forest, presumed dead.
Oh, how heartbreaking it had been for Ginny in that moment, all her hopes and dreams disappearing before her eyes. It could hardly compare to how the Christmas before, it had been Hermione who worked throughout to night to keep Harry alive. She had listened to his weak breathing, his faint mumbles of despair as he muttered words that sounded horribly like ‘mum’ and ‘dad’... she had to shear off a horcrux from his chest with her own wand… but no, of course, none of that could possible compare to how Ginny lost her Harry for all of five minutes.
Maybe there was truth to the accusations that Hermione was in love with her best friend. Maybe she thought that there was nothing wrong about that in the slightest. It was Harry. Of course, she loved him.
Which may have been why it didn’t play on her conscience at all when she stoutly supported Harry in his side of the fallout following his break-up with Ginny. It could also be argued that her feud with Ginny was also down to how the other witch had decided that it had been Hermione’s machinations that led to Harry seeing the light. Yet, her opinions towards Ginny had been less than glowing over the past two years. The desperation Ginny nurtured towards the need to start a family with Harry often approached zealous levels of intensity… even in public. Something that wasn’t quite normal behaviour for a girl still in her teens.
Without the shadow of a war dominating their lives, all of them were able to grow as people. Freed to pursue their careers and contribute towards their society in their own ways, it also led them to discover how they each were very different people to the children they once were. Ron struggled to adapt to the taxing demands of Auror training, deciding against the career path once he found himself falling behind the blazing trail that Harry made as he became one of the most naturally talented Aurors to make it through the program. As much as Hermione and Harry between them tried to keep Ron encouraged, he later dropped out and decided to help George with running his business in Fred’s honour. As their lives diverted down different paths, Hermione found herself finding less and less in common with Ron. Their efforts to kindle a relationship from what remained of their crush weren’t enough to ignite a romance. They parted as friends, mutual in their realisation that perhaps frequent squabbling wasn’t evidence of a deeper connection after all.
As she grew more distant with the Weasleys, she had little reason to involve herself in their lives. There were fewer invites to The Burrow, only meeting up for birthdays and seasonal occasions. She spent far more time with her own family, making up for time lost time. Soon enough, Harry ended up appearing at her family house regularly, somehow just slotting into their family like he’d always belonged there. Then when he broke up with Ginny, things just… happened.
It wasn’t that she was in denial about her feelings. She just never felt the need to analyse them in greater detail and apply labels to them in a way to validate them. Hermione was more than happy to engage in a relationship that ticked all the right boxes. It wasn’t as if she was a natural romantic anyway, much preferring a more practical and fuss-free relationship. After all, she and Harry had enough drama for a lifetime.
All that led to her current flustered state as she sat alone on a park bench. Why she was stuck waiting in Hyde Park on Boxing Day, irritated as she checked her watch for the umpteenth time, was down to the person who she may or may not be in love with. It had been Harry’s idea to go ice skating together after spending their Christmases apart. A fact that played on her mind as she angrily checked the passersby for a hint of her best friend who was also frustratingly late.
A couple around her age gave her a sympathetic look as they passed, noses red from the cold. Hermione scowled at the floor, knowing how it looked. A young woman, sitting on her own, clearly waiting for someone. She looked as if she’d been stood up. She had a half-brained thought about chasing after the couple to convince them that she wasn’t waiting for a date. It was just her best friend who was unusually late, who - like her - could magically appear anywhere at will and so had no excuse to be late.
Suddenly, with all the spontaneous bravado that Harry did most of the incidental things in his life, he was right there. Walking briskly with all the air of someone running late, he bustled around a slow-walking group of elderly people who looked as if they’d been let out of the nursing home for the day. What wasn’t shocking was his sudden appearance, nor how he was completely absent a disguise in a crowded place. It wasn’t how his hair appeared to be messier than usual or how he looked generally very dishevelled.
It was how he was holding a bunch of flowers.
Harry had done a lot of growing up in a shocking short amount of time so there was no chance that he missed the symbolism of giving someone flowers. He wasn’t as utterly clueless about women as he’d been while they were at Hogwarts. His relationship with Ginny may have been doomed, but he at least learned on the job as it were. He knew what came across as romantic… and what didn’t.
Hermione hadn’t recovered from her shock by the time Harry was right in front of her, wielding his grandiose gesture of romance like he was presenting the Olympic torch. Unless she was mistaken, Harry appeared just as shocked and confused by what he was doing as she did.
“Hi, um, sorry I’m late. There was some bloke at the gate selling flowers and I figured what the hell… so… er… I got these. Here – they’re for you. Or should I carry them? Probably would look a bit strange… hmm… this is a bit weird isn’t it?”
Harry Potter was never the sort to be described as a ‘motor-mouth’. Incredulously, Hermione stared at him as he began to waffle before becoming self-conscious all in a single breath.
“I’m probably still drunk,” Harry then observed sheepishly, “I don’t know what Andromeda puts in her eggnog but I was hammered when I got home. I received a less than warm greeting this morning from Kreacher, but at least it wasn’t maggots like that time. Ah, blast! I should have started with a ‘Happy Christmas’. Sorry, all over the place today.”
He then leant over her, the plastic wrapping on the bouquet crinkling as he pressed in. His lips brushed over her chilled cheek, his own cheek a little rough from where he hadn’t shaved. The peck on her cheek on top of the flowers managed to snap her out of her shock. She burst up to her feet, grasping Harry by his coat sleeve.
“What on Earth are you doing?” She hissed into his ear. Their interaction was gaining attention from the other park-goers. “We aren’t dating, idiot.”
Their faces were still close, sharing the same breath as they looked at each other. Hermione then glanced down to the flowers. Christmas roses.
A dozen thoughts all raced through her mind. She knew the meaning in the flowers, the symbolism far deeper than could be gleaned from first glance. Harry must have seen the flowers on his way and thought of the very personal moment that she experienced at his side those two years and a day ago. The thoughtfulness behind the heart-felt gesture left her suddenly speechless. She looked back up at the man behind the gesture. His gaze was fixed upon her, his own thoughts racing behind his brilliant green eyes.
She could smell his aftershave. He’d purposefully put it on, but hadn’t shaved. And why was she thinking about that?
“I am an idiot… mostly for not doing this sooner or probably in a less of a public place,” Harry said, his voice turning low as it did wherever he went serious. “I think if we’re both honest with each other and ourselves, we’ve been dancing around this… and I’m a terrible dancer so Merlin knows why I have been keeping this up. So, um, consider this as me… asking you out. I mean, we’re already out, together, just not out out.”
“Shut up, Harry,” she said at once and his mouth clacked shut, lips curving in a smile. At the sight of the dimple pressing into his cheek, something fused in her brain… or in her nervous system. Whatever it was, she was acting before she was thinking.
She kissed him full on the mouth. Flowers pressed between them, they kissed in the middle of Hyde bloody Park. She opened her eyes, noticing the elderly people that Harry passed earlier now behind him, grinning at their public display.
Her head began to catch up. Leaning back from Harry, she stared at his flushed face, his moistened mouth, and up to his eyes, wide with worry. He was worried… and it took Hermione a heartbeat too long to realise why.
“It’s not an easy task… surprising me,” Hermione said, considering her words with a little more care than her actions, “I’m surprised, Harry, really but… it’s not unwelcome. I suppose, I never thought that this was a possibility. Not fully, at least.”
“Or allowed yourself to think about it,” Harry suggested, getting to the point, “I know. We’ve gone about this whole thing in a really topsy-turvy way. I mean, either we’re the biggest idiots on the planet or massively in denial… and I know you’re not an idiot.”
Hermione smiled, her heart starting to race as she started to properly process what was happening. She reached for his hand, unfolding his fingers so she could take the flowers from him.
“If this is a date, then do I get to choose what we’re doing?” She asked him. Harry’s eyes widened, surprise far better than his worry.
“I suppose that’s fair after I just sprung this on you without warning.”
“I know you wanted to go to the ice rink, but really… can you picture me in ice skates? I don’t fancy falling on my bum multiple times to be a great start to a romance.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very gallant of me to let you fall without catching you-.”
“No ice skating,” she cut in, causing him to smile with amusement.
“Alright, fine, but we did come to Hyde Park for the rink so… what else do you want to do?”
She shrugged, turning so she stood at his side. With her free hand, she threaded her fingers between his.
“How about a lovely romantic trip to a museum?”
“With the flowers?”
“Ah, right… not that practical,” Harry scrutinised the bouquet as he led them down the path, no longer opting to entertain the crowd with their public display of affections any longer. “My pockets are expanded. They should keep for long enough… might get crumpled.”
Waiting for a moment where they could perform magic discreetly, they managed to preserve the white flowers with enough charms and stowed them safely in Harry’s coat without fuss. Hand-in-hand, they went off for their first date at the Natural History Museum.
Filling a glass vase with some water for the Christmas roses, Hermione allowed herself a moment to think. Outside the window of her kitchen, night was falling over London. She could hear Harry in the dining room, laying the table for them to have dinner together. It wasn’t something out of the ordinary, yet everything normal that they shared together felt different and cast in a new light. Hermione wasn’t yet sure if the change thrilled her or scared her… and she wasn’t quite ready to confront either feelings, content to keep letting the date roll out in its fullness. Decisions such as monumental as the path of their relationship warranted time to think over.
She put the vase on the window sill, the white flowers cast in their place of honour. At the sound of Harry’s foot pressing on the creaking floorboard in the hallway, she turned. He leant against the doorframe, drawing his arms across his chest as he looked over her shoulder to see the flowers. His smile was soft, perhaps even a little vulnerable. His shirt collar was half-in half-out at the neck, poking messily from the jumper. The way his wand had been thrust into the waistband of his jeans so casually made her smile, knowing that his superiors in the Auror Office would have words about his sloppy wand etiquette.
“I can go if you want,” Harry said, “I know we planned to grab takeout before, but… you know, if you want me out of your hair, you just have to say.”
“No, I want you to stay,” she assured him, coming over. She rested her hand on his shoulder to make the point come across. “I know we haven’t really talked about what this is, but you’re still my best friend and I don’t fancy eating alone on Boxing Day.”
“Are there even places open tonight who deliver?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing contemplatively.
“The Chinese down the road does. I checked,” she said with a distracted wave, “anyway, can you please stop worrying? Just because we went on a date doesn’t mean you have to do things by the book.”
Harry laughed, resting his head against the wooden frame. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“We have hardly conformed to conventions in other things. Why should our relationship be any different?”
“We don’t even know what our relationship is,” Harry rather wisely pointed out. Hermione groaned, putting her hands on her hips.
“Please, don’t tell me you are going to start the whole ‘are we doing the right thing?’ dilemma. I know it is hypocritical to say this, but we tend to overthink things and really, when has that ever done us any good? Let’s just look at the facts.”
She held up a hand in front of him, holding up one finger.
“One: we are obviously physically attracted to one another,” she said, starting her list. She then put up a second finger. “Two: we get along really well and enjoy each other’s company.” Third finger. “Three: we are capable of living in the same space without killing each other.”
“I can see how that’s important, but while I will argue that we’re compatible, there’s the whole fact that if we do this, there is no going back.”
“Either it works or it doesn’t. Unless we try, we’ll never know… because you were right when you said that we need to be honest. We both are afraid of committing… and we need to own up to that. Maybe… the best way we do that is together.”
She closed the distance between them, bringing her hand down. “I think… as a start… we stop with the drunken sex because that’s confusing us both.”
“Right, that’s fair,” Harry agreed, making her relax at once. Negotiating with an amenable party was always a relief. “I was going to suggest that too… actually.”
“Really?”
“Well, yeah… because – as we are being honest here – I feel really guilty about it. You deserve better than that… and maybe I do too.”
His display of maturity made her flush with warm fondness towards him. She rubbed at his shoulder, communicating her feelings through the touch. At how he met her gaze, she knew he felt her message.
“I don’t want to hide it either,” Hermione said, accepting that they were having the discussion whether she wanted to or not, “I’m well aware of how this will blow up, but this is our life. No one has a right to tell us how we live it and with whom.”
Harry’s smile cut into his cheek, understanding full well what she was talking about.
“We are our own people, that’s fair enough, but you haven’t been on the cruel side of the media in a while. As much as you want to tell yourself that it doesn’t get to you, it does. Hateful words hurt no matter who wields them, or where they are printed.”
“Let them come,” Hermione said fiercely, “they should be afraid of us, not the other way around.”
“Hmm, well when you put it like that…” Harry said with a mischievous grin, “I haven’t threatened Barnabus Cuffe with a lawsuit in a while. It’s fun watching that arse sweat… not literally. I try not to picture his arse… sweaty or otherwise.”
“That’s a relief. I don’t want competition,” Hermione said, falling comfortably into their normal pattern. Conversations flowed between them, the easy current made all the smoother from how well they knew one another. “Now, if you’re done belly-aching, shall we order some food?”
Once their food made an appearance, they didn’t eat at the table, but instead had bowls on their laps in the living room. With the TV on, they sunk into a familiar, comfortable pattern. Harry, in his typical fashion, ordered lots of dishes, knowing full well that he was being a glutton. As always, Hermione was left in a wonder about where he managed to put it all away while remaining trim and physically fit. He demolished his chow mein, special fried rice and spicy beef, still having room to polish off half the spring rolls before grazing on prawn crackers. It was a miracle that there were leftovers.
After sharing a tub of ice cream, Harry appeared to finally reach his limit. Hermione settled back against the sofa once she brought Harry’s head on her lap while he started to nod off. Her fingers curled through his hair, savouring all the flutters of his eyelashes as he visibly enjoyed her touch. The intimacy carried no guilt as they pushed their relationship over that next hurdle. Hermione only smiled at Harry’s soft snoring, not caring that he’d fallen asleep on her while watching The World Is Not Enough that was currently showing on ITV.
An explosion on screen soon had Harry jerking awake. He blinked sleepily, looking up at Hermione from her lap. She watched as he pieced together the compromising position he was in before relaxing. He sighed, closing his eyes.
“Hangover catching up with you?” She asked him, amused.
“Something like that,” he answered. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“It was nice to see you relaxed,” she said, “you can sleep over… you know. Just because we agreed no sex doesn’t mean keeping separate.”
“I have the early shift tomorrow,” Harry said, “annoyingly, people still commit magical crimes over Christmas.”
“How rude of them.”
“I know,” he sighed wearily, “especially because this is really nice and I don’t want to go anywhere.”
He then groaned, pushing himself up from her lap. He reached for his glasses where she had removed them, placing them on the sofa arm. Hermione inwardly bemoaned the loss of his warmth and weight. Harry settled next to her, arm bumping against hers. She turned her head, finding him looking at her thoughtfully with his glasses restored.
“What?” She asked, trying to fathom out his thoughts.
“This really isn’t how I imagined Christmas playing out,” he said with a rueful chuckle, “well, yesterday did, but today? Not so much. I’m glad that I talked myself into this, though.”
“If you hadn’t taken the initiative, I expect I would have ended up doing so myself,” Hermione said honestly, “as much as I wish I could say that this was all a big surprise, it wasn’t. Part of me has been hoping that things would go this way, but I was afraid.”
“Yeah, me too,” Harry said, his smile soft and genuine, “still am, actually, but this feels right. Maybe it’s too soon to tell, I don’t know, but… I guess we just have to see.”
Hermione brought her hand up to his face, running her fingers over his cheek where it dimpled. The prospect of embarking on a romance had her heart skittering in anxiety, heading into unfamiliar territory without a map or a compass to guide her safety through. As much as she feared eventual heartbreak, or worse causing that pain upon Harry, she knew in her heart that the good outweighed the bad. Harry wasn’t like Ron and she wasn’t like Ginny. He wasn’t a hero, a paragon of perfection, the dream husband with the famous name and prosperous future. He was a man with all his bad habits and silly little quirks. She could tolerate them all… and she would continue to be there for him, friend or more than a friend.
“I suppose we will,” she said, feeling the lift on her spirits as she fully embraced the romantic rhythm Harry had set. Leaning in, she kissed him, and knew then that he was definitely staying the night whether or not he had work early in the morning.