“You’re still Harry.”
Friday, November 10
Hermione sat on the floor of a rather posh and tidy flat, clutching Ron’s hand tightly, staring sadly at where she knew Harry was sitting.
The three of them had been through so much together—
Saving the stone.
Hermione being petrified and the boys fighting a basilisk.
Keeping Sirius and Buckbeak from death.
Harry fighting off hundreds of dementors.
And recently it felt as if Harry had to do everything alone—
Fighting a dragon; Hermione may have helped him study for it, but it was Harry standing so tiny in that arena.
The third task and facing Voldemort.
And now…
Now Harry wouldn’t even come out from beneath his cloak when all Hermione wanted to do was see him.
“Ginny says she misses you,” Hermione told Harry quietly. “She’s been—”
Ron nudged Hermione hard with his shoulder and shook his head. He raised an eyebrow and Hermione bit her lip with a nod, no quidditch, she forgot.
It was a convenient method of silent communication that Hermione and Ron had perfected after so many years of friendship.
“Mate, you’re going to laugh your arse off when you see what all the twins have done!” Ron said with what Hermione knew was forced cheer. “I dunno where they got the money from, but they’ve really expanded their inventory!”
“They are menaces and if they don’t stop testing products on first years then I’m going to tell Professor Moody,” Hermione huffed, rather peeved by the twins and their antics. Not that it was important in the slightest at the moment, but Ron shouldn’t find it as amusing as he did.
“Oh, that’d be excellent,” Ron said with a wistful smile. “Imagine it, Mione, just… bam! And Fred and George are ferrets.”
“Weasels would be more appropriate though,” Sirius snorted from where he and Harry’s (friend? boyfriend?) Peter sat at the little kitchen counter.
“What’s the difference between a weasel and a ferret?” Peter asked curiously, his eyes stuck on the chair they were all looking at.
It was rather sweet, truly, that he was so clearly concerned about Harry. Except he’d also thrown things at Harry and screamed at him so Hermione and Ron would be having quite the talk with Peter.
“I actually have no idea,” Hermione said truthfully after pondering Peter’s question.
“That’s a first,” Ron snorted playfully. “I bet by Christmas break we’ll have to listen to a three hour lecture on the differences, eh, Harry?”
Nothing.
“I’m rather excited to stay next month,” Hermione said. “My parents were terribly surprised about your dad, Harry. He’s quite brilliant.”
Hermione also had to clear up a few misconceptions as she’d complained about Harry’s terrible home life before he’d moved to New York.
Apparently her parents spent a couple of months worrying that Tony Stark was starving and beating his son. Hermione was probably rather lucky that her parents hadn’t accidentally mentioned anything and started a horrible rumor about Harry’s dad.
“Mum’s worrying herself sick over it,” Ron said carelessly. “‘How will I know if you’re safe? What if it’s too dangerous?’ Honestly, the woman seems to expect You-Know-Who to be lurking around the States.”
Hermione adored Ron. Ron was possibly Hermione’s best friend in the world.
But Ron was also an insensitive wart with the emotional tact of a toddler.
“Laugh it up, but Snivellus said that Voldemort is getting quite a bit of information from the muggle news,” Sirius said, immediately catching Hermione’s interest.
Ever since summer ended, Hermione had been kept in the dark about the war and it had been driving her spare.
“V-Voldemort is watching the muggle news?” Hermione asked skeptically. Hermione watched the muggle news now that she had the ability to do so, but she had a hard time imagining Voldemort carrying around a cell phone to check CNN.
“I’m sure he’s assigned some lower level follower to do it,” Sirius shrugged. “But I think Molly’s got the right to be worried.”
Hermione had never in her life heard Sirius say anything so mature. After the summer at Grimmauld Place, Hermione typically equated Sirius’ maturity level somewhere around Ron and Harry being angry at her over a broomstick.
Ron waved Sirius off, always so careless with his safety, then grinned in Harry’s direction. “Still, it’ll be nice to spend the hols together. Oh! Don’t tell your dad, but Mum’s knitting him a jumper, really adding him to the family.”
Nothing.
“How do I get a knitted jumper?” Peter asked with a crooked grin that was rather cute.
“By not being a spider,” Ron scowled with a distrustful side glance toward Peter that made Hermione giggle.
“Ron’s terrified of spiders,” Hermione said smartly, ignoring Ron’s yelp of disagreement. “Though I’m rather curious how venom from a spider managed to alter your DNA.”
It was fascinating and desperately made Hermione want to examine her own DNA. If venom had made Peter’s entire DNA change, would magic have done the same thing?
Was Hermione being a muggleborn just a fluke in her DNA? Was it one that could be purposefully recreated? Was magic a recessive or dominant gene? Were Peter’s abilities one he would pass on to biological children?
Trust Harry to find himself in Hermione’s dream scenario and be more interested in snogging than researching.
Hermione began researching almost immediately after Harry told her that Peter, the ex-boyfriend that Hermione knew Harry fell hard for, was the same person as his ‘Spider-Bloke’ that saved him from a horrible mugging and took him flying around New York.
… none of which mattered at the present moment though. Not while Harry was still hiding silently beneath his cloak after a terrible experience.
Hermione never wondered why Harry used to spend so much time on the Astronomy Tower, staring at the ground like it was a glowing exit sign to a terrible life; Hermione merely marveled at the strength it must take him to not jump.
“Harry, are you hungry?” Hermione asked Harry gently, keeping any trace of pity from her voice.
Even if it was possibly the most pitiable thing to ever happen to Harry - which was truly saying something considering he grew up in a closet - Hermione knew Harry would hate to be pitied.
So Hermione did it silently in her head and heart.
Harry said nothing.
“I’m hungry,” Sirius announced, a brazen lie if Hermione ever heard one. Sirius looked healthier than he had over the summer, freedom seemed to suit him, but he also looked pale and miserable and Hermione just knew he wasn’t actually hungry.
“You guys want pizza? Or burgers?” Sirius offered. “Oi, Harry, what sounds good?”
Nothing.
“I’ve been hearing about ‘brookies’ for months,” Ron said with a laugh. “Harry makes them sound better than sex.”
“Ronald!” Hermione turned a furiously dark red and swatted Ron’s arm with a scowl. “How would you even know?”
“I do have a life outside of studying with you,” Ron sniffed.
Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him for a moment before deciding that he must be cracking jokes to try and convince Harry to talk.
Sirius was smirking at the two of them in an irritating way. “Three large pizzas and a couple brookies. Petey, you order and I’ll give you Tony’s card info.”
Hermione took a chance to look around the tidy flat they were in that must be where Sirius stayed if the little traces of ‘wizard’ were any indicator. It was quite rich, with plush carpets and a telly so large it took up an entire wall.
“Does Tony pay for everything?” Hermione asked Sirius curiously once she realized that he must.
“Yup,” Peter and Sirius said simultaneously as they typed away on Peter’s phone.
“Wicked,” Ron laughed. “Mate, imagine Malfoy’s face if—”
“Mister Black? Mister Stark requires your immediate presence in his office.”
Hermione jumped at the new voice, an accented voice closer to her own dialect than Peter or Tony’s, and looked around for the person it came from.
“That’s Jarvis,” Sirius told Hermione after quickly getting to his feet. “I’ll be back.”
Hermione melted at the kind way that Sirius stopped behind Harry’s chair and placed his hand on top of where Harry’s head must have been for a moment before leaving.
Even if Sirius was rather frightening, childish, and - if Harry’s recent reports could be trusted - becoming some sort of playboy, he did truly love Harry.
Harry was one of those people that Hermione knew needed as much love as he could get.
Hermione gave Ron a look, raising both her brows and glancing toward Peter and Harry’s dog, until he picked up on her message.
“I suppose we should take Arsehole out before he takes a piss on the floor,” Ron said airily, staring hard at Peter.
“Huh? Uh… yeah, you can, I’ll wait here,” Peter said, glancing nervously toward Harry.
“I’ll wait here,” Hermione said sweetly with a much less sweet glare. “Harry’s perfectly safe with me.”
Much safer than Peter Parker was going to be once Ron had him alone. As unimpressed as Hermione was with Peter, it was truly nothing compared to Ron’s feelings on the matter.
Hermione thought it was sweet the way that Ron looked after Harry. He’d been the one to point out to Hermione how much Harry would have hated being yelled at; Harry spent an entire childhood being screamed at, he certainly didn’t need it from his friend.
Sometimes Hermione didn’t give Ron the credit he deserved.
As soon as the boys were gone, Hermione focused solely on her friend who had to be hurting so terribly.
“Harry, will you please say something?” Hermione asked him quietly. “If you can’t, will you let me take the cloak off your head, please? It’s just us now.”
Harry didn’t say anything and if it weren’t for the soft breaths Hermione could hear under the cloak, she would worry he wasn’t even breathing.
“You know this doesn’t change anything, right?” Hermione asked. “You’re still Harry. You’re still the same ridiculously brave boy who fought a basilisk with a sword. You’re—” Hermione’s voice broke as she imagined how hurt Harry must be. “You’re still Harry,” she whispered. “You’re still my best friend and- and the greatest wizard I’ve ever known.”
Harry’s breath hitched and it made Hermione’s eyes well up. Harry was always so strong, so reserved in showing his emotions…
“I’m going to pull the cloak off your head because I really need to see you, okay?” Hermione said tearfully. “I just want to see your face.”
Harry didn’t make any sound of protest, though his breathing did seem to speed up, so Hermione reached up slowly and grasped at the material until she could pull it from his head and leave it pooled around his shoulders.
Hermione had never truly suffered a heartbreak until she saw Harry with his head ducked and his eyes swollen and leaking tears. Harry who stood up to Voldemort in the face of death, Harry who walked in an arena against a dragon with his head held high, Harry who suffered and suffered and suffered, wouldn’t even look Hermione in the eyes.
And that hurt more than any physical injury possibly could.
“I’m going to hug you because I really need to,” Hermione said as she tried to hold down a sob that was building in her chest.
Hermione reached out and carefully wrapped her arms around Harry’s torso, pulling him against her, and she might have been able to hold back her tears, maybe, but then she heard a sob that she didn’t make and she simply broke.
Harry’s arms, so weak Hermione couldn’t even believe they were his, wrapped beneath Hermione’s arms and he held her while he cried on her shoulder and Hermione cried on his.
“I’m so sorry,” Hermione cried, knowing her words were so terribly useless. She held Harry tight, wishing she had a time turner that could just take her back and keep Harry from being taken. “I’m so sorry.”
“It hurts, Hermione,” Harry sobbed so plaintively. “It hurts so bad.”
For once, Hermione had no words.
Hermione waited until Harry seemed ready and then she pulled back some and moved her hands to his face so she could wipe the tears off his cheeks.
Harry looked so despondent, so terribly broken. And on top of that, he looked quite ill with his pale skin and hollow eyes.
“Are you- are you hurting? Physically?” Hermione asked, sniffling a little to keep from dripping disgusting snot on Harry’s cloak that still covered most of him. It had slid down some, but Harry was quick to snatch it and keep it wrapped around his waist.
Harry clenched his jaw, causing a little tick in the muscle in his cheek, and shook his head.
“Liar,” Hermione said fondly, much more used to this sort of defiance. “Do you have any idea what you can take for pain?”
Harry was such an odd mixture of muggle and wizard that Hermione was hesitant to go searching for a pain relieving potion while Harry took muggle medication for his depression.
Which was such a relief, honestly.
Harry shook his head again and Hermione only hesitated for a moment before sending his dad a quick message.
Hello, Harry is in pain. What can he take for it?
Harry twitched and then grunted out a pained sound when ‘Jarvis’ spoke up only a moment after Hermione pressed send.
“Miss Granger, Mister Stark said he will be with you in a moment and to not give Mister Harry so much as an aspirin until then.”
Hermione huffed a wet laugh at the abrupt, and perfectly reasonable, response.
Harry suddenly looked horrified though. His head snapped up and his eyes went wide.
“I- Can…”
Hermione waited patiently while Harry seemed to work out whatever he wanted to say.
“Where’s Ron?” Harry finally said, his face as red as his bloodshot eyes were.
“He took your dog outside with Peter,” Hermione said, bemused by Harry’s strained tone. “Do you want me to call Peter and tell Ron to come up?”
“No,” Harry said immediately. Hermione frowned while Harry seemed to struggle with something. Whatever it was—
“The loo,” Harry finally said in a horrified whisper, his eyes aimed over Hermione’s shoulder fixedly. “Can you- can you push me to the loo?”
“Oh.” Hermione got up and pretended it was perfectly normal to push her best friend in a wheelchair to the restroom. Poor Harry, honestly, Hermione couldn’t imagine how he felt just asking for something so simple that everyone took for granted. “Of course. Where is it?”
Hermione saw Harry’s shoulders relax and knew that feigning normalcy was the right choice. Harry directed her toward the door that led to the restroom and then they both seemed to hesitate at the same time.
“Harry, I can help you and I swear to not look and never mention it,” Hermione said firmly. “If you’d rather I called Ron or your—”
Harry turned around and looked at Hermione with the most tragic look of despair that she cut off the offer to call someone else immediately. As much as Hermione was so fed up with toxic ideals of masculinity, Hermione knew in her heart that Harry couldn’t bear the idea of another man helping him do something as simple as using the loo.
“Come on,” Hermione said. “I’m stronger than I look, Harry James.”
Hermione waited for Harry’s short nod before she reached down and carefully moved Harry’s cloak off his lap, pointedly not looking at his legs as Hermione knew he’d been hiding them on purpose, and then Harry reached up and Hermione helped him wrap his arm around her shoulder so he could lean his left side against her.
It was awkward, made all the more so by the way Harry was so terribly weak, but they managed to slowly hobble their way in the clean and gleaming restroom. Hermione held Harry tightly, mentally praying she didn’t drop him, and then looked up directly at the ceiling.
“I won’t drop you, do what you need to,” Hermione said. “I’m going to very loudly recite all the uses of dragons blood in potions. Angelina said it would almost definitely be on our OWLS.”
Harry didn’t say anything, but he tentatively dropped his left arm from Hermione’s waist to…
…to do his business…
…while Hermione began very loudly reciting all the uses she could recall and continuing to hold Harry up so he didn’t fall.
It would be rather mortifying if it weren’t Harry.
If Harry needed Hermione to hold him up so he could use the loo, then Hermione would do it.
And she would never speak of it again, for both their sakes.
While they were in front of the sink and Harry was wobbling awkwardly on his single leg while he washed his hands, Harry’s dad began shouting in the other room.
“HARRY? HARRY? HARRY?!”
Harry looked at Hermione and even if Hermione didn’t have the same level of silent understand with him as she did Ron, it was a pretty clear look.
“Just a moment!” Hermione called over her shoulder. “He’s fine!”
Harry made a very tiny sound in the back of his throat, maybe disagreeing with her choice of wording, but as he wasn’t up to speaking much…
The two of them wobbled back out of the restroom and Hermione felt victorious at being able to help Harry avoid what he must see as a horribly shameful situation.
Tony, who truly looked so much like Harry (Harry was going to be quite handsome when he was an adult), was rocking anxiously on his heels when they opened the door. He began to lunge forward, but pulled himself back at the last moment and let Hermione get Harry back in his chair.
“You’re supposed to take this with food,” Tony said, watching closely while Hermione turned Harry around and pushed him back toward the living room. Tony held up a recognizable green pain potion and a lavender colored potion in one hand and two white muggle prescription bottles in the other hand.
“Peter and Ron are bringing pizzas up,” Hermione told him when it became clear that Harry wasn’t planning on responding.
“Ah,” Tony nodded, but kept his eyes on Harry’s downturned face. “Are you going to eat it, kid?”
It was terribly uncomfortable the way Harry wasn’t responding, so Hermione did on his behalf as she was apt to do when she was nervous.
“I’ll make sure he eats,” she promised.
Tony looked skeptical, but he also looked anxious and on edge about whatever important matter he needed Sirius for, and he handed the potions and medicine to Hermione carefully.
“Green for pain with food, purple to sleep when he’s ready, and one of each of these. One for infection and one for—”
“For crippling depression,” Harry said flatly. “Ah, get it? Crippling depression for the cripple with depression.”
Oh, God.
Hermione had never before in her life been as uncomfortable as she was then and she had just been holding Harry up in the restroom so he could urinate.
“You can do better than that,” Tony scoffed without missing a beat. “I’m going to need to steal the Dogfather for a while, you going to be okay here?”
Harry apparently used up the reserve of his words with his horrifying joke and mutely nodded his head.
Hermione accepted the medication and potions and set them on the shelf beneath the telly after memorizing which one was which.
Tony hesitated for a moment, adorably looking so much like Harry, and then he nodded shortly and headed toward the lifts.
“Love you, kid. I’ll be back as soon as I can and we’ll get you in your own bed.”
If nothing else, Hermione was so thrilled that Harry finally had a responsible, loving, adult that cared for him.
Hermione adjusted Harry’s chair until it was beside the sofa and then hovered uncertainly when she went to sit down.
“You’d feel more comfortable on the sofa, I’m sure,” she said thoughtfully. Harry was quiet and looked painfully meek in that chair. And if it were Hermione, she would want to be comfortable at least.
“Give me the silent treatment all you want, but my mum was in a chair when I was eight when she- when she broke her leg,” Hermione had to push forward when she realized it was a poor detail to add, “and she said it was very uncomfortable. So up you go, Harry James.”
Harry didn’t fight her, but he certainly didn’t help either while Hermione grabbed him around the waist and heaved and pulled until she practically dropped him on the sofa with a huff.
“You are heavy,” she said, plopping down beside him.
“I used to be heavier.”
Hermione looked over at Harry and his creative choice to make the most morbid of jokes, but then she saw a tiny little spark in his eyes and Hermione somehow just knew that Harry wanted her to laugh.
So she did.
It started as a small giggle and then grew to a laugh and by the time Ron and Peter came back with Harry’s dog and a stack of greasy smelling boxes, Hermione was screaming with hysterical laughter while Harry quietly watched her with an itty bitty smile on his lips.
*****
Just before Pepper stepped from her rental car, she paused a moment to ensure that she was dressed smartly.
Her hair was in a smooth ponytail. Her skirt suit was clean and pressed. And her makeup hid any trace that she had spent most of the drive from the airport crying over her poor baby who was discharged from the hospital that morning.
Pepper didn’t find Barnes- Peter Parker did that.
Pepper couldn’t heal Harry physically- that was Sirius and Stephen’s job.
Pepper couldn’t heal Harry mentally or emotionally, not really- that was Tony’s job, mostly.
But Pepper could do this.
Pepper could do this one thing and then go back to New York and check on her very peculiar family.
With one last smile, checking she didn’t have peanuts from the flight in her teeth, Pepper stepped from her car and smoothed her outfit down before turning to face the very normal looking house she arrived at.
360 West King Street, Morrison, Tennessee, home of Scott Hoffman.
Scott Hoffman was a twenty-two year old high school graduate who completed half of a semester of college before dropping out and going to work at the Shell Gas Station to support his pregnant fiancé.
And Pepper was going to destroy him beneath her heel.
Pepper walked briskly up to the door and knocked firmly, a pleasant smile on her perfectly painted lips.
The very man that Pepper wanted to see opened the door, a frown with his pinched eyebrows and a disgusting cigarette between his lips.
“Can I help you?” he drawled in a thick accent.
Pepper’s smile became more sharp. “Scott Hoffman?”
Pepper knew it was Scott Hoffman because it was the same poorly maintained skin and unfortunately greasy blonde hair that Pepper saw watch her son—
It didn’t matter if Harry was Tony’s son, that boy was as good as Pepper’s child to her.
—scream about being kidnapped and bleed out on a floor and did nothing.
“Uh huh,” Hoffman said, his eyes flickering warily the longer Pepper smiled at him.
“I am so glad I found you here,” Pepper said politely. “I wanted to personally inform you that you have been promoted in your workplace.”
“I have?” Hoffman’s jaw dropped and the cigarette fell on the porch stoop. “You’re from corporate?”
“I am now,” Pepper said with a smug flick of her head. Tony trusted Pepper with Stark Industries and they were always seeking out ways to expand their operations. “And on behalf of Shell Corporation, a new branch of Stark Industries, I would like to congratulate you on your new position as Shell Security Manager.”
A brand new, shiny, role that Pepper created solely for Scott Hoffman. It came with a mere two percent raise, a company fuel card to drive to the other Tennessee based stations, a difficulty as Hoffman had no vehicle registered to him or his fiancé, and a five week sensitivity training on identifying emergencies, mandated reporting, and proper handling of intense situations in the workplace.
The terms were not up for debate. Hoffman either accepted the job or went in search of a new job- a difficult task considering Pepper had released the video on social media under a pseudonym after enduring Harry’s privacy was protected in the clip.
Hoffman’s name was attached to the film and social media could be so nasty.
“Security Manager?” Hoffman drawled dimly. “We don’t have any security at the station?”
Pepper stepped forward, satisfied with the way Hoffman hastily stepped backward.
“You do now,” she stressed with a narrowing of her eyes. “You have a security guard at all twenty-four hour locations to ensure that if a teenage boy comes in a store bleeding,” Pepper stepped forward again, “and terrified,” another step, “and screaming for the police,” Pepper was in Hoffman’s foyer, “that the situation is handled appropriately. Is that perfectly understood, Mister Hoffman?”
Hoffman was cowering against the wall, his eyes blown wide, and finally some recognition in those eyes. “Y-yes, ma’am…”
Pepper straightened up, leaning out of Hoffman’s space she had been purposefully intruding on, and smiled politely.
“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll be given more details at the start of your shift tonight,” she said. “Have a wonderful day, Mister Hoffman.”
Pepper turned on her heel and began striding confidently out of the home she had no desire to be inside of. She stopped just before shutting the door behind her.
“Mister Hoffman?”
“Yeah?” Hoffman asked with the proper level of fear in his tone.
Pepper tossed Hoffman a bland smile over her shoulder while she added her final nail in that disgusting, slimy, worthless bit of a human being.
“I did you the favor of running a paternity test on your fiancés child- DNA is so easy to find, don’t you agree? I’m sorry to tell you that he is not your son.”
Hoffman gaped, strongly resembling a blubbering fish. “You- you…”
“Can’t do that?” Pepper asked with a smirk. “You’re absolutely right, I shouldn’t have. I believe I broke seven laws, most of which were felonies. I recommend you try calling the police. Something you should have done when my son asked you to last week. Good luck, Mister Hoffman, you’ll need it.”
Pepper walked from the house, satisfied that Hoffman was going to either become a better person or become unemployed and unemployable, and drove straight to the airport to catch a flight back to the home where her child needed her.
*****
Harry was so irritatingly stubborn.
That boy had taken precisely one bite of a slice of pizza, swallowed the pain relieving potion, his blue antidepressant, and then stoutly refused to eat more or take the Dreamless Sleep that his dad left for him. Which was soo annoying because Harry was clearly ready to sleep and his head kept dropping toward his chest and his eyes were glazed over with exhaustion.
Hermione, Ron, and Peter kept up a steady stream of meaningless conversation, but Harry merely sat on the sofa with the Invisibility Cloak covering his lap and his legs, listening rather than participating.
“He’s asleep,” Ron whispered after a short lull in the conversation while Hermione had been checking in with her parents. Hermione looked over at Harry and saw that Ron was right; Harry’s chin was on his chest and he was sound asleep.
“Sirius said he needs that potion thing,” Peter whispered, nodding toward the Dreamless Sleep on the coffee table in front of them. “He- he was screaming every time he fell asleep at the hospital until Sirius got these for him.”
Sirius made it so difficult to hate him, but Hermione could be as stubborn as Harry when needed.
“I’ll do it,” Ron said with his chin raised. “Just- back up, you two.”
Hermione hopped up from the sofa and moved toward the kitchen, sticking the pizza boxes in the fridge, while she eavesdropped on Ron and Harry.
“Mate, time to take your potion.”
“No,” Harry said quietly, barely a whisper that Hermione could hear.
Since Peter was going to be entirely rude and peek around the side of the wall, spying on Harry and Ron, Hermione decided to join him.
Ron was kneeling on the floor in front of Harry with the potion in his hand, an earnest and open expression on his freckled face.
Just as Hermione could see Harry one day being tall and confident, looking just like his father, it wasn’t difficult to see Ron as a parent one day, doting on his children, just like his father as well.
“C’mon, Harry, you know you’re tired,” Ron said coaxingly. “Take this and I’ll help you get in bed so you can sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“I…”
Hermione could see Harry looking around and she ducked quickly, ensuring if he looked behind him that he wouldn’t see her spying on them.
“I can’t,” Harry told Ron quietly. “I’m- I’m… I can’t sleep.”
“Mate, I’ve got no idea what’s going through your head, but I know that you’re exhausted and you- you don’t want to scream or thrash around while you sleep, eh?” Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder kindly. “You’ve got to sleep tonight and tomorrow we’ll talk and we’ll try those weird donuts you like.”
Hermione waited, hoping that Harry would do it (she certainly couldn’t have refused Ron in that moment), and even Peter was frozen while they waited for Harry’s reply.
“If I do- will… we always shared a dorm…” Harry said, so anxiously and unlike Harry that it was killing Hermione.
“I’m not sleeping on the floor,” Ron snorted easily. “Jet lag’s a pain, mate. I’m knackered. Let’s take this and we’ll steal Sirius’ bed.”
After years of knowing Ron, Hermione knew that Harry had to be smiling at least a little because Ron lit up and looked as if he’d won a million galleons.
It was so cute how close her idiot boys were that Hermione felt like like crying again.
“Hermione, we’re going to bed,” Ron called to Hermione, winking over Harry’s head after Harry took the potion. “Are you coming or sleeping out here?”
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m certainly not sleeping on the sofa, that’s where we’re leaving Peter.”
Peter made a playful sound of dismay and Hermione burst with pride while Ron picked Harry up and put him in his chair before pushing him toward what Hermione assumed was Sirius’ room.
“I know you love Harry, but we loved him first,” Hermione told Peter, patting him on the shoulder kindly. “And we haven’t had a chance to smother him in love for quite some time and you’ve made very poor choices recently.
“Goodnight, we’ll see you in the morning.”
Hermione whistled for Harry’s dog and let it follow her to the bedroom they commandeered for the night. Once they had Harry in the center of the bed, Ron kicked his muggle jeans off and Hermione shed her jumper so they could all climb in together.
Harry slept with the cloak wrapped around his waist and covering his legs, but he put his head on Ron’s shoulder and Hermione put hers on Harry’s chest and all was right for the night.