Open Your Eyes Chapter Eight
Title: Open Your Eyes (8/?)
Author: Cristofle (Liz)
Characters: Harry/Hermione primarily. Harry, Hermione, and Ron will appear significantly, but this is ensemble friendly, including just about everyone. The Weasley family, Kingsley, Angelina Johnson, Teddy Lupin, Neville, Luna, the Patil twins, and Dean will definitely appear in more than passing appearances.
Summary: "Harry knew the shifting inside him hadn’t started in this moment, that he’d simply not been allowing himself to see it or feel it." Harry learns something unexpected about old friends and has a surprising late night visitor, and a wedding brings up feelings both old and new.
Spoilers: Heavy and specific spoilers all the way through 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything, would I REALLY have written that DH epilogue? I own nothing, JKR owns everything, please don't sue.
Author’s Note: Finally, I reveal the true importance of Dean in this story- you should get it when you read it.
“Have we EVER heard of a Gabriel?”
It was more than four hours later, although the group of three did not so much realize it. Ron had replaced George- he’d come into the Leaky Cauldron annoyed about George’s lunch hour overflowing, but his annoyance had quickly vanished into interest as he sat down and heard the news. George had gone back to his store, and now Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat alone in the little booth. The feeling was oddly natural- the trio, trying to solve a mystery.
“Hermione, you’ve asked that question like five hundred times,” Ron groaned, slumping back in his seat. “Clearly, not that any of us can remember.”
Hermione was going through all the books she’d read in her mind. Harry was still racking his brains, thinking of every conversation he’d ever overhead, all the information he’d gleaned about various Dark wizards while trying to defeat Voldemort. “I just don’t think so,” he muttered, almost more to himself. “I keep going over and over it in my head- maybe if we knew a last name?”
“Neville didn’t think the man knew,” Hermione sighed. “If he did, and Neville really doesn’t think so, apparently this Gabriel is- unsurprisingly- very private, I doubt he’ll reveal it. For now, I think the name is as much as we can ask without putting him in danger- I can’t bring myself to think selling dangerous and illegal plants is worth dying over. He DID offer up the name. The Tentacula isn’t fatal unless misused- as we know from Herbology, it has other uses. This form, of course, is more brutal and dangerous than others.”
Ron tapped his fingers on the table top, clearly thinking. Harry watched him for a moment. “Ron,” he said at last, in an ‘out-with-it’ way.
Ron chewed on his lip. “Is there any way this WAS an accident? I mean, the bloke DID like dangerous plants.”
“I’ve considered it,” Hermione admitted. “Still, I think it’s just too much of a coincidence- this man investigated the possibly mysterious death of the man whose file Padma was likely killed over. The DAY I question him, he drops dead.”
“I agree,” Harry nodded. “We know better than anyone- true coincidences like that are all too rare.”
Ron conceded the point. “Still. It’s going to be really annoying if this Gabriel bloke has nothing to do with it,” he added, as he glanced at the clock. “As we’ve spent almost four hours going over who he could possibly be.”
Harry’s lips twitched as Hermione looked exasperated. THIS was comfortably familiar. Before Hermione could argue the point, a loud voice boomed over the crowd.
“It’s yeh three!”
Harry grinned as Hagrid came bounding over to the table, almost knocking a couple people over in his path. Hagrid looked utterly delighted. “Yeh three! All sittin’ together! Can’ remember the last time that happened!” Hermione stood up to hug him- as usual, her head didn’t even come close to the bottom of his chin. Harry and Ron both clapped hands with him.
“I shoulda known,” Hagrid grinned, pulling over an incredibly large chair and taking up half the aisle as he sat down. “Anythin’ was going to get yeh lot back together, it’d be a dangerous mystery.”
The three of them looked at each other and quickly changed the subject to Hagrid’s classes- love Hagrid as they all did, the details of this particular mystery still needed to stay private. Hagrid was bemoaning the fact that he could not yet find another Aragog, explaining that now he understood that he needed to raise them personally so they could be safe, and Ron was looking progressively greener, when yet another familiar face popped into the pub. Harry had not known until he’d been out of school and back living here that this was such a major gathering place, even being told it was famous- he saw half his old classmates and some of his old teachers at the pub from time to time. It was part of its appeal. “Dean!” he called, waving his old classmate over.
Dean smiled and wandered across the pub- he raised his brows in surprise when he saw the little gathered group. “Hi…everyone,” he said slowly, his eyes drifting back and forth between Ron and Hermione.
Ron rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, Hermione and I are talking, it’s all a very big shock, yes, yes. Onto a new topic.”
“George said you cleared him out of some fireworks,” Harry commented as he shook hands with his old friend.
Dean grinned. “Yeah, Seamus and I were playing a…let’s say prank.”
“How is…?” But Dean’s attention had drifted from him to the doorway, and Harry turned to see Luna coming in, in her usual dreamy sliding fashion. He glanced back at Dean, who seemed oddly grinning and unfocused, and suddenly something clicked in his mind.
“Luna!” Hermione was exclaiming happily. “I really should come here at night more often…” Having not seen her the day Harry had, it had been awhile for the two of them, and she immediately got up to hug her.
“Dean,” Harry said suddenly, getting up and clapping him on the shoulder. Dean jumped “Shall we get more drinks from the bar?”
Dean just blinked at him for a second. “Oh…er…yeah, sure.” Harry noticed him shoot Luna a furtive look before following him up to the bar.
Harry leaned against it casually, ordering several more butterbeers and four pints of mead for Hagrid, pointing to the table they’d go to before turning to Dean. “So….you and Luna, huh?”
Dean jumped again and stared at him. “How did you…?” he flushed as he realized he’d confirmed the question in such an awkward way.
Harry laughed. “It’s not GLARINGLY obvious, don’t worry. I noticed the way you were looking at her, and I saw her last week here, and then George told me you were around Diagon Alley on the same day…it all clicked.”
“It’s not a secret!” Dean said hastily. “Seamus knows…so does Neville…it’s just…new, you know? I wouldn’t want it to seem like I’m ashamed that I’m dating her, I’m not at all.”
“Good,” Harry said, teasing and yet serious at the same time. “Might have to beat you up a little bit if you were.” He smiled again. “Why all the quiet, thought?”
Dean shrugged. “Like I said, it’s new. We were best friends, you know. After all the time we spent together before Voldemort fell…” Dean, who’d after all grown up in the Muggle world, didn’t have much more trouble saying the name than Harry did. “…and then we fought our way through a lot of the final battle together…we were best friends, for a long time. It took me awhile to realize it was something more, and then even longer to get up the guts to do anything about it.”
Harry was feeling all the sudden strangely uncomfortable and a little bit hot, something building up inside him as Dean gave his speech. “I think it’s great,” he said, louder than he might have to cover his awkwardness. “Luna’s great. I know not everybody understands her, but she’s loyal and smart and has courage like no one would believe.” He still remembered the painting in Luna’s room- a wave of affection for her always washed over him every time he thought about it. “Congratulations,” he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder again. “Take two of the butterbeers- I’ll distract the others while you get a more private booth.”
Dean’s breath exploded in a laugh when he realized that was all Harry was going to say or do. “Thanks, Harry.” He studied him for a minute. “I’m glad you know. I miss you, and Ron and Hermione, sometimes. We should spend more time together. We should all spend more time together. School friendships don’t have to just stay in school.”
“No,” Harry agreed, smiling again. “They don’t.”
The knock on the door came late in the night.
Harry was still up, and he blinked in surprise as he looked up from his spot on the couch. He and Hermione hadn’t made much progress in the last week about the mysterious Gabriel- it didn’t help by a sudden increase in training, Harry suspected orchestrated by Dawlish. The one comfort was that they were once again doing the training together. He’d been studying for Concealment and Disguise when the knock came.
“Is Master Harry still up, or shall I get it?” Kreacher croaked sleepily from his little room beside the kitchen, spotlessly clean and brightly decorated in contrast to his little den under the boiler at 12 Grimmauld Place. He still owned the quilt Hermione had made for him.
“No, it’s fine, Kreacher,” Harry called back. “Go back to sleep.” He got up, stretching as he did so- and opened the door to Parvati Patil.
Harry’s momentary surprise at seeing her melted in a crashing wave of sympathy and horrible regret- she looked ragged, thinner than he’d ever seen her, and utterly lost. “Parvati,” he sighed, and as he opened the door wider and she stepped inside, impulsively enveloped her in his arms for a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.
Parvati hugged him back. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little muffled by his chest but still clear enough to sound tearful.
“I’m sorry I haven’t kept you more up to date on the case…” Harry began as he shut the door and led her to the couch.
“No, no, that’s not exactly it,” she sniffled. “I knew it wasn’t going to be solved overnight. I trust you and Hermione to do the job thoroughly, not necessarily quickly. I want the answer, but I’m not sure I can stand to hear every detail picked apart about how or why my sister…” she closed her eyes and dropped her head as tears trickled down her face.
Harry wasn’t sure the last time he’d ever felt so thoroughly sorry for someone. “Parvati,” he sighed again, impulsively rubbing her back. “If there was anything, anything at all, that I could do…”
“This is going to sound stupid, and selfish, but I wasn’t really sure where else to go,” she mumbled miserably, staring down at the ground. “My parents are…” she trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. Harry had been around to see Molly and Arthur after Fred died. “And I thought about George,” she added, wiping at her face. “But we never knew each other very well and I don’t know how I’d respond…and Ron, the last time Hermione and I really talked about anything, he was still so angry…”
Harry suddenly realized where Parvati was going with this. She wanted to talk to someone who’d lost a loved one. Lost a family member.
“I know that this is hopelessly rude and inappropriate,” she said, her breath hitching a little. “I just…I can’t…” she trailed off again, dissolving into fresh tears.
“You aren’t being rude, and I’m not angry,” Harry assured her quietly, his heart aching for her. “Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen for a cup of tea.”
Parvati had calmed down slightly by the time a cup of tea was in front of her, gripping it tightly. “I’m not even sure what I’m asking, or why…”
“I think I know what you’re asking,” Harry said softly. “And I wish more than anything I had a clear answer, something you could hold onto. You want to know how to get past it, when it gets any better.”
Parvati looked up at him in surprise, as if it had only clicked when he said it. “Yes,” she agreed softly, as if to herself. “Yes.”
Harry sighed deeply, rubbing at the back of his neck, feeling hopelessly inept and wanting to give her some kind of answer. “I haven’t been in your exact position- my parents died when I was so young that it’s a hole that’s been there all my life. And my godfather…he died right in the middle of the war, I had to keep fighting literally just to stay alive. I know I can’t imagine how hard this is, to lose your twin sister and just be left with nothing but that.”
Parvati closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to even get past that moment. I don’t know HOW to be someone without a twin sister. I can’t accept it, I can’t even understand it. I can’t accept that I can’t ever see her again.” Her tears splashed into her tea and onto the counter.
Harry looked at her for a long, long moment, then closed his eyes, allowing himself to go back to moments he’d tried to shut off, to the devastating and overwhelming periods after Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, and Lupin had been lost, how he’d been lost in his grief. How he’d gotten past it.
HAD he gotten past it?
“Don’t isolate yourself,” he said at length, remembering how he’d needed, how he’d been so helped, by the mere presence of Ron and Hermione. “I know it feels like it’d be easier to be alone. It wouldn’t be. The people who love you know you aren’t going to snap back and be who you were, trust me. Talk to the people who loved your sister, her friends.” He’d desperately craved the conversations he’d had about his parents with Sirius and Lupin, he suddenly remembered. He’d been so eager, so thrilled, to get glimpses into those precious lives. “There isn’t a fix,” he said gently at last. “There isn’t a real answer. We just…go on. Because they’d want us to, we go on.”
Parvati nodded slowly, tears still trickling down her cheeks but looking slightly less like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. “Thanks, Harry. I know I showed up late and threw this all on you and…”
“Don’t be sorry,” Harry repeated, and almost to his own surprise realized he meant it. There would have been a time when he would have secretly resented this, resented her coming as if he were an expert in grief because he’d lost so many people he loved. But now he could remember that he’d desperately searched for comfort too…and would have been lost without the people who gave it to him. Parvati wanted the same answers he’d wanted. All he could feel now was regret that he had no easy answers to give.
“Since when do you knock?”
It was the first surprised question Hermione could think of as she opened the door, wrapped in her fluffy pink robe, to an exhausted looking Harry.
“Since I show up well past midnight,” he said ruefully, following her back inside and closing the door behind him. “I thought I might scare you if you were asleep. I’m sorry, I know it’s late…” he ran a hand over his face. “Parvati came to my house tonight, just showed up on my doorstep.”
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione looked at him, stricken and unhappy. “Is it…I feel terrible, having no answers to give her…”
“No, actually, that wasn’t it,” Harry said tiredly, collapsing down on the couch. “She said she always knew it wouldn’t happen quickly…actually, she said she doesn’t want to know all the details, only the answer when we have it. It makes sense, when you think about, when you think about her. I don’t think she could handle analyzing all the points of her sister’s murder, and let’s face it- maybe that’s the better way of thinking.”
“Then why was she there?” Hermione asked softly, sitting down beside him. He just looked at her and she suddenly knew the answer, hidden in the depths of his green eyes. “Oh,” she sighed. “That.” She reached out to take his hand. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Better than I thought I’d be. At sixteen, I would have resented the hell out of it, but you know…I looked for answers too. I even asked Nick…when Sirius died…”
Hermione swallowed back the sudden flash of tears; she hadn’t known that. The idea of a grief stricken 15 year old Harry, desperate for a chance at one final moment with the godfather he’d lost so suddenly, was heartbreaking.
“I’m just so…sorry for her,” Harry was saying, and she pulled herself back in the present. “It’s like watching George all over again. You can wrap it up in more words, but it really boils down to just being…sorry. More sorry than you knew you could be.”
“It does,” she agreed quietly, remembering her own days, her own personal encounter with the grief of a family, in the days after Fred died. She’d grieved too, grieved for the friend, the older brother figure, but she knew it wasn’t the same. “Come on,” she tried to smile, pulling on his hand a little. He obediently followed up. “I made chocolate chip cookies, and I’ll make us some tea.”
Harry smiled faintly as he allowed her to take him to the kitchen, still holding him by the hand. “Magic or no?”
She pretended to scowl at him; she’d never entirely mastered magical cooking and he never let her forget it. “I did some things by magic,” she stressed. He raised his brows at her. “Like…summoning and levitating the ingredients,” she admitted sheepishly, and he laughed as he sank down in one of the kitchen chairs and took a cookie from the plate.
“Well, these are delicious however you made them,” he said after he’d taken a bite, his mouth still full of cookie.
“Thank you,” she said with a mock huff, and he grinned again. The room was quiet for a moment as she quickly put together two cups of tea. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, sitting down across from him and passing him one of the cups.
He lifted his shoulders noncommittally. “Even though she didn’t put any pressure on me…maybe BECAUSE she didn’t put any pressure on me…I want to find this guy. I really want to find this guy. He ripped a family apart, all for a file. For a FILE, Parvati doesn’t have her sister, her parents don’t have a daughter…for a FILE,” Harry repeated, incredulously. “Can you imagine? Ending a life…over that?”
“No, and I’m grateful neither of us can,” Hermione said quietly. He raised his cup as if conceding her that point. “We’ll find him. It may take a bit longer than we both would like, but we will find him.”
“Mmmm,” Harry sighed. “Thank you; I think I needed to hear someone else say it.”
Hermione shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You’ve bolstered me up enough about the case; you deserve a turn.”
“I think we make a pretty good team.” Harry lifted his eyes so he could smile at her, and their gazes connected in an unexpectedly intense way. For one moment, they simply stared at each other. Part of Hermione felt it would be safer to break it, but in a sudden flash of courage, she didn’t. She simply widened her own smile.
“I think so, too.”
Harry studied her face for another moment, and she swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “I should get going; it’s late,” he said at length, but didn’t move to leave. “I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize for that,” she said simply.
“Thank you, Hermione,” he said softly. Finally, with something that sounded like a faintly regretful sigh, he climbed to his feet. “We’re still on for the infamous wedding this weekend?”
Hermione laughed, the air lightening a little. “Wouldn’t miss it. That invitation came late, though.”
“Something tells me Dudley snuck it past Aunt Petunia and sent it later,” Harry said wryly. “I’d bet money that most of the RSVPs went straight to her, but he had me send mine to him. One thing my cousin is good at is slipping past his mother.”
Hermione raised her brows. “You think they don’t know you’re coming.”
Harry grinned. “That’s half the fun.”
She laughed again. “Did you get the nice present?” she asked, suddenly stern.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. You guilted me into it.”
“That’s my job,” she nodded without a hint of remorse, getting up after him. She was a little startled when he enfolded her in his arms for a hug, but quickly returned the embrace.
“Thank you,” he repeated into her hair. He didn’t know exactly how to say it, but he thought he might have been a mess in the making without knowing it before she opened the door. Even though he’d been exhausted, this was the first time he thought he might be able to sleep tonight.
She smiled into his chest. “Let me have your piece of wedding cake?”
“Oh, that’s a steep price,” he pretended to protest. Laughing, he pulled away. “Night, Hermione.”
“Good night, Harry.” She followed him out of the kitchen, smiling as he waved at her from the door before stepping outside and vanishing on the spot. She sighed as he disappeared.
He’d given her a lot to think about.
“Hermione?” Harry called, fiddling with his own tie as he looked at himself in the mirror in her hall. He owned a couple Muggle suits, but he wasn’t exactly used to wearing them, and it wasn’t like he’d ever had a little suit as a child- the Dursleys had never taken him anywhere or allowed him downstairs to any dinner party. “Are you ready?”
“Now I am!” her voice sounded breathlessly, closer to him than he’d expected, and he turned around- and felt his jaw drop a little.
She, like him, was wearing Muggle fancy clothing, a pale pink and kind of shimmery dress, stopping slightly above her knees. Her hair wasn’t sleek as she normally styled it for fancy events, but more elegantly curly than it normally was, half twisted up in a fancy do.
“What?” she said a little nervously as he continued to stare. “I haven’t dressed up for a Muggle party in ages, not since I was a girl- did I do something wrong?”
Harry cleared his throat. “No…no, most definitely not anything wrong. You look…you look beautiful,” he said honestly.
Hermione flushed a little with pleasure. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she smiled, looking him up and down. “Except…” she laughed and came up to him, reaching for his tie. “You mangled this.” It was automatic- her father had let her tie his tie for years, as a little girl it had made her feel special. It felt oddly natural doing it for Harry. Still, as she was finishing up, her eyes connected with his and her breath caught a little.
Harry smiled faintly. “Better?”
“Perfect,” she tried to smile back.
“I doubt that,” Harry said ruefully, his hand going up to his perpetually untidy hair as she reached for her purse. “I’m sure I’ll love Aunt Petunia’s reaction to my hair not being any better than it ever was.”
“I happen to like your hair,” Hermione teased, reaching up to ruffle it.
“You and you alone,” Harry said dryly, but smiled all the same. “Well…shall we?” He made a sweeping gesture toward the door as he reached for the present he’d set down. She laughed and curtsied before going out the door. He followed her and they grasped hands before Disapparating to a private little place Harry had scoped out, knowing the lack of a car would annoy his uncle.
“I sort of thought I’d never see them again,” Harry commented as the pressure vanished and they found themselves in a little alley. “Well, at one point I DREAMED of never seeing them again, but when I actually left…”
“Hey.” Hermione continued to hold onto his hand. “Do you not want to do this? We don’t have to, even now.” He raised his brows and looked her up and down. “You’d owe me a really expensive dinner,” she conceded without batting an eye, and he laughed. “But truly, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” he sighed. “It WAS nice of Dud to invite me. And I still want to see the look on Uncle Vernon’s face. If Dudley hadn’t wanted me to come, I might feel a little guilty, but it IS his wedding day.” He motioned for her. “Let’s go.”
The church was in sight as soon as they stepped out of the alley into the surprisingly nice day together, obviously planned for a wedding by the sight of the cars and the flowers. “This is a pretty church,” Hermione said, faintly surprised. She’d half expected, from Harry’s stories about his aunt, for it to be huge and pretentious and borderline gaudy.
“No doubt picked out by the bride to be,” Harry muttered, and she fought back a smile.
Hermione knew Vernon Dursley on sight, standing in the doorway of the church pretentiously greeting guests, having seen him in Kings Cross station before. He seemed somewhat smaller than she’d viewed him as a child, and yet a little wider at the same time.
She knew exactly the moment he saw Harry as she and Harry walked up the steps, and she had to choke back a laugh at the shell shocked expression on his face. She doubted he could have been more shocked if someone had batted a Bludger at him.
“Hi, Uncle Vernon!” Harry said cheerfully, stepping up to him. Hermione really had to struggle not to giggle as the man spluttered for a second.
“What…the devil…” he choked out at last.
“Oh, Dud invited me,” Harry said breezily, holding up his invitation as proof. Instinctively, Vernon Dursley’s gaze flew to where his son was standing with Petunia inside the church.
“Dudley!” Vernon called, sounding like he’d swallowed something very large and extremely unpleasant. Dudley turned around, and Harry was somewhat surprised to see he’d slimmed down a little- not a LOT, but to where he wasn’t quite the size of a killer whale anymore. He was even more surprised when his cousin seemed to virtually ignore his father’s outrage. Surprising respect filled Harry, and he made his way past his uncle to his cousin. Petunia Dursley looked stunned, but Harry didn’t pay much attention to her either just yet.
“Hi, Harry,” Dudley said, holding out his hand. It seemed easier than it had when they were 17, and Harry shook it.
“Hi, Dud. Congratulations.” Harry motioned to Hermione. “This is Hermione Granger.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dudley said a little awkwardly, and she realized he didn’t recognize her from any brief glimpse at the train station and was trying to figure out if she was a witch. Apparently, her Muggle dress WAS convincing, as he remained unsure and simply stayed quiet.
Harry realized after a minute that Petunia was staring at him in an odd fashion. “Hi, Aunt Petunia,” he said wryly. Was she STILL thinking he was just going to turn everybody in the room into frogs? Then he realized with a jolt that she was staring at his eyes. Not so much IN his eyes, AT his eyes. His eyes, without the glasses in the same style his father had worn, that must look so much more like his mother’s than before. He realized with another jolt that he had not seen Petunia Dursley since finding out the real reason behind her hostility to her sister…his mother. He opened his mouth to say something and found he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Where do the presents go?” he finally asked, a little less full of mocking bravado.
“Over…” Petunia pointed at a table beyond them, filled with presents.
“Right.” Harry nodded at his cousin. “Good luck, Dud.” He pulled on Hermione’s hand. “Come on.”
“That was friendly,” Hermione said wryly once they got out earshot.
“Trust me, that was nicer than they’ve ever been to me,” Harry returned, putting the gift down. “C’mon, let’s get seats.”
Unsurprisingly, given the last minute invitation, they were seated towards the back, but it turned out to be surprisingly good seating. Harry muttered a steady commentary of guests on Dudley’s side, people he’d seen and glimpsed from his time with the Dursleys. The stories of the snake and the smashed pudding suddenly seemed much more amusing than they had at the times Harry had originally told them to her, and Hermione was fairly sure the person in front of them thought she was mentally deficient- she started looking back every time Hermione broke into fresh giggles.
The actual wedding ceremony was blessedly short and fairly sweet- Dudley’s bride was about what Harry would have expected, a girl who vaguely reminded him of Pansy Parkinson but seemed somewhat plainer and nicer. Hermione, who he knew loved weddings, clapped enthusiastically with everyone else as the newlyweds exchanged their first kiss, and Harry gave Dudley a thumb’s up as the couple walked down the aisle. Surprisingly, he got a grin in return.
“And HERE is where Aunt Petunia’s job comes to light,” Harry said as he and Hermione, an hour later, stepped into the huge room that held the reception. Everything looked outrageously expensive, from the enormous and elaborate cake to the huge ice sculpture to the fancy little napkins.
“What IS that?” Harry asked, squinting at the ice sculpture. “A parrot?”
Hermione choked back a laugh. “You know it’s a swan,” she hissed.
“She’s better than she could be, but I have to say I don’t really see Dud’s bride as a swan,” Harry muttered back.
“Her dress was quite lovely,” Hermione protested.
Harry shrugged. “You look better.”
More than anything, it was the fact that Harry clearly meant it that startled Hermione out of continuing her protest; she flushed pink and focused her eyes on the cake.
“Boy!”
Harry heard Vernon Dursley hissing behind him but deliberately kept his eyes on the ice sculpture as if he hadn’t. “Lovely, isn’t it?” he said a little louder to Hermione, as if nothing had happened. Her lips twitched.
“Stunning,” she agreed.
Harry heard the low growl before Vernon rephrased. “Harry!” he said sharply now, and Harry turned around as if surprised to see him.
“Hi there, Uncle Vernon,” he said politely.
“What the DEVIL are you doing here?” Vernon demanded.
“Like I said, I was invited,” Harry said calmly.
“Well, Dudley clearly took leave of his senses…too in love to see straight…but you didn’t have to accept,” Vernon growled.
“Uncle Vernon, are you suggesting you raised me to be impolite?” Harry asked in mock shock. This time, Hermione made absolutely no attempt to hide her amusement. The knowledge that Harry had had to make his own food when he was sick as a little boy was still clear in her mind.
“What business do you have here?” Vernon snapped.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Clearly I’m planning to turn that ice sculpture into an owl, set it on fire, turn the cake to lava, and then kill all the guests.”
“You forgot steal all the presents,” Hermione reminded him serenely.
“That, too,” Harry acknowledged without batting an eye. “I really need a new crockpot.” He simply smiled as Vernon turned a dangerous purple and walked away. “He’s never yet learned that his life is easier if he just leaves me alone,” Harry commented. He braced himself as Petunia came his way next, but she stood before him seemingly unsure of what to say, her eyes still examining his. Hermione was watching them warily.
“Well…” Petunia said finally, her eyes straying from his. “If Diddykins wanted you here…” Harry nudged Hermione as she choked back another giggle at the nickname. “It was good of you to come then, I suppose.”
Harry raised his brows. “Thanks, Aunt Petunia.” Even though 16 years of dislike and resentment stood between them, he felt compelled to return the strained polite comment. “This all looks…very nice.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. Her eyes flickered to his and then she scurried away to stand next to her husband.
“What on earth was that about?” Hermione whispered.
“Tell you later,” he muttered. He hadn’t kept Snape’s Penseive a mystery from Hermione, exactly, but he’d never fully revealed to anyone what he’d seen in its depths, either time. Still, suddenly, in the face of his mother’s only other living relative, he felt the urge to tell someone, to bounce his thoughts off someone…to bounce his thoughts off Hermione. Now wasn’t the time, however, as the wedding party arrived. Harry and Hermione watched while the first slices of cake were cut- predictably, Dudley’s piece was enormous- and Hermione completely lost it at an overly sappy slide show of Dudley as a child, burying her face in her napkin to conceal her giggles. Harry’d had more practice, between Dudley’s school uniform and sucking up techniques, but he still had to fight back his own amusement. Even so, Hermione was back to smiling a little mistily as the couple shared their first dance. “I love weddings,” she sighed.
Harry laughed quietly. “You have no idea who they are except the less than kind stories I’ve told you.”
“I know, but still…”
Harry glanced at her sideways. “You completely planned your wedding out when you were about seven, didn’t you?”
Hermione flushed a little. “Well, I was more like five, actually.” Harry laughed quietly again. “It’s changed a bit, of course…wizarding customs and all that…”
“Mmmm hmmm.” Harry watched as the songs changed and more couples started drifting to the dancing floor. “Well…shall we?” he asked, standing up and holding out his hand to her.”
Hermione looked up at him, smiling in surprise. “But you hate to dance.”
Harry shrugged. “I know, but you love weddings.”
Hermione’s smile grew wider, and she placed her hand in his and followed him out to the dance floor.
“This is really quite a bit less nerve wracking then the Yule Ball,” Harry murmured as he put one hand on her back and held one of her hands against his chest with the other. “No one cares if I screw up this time.”
Hermione laughed. “Well, unless you trip and fall on your face, that is,” she teased, and he made a face at her.
At first it was simply fun. Harry, seemingly abandoning all awkwardness after a couple moments in the face of the true dancing disaster that was Dudley who’d already tripped on his bride’s dress twice, spun her around and twirled her underneath their arms and even playfully dipped her once, making her giggle. Then the song changed to an even slower one and he pulled her back up, closer against his body, and instinctively she linked her arms around his neck.
Harry couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the mood shifted, exactly when the romance of the moment hit him instead of it being two old friends goofing around with each other. Maybe it had never been that, since they stepped out on the dance floor, and it was just hitting him now, but it WAS hitting him now. She was so close…in the pretty dress she’d probably picked out just for this occasion…looking up at him with a dreamy, silly little smile on her face. His friend, one of his two oldest friends…and yet suddenly it felt like something else. He hadn’t exactly forgotten he was with his closest friend…it was more like the purely friendly aspect was somehow fading, becoming blurry. Perhaps she felt it too; her smile faded and her eyes locked onto his, as if they were still staring at each other like they had in her kitchen and yet had drawn much closer. Harry knew the shifting inside him hadn’t started in this moment, that he’d simply not been allowing himself to see it or feel it, but in this moment, on the dance floor, that strength- or was it weakness? Was it cowardly?- suddenly seemed so much harder to hold onto.
With a little sigh, Hermione finally broke their gaze rested her head against his chest as they continued to sway back and forth. Harry pulled her closer, resting his cheek against her hair, still locked in a moment he wasn’t sure he could break out of.
Moreover, he was less and less sure that he wanted to.
Author: Cristofle (Liz)
Characters: Harry/Hermione primarily. Harry, Hermione, and Ron will appear significantly, but this is ensemble friendly, including just about everyone. The Weasley family, Kingsley, Angelina Johnson, Teddy Lupin, Neville, Luna, the Patil twins, and Dean will definitely appear in more than passing appearances.
Summary: "Harry knew the shifting inside him hadn’t started in this moment, that he’d simply not been allowing himself to see it or feel it." Harry learns something unexpected about old friends and has a surprising late night visitor, and a wedding brings up feelings both old and new.
Spoilers: Heavy and specific spoilers all the way through 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything, would I REALLY have written that DH epilogue? I own nothing, JKR owns everything, please don't sue.
Author’s Note: Finally, I reveal the true importance of Dean in this story- you should get it when you read it.
“Have we EVER heard of a Gabriel?”
It was more than four hours later, although the group of three did not so much realize it. Ron had replaced George- he’d come into the Leaky Cauldron annoyed about George’s lunch hour overflowing, but his annoyance had quickly vanished into interest as he sat down and heard the news. George had gone back to his store, and now Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat alone in the little booth. The feeling was oddly natural- the trio, trying to solve a mystery.
“Hermione, you’ve asked that question like five hundred times,” Ron groaned, slumping back in his seat. “Clearly, not that any of us can remember.”
Hermione was going through all the books she’d read in her mind. Harry was still racking his brains, thinking of every conversation he’d ever overhead, all the information he’d gleaned about various Dark wizards while trying to defeat Voldemort. “I just don’t think so,” he muttered, almost more to himself. “I keep going over and over it in my head- maybe if we knew a last name?”
“Neville didn’t think the man knew,” Hermione sighed. “If he did, and Neville really doesn’t think so, apparently this Gabriel is- unsurprisingly- very private, I doubt he’ll reveal it. For now, I think the name is as much as we can ask without putting him in danger- I can’t bring myself to think selling dangerous and illegal plants is worth dying over. He DID offer up the name. The Tentacula isn’t fatal unless misused- as we know from Herbology, it has other uses. This form, of course, is more brutal and dangerous than others.”
Ron tapped his fingers on the table top, clearly thinking. Harry watched him for a moment. “Ron,” he said at last, in an ‘out-with-it’ way.
Ron chewed on his lip. “Is there any way this WAS an accident? I mean, the bloke DID like dangerous plants.”
“I’ve considered it,” Hermione admitted. “Still, I think it’s just too much of a coincidence- this man investigated the possibly mysterious death of the man whose file Padma was likely killed over. The DAY I question him, he drops dead.”
“I agree,” Harry nodded. “We know better than anyone- true coincidences like that are all too rare.”
Ron conceded the point. “Still. It’s going to be really annoying if this Gabriel bloke has nothing to do with it,” he added, as he glanced at the clock. “As we’ve spent almost four hours going over who he could possibly be.”
Harry’s lips twitched as Hermione looked exasperated. THIS was comfortably familiar. Before Hermione could argue the point, a loud voice boomed over the crowd.
“It’s yeh three!”
Harry grinned as Hagrid came bounding over to the table, almost knocking a couple people over in his path. Hagrid looked utterly delighted. “Yeh three! All sittin’ together! Can’ remember the last time that happened!” Hermione stood up to hug him- as usual, her head didn’t even come close to the bottom of his chin. Harry and Ron both clapped hands with him.
“I shoulda known,” Hagrid grinned, pulling over an incredibly large chair and taking up half the aisle as he sat down. “Anythin’ was going to get yeh lot back together, it’d be a dangerous mystery.”
The three of them looked at each other and quickly changed the subject to Hagrid’s classes- love Hagrid as they all did, the details of this particular mystery still needed to stay private. Hagrid was bemoaning the fact that he could not yet find another Aragog, explaining that now he understood that he needed to raise them personally so they could be safe, and Ron was looking progressively greener, when yet another familiar face popped into the pub. Harry had not known until he’d been out of school and back living here that this was such a major gathering place, even being told it was famous- he saw half his old classmates and some of his old teachers at the pub from time to time. It was part of its appeal. “Dean!” he called, waving his old classmate over.
Dean smiled and wandered across the pub- he raised his brows in surprise when he saw the little gathered group. “Hi…everyone,” he said slowly, his eyes drifting back and forth between Ron and Hermione.
Ron rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, Hermione and I are talking, it’s all a very big shock, yes, yes. Onto a new topic.”
“George said you cleared him out of some fireworks,” Harry commented as he shook hands with his old friend.
Dean grinned. “Yeah, Seamus and I were playing a…let’s say prank.”
“How is…?” But Dean’s attention had drifted from him to the doorway, and Harry turned to see Luna coming in, in her usual dreamy sliding fashion. He glanced back at Dean, who seemed oddly grinning and unfocused, and suddenly something clicked in his mind.
“Luna!” Hermione was exclaiming happily. “I really should come here at night more often…” Having not seen her the day Harry had, it had been awhile for the two of them, and she immediately got up to hug her.
“Dean,” Harry said suddenly, getting up and clapping him on the shoulder. Dean jumped “Shall we get more drinks from the bar?”
Dean just blinked at him for a second. “Oh…er…yeah, sure.” Harry noticed him shoot Luna a furtive look before following him up to the bar.
Harry leaned against it casually, ordering several more butterbeers and four pints of mead for Hagrid, pointing to the table they’d go to before turning to Dean. “So….you and Luna, huh?”
Dean jumped again and stared at him. “How did you…?” he flushed as he realized he’d confirmed the question in such an awkward way.
Harry laughed. “It’s not GLARINGLY obvious, don’t worry. I noticed the way you were looking at her, and I saw her last week here, and then George told me you were around Diagon Alley on the same day…it all clicked.”
“It’s not a secret!” Dean said hastily. “Seamus knows…so does Neville…it’s just…new, you know? I wouldn’t want it to seem like I’m ashamed that I’m dating her, I’m not at all.”
“Good,” Harry said, teasing and yet serious at the same time. “Might have to beat you up a little bit if you were.” He smiled again. “Why all the quiet, thought?”
Dean shrugged. “Like I said, it’s new. We were best friends, you know. After all the time we spent together before Voldemort fell…” Dean, who’d after all grown up in the Muggle world, didn’t have much more trouble saying the name than Harry did. “…and then we fought our way through a lot of the final battle together…we were best friends, for a long time. It took me awhile to realize it was something more, and then even longer to get up the guts to do anything about it.”
Harry was feeling all the sudden strangely uncomfortable and a little bit hot, something building up inside him as Dean gave his speech. “I think it’s great,” he said, louder than he might have to cover his awkwardness. “Luna’s great. I know not everybody understands her, but she’s loyal and smart and has courage like no one would believe.” He still remembered the painting in Luna’s room- a wave of affection for her always washed over him every time he thought about it. “Congratulations,” he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder again. “Take two of the butterbeers- I’ll distract the others while you get a more private booth.”
Dean’s breath exploded in a laugh when he realized that was all Harry was going to say or do. “Thanks, Harry.” He studied him for a minute. “I’m glad you know. I miss you, and Ron and Hermione, sometimes. We should spend more time together. We should all spend more time together. School friendships don’t have to just stay in school.”
“No,” Harry agreed, smiling again. “They don’t.”
The knock on the door came late in the night.
Harry was still up, and he blinked in surprise as he looked up from his spot on the couch. He and Hermione hadn’t made much progress in the last week about the mysterious Gabriel- it didn’t help by a sudden increase in training, Harry suspected orchestrated by Dawlish. The one comfort was that they were once again doing the training together. He’d been studying for Concealment and Disguise when the knock came.
“Is Master Harry still up, or shall I get it?” Kreacher croaked sleepily from his little room beside the kitchen, spotlessly clean and brightly decorated in contrast to his little den under the boiler at 12 Grimmauld Place. He still owned the quilt Hermione had made for him.
“No, it’s fine, Kreacher,” Harry called back. “Go back to sleep.” He got up, stretching as he did so- and opened the door to Parvati Patil.
Harry’s momentary surprise at seeing her melted in a crashing wave of sympathy and horrible regret- she looked ragged, thinner than he’d ever seen her, and utterly lost. “Parvati,” he sighed, and as he opened the door wider and she stepped inside, impulsively enveloped her in his arms for a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.
Parvati hugged him back. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little muffled by his chest but still clear enough to sound tearful.
“I’m sorry I haven’t kept you more up to date on the case…” Harry began as he shut the door and led her to the couch.
“No, no, that’s not exactly it,” she sniffled. “I knew it wasn’t going to be solved overnight. I trust you and Hermione to do the job thoroughly, not necessarily quickly. I want the answer, but I’m not sure I can stand to hear every detail picked apart about how or why my sister…” she closed her eyes and dropped her head as tears trickled down her face.
Harry wasn’t sure the last time he’d ever felt so thoroughly sorry for someone. “Parvati,” he sighed again, impulsively rubbing her back. “If there was anything, anything at all, that I could do…”
“This is going to sound stupid, and selfish, but I wasn’t really sure where else to go,” she mumbled miserably, staring down at the ground. “My parents are…” she trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. Harry had been around to see Molly and Arthur after Fred died. “And I thought about George,” she added, wiping at her face. “But we never knew each other very well and I don’t know how I’d respond…and Ron, the last time Hermione and I really talked about anything, he was still so angry…”
Harry suddenly realized where Parvati was going with this. She wanted to talk to someone who’d lost a loved one. Lost a family member.
“I know that this is hopelessly rude and inappropriate,” she said, her breath hitching a little. “I just…I can’t…” she trailed off again, dissolving into fresh tears.
“You aren’t being rude, and I’m not angry,” Harry assured her quietly, his heart aching for her. “Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen for a cup of tea.”
Parvati had calmed down slightly by the time a cup of tea was in front of her, gripping it tightly. “I’m not even sure what I’m asking, or why…”
“I think I know what you’re asking,” Harry said softly. “And I wish more than anything I had a clear answer, something you could hold onto. You want to know how to get past it, when it gets any better.”
Parvati looked up at him in surprise, as if it had only clicked when he said it. “Yes,” she agreed softly, as if to herself. “Yes.”
Harry sighed deeply, rubbing at the back of his neck, feeling hopelessly inept and wanting to give her some kind of answer. “I haven’t been in your exact position- my parents died when I was so young that it’s a hole that’s been there all my life. And my godfather…he died right in the middle of the war, I had to keep fighting literally just to stay alive. I know I can’t imagine how hard this is, to lose your twin sister and just be left with nothing but that.”
Parvati closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to even get past that moment. I don’t know HOW to be someone without a twin sister. I can’t accept it, I can’t even understand it. I can’t accept that I can’t ever see her again.” Her tears splashed into her tea and onto the counter.
Harry looked at her for a long, long moment, then closed his eyes, allowing himself to go back to moments he’d tried to shut off, to the devastating and overwhelming periods after Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, and Lupin had been lost, how he’d been lost in his grief. How he’d gotten past it.
HAD he gotten past it?
“Don’t isolate yourself,” he said at length, remembering how he’d needed, how he’d been so helped, by the mere presence of Ron and Hermione. “I know it feels like it’d be easier to be alone. It wouldn’t be. The people who love you know you aren’t going to snap back and be who you were, trust me. Talk to the people who loved your sister, her friends.” He’d desperately craved the conversations he’d had about his parents with Sirius and Lupin, he suddenly remembered. He’d been so eager, so thrilled, to get glimpses into those precious lives. “There isn’t a fix,” he said gently at last. “There isn’t a real answer. We just…go on. Because they’d want us to, we go on.”
Parvati nodded slowly, tears still trickling down her cheeks but looking slightly less like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. “Thanks, Harry. I know I showed up late and threw this all on you and…”
“Don’t be sorry,” Harry repeated, and almost to his own surprise realized he meant it. There would have been a time when he would have secretly resented this, resented her coming as if he were an expert in grief because he’d lost so many people he loved. But now he could remember that he’d desperately searched for comfort too…and would have been lost without the people who gave it to him. Parvati wanted the same answers he’d wanted. All he could feel now was regret that he had no easy answers to give.
“Since when do you knock?”
It was the first surprised question Hermione could think of as she opened the door, wrapped in her fluffy pink robe, to an exhausted looking Harry.
“Since I show up well past midnight,” he said ruefully, following her back inside and closing the door behind him. “I thought I might scare you if you were asleep. I’m sorry, I know it’s late…” he ran a hand over his face. “Parvati came to my house tonight, just showed up on my doorstep.”
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione looked at him, stricken and unhappy. “Is it…I feel terrible, having no answers to give her…”
“No, actually, that wasn’t it,” Harry said tiredly, collapsing down on the couch. “She said she always knew it wouldn’t happen quickly…actually, she said she doesn’t want to know all the details, only the answer when we have it. It makes sense, when you think about, when you think about her. I don’t think she could handle analyzing all the points of her sister’s murder, and let’s face it- maybe that’s the better way of thinking.”
“Then why was she there?” Hermione asked softly, sitting down beside him. He just looked at her and she suddenly knew the answer, hidden in the depths of his green eyes. “Oh,” she sighed. “That.” She reached out to take his hand. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Better than I thought I’d be. At sixteen, I would have resented the hell out of it, but you know…I looked for answers too. I even asked Nick…when Sirius died…”
Hermione swallowed back the sudden flash of tears; she hadn’t known that. The idea of a grief stricken 15 year old Harry, desperate for a chance at one final moment with the godfather he’d lost so suddenly, was heartbreaking.
“I’m just so…sorry for her,” Harry was saying, and she pulled herself back in the present. “It’s like watching George all over again. You can wrap it up in more words, but it really boils down to just being…sorry. More sorry than you knew you could be.”
“It does,” she agreed quietly, remembering her own days, her own personal encounter with the grief of a family, in the days after Fred died. She’d grieved too, grieved for the friend, the older brother figure, but she knew it wasn’t the same. “Come on,” she tried to smile, pulling on his hand a little. He obediently followed up. “I made chocolate chip cookies, and I’ll make us some tea.”
Harry smiled faintly as he allowed her to take him to the kitchen, still holding him by the hand. “Magic or no?”
She pretended to scowl at him; she’d never entirely mastered magical cooking and he never let her forget it. “I did some things by magic,” she stressed. He raised his brows at her. “Like…summoning and levitating the ingredients,” she admitted sheepishly, and he laughed as he sank down in one of the kitchen chairs and took a cookie from the plate.
“Well, these are delicious however you made them,” he said after he’d taken a bite, his mouth still full of cookie.
“Thank you,” she said with a mock huff, and he grinned again. The room was quiet for a moment as she quickly put together two cups of tea. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, sitting down across from him and passing him one of the cups.
He lifted his shoulders noncommittally. “Even though she didn’t put any pressure on me…maybe BECAUSE she didn’t put any pressure on me…I want to find this guy. I really want to find this guy. He ripped a family apart, all for a file. For a FILE, Parvati doesn’t have her sister, her parents don’t have a daughter…for a FILE,” Harry repeated, incredulously. “Can you imagine? Ending a life…over that?”
“No, and I’m grateful neither of us can,” Hermione said quietly. He raised his cup as if conceding her that point. “We’ll find him. It may take a bit longer than we both would like, but we will find him.”
“Mmmm,” Harry sighed. “Thank you; I think I needed to hear someone else say it.”
Hermione shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You’ve bolstered me up enough about the case; you deserve a turn.”
“I think we make a pretty good team.” Harry lifted his eyes so he could smile at her, and their gazes connected in an unexpectedly intense way. For one moment, they simply stared at each other. Part of Hermione felt it would be safer to break it, but in a sudden flash of courage, she didn’t. She simply widened her own smile.
“I think so, too.”
Harry studied her face for another moment, and she swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “I should get going; it’s late,” he said at length, but didn’t move to leave. “I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize for that,” she said simply.
“Thank you, Hermione,” he said softly. Finally, with something that sounded like a faintly regretful sigh, he climbed to his feet. “We’re still on for the infamous wedding this weekend?”
Hermione laughed, the air lightening a little. “Wouldn’t miss it. That invitation came late, though.”
“Something tells me Dudley snuck it past Aunt Petunia and sent it later,” Harry said wryly. “I’d bet money that most of the RSVPs went straight to her, but he had me send mine to him. One thing my cousin is good at is slipping past his mother.”
Hermione raised her brows. “You think they don’t know you’re coming.”
Harry grinned. “That’s half the fun.”
She laughed again. “Did you get the nice present?” she asked, suddenly stern.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. You guilted me into it.”
“That’s my job,” she nodded without a hint of remorse, getting up after him. She was a little startled when he enfolded her in his arms for a hug, but quickly returned the embrace.
“Thank you,” he repeated into her hair. He didn’t know exactly how to say it, but he thought he might have been a mess in the making without knowing it before she opened the door. Even though he’d been exhausted, this was the first time he thought he might be able to sleep tonight.
She smiled into his chest. “Let me have your piece of wedding cake?”
“Oh, that’s a steep price,” he pretended to protest. Laughing, he pulled away. “Night, Hermione.”
“Good night, Harry.” She followed him out of the kitchen, smiling as he waved at her from the door before stepping outside and vanishing on the spot. She sighed as he disappeared.
He’d given her a lot to think about.
“Hermione?” Harry called, fiddling with his own tie as he looked at himself in the mirror in her hall. He owned a couple Muggle suits, but he wasn’t exactly used to wearing them, and it wasn’t like he’d ever had a little suit as a child- the Dursleys had never taken him anywhere or allowed him downstairs to any dinner party. “Are you ready?”
“Now I am!” her voice sounded breathlessly, closer to him than he’d expected, and he turned around- and felt his jaw drop a little.
She, like him, was wearing Muggle fancy clothing, a pale pink and kind of shimmery dress, stopping slightly above her knees. Her hair wasn’t sleek as she normally styled it for fancy events, but more elegantly curly than it normally was, half twisted up in a fancy do.
“What?” she said a little nervously as he continued to stare. “I haven’t dressed up for a Muggle party in ages, not since I was a girl- did I do something wrong?”
Harry cleared his throat. “No…no, most definitely not anything wrong. You look…you look beautiful,” he said honestly.
Hermione flushed a little with pleasure. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she smiled, looking him up and down. “Except…” she laughed and came up to him, reaching for his tie. “You mangled this.” It was automatic- her father had let her tie his tie for years, as a little girl it had made her feel special. It felt oddly natural doing it for Harry. Still, as she was finishing up, her eyes connected with his and her breath caught a little.
Harry smiled faintly. “Better?”
“Perfect,” she tried to smile back.
“I doubt that,” Harry said ruefully, his hand going up to his perpetually untidy hair as she reached for her purse. “I’m sure I’ll love Aunt Petunia’s reaction to my hair not being any better than it ever was.”
“I happen to like your hair,” Hermione teased, reaching up to ruffle it.
“You and you alone,” Harry said dryly, but smiled all the same. “Well…shall we?” He made a sweeping gesture toward the door as he reached for the present he’d set down. She laughed and curtsied before going out the door. He followed her and they grasped hands before Disapparating to a private little place Harry had scoped out, knowing the lack of a car would annoy his uncle.
“I sort of thought I’d never see them again,” Harry commented as the pressure vanished and they found themselves in a little alley. “Well, at one point I DREAMED of never seeing them again, but when I actually left…”
“Hey.” Hermione continued to hold onto his hand. “Do you not want to do this? We don’t have to, even now.” He raised his brows and looked her up and down. “You’d owe me a really expensive dinner,” she conceded without batting an eye, and he laughed. “But truly, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” he sighed. “It WAS nice of Dud to invite me. And I still want to see the look on Uncle Vernon’s face. If Dudley hadn’t wanted me to come, I might feel a little guilty, but it IS his wedding day.” He motioned for her. “Let’s go.”
The church was in sight as soon as they stepped out of the alley into the surprisingly nice day together, obviously planned for a wedding by the sight of the cars and the flowers. “This is a pretty church,” Hermione said, faintly surprised. She’d half expected, from Harry’s stories about his aunt, for it to be huge and pretentious and borderline gaudy.
“No doubt picked out by the bride to be,” Harry muttered, and she fought back a smile.
Hermione knew Vernon Dursley on sight, standing in the doorway of the church pretentiously greeting guests, having seen him in Kings Cross station before. He seemed somewhat smaller than she’d viewed him as a child, and yet a little wider at the same time.
She knew exactly the moment he saw Harry as she and Harry walked up the steps, and she had to choke back a laugh at the shell shocked expression on his face. She doubted he could have been more shocked if someone had batted a Bludger at him.
“Hi, Uncle Vernon!” Harry said cheerfully, stepping up to him. Hermione really had to struggle not to giggle as the man spluttered for a second.
“What…the devil…” he choked out at last.
“Oh, Dud invited me,” Harry said breezily, holding up his invitation as proof. Instinctively, Vernon Dursley’s gaze flew to where his son was standing with Petunia inside the church.
“Dudley!” Vernon called, sounding like he’d swallowed something very large and extremely unpleasant. Dudley turned around, and Harry was somewhat surprised to see he’d slimmed down a little- not a LOT, but to where he wasn’t quite the size of a killer whale anymore. He was even more surprised when his cousin seemed to virtually ignore his father’s outrage. Surprising respect filled Harry, and he made his way past his uncle to his cousin. Petunia Dursley looked stunned, but Harry didn’t pay much attention to her either just yet.
“Hi, Harry,” Dudley said, holding out his hand. It seemed easier than it had when they were 17, and Harry shook it.
“Hi, Dud. Congratulations.” Harry motioned to Hermione. “This is Hermione Granger.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dudley said a little awkwardly, and she realized he didn’t recognize her from any brief glimpse at the train station and was trying to figure out if she was a witch. Apparently, her Muggle dress WAS convincing, as he remained unsure and simply stayed quiet.
Harry realized after a minute that Petunia was staring at him in an odd fashion. “Hi, Aunt Petunia,” he said wryly. Was she STILL thinking he was just going to turn everybody in the room into frogs? Then he realized with a jolt that she was staring at his eyes. Not so much IN his eyes, AT his eyes. His eyes, without the glasses in the same style his father had worn, that must look so much more like his mother’s than before. He realized with another jolt that he had not seen Petunia Dursley since finding out the real reason behind her hostility to her sister…his mother. He opened his mouth to say something and found he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Where do the presents go?” he finally asked, a little less full of mocking bravado.
“Over…” Petunia pointed at a table beyond them, filled with presents.
“Right.” Harry nodded at his cousin. “Good luck, Dud.” He pulled on Hermione’s hand. “Come on.”
“That was friendly,” Hermione said wryly once they got out earshot.
“Trust me, that was nicer than they’ve ever been to me,” Harry returned, putting the gift down. “C’mon, let’s get seats.”
Unsurprisingly, given the last minute invitation, they were seated towards the back, but it turned out to be surprisingly good seating. Harry muttered a steady commentary of guests on Dudley’s side, people he’d seen and glimpsed from his time with the Dursleys. The stories of the snake and the smashed pudding suddenly seemed much more amusing than they had at the times Harry had originally told them to her, and Hermione was fairly sure the person in front of them thought she was mentally deficient- she started looking back every time Hermione broke into fresh giggles.
The actual wedding ceremony was blessedly short and fairly sweet- Dudley’s bride was about what Harry would have expected, a girl who vaguely reminded him of Pansy Parkinson but seemed somewhat plainer and nicer. Hermione, who he knew loved weddings, clapped enthusiastically with everyone else as the newlyweds exchanged their first kiss, and Harry gave Dudley a thumb’s up as the couple walked down the aisle. Surprisingly, he got a grin in return.
“And HERE is where Aunt Petunia’s job comes to light,” Harry said as he and Hermione, an hour later, stepped into the huge room that held the reception. Everything looked outrageously expensive, from the enormous and elaborate cake to the huge ice sculpture to the fancy little napkins.
“What IS that?” Harry asked, squinting at the ice sculpture. “A parrot?”
Hermione choked back a laugh. “You know it’s a swan,” she hissed.
“She’s better than she could be, but I have to say I don’t really see Dud’s bride as a swan,” Harry muttered back.
“Her dress was quite lovely,” Hermione protested.
Harry shrugged. “You look better.”
More than anything, it was the fact that Harry clearly meant it that startled Hermione out of continuing her protest; she flushed pink and focused her eyes on the cake.
“Boy!”
Harry heard Vernon Dursley hissing behind him but deliberately kept his eyes on the ice sculpture as if he hadn’t. “Lovely, isn’t it?” he said a little louder to Hermione, as if nothing had happened. Her lips twitched.
“Stunning,” she agreed.
Harry heard the low growl before Vernon rephrased. “Harry!” he said sharply now, and Harry turned around as if surprised to see him.
“Hi there, Uncle Vernon,” he said politely.
“What the DEVIL are you doing here?” Vernon demanded.
“Like I said, I was invited,” Harry said calmly.
“Well, Dudley clearly took leave of his senses…too in love to see straight…but you didn’t have to accept,” Vernon growled.
“Uncle Vernon, are you suggesting you raised me to be impolite?” Harry asked in mock shock. This time, Hermione made absolutely no attempt to hide her amusement. The knowledge that Harry had had to make his own food when he was sick as a little boy was still clear in her mind.
“What business do you have here?” Vernon snapped.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Clearly I’m planning to turn that ice sculpture into an owl, set it on fire, turn the cake to lava, and then kill all the guests.”
“You forgot steal all the presents,” Hermione reminded him serenely.
“That, too,” Harry acknowledged without batting an eye. “I really need a new crockpot.” He simply smiled as Vernon turned a dangerous purple and walked away. “He’s never yet learned that his life is easier if he just leaves me alone,” Harry commented. He braced himself as Petunia came his way next, but she stood before him seemingly unsure of what to say, her eyes still examining his. Hermione was watching them warily.
“Well…” Petunia said finally, her eyes straying from his. “If Diddykins wanted you here…” Harry nudged Hermione as she choked back another giggle at the nickname. “It was good of you to come then, I suppose.”
Harry raised his brows. “Thanks, Aunt Petunia.” Even though 16 years of dislike and resentment stood between them, he felt compelled to return the strained polite comment. “This all looks…very nice.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. Her eyes flickered to his and then she scurried away to stand next to her husband.
“What on earth was that about?” Hermione whispered.
“Tell you later,” he muttered. He hadn’t kept Snape’s Penseive a mystery from Hermione, exactly, but he’d never fully revealed to anyone what he’d seen in its depths, either time. Still, suddenly, in the face of his mother’s only other living relative, he felt the urge to tell someone, to bounce his thoughts off someone…to bounce his thoughts off Hermione. Now wasn’t the time, however, as the wedding party arrived. Harry and Hermione watched while the first slices of cake were cut- predictably, Dudley’s piece was enormous- and Hermione completely lost it at an overly sappy slide show of Dudley as a child, burying her face in her napkin to conceal her giggles. Harry’d had more practice, between Dudley’s school uniform and sucking up techniques, but he still had to fight back his own amusement. Even so, Hermione was back to smiling a little mistily as the couple shared their first dance. “I love weddings,” she sighed.
Harry laughed quietly. “You have no idea who they are except the less than kind stories I’ve told you.”
“I know, but still…”
Harry glanced at her sideways. “You completely planned your wedding out when you were about seven, didn’t you?”
Hermione flushed a little. “Well, I was more like five, actually.” Harry laughed quietly again. “It’s changed a bit, of course…wizarding customs and all that…”
“Mmmm hmmm.” Harry watched as the songs changed and more couples started drifting to the dancing floor. “Well…shall we?” he asked, standing up and holding out his hand to her.”
Hermione looked up at him, smiling in surprise. “But you hate to dance.”
Harry shrugged. “I know, but you love weddings.”
Hermione’s smile grew wider, and she placed her hand in his and followed him out to the dance floor.
“This is really quite a bit less nerve wracking then the Yule Ball,” Harry murmured as he put one hand on her back and held one of her hands against his chest with the other. “No one cares if I screw up this time.”
Hermione laughed. “Well, unless you trip and fall on your face, that is,” she teased, and he made a face at her.
At first it was simply fun. Harry, seemingly abandoning all awkwardness after a couple moments in the face of the true dancing disaster that was Dudley who’d already tripped on his bride’s dress twice, spun her around and twirled her underneath their arms and even playfully dipped her once, making her giggle. Then the song changed to an even slower one and he pulled her back up, closer against his body, and instinctively she linked her arms around his neck.
Harry couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the mood shifted, exactly when the romance of the moment hit him instead of it being two old friends goofing around with each other. Maybe it had never been that, since they stepped out on the dance floor, and it was just hitting him now, but it WAS hitting him now. She was so close…in the pretty dress she’d probably picked out just for this occasion…looking up at him with a dreamy, silly little smile on her face. His friend, one of his two oldest friends…and yet suddenly it felt like something else. He hadn’t exactly forgotten he was with his closest friend…it was more like the purely friendly aspect was somehow fading, becoming blurry. Perhaps she felt it too; her smile faded and her eyes locked onto his, as if they were still staring at each other like they had in her kitchen and yet had drawn much closer. Harry knew the shifting inside him hadn’t started in this moment, that he’d simply not been allowing himself to see it or feel it, but in this moment, on the dance floor, that strength- or was it weakness? Was it cowardly?- suddenly seemed so much harder to hold onto.
With a little sigh, Hermione finally broke their gaze rested her head against his chest as they continued to sway back and forth. Harry pulled her closer, resting his cheek against her hair, still locked in a moment he wasn’t sure he could break out of.
Moreover, he was less and less sure that he wanted to.