Harry/Hermione: "Fifty Times Harry & Hermione Can't Deny It" (3/5)
Title: Fifty Times Harry and Hermione Can't Deny It
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,833
Pairings: Harry/Hermione, with implied Ron/Hermione & Harry/Ginny
Status: In Progress (3/5)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre(s): Romance/Drama/Angst
Spoilers: all books, up to DH
Summary: AU. A look through Harry's and Hermione's eyes in terms of what could have been, little moments that mean much more than they perceive.
A/N: Some of these drabbles put Ron and Ginny in a bad light, so you've been warned. Only the true Harry/Hermione shipper will enjoy this to the full extent. Two more parts will come after this.
Part One Part Two
043. Natural
“I’m just saying that you might want to slow down a bit,” Ron says, frowning at Ginny. “Isn’t this the third guy in a year or something?”
“Ron,” Ginny huffs, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. “I’ve told you a million times we weren’t going to talk about this. What I do is my business.”
It was taking all of her self-control not to sigh. For the past week at The Burrow all Ron did was bring this up.
“Lay off her, Ron,” Harry chimes in, as if voicing her thoughts aloud.
“I’m your big brother, Ginny,” Ron persists, ignoring Harry. “I’m supposed to protect you. And besides, none of your friends date so often, do they? I mean, you don’t see Hermione dating five guys in a month.”
At his last statement Ron looks at her, and she shakes her head. “Please don’t bring me into this, Ron.”
Ron throws his hands up in annoyance as Ginny replies, “Well, I’m surprised that she’s not. I know a lot of guys that would love to date her right now.”
She can feel the heat rising to her face as Ron stares at her, and she smiles, shrugging.
Ron rounds on Ginny, and by the sight of Ginny’s smug smile she feels a little bit of anger creep up within her. Ginny had planned this.
Harry seems to sense her discomfort (he always does), and shifts a little on the floor. “Guys, come on. Let’s just stop talking about this.”
But Ron continues, looking hard at Ginny. “And what do you mean by that?”
“Have you even looked at her, Ron?” Ginny retorts, her face incredulous. “She looks so different compared to last year. Take her hair, for instance…”
At this Ginny looks at her. “Is your hair naturally wavy?”
“Er, yeah,” She replies, absentmindedly bringing a hand up to the brown strands of her hair. “My mum’s hair is wavy too, so…”
She trails off as Ginny nods, satisfied, her attention now back on Ron. “See? There are girls at school who would love to have her hair. Me, as well, instead of this red I got stuck with.”
Ginny’s finger curls around a lock of her ginger hair. “I mean, remember how her hair was a few years ago? No offense, Hermione. But now, it’s quite a nice change.”
All of them: Ginny, Ron, and Harry look towards her in unison, and Ron suddenly laughs. “Yeah, I remember the bushy hair. God, your hair was so big, Hermione. But it does look better now.”
“Ron!” Ginny says, outraged. “That was really rude! Just ignore him, Hermione.”
She just shrugs, smiling. “It’s okay, really. I bet Harry thought the same way.”
Her eyes meet Harry’s and he just shakes his head at her, his lips tugged upward in a reassuring smile. “Actually, I didn’t mind it.”
Suddenly, her day just became a whole lot better.
049. If
They sit in the tent in silence, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the horcrux at his neck.
He can feel the effect it has on him, how his peaceful mood (at the moment; not for long) seems to always spiral downward when it’s on.
Hermione has seemed to notice this (she notices everything, when it comes to him, ever since the beginning), and he doesn’t know how many times she’s offered to wear it. A lot of times, that much is sure.
But he always tells her no, that he’ll be fine, that he can handle it. Ron leaving has already taken a toll on her; she doesn’t need anything else sucking away at any good emotion she might have now.
He looks over at her, where she sits on her bed, her eyes poring over that book: The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
They’ve been quiet for a half hour or so now, simply because they don’t know what exactly to say, and as he studies her he can tell she’s exhausted. After spending most of the day making sure the enchantments are in place around them, then the rest wracking her brain about where the other horcruxes could possibly be hidden, he’s not surprised that she’s blinking rapidly.
“Hermione,” He says softly, and she looks up at him. “You look really tired. You should sleep. I’ll keep lookout tonight.”
He can tell, instantly, by her expression that she’s about to object, but he beats her to it. “I’m not taking no for an answer, Hermione. Sleep.”
After a second or two, she smiles gratefully, nodding. “Thanks, Harry. If you need me, just wake me up.”
He nods back.
She closes the book, putting it on the floor next to her bed, and lies back on the bed, enveloping herself in blankets.
Within a minute he knows she’s asleep by her steady breathing, and without really knowing why, he gets up and approaches her.
Her face is calm, a strand of her wavy brown hair hanging in her face, and his hand moves against its volition to brush it away.
But he stops himself at the last moment, at the risk of waking her.
She’s bound to wake up sometime in the middle of the night. That’s how it’s been for the past two days, ever since Ron left. He doesn’t know why that is, whether it’s sorrow over Ron coupled with nightmares, or something else entirely… but whatever it is, he always wakes to the sound of her cries.
He knows she tries to stifle them so that he won’t know. So that he’ll think she’s okay.
He feels a surge of anger towards Ron for doing what he did, most of all for what he did to her.
If he was in his place, he would never do something like that. If Hermione had feelings for him, he would never…
She stirs, rolling over to the side, and he moves back.
He walks quietly out of the tent, pushing the flap back, into the darkness, and tries to think about something else.
Something that doesn’t feel forbidden.
020. Clarity
“I don’t know what to do,” He says, and she looks over at him sharply.
His expression is frustrated and pained, and she swallows the lump in her throat.
It’s nighttime and they’re standing on her front porch, and her stomach is filled with butterflies knowing that Ron and her children are sound asleep within the house behind her.
“Ginny and I,” He continues, and she notices that he won’t look at her. “Things aren’t so good between us.”
“I’m sorry,” She breathes, and she can feel his eyes on her at this.
“She’s having an affair.”
She starts in shock, turning towards him, her eyes wide. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” He answers, certain, and she’s a little bothered by the lack of sorrow, of embarrassment, in his voice. “And the thing about it, Hermione, is that I don’t care. Maybe years ago I would have, but not now.”
“Why not?” She asks, even though in her heart she knows the answer. But she has to hear it from him.
“Because of you, Hermione. It’s always because of you.”
She blinks back tears, opening her mouth to say something, anything, but failing (like she has many times before).
“Just tell me,” Harry asks, and the desperation in his voice is almost too much for her to bear. “Tell me that you don’t feel the same way and I’ll go. And it’ll be back to the way it was before.”
She says nothing, because to do so would be an outright lie, and a few seconds later Harry’s lips find hers in the darkness.
And she doesn’t try to stop him.
015. Shaken
When Voldemort and the Death Eaters had first emerged from the Forbidden Forest, along with a sobbing Hagrid clutching Harry’s “dead” body (something she’ll always be able to vividly recall, with no chance of it ever being forgotten), the world might as well have ended for her at that moment. She remembered Ron and Ginny’s gasps next to her, Ginny’s screaming for Harry as well, and now, even hours after it all ended, she’s not sure if she had screamed too. She might have, surely, but her mind was screaming loud enough for it to be blocked out, screaming that it couldn’t be, that please, God, no, it couldn’t be true.
She had never been more scared in her life. Not because Voldemort had won, that the wizarding world would always be in that evil man’s grasp, but because Harry, her Harry, was dead.
It was something she had worried would happen for so long, and like a boggart, she had been confronted with it.
Then the battle had resumed, the shock was a constant ringing in her ears, and even as she had battled Bellatrix (that evil witch, bitch), all she wanted to do was curl up somewhere by herself and cry. Scream. Do something to drown out that ringing.
Then Harry had appeared out of thin air from behind that invisibility cloak (oh, so many memories they had throughout the years with that thing), ready to play the hero once again, and if it weren’t for Ron’s hand she’s absolutely sure she would have fainted right there on the spot.
And hours later he’s alive and well, explaining everything to her and Ron, and she can’t stop smiling.
He says he wants to go to the dormitories to sleep, and Ron nods understandingly, making his way back to his family in the Great Hall, but she stays.
Harry looks back at her, questioning, his tired green eyes so bright, and she breathes in deeply.
“For a while, I thought you were dead.” She says bluntly (because there’s really no other way to say it), and without giving him a chance to respond, she moves forward and hugs him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck.
She can’t remember the last time she’s ever done this (perhaps in fifth year, when he arrived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place), but it doesn’t matter, because as he holds her close she knows it was something long overdue.
“I actually thought you were dead,” She repeats quietly, the side of her face against his grown out, untidy (always untidy) black hair, and his hand threads through her own, resting at her back.
“I know,” He answers softly. “I’m sorry, but it was the only way to surprise Voldemort. To beat him for good.”
She laughs, and yet the tears still begin to slip down her face. “Always the hero, aren’t you?”
His laugh in return is music to her ears.
045. Who?
He sits in the attic, perusing the old photo albums he had taken out of the many piles of boxes.
He knows he had initially come up here for something other than this, but he can’t remember at the moment.
He puts the photo album of his parents Hagrid had made him in first year off to the side, picking up another one.
He’s halfway through it when he hears someone climbing up the stairs and he looks up, seeing the red hair, then the nine year old body, standing in the doorway.
“Lily,” He smiles, gesturing her over. “Come here; there’s something I want you to see.”
Lily hurries up to him excitedly, sitting down beside him, bringing her legs together Indian-style.
“What is it?”
“It’s pictures of when I was younger, at school.”
Lily leans closer to him to get a good look; at this point they’re both looking down at Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione together in a group photo, a photo they had taken shortly after the defeat of Voldemort.
“There’s me, then beside me is your mum,” He explains, pointing this out. “On the other side of me is your uncle Ron, and--”
“Aunt Hermione!” Lily exclaims happily. “She looks very pretty. I know why Uncle Ron had a crush on her.”
He grins, and Lily looks up at him. “When I was at Aunt Hermione’s house the other day, she was talking about what it was like when you and her were at school together. She said all the girls liked you because you were so handsome.”
He lets out a laugh at this, his eyebrows raising. “She said that?”
Lily nods, but then frowns. “I don’t know if she wanted me to tell you that, though.”
Suddenly, at that moment, there’s a bustle of noise downstairs, and a mixture of greetings. Today was a Sunday, and on this day there was always a picnic at his house. A few seconds go by and he hears Hermione’s voice downstairs.
He looks back at Lily. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t say a thing.”
He winks at her, and Lily smiles, relieved.
“Go ahead downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Lily does so, and as her footsteps descend the stairs he looks back at the photograph, at Hermione smiling up at him, her brown eyes shining.
After a moment he gets up, about to put the photo album back in the box, but thinks better of it.
He tucks it under his arm, smiling, as he makes his way down the stairs to see Hermione in person.
031. Forgiveness
The first couple of days in the Hospital Wing she is visited by many people, most often Harry, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and once he is able to leave, Ron.
Madam Pomfrey has been administering her many potions since; she says that within a week she’ll be able to leave the Hospital Wing.
She can’t wait; it gets very boring lying in bed all day.
But it’s essential that she takes it easy and gets her rest.
Today is just another day and everyone is at her bedside, and after twenty minutes or so they begin to leave due to Madam Pomfrey’s orders.
They begin to file out, one after the other, with Harry being the last to follow.
“Wait, Harry,” She calls, and he turns.
She looks at Madam Pomfrey. “Please, I need to talk to him. Just five minutes?”
Madam Pomfrey hesitates, then sighs, giving in. “All right, Ms. Granger. But only five minutes.”
And she leaves them alone to speak in private.
Harry approaches her bedside and she sits up a little more, wincing a bit. Even now, she still felt a little sore.
“Are you okay, Hermione?” Harry inquires, and she smiles back at him, her hands smoothing over the white covers.
“Yeah, it just still hurts a little.”
Harry opens his mouth to ask more but she stops him, wanting to change the subject.
“ I’m fine, really. There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
Harry nods, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed.
“I’m sorry about Sirius,” She declares. “But it wasn’t your fault, you have to know that.”
Harry’s face tightens, and her heart aches for him.
“But it was, Hermione,” Harry disagrees, looking down at the floor. “You were right. I should have studied Occlumency more. If I had only closed my mind to Voldemort, Sirius would not have--”
“Don’t, Harry,” She advises him, shaking her head. “Don’t do this to yourself. Sirius wanted to be there. If you were in danger, he was always going to be the first one there anyway.”
Harry swallows thickly, his face so tired, and she hates seeing him so defeated.
They’re quiet for a few seconds, then Harry says, “I’m sorry you have to be in here, Hermione. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“It’s okay, Harry,” She states gently. “I’m getting better.”
“I should never have let you come,” Harry persists. “Any of them. All of them-- they should have stayed.”
She smiles endearingly. “You know I never would have let you go alone. I would have been right beside you either way, whether you liked it or not.”
Harry lets out a light chuckle. “Yeah, I know.”
After a moment he takes her hand.
“Thank you,” Harry says quietly, his eyes boring into hers, honest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She grins, interlocking her fingers with his. “I know.”
010. Breakfast
“Mummy, we’ve got a surprise for you!”
She feels the weight of someone on the bed and she opens her eyes slowly.
Her four year old daughter, Helen, bounces up and down on the bed, her brown hair flying about her face.
She smiles, reaching out for her. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“Breakfast,” Harry answers, walking into the room with a grin, holding a tray.
“Happy Mother’s Day!” Helen announces, sitting down beside her.
“Oh, thank you,” She says happily, sitting up in bed.
Harry perches the tray carefully on her lap.
“Happy Mother’s Day, love,” He says, and kisses her.
The smile is plastered to her face as she looks down at the tray laden with everything: French toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, strawberries…
“I helped daddy make it,” Helen chimes in, proud.
“You did, did you?” She kisses Helen on the cheek, smoothing her long hair over her shoulders.
“And Christopher has already been fed, so you have the morning to yourself,” Harry states.
“Thank you, everything’s perfect,” She replies, and as Harry smiles back at her in response, she realizes that her life really can’t get any better than this.
040. Promises
She stares up at the ceiling from her cot in Ginny’s room, the only sound being Ginny’s rhythmic breathing.
Bill and Fleur’s wedding is only hours away, and she knows it’ll be a busy, fun day (hopefully), but she just can’t sleep.
So after a few more minutes of futile attempts to drift back to sleep, she gets up and quietly exits the room. She tiptoes down the stairs, thinking that maybe, somehow, she’ll get more relaxation from gazing out at the night on the front lawn.
But when she steps out of the house, she discovers that someone else apparently had the same thought.
The bright moon illuminates Harry’s figure; he’s standing with his arms against his chest, his face turned upward at the night sky.
As she moves near him he senses her presence and starts, looking behind him at her.
“Hey,” She says softly. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No. You?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
She stands beside him and tries to think of what else to say.
But Harry beats her to it. “Why can’t you sleep, Hermione?”
“I don’t know,” She replies. “I just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Harry answers in response. “Me too.”
She furrows her brow. “I know you’re worried, Harry.”
Harry doesn’t respond but she can practically feel his discomfort.
“I know you’re scared,” She goes on, looking at the side of his face she can see. “I’m scared too. But we’ll find a way through this. We will find the Horcruxes. All of them.”
Harry exhales deeply, finally looking towards her. “I really hope so, Hermione.”
She smiles, tucking a strand of her tousled hair behind her ear. “It’ll be okay, Harry. I know it.”
This is what she’s done for the past seven years: reassuring him, comforting him, promising him that everything, no matter what, will be all right in the end (always), even when the situation they’re in tells them otherwise.
And as Harry nods at her, looking back up at the twinkling stars, she knows she’ll do it a million times more.
024. Dark
Ever since Ron left, the nightmares started.
They happen every night now, and she always cries afterward. She tries to stop herself, but she just can’t help it.
She hopes Harry doesn’t hear; she does her best to quiet her cries with her face pressed against her pillow.
If he has heard, nothing in his behavior towards her has given it away.
He probably thinks she’s crying about Ron. That might’ve been true a couple of days ago, but not now. Now she’s just angry, because she knows that he’ll come back, asking for forgiveness, for things to go back to the way they were. And when he does, she also knows that he won’t be getting it so easily.
No, it’s the dreams that bother her now.
And they’re the same every night, but each night they get more and more vivid.
In the dreams she wakes up in this tent and Harry’s gone. She thinks he might be outside keeping lookout, so she exits the tent to check.
And he’s there.
But he’s lying on the ground, his back to her, unmoving. She turns him over and his green eyes (those beautiful green eyes) stare up at her, lifeless.
She forgets how to breathe, and she hears twigs snapping ahead of her, and she looks up to see the man himself, Voldemort, flanked by his followers.
His mouth curls up into a leer, his red eyes gleaming, as he directs his wand at her and says the spell, and she clutches Harry’s body.
And everything’s gone.
Her eyes snap open and she looks around wildly.
She can hear Harry breathing above her and she closes her eyes tight.
Even now, emptiness is all she feels.
And on the back of her eyelids, a dead Harry is all she sees.
Dead Harry, then darkness.
033. Transparent
Sometimes he has the feeling that Hermione can somehow see through him.
Any nonchalant expression he puts on; every nod of affirmation; every smile of reassurance… with those eyes of hers to study him with, she always knows how he’s truly feeling.
It’s different with Ron, even with Ginny. He can always find a way to sway their doubt of his well-being.
But not with Hermione.
That’s how it’s always been though, even ever since she had walked into his compartment on that first train ride to Hogwarts. She’s probably the only one who knows him the most.
He gazes into the fire, sitting back in the armchair.
Dumbledore’s funeral had just ended hours ago; tomorrow they would all go home.
Home-- for him, being back at the Dursleys once again.
It’s a little late and Ginny is asleep up in the girl’s dormitories. Ever since their talk this afternoon, she’s kept a respectable distance from him. But he doesn’t begrudge her for that.
Ron and Hermione are on the sofa in the middle of the Common Room, whispering to each other. It’s probably things about him, but he doesn’t much care.
After a moment he sees legs come to rest in front of him and he looks up, sighting Hermione.
“Harry,” She says, concern laced in her tone. “Are you all right?”
He manages a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Her eyes scrutinize him. “You’re tired. You should go up to sleep.”
Suddenly that seems like such a great idea.
He nods. “Yeah.”
He gets up, rubbing his eyes. “See you in the morning, guys.”
Ron nods; Hermione smiles comfortingly at him.
He makes his way to the stairs.
Yes, she always knows.
Part Four coming soon!