Intrinsicality

by RileyOR

Summary:

Hermione Granger is just trying to get through her fifth year with her sanity intact. Of course, with OWLs on the horizon, this was going to be a daunting task already. Throw in an international championship, foreign guests crowding her study environment, and Cho Chang going spare over the cancellation of quidditch and this is shaping up to be a year to remember for all the wrong reasons. And now she has Harry Potter looking to buddy up to her seemingly in an effort to woo Cho away from her increasing infatuation with Cedric Diggory. It's sort of cute... In fact, he's rather very cute.

Oh, bother.

A slice-of-life story in which Hermione finds love against the backdrop of the Triwizard Tournament, Neville is the Boy-Who-Lived, and Harry Potter is Gryffindor's aloof seeker. Probably mostly Hermione's POV, but Harry might be mixed in later on.

Notes:

So, this one formed out of a desire to put away the grandiose and complicated treasure hunt story of The Lily Academy and take things back to the simple roots of a Harry/Hermione schooltime romance. I thought it would be fun to have them meet later on and mingle having established separate identities at Hogwarts.

Now, some notes:

Harry is not the BWL, Neville is. Lily escaped Godric's Hollow with Harry by way of an emergency portkey. As such, Sirius is innocent, though Pettigrew is still at large, having slipped away before he could be caught.

Hermione was born three weeks premature and started Hogwarts in 1990, where she was sorted into Ravenclaw. She befriended Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe and is a bit more socially acclimated than she is in canon.

I think that's it.

Chapter 1: Inextricable

It was much too cold for this sort of malarkey.

As a bracing (actually quite chilly) breeze whipped Hermione Granger’s hair about her face, she let an irritated huff, digging around in her bag to produce a hair tie before gathering up the bushy mass as best she was able. Hopefully this one would hold long enough for Cho to get her cabin fever out of her system; her hair was notoriously unforgiving to all but the sternest of restraint, even when reinforced with an unbreaking charm. Once that was in order, she settled back to the task of attempting to page through a reading assignment from Professor Flitwick, to hopefully make some good of this diversion.

Unfortunately, the wind was being extremely uncooperative. Reading outside was a nice thought, a romantic sort of notion accompanied by visions of a woman in outdoorsy attire sitting under a tree in golden sunlight while reading a Jane Austen novel, poised and elegant and dignified. The stark reality, however, was a mane of unruly hair waging fierce battle against a persistent Scottish wind while a less-than-dignified girl finally gave into the elements and slammed her book shut, stuffing it into her bag. Resisting the urge to fold her arms and pout at the very concept of weather patterns, she focused instead on the shrinking figure of her best friend as she circled through the air. Poor Cho had been chomping at the bit, so to speak, since quidditch had been cancelled this year.

She had also fumed, at length, to Hermione over the pointlessness of doing so, given that there would be ample time between Triwizard events to play a game or two. Hermione, meanwhile, had brought up the fact that this was OWL year for them; it would be a tall order to focus on their studies in any capacity given the hubbub going on around them. Even among the Ravenclaws, however, such a thing wasn’t so drastic a concern to others.

In any case, Cho’s was the problem more reasonably alleviated, in the form of a pick-up game with the Hufflepuff team. Marietta had begged off already, citing a total lack of interest in the proceedings and a desire to remain out of the cold. Hermione lacked any such luxury; she was Cho’s flying coach, despite being only passably able to fly a broom herself.

Apparently, the old adage about those who can’t do teaching rang true in her case.

Thus, it was probably for the best that she found herself unable to page through a book in the presently windy environ; Cho would be extra anxious to keep on form, lest next year’s new quidditch captain decide she wasn’t up to snuff to remain on the team. The seeker pool was strong as of late: the handsome and affable Cedric Diggory, the arrogant but actually quite talented Draco Malfoy, and the quiet and mysterious Harry Potter. As the lone female in the position, Cho felt the need to shine in her own right.

Hermione, of course, was always onboard for female empowerment, even if it she bore no real interest in the world of sports.

And that was how, on a blustery November day when the cold of Scotland had transformed late autumn into early winter, Hermione met him.

“Hey. Mind if I sit here?”

Glancing down from watching Cho manage to turn flying into flirtation as she circled Cedric Diggory, Hermione met a set of startlingly green eyes. Goodness, but they were like emeralds! Shaking off the errant thought (was she the heroine in some romance novel?), she scooted over a bit to make room for the new arrival.

“Not at all, go ahead,” she told him.

“Appreciate it,” he said. He gracefully lowered himself into the seat, and Hermione glanced sidelong at none other than Harry Potter himself. She knew of him by virtue of keeping abreast of the quidditch rosters from year to year, in order to help Cho with her training, though her knowledge began and ended with his stats and some bits of student information. Fourth-year, Gryffindor, natural as opposed to technician, always the first to spot the snitch, and (most impressive) undefeated. On the field, he was a ghost, flitting around much like the snitch he pursued. Off the field, he was much the same, unknowable and rather aloof.

And Hermione was sitting next to him. She wondered how many jealous looks were being shot her way; Harry Potter was rather easy on the eyes, after all. She was sure he had only chosen this spot given the crowd in the stands; the Beauxbatons contingent seemed to have some quidditch fans that were happy for a distraction, and the very famous Viktor Krum had even graced the peasants with his presence, meaning his entire fan club—some of whom had likely never been to a quidditch game—had tagged along.

Idly, Hermione wondered what Harry was even doing here; he wasn’t the sort to scout the competition, to her knowledge. Surely he had better things to do. But as she shot him another look, she saw his eyes fixed on and following one particular and erratic set of movements. He wasn’t here to scout the competition.

He was here to watch her…

Someone, it seemed, was sporting a crush. Poor thing. Cho was smitten with Cedric Diggory, and judging from the playful banter Hermione had seen exchanged between the two, things were rather mutual. It was only a matter of time (and if the Triwizard Tournament kept up the Yule Ball tradition, an inevitability) before things took a step further than friendship.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to squash his dreams, not just yet. Maybe he’d figure it out for himself.

“So…you and Cho are good friends, then?” Harry asked her, his voice a bit too affected-casual to really sound so. He was fishing for information, to be sure. It was honestly sort of cute.

“Best friends,” she said, rolling her eyes. “For better or worse. It means I get dragged along to every quidditch outing of hers.”

“Not really a fan of the sport?” he asked. “I would have thought…”

“Oh, everyone thinks me so obsessed with it, I’m sure,” Hermione said. “I’m Cho’s flying coach. Being friends with her, I’ve read quite a few books on the subject, and I know a lot of the techniques and tricks to improve her game. I can’t fly a broom to save my life, but I can teach her how to.”

“Well…you do a good job,” Harry said. “She’s rather good at it.”

“I know, I’m so very proud of her,” Hermione said in a falsely fluttery voice. “My girl’s all grown up.”

Harry chuckled at that, a sound that Hermione quite liked. He had a dusky sort of laugh, one that came from deep in his chest. Fixing his eyes skyward once more, a frown marred his features as he saw Cho and Cedric chatting and laughing while the game began to take shape. Hermione watched as he reached up and began to toy with his gold and crimson scarf, gripping and twisting it.

“They seem…friendly,” he observed.

“Yes, they’re…quite close,” Hermione told him reluctantly. She didn’t like the way his face looked with a frown. “They’ve been friends for some time.”

“How did they meet?” Harry asked her in a voice that was now anything but casual. So much for his affected indifference, Hermione thought in amusement. “I mean…”

“Curious about the bustling social world of school quidditch teams?” Hermione asked him, and Harry smiled sheepishly at her. “Cedric would have to chase her off the field all the time last year when he became captain of the Hufflepuff team. Cho gets…obsessive about her training sometimes.”

“But she’s quite good,” Harry said.

“Because she trains,” Hermione told him. “Not everyone’s a natural like you.”

Harry’s face flushed a bit at that, and he shrugged. “I’m not all that amazing at it,” he muttered.

“Not that sort of natural,” Hermione insisted. “Although, you are quite a good seeker and an excellent flyer. Rather, you learn best by doing. You get up there, you figure out the best way to play your role, and no one really has to teach you in a hands-on sort of way. They show you the destination, and you get there. Cho’s a technician. She does best with frequent practice and constant course-correction. Cho learns best by being shown what’s expected of her and constantly repeating that.”

“That sounds tedious,” Harry said with a frown, and Hermione snickered a bit.

“Well, that’s because you’re – “

“A natural, yes,” he said.

“Neither is better than the other, and both have their strengths,” Hermione went on. “Naturals tend to learn more quickly and are better at improvising on the field. But they’re also a bit hard to teach, especially when that teaching rubs against what they’re already doing. In short, they’re stubborn.”

“Have you been talking to my mum?” Harry wondered aloud, and Hermione felt another little laugh bubble from her. “Are you going to be a teacher? You seem to have the measure of how to do it.”

“Possibly,” Hermione shrugged. “I’ve also considered working in the Ministry someday. There’s a dreadful amount of corruption and outdated notions of pureblood supremacy that are bogging down the system. So many laws that have been passed in the past decade seemed to be precisely aimed at stripping sentient creatures of any rights or freedoms they have, when they hardly had all that many to start with. Did you know, in the past five years, the amount of acreage devoted to centaur reservations has halved? And what are we doing with that land? Selling it off to rich purebloods who use it for bragging rights and nothing else. And that’s not to mention our abysmal treatment of house-elves. It’s utterly inhumane, the way they’re allowed to be treated, and all with the tired old justification of ‘They enjoy servitude.’ That’s what generations of brainwashing does to a species!”

She realized she’d gotten quite a bit loud, though given the din of noise growing around them as the game unfolded, it went mostly unnoticed, except by Harry. He was staring at her with an incredulous expression, eyes wide and lips quirked slightly in a smile.

“Goodness, you’d tear the whole place down,” he said, and Hermione sniffed a bit.

“Perhaps it needs to be,” she said in lofty tones.

Harry Potter grinned at her, a crooked sort of smile that did wonders for his handsome face. Effortlessly, it seemed, he reached up to brush a lock of his untidy hair from his eyes, looking for all the world like the cover to some sordid teen magazine.

And Hermione’s heart, traitor that it was, gave a solid thud in her chest at the sight.

Oh, she thought. Oh, no.

They spent the rest of the game nattering on about this and that. Harry would occasionally ask after some insight into Cho’s playing style, but mostly he was content to watch her play. The poor boy had it bad. Then, about an hour into the match, Cedric made a swift and effortless dive that went completely missed by Cho as she scoured the west end of the pitch. Groaning, Hermione could only watch as a dismayed Cho realized what had happened only once the crowd went up in cheers and Lee Jordan announced that Hufflepuff had won their little scrimmage.

“She won’t let that one go for a while,” she muttered.

“Cho?” Harry asked.

“She beats herself up for exactly this sort of thing,” Hermione sighed. “Any victory is luck, any loss is her own personal failure. I’ve been trying for absolute years to convince her that she’s actually quite talented. I’ve even gotten through to her a few times. And then she cycles right back through it.”

“…You’re a good friend,” Harry said, and Hermione blinked several times at the statement. “She’s lucky.”

“Well,” Hermione shrugged, feeling her face heat up a bit at the earnestness in his expression, “she’s returned the favor a hundred times over. I expect if it wasn’t for Cho and Marietta, I would have become some sort of social hermit, quite alone with my books.”

“Hermithood isn’t so bad,” Harry said with a small shrug. “Does keep you a bit out of the loop when it comes to the quidditch gossip, though.”

Hermione smiled over at him, giving him a gentle little punch in the shoulder. “Hey, don’t give up hope,” she said. “Maybe all she needs to do is get to know you.”

He looked a bit gobsmacked at that, a bashful expression on his face now that Hermione found rather…adorable.

Oh, no.

“Is it so obvious?” he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand.

“Only very extremely,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her anything.”

“Maybe you could put in a good word for me?” he asked with a small grin, and Hermione snorted out a laugh.

“It’s hardly so easy as that!” she said. “Besides, I’ve only just met you. If you want the best friend’s vote of confidence, it takes time.”

“…Right,” Harry said, with such a befuddled expression on his face that Hermione couldn’t stop an honest-to-goodness giggle from escaping. What was this boy doing to her!?

She was saved trying to formulate a response by a thunderous set of footfalls climbing the stairs to the stands. Around them, without either of them really noticing, the seats had begun to empty as the game wound down, and the players had gone their separate ways.

Cho, as always, went straight for her coach, and the expression on her face was one of the utmost woe.

“He caught the thing without me even seeing it!” she all but shrieked, oblivious to Harry’s presence. “I’m utter garbage at this game, I’m resigning, I’m not even trying out next year – “

“Oh, yes you are, you dramatic woman!” Hermione said, springing to her feet. Behind her, Harry watched with evident bemusement as she ushered her friend toward the stairs. He managed a small wave, which Hermione returned before escorting Cho back to Ravenclaw tower for another pep talk.

The whole way there, she found herself musing on Harry Potter, his brilliantly green eyes, his perpetually windswept hair, and the rare but wonderful smiles and chuckles and moments of levity that slipped through his aloof façade.

Oh, this was going to be so complicated, she was sure.

…

Later that night, Hermione finally managed to make a decent go at Flitwick’s reading assignment, settled into a cushy high-backed chair in the decidedly more hospitable Ravenclaw common room. The large and high-windowed room was quite dark and had emptied out as the younger years had finally conceded the battle to their own tiredness and retreated to bed.

Those fifth-year and above had remained, however, consigned to a doom of essays and reading assignments in preparation for OWLs and NEWTs, the standardized tests that determined any witch or wizard’s future. Even sixth years—who had no such major academic trials but needed to redouble their efforts to prepare for the dreaded NEWTs at the end of seventh year—were revising and cramming every iota of information they were able.

One girl had already gone catatonic, hunched back into her chair and staring unseeingly out the window while wondering aloud if life as a muggle would be so bad.

“Poor dear,” Marietta muttered with a look at her. “I heard she didn’t make the grade for NEWT-level Potions, and now she’s having rather an existential crisis.”

Marietta Edgecombe—the third of their little group—was kind enough if a bit abrasive at times. She was part of Hermione’s social life by virtue of the simple fact that she was friends with Cho for reasons of which Hermione wasn’t entirely sure. Still, she was here to stay, and Hermione couldn’t deny that she was an excellent and dedicated study partner. Her somewhat narrow face was framed by long curly locks of strawberry blonde hair, and her heavy eyebrows gave her a constantly skeptical expression that rather suited her, in Hermione’s opinion.

She was the most permanent fixture in Cho’s social life apart from Hermione herself; Cho also kept up a robust circle of acquaintances, all of them the giggly and vapid sort of girl that Hermione…rather didn’t enjoy spending time with. When Cho let herself get roped into outings with them, Hermione retreated to the library.

Of course, Cho, being pretty and slightly freckly and with long sleek black hair and gorgeous cinnamon brown eyes (the same color as Hermione’s but somehow much prettier), was bound to attract equally pretty friends and hangers-on to gossip and giggle and gush over boys. This was something Hermione was, to her shame, a bit bitter over at times—but Cho insisted that Hermione and Marietta were her “very best friends”.

“D’you suppose there was something subconscious happening?” Cho asked, seemingly apropos of nothing.

“…What?” Marietta blurted. “Context, please, Cho.”

“At the match today,” Cho went on, and Marietta sighed.

“Oh, for goodness’s sake,” she grumbled. “Not still going on about that, are you?”

“All I’m saying is, maybe I knew on an unconscious level that Cedric would have wanted to win, and I was trying to butter him up to get him to like me even more?” Cho suggested.

“Cho,” Marietta said in flat tones. “Cedric was the opposing team’s seeker. Of course he wanted to win. That doesn’t take any subconscious intuition to realize; it’s literally the point of the game.”

“Well…good point,” Cho muttered.

“I think what Cho means to say is, subconsciously, she wanted Cedric to win and be happy, and so without meaning to, she didn’t play at her best,” Hermione pointed out. “Which is possible; emotions can really muck with your game.”

“Yeah, that,” Cho said with a gesture at Hermione. “Hermione, you’re so good with words.”

“I do know quite a few of them,” Hermione admitted.

“Cho!” a voice chirped out, and they all glanced up to see Padma Patil striding up, followed by Lisa Turpin Mandy Brocklehurst. Padma wore a bright smile as she paused near Cho’s seat. “Hey. Just wanted to say thank you so much for telling me about that conditioner!”

“Oh!” Cho said. “It worked out well for you, then?”

“Feel how soft my hair is now,” Padma said, sweeping her plait of onyx hair forward for Cho to run her fingers through.

“It’s lovely,” she said admiringly. “I told you.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Padma said, flipping her hair back and running her fingers through it. “Just so you know, my sister’s fixing to track you down tomorrow and grill you over your little chat with Harry today.”

“With—wait, with Harry?” Cho asked, her gaze now fixing curiously on Hermione. “Harry Potter? The Gryffindor seeker?”

“He was chatting with Hermione at the game today,” Padma said as though Hermione weren’t even there. “He never talks to people, Parvati says.”

“That’s intriguing,” Cho said with a small smile. “I wonder what he wanted.”

If you only knew, Hermione mused. “He just happened to sit next to me and wanted a chat,” she shrugged.

“Well, Parvati is going to want to know exactly what you did to get his attention,” Padma said. “So, be ready for that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Hermione huffed. “He just wanted – “ She fell silent, realizing Harry would very likely not want his crush known not only to Cho herself but to the biggest gossip in Ravenclaw. It would be all over the school before lunch. “He was looking for tips on how to fly well. He knows I’ve been coaching you, Cho.”

“You didn’t give away any trade secrets, did you?” Cho asked with a frown, and Hermione scoffed.

“I would never,” she insisted. “Anyway, his flying style doesn’t match my coaching practices at all, so we just wound up chatting about this and that.”

“About what and what, though?” Padma pressed.

“Why is it so absolutely important to know?” Hermione shot back.

“Because Harry never talks to anyone,” Lisa said. “He’s a recluse.”

“And he’s handsome,” Mandy cooed.

“And he’s a seeker,” Lisa added. “Seekers are mysterious. Emblematic.”

“Enigmatic,” Hermione corrected her.

“Whatever,” Padma said. “The point is, you’ve done something to attract his attention and keep it, and Parvati is going to want to know.”

“Well, she’s quite free to want all day long,” Hermione huffed. “I expect she’ll need to get used to disappointment. What Harry and I were discussing is our business, no one else’s, and frankly inconsequential anyway. He’s a boy, not some puzzle for her to puzzle over.”

“Alright, well, just letting you know that Parvati’s likely going to corner you tomorrow, and I can see she’s going to really regret that,” Padma said with a dubious smile. “I’m off to bed, then.”

“’Night, Padma,” Cho said, and Marietta made a sound from where she’d retreated behind a book, apparently bored with the proceedings.

“Goodnight, Padma,” Hermione said. “…Sorry for…rather going off on you.”

“It’s okay, I’m quite accustomed to how very passionate you can be,” Padma said with a wink. “I expect Parvati will be, at least.”

She bade them one last goodnight, and the three fourth-year girls retreated upstairs.

“Harry Potter, hm?” Cho mused.

“I suppose he is rather dashing,” Hermione said, wondering if she could plant the idea in her friend’s head of Harry being an eligible sort. Did she even want to? Her own burgeoning feelings were causing her some confusion, but she also felt some obligation to help out her new…friend? What did Harry Potter even qualify as?

Well, whatever the case, it didn’t seem to matter; Cho utterly misread her intentions anyway.

“Oh, do you think so?” she asked. “You’ve never really shown an interest in anyone before.”

“I’m—that is not the case at – “

“You’re into Potter?” Marietta asked. “That’s surprising. He doesn’t seem your type.”

“I wasn’t even aware that Hermione had a type,” Cho said incredulously. “You always seem too invested in your studies and whatnot to make time for boys.”

“I’m hardly some unromantic bookworm,” Hermione muttered a bit defensively, and Cho smiled at her.

“No, I wasn’t saying that, I promise!” she insisted. “If Harry’s your type, he’d be lucky to have you.”

This conversation had gone wildly off course.

“All I said was that he’s somewhat dashing,” Hermione insisted. “It was an observation, not some blushing confession of love.”

“Okay, okay,” Cho said with a small laugh. “Subject dropped.”

“For now,” Marietta added, eyeing Hermione mirthfully from behind the cover of her book.

Oh, lovely.

000

The promised inquisition from Parvati Patil happened shockingly early, before Hermione had even made it into the Great Hall for breakfast the very next day. As she was crossing the Entrance Hall, a voice called out.

“Hermione! Hey, Hermione Granger!”

It sounded almost like Padma, though she could hear that either Parvati’s voice was a degree or so higher or she was pitching her voice up for some girlish reason Hermione couldn’t fathom. Either way, Hermione heaved a small sigh, resigned to her fate, and paused near the hourglasses tallying the house points.

“Good morning,” she said. “You’re Padma’s sister? Parvati?”

“Yeah,” Parvati said, hurrying up with another girl in tow. This one was blonde with bright blue eyes and the sort of knowing smile that set Hermione’s teeth on edge. A gossip, a collector of rumors and hearsay who loved nothing more than to know things people didn’t want her to and to parrot those things around so as to soak up that momentary high of being the one “in the know”.

Hermione hadn’t even learned her name, and she already didn’t like the girl.

“So, I heard you and Harry Potter were getting pretty close at the quidditch game yesterday,” Parvati spoke.

“Laughing and giggling and stuff,” her blonde friend added.

“We were just wondering what exactly you talked about,” Parvati said.

“Oh, this and that,” Hermione said with an airy wave of her hand. Parvati didn’t seem overly satisfied with that answer, a small pout puckering at her mouth.

“Yes, but what specifically?” she pressed.

“Why is it so important that you know?” Hermione countered. “It was a private conversation.”

“Because Harry never talks to anyone,” the other girl said. “He’s quite the recluse.”

“And he’s handsome,” Parvati pointed out, as though that made all the difference in the world. “It would be nice to know a bit more about him, I suppose.”

“So because you think he’s good-looking, that gives you the right to violate his privacy?” Hermione questioned, glancing at the blonde girl. “I do apologize, but what is your name?”

“Lavender Brown,” the girl replied.

“Lavender,” Hermione said. “Lovely to meet you, by the way. Now, both of you, conversations that are had between two people are had with the expectation that the contents of those conversations will remain private. It’s no concern of yours what Harry and I spoke about, and it’s no business of yours to go rooting around and trying to find out. And to act like you’re entitled to know is entirely inappropriate and arrogant.”

“We’ve been trying to get to know Harry for years, and he just walks right up to you?” Lavender spat.

“Yes, he did,” Hermione said back. “Again, I don’t understand why this is at all your business, either. Now, I’m going to have some breakfast and a cup of tea with – “

“Oi, Granger,” a boy’s voice spoke, and all three looked to see Harry approaching. Hermione couldn’t stop the small thud in her chest as she met those alarmingly green eyes of his, but she hopefully schooled her features into quite a casual smile. Harry strode right past the two gossips and paused near her with his hands in his pockets. “Uh…got any plans after breakfast?”

“…I don’t,” Hermione said, following him now as he ambled toward the Great Hall. “I’m actually all caught up on my homework.”

Of course, that wasn’t entirely true, but her third draft of the Potions essay due next week could surely wait.

Goodness, what was this boy doing to her?

“Would you like to, uh…meet up after?” Harry asked her. “Only I could use some help with my Arithmancy homework, and…well, you Ravenclaws are all swotty types, right?”

“You sure know how to flatter a girl,” Hermione told him flatly, and he shrugged in a helpless way, flashing her that half-crooked smile again.

“It’s a gift, I tell you,” he said. “Help me out, please? I’m down to an ‘A’, and if I bring that home to Mum for Christmas, she’ll start getting on my case about the quidditch team interfering with my studies.”

“Is it?” Hermione asked him with an arched eyebrow, and the boy huffed at her as they paused near the door to the Great Hall.

“Hardly,” he said. “Quidditch gives me a chance to decompress. It’s why my grades are falling; less practice, less time to get out and fly.”

“Is that the excuse?” Hermione asked him with an impish smile, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“You and Mum would get along famously,” he muttered.

“And this isn’t all some ploy to get into Cho’s good graces?” Hermione asked him, folding her arms. Harry had the good grace to look abashed at her claim.

“Alright, full disclosure, that crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But—I really do need your help. You’re top of your year, some people even say you might be the smartest girl in all of Hogwarts.”

“Okay, you do know how to flatter a girl,” Hermione said with a small laugh. “Fine, then, I suppose I could help you out. Should we meet in the library?”

“Couldn’t we perhaps find somewhere less sleep-inducing?” Harry suggested, and Hermione let a gasp of mock affront.

“You would insult my most favorite place in Hogwarts?” she asked him with her hands on her hips. “Then how about the lounge on the second floor? Does that sound less dreadfully boring?”

“Significantly,” Harry said. “Thank for being willing to lower yourself to mingling with the rabble.”

Hermione smirked at him. “I’m simply too kind for my own good is all.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Harry insisted. “I suppose I’ll see you there?”

“Save me a seat near the fire, won’t you?” Hermione asked him, feeling her heart giving a few steady thuds in her chest as she watched him back away and send her a mocking salute before hurrying off. Ignoring the glowering looks being sent her way from Parvati and Lavender, Hermione turned and headed into the Great Hall, chiding herself.

She was in so much trouble.

Chapter 2: Entwined

Tutoring Harry Potter was an odd experience; in all her imaginings of being made to help an athlete raise his grades, Hermione had naturally defaulted to the portrayals often shown on the telly, of a musclebound lunkhead wondering why he would ever need such assistance because his future was obviously one of sports and fame and fortune. Inevitably, he came around to the “nerd’s” point of view, and often she ended up falling for him after some montage of her getting a new wardrobe or a new haircut or finally discovering makeup and being revealed to have been beautiful the whole time. The whole thing reeked of misogyny and some mixed message that good-looking people could be smart but smart people also had to be good-looking to be of value.

In any case, the real deal was quite far removed from what the movies would have had Hermione believe. Harry Potter didn’t scoff or sneer or wonder when he was going to be using the knowledge imparted in the “real world”. He seemed in fact a bit frustrated at his lack of understanding, a small frown on his face as he studied the page before him.

“I was already rubbish at maths in primary school,” he grumbled. “Now we’re mixing it into magic.”

“Maths is easy,” Hermione insisted. “It doesn’t change, it’s always true.”

“That’s true, but they just keep adding things on,” Harry said, glancing up at her. “They trick you with addition, addition is easy. Then it’s subtraction, we’re just going the other direction. Next thing you know, bam, times-tables.”

“And then long-division?” Hermione said with a smile.

“Oh, don’t get me started on long-division,” Harry said. “Uncle Sirius took one look at my long-division work one day and asked if it was some kind of rune array.”

Hermione giggled, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair away from her face. “Oh—you went to a muggle primary school? I don’t know why that only just registered with me.”

“I did,” Harry said. “Mum’s a muggle-born. When Dad died, she rather grew jaded with the magical world and took a bit of a break from it. I wouldn’t say I grew up completely ignorant of it all, but I have a foot in both sides, I’d say.”

“I—didn’t know that about your dad,” Hermione said, chewing nervously on her lip. Harry waved off any apology that might have been given, offering only a small shrug.

“It was years ago,” he said. “I was only a year or so old. That…sort of thing happened a lot during the war.”

“It was so shocking to hear that there had been a war,” Hermione said. “And not terribly long ago, either. I suppose it’s at least comforting that the good guys won?”

“Sort of,” Harry said. “Mum says that for all that Voldemort was killed, he wasn’t totally defeated. Lots of his followers managed to bribe their way out of trouble, and now they live lavish lifestyles, throwing money at the government to get their backward policies put in place. Like your centaur acreage.”

“Your Mum sounds like a smart woman,” Hermione pointed out, and Harry grinned.

“Yeah, she is,” he said fondly. “And then she has a son who can’t even manage more than a passing grade at Arithmancy.”

“Hey,” Hermione said in a gently chiding tone, “I bet she’s proud of you, whatever you do. Believe it or not, and you mustn’t ever tell anyone I said this, there’s more to life than getting good grades.”

“…Are you feeling alright?” Harry asked with a roguish grin, and she snickered.

“Oh, shut up,” she huffed in playful tones, glancing down at his paper. Reaching across the table, she tapped at one of his answers. “Pi to the seventh digit, not the fifth.”

“Right, right,” Harry said, scribbling in a couple more numbers. “Seven’s the magic number, innit?”

“Literally so,” Hermione said. “So, have you talked to Cho recently?”

“…A bit,” Harry sighed. “Angelina Johnson, that’s the – “

“Gryffindor quidditch captain,” Hermione said. “I know.”

“Right,” Harry chuckled. “She’s been having the team practice, and she’s even been testing out keepers, just sort of a soft tryout for next year. Why should everything stop just for some tournament, right?”

“Exactly,” Hermione said.

“Well, we’ve run across Cho a couple of times, and I’ve said hello, made a bit of small talk here and there,” Harry muttered, seeming a bit glum about his limited success. Hermione shot him a small smile.

“It’s progress, isn’t it?” she pointed out.

Of course, she knew for a fact that Cho was under the (admittedly quite correct) impression that Hermione had feelings for Harry and was thus not likely to “steal” him away. And that wasn’t to even mention the fact that things with Cedric were heating up into full-on flirting as of late. But if Harry knew either of these things, well…it would break his poor heart—but more importantly, he might decide that future study sessions were a pointless endeavor. And Hermione enjoyed spending time with him too much to risk such a thing.

It was selfish, but there it was.

“So, any promising new talent for the keeper position?” Hermione asked him, hoping to distract him from his moping. It worked, and Harry gave a thoughtful hum.

“There are two frontrunners at the moment,” he said. “There’s a fifth-year boy, Cormac McLaggen. Pretty-boy, kind of a ponce, but he plays well enough. Thankfully, I don’t have to deal with him much, but he’s a backseat captain.”

“Trying to run the team and impress everyone?” Hermione guessed, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Angelina’s about had it with him and told him if he tries to tell Fred and George Weasley how to hit a bludger again, she’ll let them practice on his head,” he said.

“I’ve always had a lot of respect for Angelina,” Hermione said with a nod. “Who’s the other frontrunner?”

“Fred and George’s little brother, Ron,” Harry said. “He’s in my year. Decent bloke, bit of a confidence issue. Once he can get over his performance anxiety, I think he could be pretty solid. And he’d mesh with everyone better than McLaggen.”

“Sounds like you’re ready to go up against Angelina for captaincy,” Hermione said. Harry let a small noise of amusement, shaking his head.

“I’m not the leadership sort,” he insisted. “I don’t care for attention.”

“That’s obvious,” Hermione said in a mutter. “You’re an enigma even to your own house.”

“I rather prefer it that way, I suppose,” Harry said. “When I got on the train to go to Hogwarts, when I got sorted into Gryffindor, no one really paid me much mind. They all sort of paired off, I suppose. Dean and Seamus, Neville and Ron. No one really cared who I was until I became the youngest seeker and their little quidditch darling.”

“And now that they do, it’s hard to be sure if they’re hangers-on or actually looking to be friends,” Hermione conclude, and Harry nodded.

“Basically,” he said.

“That sounds rather lonely,” Hermione said with a small frown.

“I suppose at least I have a friend now,” Harry said. He flashed a small smile at her, one that was different from his usual half-smirk. This was a thoughtful little grin, one that did unfair things to Hermione’s poor heart to see. “Unless you’re just a hanger-on as well.”

“Oh, hardly,” Hermione said. “I have my own quidditch star to bask in. I’m just here to make sure your Mum doesn’t disown you for bad Arithmancy grades.”

“She’ll probably send you a Christmas card,” Harry told her.

000

November trudged onward, and with the Triwizard Tournament in full swing, the castle grew a bit crowded as members of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingent frequented the corridors and even sat in for the occasional lecture. Hermione actually enjoyed quite a spirited chat with a Beauxbatons boy in her Ancient Runes class, and she even impressed him a bit with her conversational French.

She was far from bilingual, but it had made last summer’s holiday enjoyable.

An unfortunate side-effect of this mingling of the cultures, however, was a decided dip in the quality of her favored study environment.

Viktor Krum, it seemed, was a bit of a bibliophile. At the very least, he seemed to have a certain appreciation for the library itself; Hermione saw him lingering about in the shelves nearly every day, picking idly at books and scanning spines but never seeming to settle on a title. She supposed he could have been extremely picky—and that was his prerogative. But his constant presence invited the equally constant presence of his disruptive group of fangirls. Chittering and giggling and otherwise behaving like a bunch of imbeciles, they lurked always a row or two away, watching Krum and whispering amongst themselves the same litany of comments about his hair or his eyes or whatever other physical trait they’d chosen to obsess over.

He wasn’t even all that good-looking, really. It was obviously his fame they were attracted to, the allure of celebrity. A star quidditch player and a Triwizard champion? What groupie could resist?

Hermione rather thought they were a bit pathetic, and now they were ruining valuable study time for those that needed it. Finally unable to stand another breathy giggle as Viktor Krum emerged from a row of shelves and sent his followers quietly scurrying away so as not to get “caught”, Hermione shut her book with a bit more force than was necessary and packed it away in her bag. Standing, she marched for the door, figuring she might as well see if her new second favorite study spot was available.

Minutes later, she was descending the spiral staircase to the second floor, her feet seemingly of their own accord finding their way to the sofa she had shared with Harry only days before. It was next to a window that afforded a nice view of the Black Lake as it shimmered in the midday sun, and though there was a low burble of conversation and such happening around her, it was nonetheless somehow quieter than the interrupted stillness of the library.

If the trend continued, this little lounge would actually usurp the top spot on her list of favorite study haunts. Granted, she would still have to venture in to retrieve the occasional book, but it wasn’t as though Krum was following her around, leading his posse in his wake like some lurking obstruction to her peace.

That would simply be mad.

As the sun sank lower toward the peaks in the distance, the lamps and torches along the corridors sprang up, and Hermione found herself depending on firelight more than the shrinking dusky glow outside. It was warm, cozy as only Hogwarts was able to be in the right conditions, and Hermione felt her eyelids becoming quite heavy as she turned a page in her book.

And one heavy blink later, it was quite a bit darker than it had been, with shafts of moonlight now spilling white light over the chairs and the dying coals of the lounge’s fireplace.

Rousing her stiff and aching muscles, she chided herself as she realized what had happened; she’d fallen asleep! Curse the lounge’s comfy couches. At least the ergonomically-designed chairs in the library were unforgiving enough to dissuade a nap except under extreme circumstances (and Hermione would know).

“Bugger,” she muttered to herself. Packing her book into her bag, she stood to check her watch and gave a choke at what she saw. It was past ten! “Oh—bugger!”

“Now that’s hardly polite language,” a voice spoke nearby, one quite familiar and not at all expected. Glancing about, Hermione saw that she was alone. A ghost? One good at imitation?

“Harry?” she said softly, muffling a yelp behind her hand when the boy in question’s head seemed to appear from nowhere, wearing a grin. “H-Harry! You – “

“Who’s there?” a man called, and Hermione recognized the voice of the new caretaker, Quentin Kowalski. Kindly but unforgiving of any flouting of the rules, he was said to be a marked upgrade from Argus Filch, whose sacking had been cause for celebration among the many students terrified of his menacing demeanor and vocal preference of Hogwarts’s outdated and medieval punishment methods.

Hermione had never in her four-and-some-change years of education given Quentin Kowalski reason to so much as shoot a suspicious glance her way. In fact, they had had a couple of friendly discussions over some of the more obscure cleaning charms that existed. To be discovered out so blatantly past curfew would not look good for her. A prefect caught out after hours and not on patrol—oh, she was a prefect! This was not a good look for her!

“Oh—I’m so stupid!” she hissed at herself, and Harry’s floating head snickered at her.

“Stay calm and stay quiet,” he said, and his body appeared beneath his neck as he unfurled a long a flowing cloak made up a silvery material. “And…pardon my forwardness.”

With that, he slunk right up next to her and threw the cloak around the pair of them, pressing himself against Hermione. Immediately, she felt her face heat up as he engulfed her in his presence, the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his chest and his breath puffing against her hair. The air under the cloak was a bit humid and smelled strongly of laundry soap and deodorant mixed with some third unnamable scent that she knew she would come to associate with him and only him.

It was just as well that she needed to keep quiet; she doubted she would be able to say anything if pressed.

Footsteps drew closer, and the caretaker himself strode into view, his lit wand held aloft before him. Scanning the lounge, his gaze passed right over the pair, and a glance downward showed Hermione that they weren’t even casting a shadow, the light passing right through them as though they weren’t at all there.

An invisibility cloak…

“Stay quiet,” Harry breathed into her ear, each puff sending a jolt of shivers up her spine. Was he doing this on purpose!? Struggling as she was to steady her breathing and bring her hammering heart under control, the last thing she needed was this accursed boy making her hyperventilate.

Kowalski meandered over to the lounge area, and Harry steered them away with quiet footsteps. At the caretaker’s heels was a small dog with a long body and stubby legs; a dachshund named Sir Sniffs. As the canine began to snuffle around the floor near the couch Hermione had just been occupying, Kowalski placed a hand on the cushion.

“Still warm,” he muttered, and Hermione’s heart leapt to her throat. “Sir Sniffs, got a scent?”

“Absconde odos,” Harry whispered out softly.

Abruptly, that wonderful aroma left the confines of the cloak, leaving the air curiously clean of any noticeable scent. Unable to fight a frown, Hermione nonetheless watched with relief as Sir Sniffs pawed in a circle before letting a plaintive whine.

“Aw, that’s alright, boy,” Kowalski said. “C’mon, we might be able to catch ‘em before they make it back to their common room. I reckon we’ve a one-in-four chance, don’t we?”

Sir Sniffs let a happy yip, and the pair took off. It was only once the caretaker’s puffing breath and the excited skitter of paws faded that Harry relaxed.

“Right,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Hermione said softly. “Um…thank you. What…what are you doing out here?”

“I was on my way down to the kitchens to nick something to snack on,” Harry shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Harry, you shouldn’t steal from the kitchens,” Hermione huffed, aware of the rumble she could hear with his every word, pressed as she was against his chest. It was immensely distracting, making it quite difficult for her to muster up the will to be cross with him for flouting the rules.

She was a prefect! Not that she was acting at all like one right now.

“Well, it’s not even really stealing, I’d say,” Harry said. “Soon as you get into the kitchens, the elves can’t wait to give the food away. I think the only reason they have the entrance hidden is so they don’t empty the…whole…larder… What?”

Hermione knew she was most likely giving the boy quite a frown. “Elves? House-elves?”

“…Oh! Um, right, well… Yes, Hogwarts has a lot of house-elves,” Harry said. “But they’re treated humanely and all that. It’s not like they get beaten or anything.”

“Could I come with you down to the kitchens?” Hermione asked him after a brief pause, trying to sound innocently interested. Harry, it seemed, saw right through the ruse.

“So you can try to organize some sort of revolution?” he asked her. “I’ll take you down there if you promise to go in with an open mind.”

“You can’t honestly support the indentured servitude of an entire race, can you?” Hermione pressed, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’m not saying that the whole system couldn’t use some fairly big changes,” he said. “Believe me, Mum’s talked my ear off about all that’s wrong with the Wizarding World.”

Hermione was really beginning to like Mrs. Potter, and she hadn’t even met the woman.

“But the way to do that isn’t to start an uprising in the Hogwarts kitchens,” Harry went on. “D’you know much about house-elves?”

“I—I’ve read about them,” Hermione said. “And how they’ve been enslaved for as long as wizard society has been – “

“Have you actually spoken to any of them?” Harry asked. “You can read all you want, but if you want to make a difference in the lot of a people, you should probably get to know them, yeah?”

“…That’s rather a good point, I suppose,” Hermione admitted.

…

Under the cover of an invisibility cloak (which Hermione intended to ask the boy about later on—they were exceedingly rare, after all), the two crept down to the basements, near the point where Hermione had heard the Hufflepuff common room was located. Pausing next to a large and very detailed depiction of a bowl of fruit, Harry withdrew an old and yellowed piece of parchment from his pocket, taking a peek at it before stuffing it back and then whipping the cloak off.

“No one’s around on this floor,” he said. “Alright, watch carefully.”

Reaching out, he extended a finger toward the pear featured prominently in the bowl and gently tickled it. The fruit gave a chittering giggle before wiggling and then popping free of the portrait. Hermione watched in awe as he now twisted the pear, a loud and solid click sounding before the portrait swung outward. Taking a few steps back to open the massive door provided by the portrait, Harry sprung into a bow and gestured inward.

“After you, milady,” he said in courtly tones, and Hermione snickered at his antics. Stepping past him, she climbed the small lip at the bottom of the portrait hole, passing through a short corridor and into a bright and high-ceiling roomed that looked nearly identical to the Great Hall. In fact, there were even four long tables running the length of the place, exactly where the house tables would have been in the Great Hall. In another room off to the side, a ruckus could be heard, a din of squeaky and chittering voices.

“Are we…right below – “

“The Great Hall, yeah,” Harry said. “The elves whip up the food, serve it, and then it’s banished up to the Great Hall at mealtimes.”

“I’ve always wondered how the food works,” Hermione said in awed tones. “It’s not in Hogwarts, A History, likely to deter anyone from searching for the kitchens.”

“Sounds about right,” Harry said. “Anyone who actually knows about the kitchens comes down here a lot. Like I said, they can’t wait to give it away.”

“Where are they all?” Hermione asked, and Harry checked his watch.

“This time of night, the elderly and the women are in their little barrel village, tending to themselves,” Harry said. “The menfolk usually handle the last round of dishes and chat.”

“What’s a barrel village?” Hermione asked, and Harry motioned her forward.

“You should have a tour sometime,” he said. “They love showing it to students.”

Hermione minced forward with small steps, and Harry chuckled, passing her to lead the way.

“C’mon,” he said. “A minute ago, you couldn’t wait to lead a revolution.”

“Yes, but I’m supposed to be keeping an open mind,” Hermione muttered. “I just don’t want to walk back there and see them in chains and covered in soot.”

“Are you mad?” Harry said with a chuckle. “Just meet them. Talk to them.”

Through a large archway, Harry led her into another chamber which was dominated by a large washbasin which looked more like a swimming pool. Currently, a massive mountain of suds threatened to spill forth, barely contained by the massive stone bowl. In the midst of the bubbly mound, a scrum had formed, a mingling of dozens of brass pots and pans and a small army of diminutive elves. Occasionally, a sparkling clean saucepan or soup pot would shoot forth, only to be caught by another floppy-eared elf and given a stern drying before being tossed into a dizzyingly-high rack of them.

“Oh my goodness,” Hermione breathed, unable to deny a not-inconsiderable bit of admiration at their efficiency.

“Aw, sometimes they sing a song,” Harry said, sounding disappointed. “It’s earsplitting, but you have to love their enthusiasm.”

Hermione let a soft giggle, watching the elves work with happy smiles and joyous chatter. Part of her mind screamed at her that they had most certainly been brainwashed and conditioned into their servitude, but four years in Ravenclaw had hammered home that sometimes one needed to dig deeper before reaching a conclusion. A life among scholars had left her willing to at least try to broaden her outlook.

Maybe it would behoove her to take Harry’s advice and learn a bit about the elves right from the source.

“Mister Harry Potter is here!” a screeching voice shouted from amidst the bubbles. “Harry Potter!”

“Hey, Dobby!” Harry said with that wide grin on his face that made Hermione’s heart flutter quite madly. “Alright, mate?”

“Dobby is doing very alright, Harry Potter, sir!” the house-elf called Dobby said, leaping from the foamy mountain and landing in a skid before sprinting up to Harry. Skipping happily around him while leaving a trail of wet suds on the floor, Dobby the house-elf fixed a pair of watery tennis-ball-sized eyes on the boy. “But Harry Potter is out so very late! You isn’t supposed to be skipping your much-needed rest!”

“I can sleep in tomorrow, Dobby,” Harry insisted.

“We have classes tomorrow,” Hermione reminded him.

“I have History of Magic first thing,” Harry told her with a wave of his hand. “Good napping in that class.”

“Harry!”

“So, Dobby, how’ve you been?” Harry asked the elf. “Talked any of the others into joining you in freedom?”

“Not yet, Harry Potter sir,” Dobby said. “The other elves, they is all thinking Dobby is mad, but Dobby enjoys his freedom!”

“That’s the important bit, though, isn’t it?” Harry said. “One person’s happiness isn’t someone else’s, yeah?”

“That is very true, Harry Potter,” Dobby said. “Harry Potter sir is so wise!”

“Nah, I just have a smart mum,” Harry told him, glancing at Hermione. “Oh—Hermione, this is Dobby. Dobby, Hermione Granger.”

“Good evening, Miss Granger!” Dobby said, hurrying over to Hermione and holding out a tiny, knobby hand. Hermione grasped it and found her entire arm being shaken by the elf’s strong grip. “Dobby is so pleased to meet friends of Harry Potter’s!”

“Um…lovely to meet you as well, Dobby,” Hermione told the elf. She found herself unable to fight a smile at his infectious cheer. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the elf was wearing children’s soccer shorts and a souvenir shirt from Big Ben. His feet bore mismatched socks, one a plain black Hogwarts uniform sock and the other a garish purple with yellow polka-dots. The only way to free a house-elf was for the owner to provide it with clothes; she knew that much. How had Dobby come to be free, she wondered? He seemed quite pleased with the arrangement.

“Dobby was recently freed by Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said, answering her unspoken question. “From what I hear, Neville…convinced Lucius to do it by sticking an old gross sock into his hands. Lucius was so moved by the gift, he gave it to Dobby.”

“And now Dobby is a free elf!” Dobby said happily, to disgusted looks from the surrounding elves. “Dobby is working for Professor Dumbledore and receiving pay every week!”

“That’s wonderful, Dobby,” Hermione said, unable not to share in the elf’s enthusiasm. “Are there many other elves that want to be free?”

“There isn’t being many, Miss,” Dobby said. “Most elves is happy to serve, but Dobby is happy to be paid!”

“It’s just nice to have your work recognized, innit, Dobby?” Harry asked, and Dobby nodded vigorously, sending his batlike ears flapping with the motion.

“Dobby works hard, Harry Potter, sir!” he said. “When he cooks and cleans and takes care of the work that is needing doing, Dobby likes to be having his work noticed!”

“I don’t imagine Lucius Malfoy was the sort to give Dobby a pat on the head and tell him ‘good job’ after a day’s work,” Harry said to Hermione. “So Dobby decided there’d be no more of that and…rather engineered an opportunity for his own freedom.”

“That’s very clever, Dobby,” Hermione told him. “You’re quite a smart elf.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger!” Dobby said, his ears drooping bashfully as his face went red.

“Oh, Dobby,” Harry said. “Couldn’t get us some biscuits, could you? Maybe a bit of meat pie?”

“Of course, Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby said, springing into a little hop as he scampered away. “Dobby will return in a moment!”

“So there are elves that enjoy their freedom,” Hermione said, folding her arms and peering over at Harry, who snickered at the triumphant look on her face.

“There’s one,” he said. “And he’s considered an eccentric weirdo.”

“And what’s wrong with eccentric weirdos?” Hermione asked him with what had to be a positively impish smile.

“Oh, nothing at all,” Harry said. “Eccentric weirdos are perfectly capable of being functioning members of society.”

Giggling at him, Hermione peered out over the sea of elves before them, most of whom had returned to their dishwashing antics while others had prepared hot cocoa entirely unprompted and now served the pair two mugs piled high with whipped cream. Hermione took a sip to find it perfectly piping hot and quite tasty.

“It’s amazing, you lot,” Harry told them. “Well done.”

The response was a chorus of delighted squeaks, accompanied by much bowing and promises of plenty more any time “Young Mister Harry” cared for it.

“You’ve really made a name for yourself, haven’t you?” Hermione asked him, and Harry shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

“Most that come down here, they’re pureblood students, told how to get in by their parents or a brother or sister,” he said. “They come in, and it’s all demands and not a single ‘please’ or a ‘thank-you’ or anything. You come in, you act polite, tell them thanks and what a great job they’re doing, they go into orbit.”

“It’s rather sad, isn’t it?” Hermione frowned. “There’s more to life than servitude, isn’t there?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Harry shrugged. “I think if something makes you happy, you should do it, right? And house-elves are happiest serving others, helping them live a better and happier life.”

“But they get abused and taken advantage of,” Hermione insisted. “They’re treated so terribly by most of the families they serve.”

“There does need to be something done there, sure,” Harry agreed. “But the answer isn’t to free every house elf there is and uproot their entire way of life. Just because I get a few bludgers chucked my way doesn’t mean I should stop playing quidditch, right?”

“I suppose not,” Hermione admitted. “Perhaps I should…reconsider my approach.”

“Still, noble thing to do—wanting to make sure they’re treated right,” Harry said. “You need a little societal outrage once in a while, Uncle Sirius always says.”

Dobby returned not too long after that, bearing the promised biscuits and meat pies before ushering them out the door.

“Mister Harry Potter is needing his rest!” he chided the boy. “Off to bed with you!”

“Goodnight, Dobby,” Harry said with a backward wave, emerging from the kitchens and withdrawing that same yellowed piece of parchment once more. Scanning it, he gave a satisfied nod and gestured back the way they’d come. “We can go that way. Kowalksi’s up in the trophy room. Looks like Peeves is causing him havoc.”

“How do you – “

“Present from Uncle Sirius,” Harry told her. “A legacy from Dad.”

“Is your uncle Sirius Black?” Hermione asked. “The chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors?”

“Well, he wants to make sure his godson’s education is nothing but top notch,” Harry said, grinning fondly. “He’s not technically my uncle, just Dad’s old friend from Hogwarts. Him and Uncle Remus are always coming by the house. Uncle Remus practically lives with us most of the time.”

“At least they’re all still close,” Hermione said. “It must make things…a bit easier for your mum.”

“Sirius really stepped up when…it happened,” Harry said. “Mum says he held them all together, kept everyone from sinking down too far. Even now, he’s got a daughter of his own, but he always has time for me, it seems like.”

“That’s wonderful,” Hermione said, feeling a strange melancholy at the smile on his face. Growing up, hers had always been the fairly standard life of a girl with two successful and stable parents. There had never been anything between Mum and Dad except matrimonial bliss, punctuated by the occasional muttered disagreement that had nonetheless been resolved with minimal fuss. To imagine growing up without one of them—not even by way of divorce but because they had…died—it hurt to even imagine. Knowing Harry had come out of it relatively well-adjusted if a bit of a loner…she could scarcely fathom the strength he had to possess.

And now she was falling for him even more, which was lovely.

“So, you’re muggle-born?” Harry asked after they’d walked in silence for a long but comfortable moment. Around them, the castle was quiet and peaceful. Hermione had done a few night patrols in her short time as a prefect, and she had decided after the first one that Hogwarts at night was almost ethereal, peaceful in a way nowhere else seemed able to be. She loved the way the portraits all settled down for a nighttime slumber, the quiet stillness of the normally rather animated suits of armor, the lack of the distant echo of chatter and activity. It was as though the castle itself was settling in for another long night’s rest.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I had a fairly standard childhood experience. Mum and Dad are dentists, so we’re well-off, I suppose.”

“Ew, dentists,” Harry chuckled. “I feel like if there’s a profession that’s the most muggle, it’s a dentist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, though her sharp tone was likely belied by the smile she wore at the sound of his little laugh.

“It’s just…one of the most unpleasant things I think there is about being a muggle,” Harry said. “Having to sit back in that chair, get your teeth poked and prodded and listen to them guilt you over how you haven’t been brushing or flossing enough. And then they have your mouth wide open, and they start asking you questions, like ‘So, how’s your mum doing?’, and you have to respond ‘ith ‘ur ‘outh o’en an’ uh shund ‘ike ‘is.” He spoke the last bit with his mouth wide open at the ceiling, as though he himself were in a dentist chair, and Hermione couldn’t help but snort out a laugh at his antics.

“That’s what they sound like!” she giggled, covering her mouth as she felt her lips stretch in a toothy smile. “I’ve never understood how Mum and Dad can actually figure out what they’re saying, but somehow they can.”

“…Why do you always cover your mouth when you smile?” he asked after a moment, peering down at her curiously. Blushing, Hermione gave a small shrug.

“It’s…just a habit, I suppose,” she said. “In primary school…I would get teased about my teeth a lot. I used to have rather large front teeth. They would call me beaver-face or chipmunk girl or…other creative little names.”

“Children are vicious,” Harry said. “Your teeth aren’t even big or anything.”

“Well…I shrank them,” Hermione admitted. “Earlier this summer, actually, when I was over at Cho’s visiting. I used a shrinking charm on them. It was actually rather foolish and could have backfired horribly, but it worked, and…now they’re rather more normal-sized.”

“I used to wear glasses,” Harry said after a moment. “They kept falling off my face during quidditch, and I would lose them or break them or something, and it was just so annoying since I’m half-blind without them. Two summers ago, we went on vacation to America, and I got a procedure done by a magical optometrist. Like contacts but permanent. Now I don’t need glasses anymore.”

“I feel there’s no reason not to make a little improvement if you feel like you want to,” Hermione said. “It’s not like I went out and got drastic cosmetic surgery or anything. I just shrank my teeth a little.”

“I’ve been thinking about a nose job, actually,” Harry said with a nod. “Little nip and tuck, you know. Maybe take some off and put it in my chin so it looks more manly.”

“Harryyy,” Hermione dragged his name out, giving him a little shove. “You’re handsome enough as it is.”

“Oh, you think so?” Harry asked, winking at her. “Well, I’ve always figured myself fairly confident, but it’s nice to hear from someone besides my mum.”

Rolling her eyes (and feeling a small bit of a hammer in her chest at the fact that she had just called her crush handsome right to his face—bold, Granger!), Hermione peered up at his profile. As she watched, he shot a quick look to that parchment once more, his eyes going wide before he whipped out his invisibility cloak and flung it over the pair of them. Hermione was just about to ask what was happening when she was shocked into silence by him pulling her quite close, most likely to ensure proper coverage with the cloak.

Of course, as an added side-effect, her mind went rather alarmingly blank.

“W…wha – “

“Sh,” Harry breathed in her ear, which only served to send her further down a spiral of tingling thoughts and that wonderful scent of his. Whatever spell he’d used before to throw off Sir Sniffs, it had apparently worn off, and that undeniable Harry scent hit her like a hammer all over again. “Someone’s coming.”

“Who?” Hermione asked softly.

“No idea,” Harry told her. “I just saw that it was someone and hid.”

“Oh, if I get caught, I’ll lose my prefect badge,” Hermione quietly fretted.

“Relax,” Harry insisted. “We won’t get caught, and if we do, I’ll tell them I pressured you into sneaking out or something. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been caught out.”

“Harry, you don’t have to – “

“Sh,” Harry hushed her again, and as they stood silent and invisible near the stairs leading up, soft footfalls met their ears. Moments later, a pair of legs came into view, followed by the rest of none other than Neville Longbottom. “What…?”

As they watched, Neville made his way past them, scowling but with his shoulders squared resolutely. He wore a travelling cloak and had a large bag slung over his shoulders, clearly ready for a jaunt of some sort. Pausing near the entrance to the kitchens, the boy took a deep breath before surging forward to tickle the pear and climb into the passage beyond. The portrait swung shut behind them, leaving them in silence.

“What is he doing?” Harry asked softly. “Looks like he’s going on a trip.”

“You don’t think he’s running away, do you?” Hermione wondered softly as they made their way up the stairs.

“Can you blame the bloke?” Harry asked with a shrug. “He nearly gets killed by Bellatrix Lestrange last year, and now he’s being forced to participate in the Triwizard Tournament under about the dodgiest circumstances ever. I’d leave, too.”

“How anyone could think he put his own name in is baffling,” Hermione said. “A fourth-year, somehow able to trick the Goblet of Fire into thinking there’s an extra school?”

“And it’s completely unlike Neville to do something like that,” Harry added. “He’s the farthest thing from a glory-seeker there is. Apparently he and Ron Weasley have had a falling-out over it. Ron thinks he actually put his name in, and he’s mad at him for it.”

“He’s jealous, then?” Hermione asked.

“That seems to be it,” Harry said. “It’s a thing with Ron, Fred and George say. He doesn’t want to put in the hard work, but he gets jealous when others are better at something than him.”

“He sounds extremely petty,” Hermione muttered, and Harry snickered.

“Hopefully if he does join the team next year, Fred and George can keep him in line.”

They made their way undisturbed up to Ravenclaw Tower, Harry surprising Hermione by not only knowing the path to her common room but the method of entry as well.

“I’d get the door for you,” he said once they reached the bronze knocker, “but I’m rubbish at riddles. I need a punchline.”

“How did you know – “

“Uncle Sirius,” Harry said. “He says he’s actually gotten the riddle a couple times, even.”

“It’s a bit maddening when someone from another house gets in,” Hermione huffed. “Mostly because they tend to nick something or vandalize the common room.”

“Your method of entry is to prove how much cleverer you are than everyone else,” Harry told her. “Comes off as a bit pretentious, you ask me. The wrong person hears that, they have something to prove.”

“Marietta says the same thing,” Hermione said. “But she’s also gotten stuck outside sometimes because she can’t solve the riddle.”

“What a welcoming atmosphere,” Harry said dryly. “I’d love to be part of a house that shames me and doesn’t let me get to my bed just because I’m not suited for riddles.”

“There have actually been several attempts to change it to a password,” Hermione said. “Professor Flitwick says it’s more traditional this way.”

“Steadfast adherence to tradition getting in the way of progress,” Harry said. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione slipped free of the cloak, smirking at the seemingly empty spot where he stood invisible. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Pleasant dreams,” Harry’s voice spoke. “I’ll take the stairs nice and loud so you don’t think I’m trying to sneak into the common room behind you.”

“That’s very kind,” she giggled, turning to the brass knocker as she heard loud and clunking footsteps behind her. She shook her head at Harry’s antics, taking a deep breath as she stood and smoothed her hair from where the cloak had mussed it up a bit. All the while, her head buzzed with thoughts of Harry, of his closeness, of his voice and the way it rumbled in his chest when he spoke, of all of the little tidbits of his life she’d been made privy to this night and how it still wasn’t nearly enough.

She wanted to know more about him. Everything.

But first, she needed to scrounge what sleep she could out of the remaining few hours before classes the next day. Reaching up, she rapped once on the bronze knocker, the eagle’s head opening its beak to ask her:

“Who counts the time, the sand or the hourglass?”

“The person,” Hermione said after a moment’s thought. With that, the large wooden door swung inward, and Hermione climbed through, trudging straight through the empty common room up to her dormitory and kicking her shoes off before falling into bed fully clothed.

What a night.

Notes:

Since AO3 had a tummy-ache, FFNet users got this one a day early.

I've tried to scatter in some of the changes made to this timeline. I had a fun thought that Neville is going through his own indy!Neville story in the background while this fairly typical romance unfolds. Also, a bit of very light Ron bashing, but as Harry nor Hermione is all that close to him, that's about as bad as it's going to get. Ginny will most likely not even be mentioned, and she's quite fixated on Neville anyway.

I toyed with the notion of having Sirius and Lily get together, but it felt to me like Lily would focus solely on her children and eschew all romantic notions, while Sirius found love with his old schoolmate, Marlene McKinnon. She survived because reasons.

Reviews and feedback are always appreciated!

Chapter 3: Invitation

Notes:

I was very sleep-deprived while proofreading this, so please excuse if it's a messy job.

The day after Hermione’s thrilling nighttime adventure, Neville Longbottom was missed at breakfast. When he didn’t show for morning lessons, a search of Gryffindor Tower confirmed that he had in fact disappeared. All of the faculty were in an uproar, with Professor Dumbledore even looking uncharacteristically grim as he announced that Neville would be found posthaste and returned to safety.

Days later, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I heard he left a note,” Cho said one day as a sleeting rain lashed against the windows of the lounge. Quidditch practice had been cancelled, and with nothing better to do, she had joined Harry and Hermione during their usual study session, which had proven so far to be something of a remedial lesson for her.

Unfortunately, it was also rather distracting to Harry himself, who seemed almost a different person today. Around Hermione, he was quite at ease, smiled often, and joked readily; but with Cho in the mix, he had said perhaps a total of ten words during the entire study session. His eyes downcast, he kept sneaking furtive looks at Cho, who was either oblivious or almost brutally ignoring the poor boy. On the one hand, Hermione ached with sympathy for what was obviously a boy nursing his first ever crush.

On the other hand, she was grateful to Cho for doing her level best to steer Harry in her direction.

“Harry, did you hear anything about the note?” Cho asked after a silence that dragged on almost long enough to become uncomfortable. Harry had been picking thoughtfully at a fray on the cuff of his jumper, but when Cho addressed him directly, he jolted, almost spilling his ink bottle before deftly catching it.

“Uh…” he trailed off. “McGonagall’s the one that found it. So no one got a chance to see what it says. I think he was just telling off everyone for thinking he put his name in.”

“Well…didn’t he?” Cho asked, looking puzzled.

“Neville wouldn’t do that,” Harry insisted. “Plus, somehow the Goblet thinks there’s four schools in a Triwizard Tournament? That’s shady, and that’s not something a fourth-year could do.”

“Okay, not trying to imply anything,” Cho told him with dubious laugh. “Hermione’s already told me all the reasons there’s no way Neville could have done it himself. She’s pretty smart.”

“Oh, I’m—well, maybe I am,” Hermione admitted, “but that’s simply because I’m well-read and excellent at gathering information and making connections that others don’t necessarily see – “

“Just accept the compliment, you dafty,” Harry said with a small laugh, and Hermione pouted at him.

“What did you just call me?” she asked with mock affront. “How dare you!”

“Oi, you’re the one that was gear to start an elf revolution the other night,” Harry shot back. “I think that qualifies for ‘dafty’ status.”

“That does not make me a dafty, Harry Potter,” Hermione insisted. “I’m…passionate.”

“The two are definitely not mutually exclusive,” Harry pointed out, and Hermione rolled her eyes, shooting a look at Cho—only to find her looking unduly amused at the pair.

“What?” Hermione asked, and Cho’s smile only widened at her tone. “Cho, what?”

“Nothing, Hermione, nothing,” she said. “Only, I’ve just remembered I actually told Ced I’d help him with his Potions essay. He’s rubbish at it, you know.”

“You’re going to see Cedric?” Harry asked, and Cho nodded.

“Look after Hermione for me, won’t you?” she asked him. “She tends to forget basic needs when left to her own devices, after all.”

“I’ve only skipped meals a few times, Cho,” Hermione insisted. “It’s not as though I starve myself just to finish an essay.”

“Well – “

“Didn’t you say you have to go?” Hermione cut her off. Flashing her a wink, Cho stood, collecting her things.

“It was nice hanging out, Harry,” she said. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

“Uh, absolutely,” Harry said. “Yeah, um…good talking, Cho.”

As she left, Harry stared after her, looking a bit forlorn but also quite resigned.

“She’s quite taken with Cedric, isn’t she?” he observed. Hermione felt a pang at his morose tone. A first crush was a powerful thing; she knew this better than anyone, going through her own as she was. Imagining something similar—with Cho perhaps happily single and pursuing a relationship instead with Harry—was a painful thing, and Harry was having to live it out.

Granted, a small part of her was glad that Cho wasn’t so happily single so she didn’t have to endure the pain herself, but more strongly present was an ache that she couldn’t quite place. Harry was hurting, and there was nothing she could really do to help him.

Or maybe…there was… If only she presented him with an alternative.

…

Later that evening, a resolved Hermione marched into the Ravenclaw common room, squaring her shoulders and striding over to Cho. This went completely against every personal belief she held, but perhaps this was a glimpse into the mindset of the girls of those movies she had once derided. She and Harry had after all just had a discussion over making a few changes for personal reasons rather than to impress anyone, yet here she was, blurring the lines between the two.

Maybe things were different when there was a real connection happening.

“Woah, Hermione’s on the warpath,” Marietta observed as Hermione flung herself into a seat opposite Cho. Looking up, Cho fixed her with a very slightly smug look, almost as though she were expecting the next words out of Hermione’s mouth.

“I need help figuring out…makeup,” Hermione said.

“…What?” Marietta muttered, punctuated by the sound of a book snapping shut.

“And maybe a hair potion or two,” Hermione added.

“…What?” Marietta repeated.

“Just—nothing extreme, I only feel maybe it would be nice to…put a small bit more attention into my appearance,” Hermione muttered, feeling her face heat up.

“You’ve got it bad for this boy,” Cho said, giggling a bit. “Are you sure you want to take this step? Change yourself for a boy?”

“I’m not changing myself,” Hermione insisted. “I’m…accentuating what’s already there.”

“Still, this is a big step for you,” Marietta added, looking some combination of gobsmacked and intrigued at the development. “Hermione Granger, interested in a boy, enough to start gussying up for him and all.”

“It’s not that odd,” Hermione muttered, and Cho shrugged.

“It sort of is,” she said. “You’ve always been rather…focused on your studies.”

“Yeah, so much it’s a bit scary sometimes,” Marietta said. “This Harry must be something else.”

“He is rather handsome, in fact,” Cho said with a wink at Hermione. “Quiet, mysterious.”

Oh, he’s just tremendously awkward, is all, Hermione mused to herself. “There’s more to him than just a good-looking face,” she insisted, and Cho giggled.

“Listen to you,” she said. “I know, I know. I saw you two carrying on today; he likes you a lot.”

“How—d’you think so?” Hermione asked, her heart thudding as she leaned forward. “How can you tell?”

“Well, he was playing it all quiet and aloof and disinterested until he started having a go at you,” Cho told her. “Clearly, he feels comfortable being himself around you. And that’s pretty much the most important thing in a boyfriend or girlfriend. If they don’t feel like they can be themselves around you, well, you’re not really getting to know them, are you?”

“That’s an excellent point,” Hermione admitted, feeling her face heat up at the prospect of Harry reciprocating her feelings. Could he? She wasn’t exactly knowledgeable in this sort of thing, but what Cho was saying made a certain sort of sense. Harry was by all accounts withdrawn and aloof—except around her. “But…he doesn’t really seem interested.”

“Maybe he doesn’t even know how he feels,” Marietta pointed out. “He’s a boy, after all. They’re not great with feelings.”

“Cedric’s great with feelings,” Cho said.

“Cedric’s a man,” Marietta said with a grin. “He’s grown up, he’s got it all figured out. You’re dating older. Hermione’s chasing someone younger.”

“Not that much younger,” Hermione grumbled. “In a few years, it won’t even make much of a difference.”

“But it makes one now,” Marietta pointed out. “If you want this to make any progress at all, you can’t wait on him to figure it all out and take the first steps. You need to get aggressive. Go on the offensive.”

“You make it sound like a war effort,” Hermione said in confusion.

“It is,” Marietta said fervently. “Against his utter obliviousness. Do you want Harry to be your boyfriend?”

“Don’t say it so loudly – “

“Do you?” Marietta asked, and Hermione huffed.

“Yes,” she admitted in a mutter.

“Then show him your intentions,” Marietta said. “I mean, don’t declare them or anything, but leave him no choice but to notice how good you look and how available you are and how much he’d be missing out on if he doesn’t date you right this second.”

Hermione shot a glance at Cho, hoping to commiserate over how intensely serious Marietta was taking this whole thing—only to find Cho nodding along matter-of-factly. Quailing under the intensity of their matching stares, she voiced the niggling little fear in the back of her head.

“But what if he doesn’t think I’m pretty?” she asked.

“Aw, Hermione,” Cho said in warm tones. “Trust me, the boy is already into you. He just hasn’t caught up to himself yet. And if you want to catch his notice by…glamming up just a bit, that’s wonderful!”

“First thing’s first,” Marietta said. “We need to order you some Sleekeazy’s Shampoo and Conditioner.”

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to try to convince you to try that for ages,” Cho said. “This is the perfect opportunity. And maybe also a bit of mascara and just a dab of eyeliner.”

“Blush?” Marietta asked, now scooting closer.

“Perhaps something very light,” Cho nodded while peering closely at Hermione. “Honestly, she’s got a lot to work with already, we’d only need to apply something quite natural to highlight her features.”

“Ugh, makeup,” Hermione grumbled, and Cho rolled her eyes.

“Oh, relax,” she said. “It’s not about making you look completely different or anything, just emphasizing what’s already there. And if you hate it, we can wash it off.”

“Well—that’s true,” Hermione sighed. “Alright, let’s give it a go.”

“Yes!” Cho cheered, springing to her feet and snagging up Hermione’s hands. “Come along, let’s find a good look for you, and then tomorrow you can go and stun him!”

“Lovely,” Hermione muttered.

Sadly for Hermione, there was no montage to condense the next couple of hours down to a minutes-long series of shots of different makeup looks, most likely set to a Cyndi Lauper song or something by David Bowie perhaps. Rather than feeling particularly Pretty In Pink, this felt more like what one of the actors must have had to go through, spending hours in a makeup chair while being assaulted by two chittering girls who treated her as though she were some sort of stylist’s dummy.

Well…okay, it was also rather fun, she had to admit. Even in their girly moments, Cho and Marietta were still her very best friends, and perhaps it was high time she got in touch with her feminine side rather than scoff and sneer at things such as makeup and fashion.

There was no rule against being a bookworm and looking good while she did it, after all.

“You know, Hermione, this look really suits you,” Cho said after much too many applications and removals of makeup—the “gentle” scouring spell was beginning to leave Hermione’s skin a bit tingly and raw-feeling after the dozenth application. “It’s understated but still highlights what it needs to.”

She held up a mirror, and Hermione peered back at her own face, which looked…different in a rather unplaceable way. There was certainly a change, but it was hard to pin down. Her eyes were more… And her face was a bit… All of it was framed of course by softly-flowing locks of wavy hair that Hermione couldn’t believe were her own; Cho had sent her to the shower first thing with a bottle of the promised Sleekeazy’s, having borrowed some from Lisa Turpin. It had taken a generous portion and two lathers and rinses, but Hermione’s hair was the most manageable it had ever been. It had been all she could do not to tear up as she’d run a comb through it. Curse her stubbornness for having never gone this avenue before! Not only was her hair quite better-looking, but it was so much easier to handle this way!

“The shampoo is definitely getting worked into my shower routine,” she admitted, and Cho snickered.

“I have been telling you for years, you silly thing!” she said. “But what do you think of the makeup? It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

“It…barely looks like I’m wearing any,” Hermione said.

“That’s it, though,” Marietta said. “That’s the hard bit. The natural look can be a bit tricky, but when you pull it off, it doesn’t look like makeup, it’s just your face with a bit more…”

“A bit more,” Cho nodded. Her hands came up to Hermione’s shoulders, and she leaned down to peer in the mirror behind her. “I think this is it. This is the look, Mari.”

“I agree, for sure,” Marietta said with a decisive nod. “I’ll set the makeup kit to this look, Hermione, so all you have to do is give it a tap with your wand and let it get to work.”

“It feels like I’m compromising some long-held moral standpoint,” Hermione muttered.

“Boys’ll do that to you,” Cho said breezily. “And, really, it’s makeup. It’s not as though you’re skipping classes or…sneaking about at night with him.”

Hermione’s face heated up at those words, and the makeup wasn’t thick enough to hide the blush blooming on her cheeks. Cho, of course, spotted it in the mirror, her eyes going wide.

“Hermione!?” she squawked. “Did you!?”

“Only once, and it was an accident!” Hermione insisted. Quickly, she explained her unbidden nap in the student lounge and her subsequent after-curfew escapades with Harry, editing out mentions of his cloak and the strange parchment. Those seemed like secrets of his and not hers to divulge. Cho and Marietta listened raptly, Cho’s smile only growing wider while Marietta’s expression was one of pure shock.

“Hermione, you were out after curfew with a BOY!” she gasped. “Cho, I think this one’s the real deal.”

“He’s certainly breaking down barriers in ways we’ve never been able to,” Cho agreed. “What a scandal.”

“Does he smell nice?” Marietta asked with a knowing grin. Hermione frowned but heaved a small sigh.

“He smells amazing,” she admitted, and the two girls broke into cackles, Cho wrapping her arms around Hermione in a hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said. “You deserve a bit of romance for once.”

“…Yes,” Hermione said with a little smile to herself. “Perhaps I do.”

000

The next morning, Hermione awoke and went about her potential new morning routine, which involved following up a quick tooth-brushing and a much less bothersome combing of her hair with a simple tap of her wand on the makeup kit in front of the vanity mirror set up near her bed. Holding as still as she was able, she let the various little brushes and balms do their thing, applying a layer of rather natural-looking makeup. Studying her reflection, she took a deep breath.

“Looking quite lovely this morning, dearie,” her mirror spoke to her, and despite herself, she felt a bit emboldened.

Down at breakfast, Padma looked up and let a small gasp as Hermione walked by.

“Wow, Hermione, you look great!” she said.

“Oh, um—thank you,” Hermione said, feeling her face flush. “Just…trying something new.”

“Your hair!” Lisa said. “I love it.”

“This wouldn’t happen to be for the benefit of anyone in particular, would it?” Padma asked. “Perhaps…Har – “

“Well, see you later!” Hermione cut across her, hurrying away and leaving the two girls giggling behind her.

As the day drew on, Hermione garnered several more appreciative looks, compliments from girls she’d barely ever spoken to, and matching whistles from the Weasley twins.

“Looking good, Granger!”

“Our seeker’s got fine taste!”

That got quite a blush out of her.

The one she’d been waiting for, however, happened as she was heading down for lunch. Cho and Marietta were coming from Muggle Studies, while Hermione had had Ancient Runes, meaning she was alone as she passed by the Transfiguration classroom when Harry came striding out. His eyes (ever alert, it seemed) scanned over the corridor, passing over her and then doing a small double take.

“Granger,” he said, passing through the crowd with liquid ease and pausing near her. He wore a calculating expression on his face as he peered down at her, and Hermione found she couldn’t meet his eyes during the scrutiny. “Your hair’s different. And you’ve makeup on.”

“Do you like it?” Hermione blurted before she could stop herself. Harry focused on her for another moment, apparently really considering her question.

“It looks nice,” he seemingly decided. “The, er…eye stuff makes your eyes pop. What’s that stuff called, sounds like an Italian sauce?”

“Mascara?” Hermione asked with a giggle.

“Doesn’t that sound like something you’d have over noodles?” Harry asked, now walking with her toward the Great Hall. Hermione gave it a moment of thought before nodding very slightly.

“Once you divorce it from the context, it does sort of sound like a sauce,” she said. “I would not advise having fettuccini mascara, though.”

“That’s what the salons want you to say,” Harry said. “They’re hiding it from us.”

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Hermione said flatly. “They know it’s the best pasta topping, but they want to boggart it for silly things such as makeup.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Harry said with a grave nod. Snorting out a little laugh, Hermione shook her head as they descended the stairs, glancing over to see him studying her. “So…why the sudden change?”

“I suppose I just wanted to do something different,” Hermione said with a shrug, hoping to come off as casual and not like she was trying some attempt to woo him with her wiles.

Even if she was.

“Well…looks nice, like I said,” Harry told her. “Oh, by the way. Got a pickup game against Slytherin this weekend. Weasley’s the keeper. Would you want to come and watch?”

“Are you sure you want the flying coach of one of you rivals watching you play?” Hermione asked with a quirk of her eyebrow. Harry rolled his eyes, fixing her with his crooked smile.

“No, I want a friend of mine to come and watch me fly, because I’m actually quite good at it,” he said.

“We’re friends?” Hermione asked, and Harry looked at her as though she were mad.

“Of course,” he said. “We’ve dodged Kowalski and gone skulking ‘round at night. That’s a bond, right there.”

Hermione felt a huge grin split her face, and she ducked her head, peering up at Harry through her fringe. “Well…I suppose I’ll be there to watch you amaze me with your flying prowess.”

“I daresay you’ll be impressed,” Harry told her. “Anyway, I’ve got to track down Angelina before lunch, so see you ‘round? We’re studying…tomorrow night, yeah?”

“That’s right,” she said. “Has Professor Vector noticed anything?”

“She said it’s about time I got a tutor,” Harry chuckled. “I believe she’s aware I don’t really have what it takes to excel at the subject on my own.”

“You mean motivation?” Hermione asked.

“That’s the one,” Harry said, pointing at her. “Well, see you, Hermione.”

“Bye,” Hermione said, wiggling her fingers in a small wave as Harry split off from her on the second floor. Still fighting quite a big smile, she moved to cross the Entrance Hall, only to hear an unpleasant laugh as she passed by a group of Gryffindors.

“…finally realized she could only get him if she caked on some makeup and did something about that nest on her head,” Parvati’s voice spoke in a mutter that seemed rather deliberately louder than necessary.

“Look at her, she’s unrecognizable,” Lavender giggled. “At least now she actually has a chance, I suppose.”

Feeling her face heat up, Hermione made to pick up her pace, though she heard a small but powerful voice speak up behind her.

“If you lot are done being a bunch of harpies, could you get out of the way!? Oh! Hermione!”

Pausing near the door, Hermione turned and saw a small figure emerging from within the cluster of Gryffindor girls, who were watching her with distaste. Shoving and barging her way forth, a girl of perhaps twelve moved briskly toward Hermione, a smaller girl hurrying in her wake.

“Hey!” she said to Hermione with a bright and toothy smile. “You look really good! Did you do something with your hair?”

“Um…yes,” Hermione said to the small one. “Who are – “

“Would you like to sit with us?” the strange girl asked, both of them now flanking Hermione as they ushered her toward the Great Hall. Behind her, Hermione heard Lavender scoff, and Hermione’s apparent new friend sneered, rolling her eyes.

“There,” she said in lower tones. “Now you’ve got one up on them.”

“Who – “

“Daisy Potter,” the girl answered the unasked question. Hermione jolted in realization at the name. “Harry’s little sister.”

The resemblance was uncanny, now that Hermione was looking; both had messy black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a mischievous air about them. Daisy’s eyes were a bright hazel rather than green, however, and she bore a small smattering of youthful freckles across her nose that Harry lacked.

Her companion couldn’t possibly be relation, however. In fact, given her strawberry-blonde hair and powder-blue eyes (not to mention quite a few more freckles than her companion), Hermione wanted to guess that she was a member of the Weasley brood, but she was pretty sure there was only one girl—Ginny Weasley, who was a third-year.

“This is Mafalda Prewett,” Daisy said, noticing Hermione’s scrutiny. “I saved her from bullies, and now we’re best friends.”

“Uh-huh!” the girl named Mafalda said, her voice so perky and energetic that everything she said sounded absolutely excitable. “Are you really Harry’s girlf – “

“Mafalda, what have I told you?” Daisy asked with wide eyes. “On the way down here, I told you not to use that word.”

“You sure did!” Mafalda said with a bright grin as she skipped along.

“She’s actually lovely,” Daisy said to Hermione. “She just doesn’t internalize that well.”

“Sit with us at Gryffindor!” Mafalda breezed on. “We’re sitting with Harry!”

“Oh, um…I suppose I could do that,” Hermione said with a glance toward her usual spot at the Ravenclaw table. Cho and Marietta were looking at her with matching smiles, so she decided she wouldn’t be overly missed. Cho in particular was looking exceedingly proud, likely aware of exactly who these two little urchins were.

A bit of warning might have been nice; after four years of friendship, Cho should have most certainly been aware of Hermione’s complete lack of social awareness.

Taking a seat at the Gryffindor table, Hermione felt her face heat up under the weight of so many unfamiliar stares. While Harry carried only a small bit of clout throughout the school, his reputation to his fellow Gryffindors as their aloof star seeker clearly held substantially more weight, and being seen in the company of his younger sister was drawing no small bit of attention.

“Oi, Granger!”

“Alright?”

Down the table, the Weasley twins were waving energetically, and Hermione waved back with a smile.

“Afternoon, boys,” she called.

The twins set about muttering to each other, chuckling and occasionally nudging their friend, who Hermione knew as Lee Jordan, the quidditch commentator. All three seemed amused at her presence, though at least not in any mean-spirited way. Hermione distinctly caught the phrase “’bout time he got a girl” floating down the table. Nearby, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were quick to chide the boys for their gossiping.

“So, quickly, before he gets here,” Daisy said, piling some food on her plate, “what are your intentions with my brother?”

“…What?” Hermione asked, and Daisy tutted her. The little thing actually tutted her.

“Do you want to be his girlfriend?” she asked as though the question were patently obvious. “Is that why you’re going for a different look?”

“Well—it’s for me, too,” Hermione sniffed. “But…perhaps, a bit.”

“I like it,” Mafalda said earnestly. “You look very pretty.”

“Thank you, Mafalda,” Hermione said, and Mafalda beamed at her.

“And you’re aware that he’s mooning over that friend of yours?” Daisy went on, completely ignoring Mafalda’s interruption. “Cho Chang?”

“Yes, he seems very…taken with her,” Hermione said.

“Ugh, it’s repulsive,” Daisy said distastefully. “Well, she isn’t, I mean. But he’s drooling over her and staring at her, and he’s barely had one conversation with the girl. They don’t even seem all that suited for each other, either.”

“He’s in love with the idea of her, and not her,” Mafalda said in purposeful tones, as though reading the words off a piece of paper. “It’s what Daisy’s mum said in her last letter.”

“But it’s also incredibly obvious that he’s connected with you,” Daisy went on. “He doesn’t do that with people. So if you want to be his girlfriend, we’re in your corner. Got it?”

“We’re rooting for you!” Mafalda said.

“Sh, he’s coming,” Daisy told the younger girl, who clammed up but seemed to come down with a case of the giggles as Harry got closer. “Mafalda, ssshh!”

Mafalda let a noisy snort of laughter at that, and Daisy only caught it next. By the time Harry approached, Hermione was watching in bemusement as both girls dissolved into bouts of tiny laughter, though given the roll of his eyes, this wasn’t an uncommon development.

“They shanghaied you over here, then?” he asked, taking a seat next to Hermione, who smiled up at him. “Scooped you up in the Entrance Hall?

“That’s rather precisely what happened,” she told him. “She’s hard to say no to.”

“Luckily, Mum manages,” Harry said. “Uncle Remus, not so much.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione laughed softly, beginning to dole some food onto her own plate. “She is criminally charming.”

“Emphasis on ‘criminally’,” Harry insisted. “She gets up to more trouble than I do, and that’s saying something.”

“Oi, you’re the delinquent who sneaks about at night and raids the kitchens,” Daisy huffed. “I just rough up bullies who pick on people. My trouble happens in broad daylight.”

“Yeah, you’re a right crusader, aren’t you?” Harry said, ruffling her hair, and Daisy attempted to look annoyed but seemed pleased at the attention.

“She saved me from bullies,” Mafalda insisted. “Those boys won’t even look at me anymore!”

“Bat-Bogey Hex,” Daisy said with a smile at Hermione. “Ginny Weasley taught me.”

“She’s nice,” Mafalda said. “I like her. She’s been sad because Neville Longbottom left.”

“I wonder why he didn’t bring her along?” Daisy asked. “Those two have always been rather close.”

“Probably didn’t want six brothers going after him for whisking their dear baby sister away,” Harry chuckled. “I know I’d be rather cross if someone were to snatch you up.”

“That seems like my decision to make,” Daisy huffed.

“Not while you’re twelve, it’s not,” Harry said. “Mum would kill me, and then she’d find you and kill you as well, and then we’d both be dead, and I have a quidditch game to play—can’t do that if I’m dead.”

“Alright, I’ll just wait until after your game to run away,” Daisy decided, and Harry smirked at her, tossing a green bean in her direction. Squealing at the projectile, she ducked away and stuck her tongue out. “Oi, don’t start another food fight or Mum’ll send us a howler!”

“I’m overdue for one anyway,” Harry said. “I’ve made it to my fourth year and not given her reason to scream at me through a letter? I’m clearly slacking.”

“Clearly,” Daisy muttered.

“So, why are the pair of you harassing Hermione, anyway?” Harry asked, taking a bite of meatloaf. “I’m sure she was hoping for a peaceful lunch, and instead she gets the giggle-monsters.”

As if to underscore his point, Mafalda dissolved into another fit of giggles at that. Watching her and valiantly fighting a smile, Daisy did the same, prompting Harry to roll his eyes once more.

“Mum asks me to keep an eye on her and make sure she stays out of trouble,” he says. “So I get a front-row seat to this, all the time.”

“I think they’re adorable,” Hermione said with a grin at the pair. “Nothing wrong with being a silly girl, is there?”

“Exactly!” Daisy said, taking a drink of juice to calm herself. “See, she gets it.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry said, shooting her that lopsided smile he tended to. While her heart gave the familiar thudding flutter, she smirked right back, going for an impish look. “I wondered how you lot would mingle. It seems like some manner of chemical reaction. Like a bomb.”

He’d been wondering about her meeting his family? That was…well, a bit thrilling to hear. The idea that she existed in his mind well after they’d parted was delightful, in fact. As they ate, Hermione wondered if she’d been mentioned in any letters home, if Lily Potter was aware of her and perhaps hoping that his son got closer to her. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, was it?

“Oh,” Daisy spoke up through a mouthful of potatoes, “Nev was shpotted – “

“Please don’t spray your food, you creature,” Harry told her flatly, not even looking in her direction as he helped Mafalda pour a cup of tea.

“Uuuugh!” Daisy noised, her mouth wide open as she aimed a mouthful of half-chewed potatoes at him.

“That’s charming,” Harry told her. “Mum would be delighted at your table manners.”

“What were you saying about Neville?” Hermione asked, choosing to ignore the girl’s display. Daisy gulped down her food and then took a swig of juice before speaking a bit more clearly.

“I just remembered Ginny was telling me this morning,” she said, “her dad heard he was spotted hopping a ferry across the Channel, going to France.”

“Why didn’t they try to apprehend him?” Hermione asked.

“It was a muggle spotted him,” Daisy said. “I guess they have his picture all over the missing persons boards in the muggle world. By the time the Ministry got to the scene, he was gone.”

“Doesn’t it take an hour and a half to cross the Channel by ferry?” Harry asked.

“At least,” Hermione said.

“Well, whoever was in charge of…lee-yay-sing,” she sounded the word out quite carefully, “with the muggles wasn’t keeping up with their inbox or something. Ginny says they probably didn’t see the point. What would the muggles be able to find out, right?”

“Typical,” Hermione muttered. “So he’s in France now?”

“Mhm, and that’s trouble for the Ministry because now they have to cooperate with the French Ministry of Magic,” Daisy said.

“And they’re already cross with Fudge because of this whole debacle in the first place,” Harry said. “I daresay they’ll be content to leave Neville lost in order to even the playing field for the Tournament.”

“But he could be in a lot of danger,” Hermione pointed out.

“He’s in danger whether he’s here or not,” Harry said. “Either he’s forced to participate in a deadly tournament or he’s on the run at the mercy of an uncaring world. At least in the latter case, it’s his own decision.”

“Mum says he wants his own agency,” Daisy said, again carefully pronouncing the word. “I’m not completely sure what that means.”

“He wants to do his own thing,” Harry said. “Without anyone messing with him. Can’t blame the bloke, honestly. Feels like every year he’s got something going on. How’s Ginny dealing with it?”

“She’s really upset,” Mafalda said, sounding concerned. “She wanted to run away with him, but Neville said she had too much to leave behind.”

“And he doesn’t?” Daisy asked, and Mafalda shrugged.

“I’m not even really sure what she was talking about,” she said.

“Neville doesn’t get on with his family,” Harry said. “I think his great uncle was really tough on him growing up, and his gran encouraged it. They were afraid he’d turn out to be a squib.”

“As if that’d be something so terrible!” Hermione huffed.

“For a pureblood family, it is,” Harry said with a small shrug. “They’re so isolated from the muggle world, they have this vision of some backwards bunch of savages in the mud. Any thought of having to join the squatters is terrifying to them.”

“Is that why your mum decided to live among the muggles?” Hermione asked. “To get away from wizard society for a while?”

“It was also just more comfortable for her,” Harry said. “She grew up in one world, and this whole other society was expecting her to drop everything and join them, leave her old life behind?”

“Well, it’s not as though it’s forbidden to keep in touch with your family and muggle friends,” Hermione said.

“Not forbidden, no,” Harry admitted, “but they don’t make it an appealing option, either. By the time she graduated Hogwarts, Mum felt completely isolated, she says. This magical world had sucked her in and cut her off from her muggle roots, and then it let her know how much the purebloods in charge of things would look down on her for being a muggle-born.”

Hermione frowned a bit at that; it sounded familiar, to be sure, shockingly similar to how she was beginning to feel. Of course, magic was fascinating to learn and brought many advantages to her life. But the more time she spent at Hogwarts—and in the wizarding world—the less she felt the presence of her parents, of her old life. It was as though the seven years at Hogwarts were meant as an indoctrination period, isolating her from muggles and muggle life while subtly and casually chipping away at her regard for that part of her past.

“You’ve a very thoughtful look on your face,” Harry said after a moment. “Care to share?”

“I think I’d like to write my parents today,” Hermione said. “Let them know I’ve been thinking of them.”

“Would you like me to accompany you?” Harry asked, and Hermione grinned at him.

“Well, I’d be honored,” she told him, ignoring the knowing smiles on the younger girls’ faces.

Those two were going to be trouble; she could tell.

…

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, is Daisy your…half-sister, or…?”

“We’re full siblings,” Harry said as the pair made their way up to the Owlery after lessons had let out for the day. Harry had seemingly materialized from nowhere behind Hermione as she’d made her way from Potions, startling her and prompting a knowing look from Cho, who had quickly excused herself to go meet up with Cedric.

Harry had been…slightly subdued but perked up as they chatted on their way to the Owlery.

“Mum got pregnant with Daisy just a few days before Dad died,” Harry said. “She didn’t even realize it until about a month after the funeral. Says she was one last parting gift.”

“You two really seem to get along,” Hermione said, and Harry grinned fondly at her words.

“Growing up, she was my little sidekick,” he said. “Everywhere I went, ‘I come too, bruvver!’, even when I went to use the loo. Had to lock the door and shower while she banged with her little fists to get in.”

“Oh, that sounds adorable,” Hermione muttered.

“Lately, though, it’s been a bit weird, I guess,” Harry said. “We’re still best mates, but she’s…smarter. Clever. She’s sharp as a whip, that girl. I can have real conversations with her about—you know, real things.”

“She’s graduating from ‘little sister’ to ‘actual peer’,” Hermione surmised.

“Basically,” he said. “She’s already told me—well…”

“What?” Hermione probed.

“Apparently, she thinks Cho and I aren’t a good match,” Harry muttered. “And that outside of quidditch we have absolutely nothing in common.”

“She sounds rather precocious,” Hermione said with a little laugh, looking up to see Harry peering at her questioningly. “Emotionally advanced for her age.”

“Oh, she’s that alright,” Harry chuckled. “Chip off the old block, according to Uncle Sirius.”

“At least she’s looking out for you,” Hermione said. “In her own way.”

They reached the Owlery, and an irate hissing shriek sounded as Harry stepped in, prompting the boy to sigh.

“I know, I know—Hedwig, watch it!” Harry said, half laughing as he covered his head with his arms. From above, a snowy-white missile of feather and talon shot in his direction, circling him and finally alighting on a stone ledge near him. Massive amber eyes fixed him with a doleful look, and Harry snorted. “Don’t gimme that look, like I’ve been mistreating you or something. I just haven’t had anything to post lately, is all. Hermione, this is Hedwig. She’s a bit put out with me, it would seem.”

“Oh, what a poor neglected girl,” Hermione giggled, and Hedwig the owl glanced over at her with a commiserating look. Boys, it said, somehow perfectly. “I need to send a letter, you know. Maybe Harry would let me borrow your services?”

Hedwig fluttered her wings in an anticipatory way, sticking her leg out and prompting Harry to chuckle.

“Looks like the decision’s already been made,” he said. “Go on, she needs to stretch her wings.”

“Thank you, Hedwig,” Hermione said, affixing the envelope to the owl’s leg. “This one’s going to 8 Heathgate, in Hampstead in London.”

Hedwig ruffled her feathers importantly, hopping out a nearby window and winging into the darkening afternoon. Watching her, the pair gazed out over the grounds as long slanted shadows spilled out from the forest, the distant mountains casting an early evening gloom over them.

“It really does feel like…like the muggle world doesn’t even exist up here,” Hermione said after a moment. “You don’t realize it’s even happening until it’s been four years and you’ve barely seen your parents at all.”

“I think that’s the case with most private schools anyway,” Harry said. “Don’t they come up to Hogsmeade—oh they would need a magic escort, though.”

“Cho’s mum is much too busy with work to make it up, and Marietta’s parents…aren’t the most muggle-friendly sort,” Hermione admitted. “They buy a bit too much into the pureblood view on them. The one time I visited, they kept acting like it was this amazing feat that I could even do basic magic. After one visit, I…didn’t really care to go back.”

“Mum calls it disdain,” Harry said. “A lot of those quiet blood-purists don’t say anything, but they have this attitude about them. Of disdain toward muggles and all things even remotely connected to them.”

“It’s mad,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “I read about the inception of the Hogwarts Express once, because I was curious that they were using muggle transportation to get to their school. And the whole debacle is the perfect storm of the utterly backwards attitude wizards have for muggles.”

“How so?” Harry asked.

“Well, to start with, they just took the train from the muggles,” Hermione said. “There was no financial reimbursement made, no consideration paid to them at all other than to just wipe their memories and conceal the platform. And then the pureblood families at the time initially refused to use the Hogwarts Express, for the sole reason that it was a muggle invention and thus had to be awful and unsanitary and unsafe.”

“And then a hundred years or so later, the Knight Bus,” Harry said.

“Exactly!” Hermione said. “They’re so loath to admit that muggles are actually innovative and smart, yet they steal their homes and buildings and inventions and add a few enchantments here and there, then they mock the muggles for how simple they are. Did you know St. Mungo’s Hospital was a muggle building that the Ministry just took, exactly like the Hogwarts Express? They treat muggles with such callous disregard, it’s abominable.”

“But to them, it’s business as usual,” Harry said with a shrug. “Who cares about a bunch of muggles, am I right?”

“I just wish…” Hermione trailed off, sighing. “I wish there was some way to change it all. To just go to the Ministry and—shout at them, to make them see sense.”

“People have tried,” Harry said. “D’you know, there was even a muggle-born Minister for Magic? Fella named Norbert Leach. When he was elected, a bunch of Wizengamot members resigned their positions in protest. Six years later, he resigned his post due to a mysterious illness he contracted. Uncle Sirius says it was probably Draco Malfoy’s grandad, Abraxas, poisoned him.”

“So even if someone did try to change things – “

“Wouldn’t get very far, I suspect,” Harry said. “Not without someone high up looking out for them. And Cornelius Fudge likes his gold and his fancy hats and his lovely steak dinners too much to risk stirring the pot. Lucius Malfoy keeps his coinpurse full, Fudge keeps the purebloods happy.”

“I’m surprised this society hasn’t crumbled yet,” Hermione groused.

“Uncle Sirius says it’s only a matter of time,” Harry said. “The less-bigoted pureblood families are realizing that the pool of eligible wizarding families is starting to shrink. Everyone is each other’s cousin these days. So they marry muggle-borns or half-bloods or even muggles. Those kids are like us, growing up with a foot in each world. And the more the purebloods drive this society into the ground, the less inviting it looks to stick around.”

“Are you planning to stick around?” Hermione asked, and Harry shrugged.

“Dunno,” he admitted. “There’s so much I’d like to do, you know? Like you, just make things better. But people have tried, and it doesn’t work because the system isn’t designed to be changed. And I’ve sunk three almost four years of my life into this world.”

“It feels too late to do anything but perpetuate it,” Hermione said.

“I’ve thought about going to culinary school,” Harry said. “Maybe starting a restaurant.”

“A restaurant?” Hermione asked with a grin. “You like to cook?”

“I’m shockingly good at it,” Harry said. “Sometimes Dobby even lets me use the kitchens to make something to eat. It’s fun to cook. It’s fun to get something right and watch it turn out well, and then you get to see people you care about eating something you made and enjoying it. It’s…rewarding. I even made a little birthday cake for Daisy this year. She loved it.”

“That’s sweet,” Hermione said, feeling a small shiver wrack her body. Looking around, she realized they were still standing in the Owlery and had been for some time. Surrounded by rodent skeletons, owl droppings, and molted feathers, all had fallen away while the pair had been chatting, oblivious.

“Shall we get inside?” Harry asked. “Bit nippy out here, after all.”

“I do have homework,” Hermione said, and Harry chuckled.

“You always have homework,” he said.

“It’s not my fault I’m studious,” Hermione said, watching as he led the way to the door and held it open for her. Once again in the warmth of the castle, the pair made their way toward the Ravenclaw common room, Harry seemingly content to walk her back.

“Well, I suppose you being studious is nice for me,” he said. “And my Arithmancy grade.”

“See?” Hermione said with an impish smile. “Everyone wants to tease until they need help bringing a grade up. At least you’ve stuck around even after you’ve gotten what you needed.”

“Well, believe it or not, I actually enjoy your company,” Harry said. “I could hit an O in Arithmancy, you still won’t be getting rid of me. Not to mention, my little sister seems quite fond of you already.”

Feeling her face heat up a bit at his words, Hermione’s smile widened to a goofy grin, and she felt her shoulders hunch in a pleased way. “Well…that’s quite nice,” she said.

And, well…it was.

Notes:

This one didn't want to end on any sort of note, so it just sort of petered out. Hopefully it doesn't feel like a letdown.

Reviews and feedback are always appreciated!

Chapter 4: Excursion

Hermione knew that Harry was rather good at quidditch; in fact, it was only out of a sense of loyalty to Cho that she had refrained from admitting aloud that he was the best seeker the school had seen in some time. He was a natural on a broom in every sense of the word, bullheaded enough to turn away most attempts at coaching his technique yet at the same time possessing a skill to back it up.

However, in the past, her exposure to his play style was limited entirely to games in which Ravenclaw was facing off against Gryffindor. As such, Hermione had been up until now rather singularly focused on the object of her continuing coaching efforts, to study her technique and offer constructive critiques as needed or positive reinforcement when warranted. Never had she willingly attended a quidditch game in which her own protégé wasn’t taking part, preferring to help her improve in her own right and not to model her playstyle with express purpose of being better than someone else.

That was overspecialization and not at all a good groundwork.

Today, in a bit of a shuffle to the usual formula, she found herself not only attending a quidditch game in which Cho wasn’t participating, but it wasn’t even an officially-sanctioned match, merely a pickup game between two teams unwilling to let silly notions of a Triwizard Tournament interfere with their fun. She wasn’t here to critique anyone’s form or provide after-match tips on how to better perform; no, she was here to watch the boy she liked zip around the pitch and look actually rather cool while doing so.

Harry Potter could fly. Such was his skill that he even managed to make the simple act of scouring around for the golden snitch look utterly captivating. Hermione was aware of a bit of personal bias in such an observation, but she took solace in the fact that she at least wasn’t alone in her opinion.

Granted, present company was likely equally as biased.

“He flies so good!” Mafalda cooed, staring wide eyed through a pair of binoculars that pivoted and whipped about as she tracked the airborne boy. “He’s like a feather or a plastic bag in the wind.”

“He’ll be so delighted to be compared to a plastic bag,” Daisy giggled, though she too was tracking Harry’s progress through a pair of omnioculars, evidently a souvenir from the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione currently held another other pair. For the moment, she’d lowered hers to better appreciate the way Harry seemed to flow around the pitch, ducking in and out of the action while piloting his broom with natural ease and grace. Draco Malfoy on the other hand seemed to be struggling to keep up. He wasn’t a poor flyer—in fact, he was solid and seemed to have a decent enough technique.

Harry simply made it look so effortless.

“Malfoy’s just so bad,” Daisy muttered. “He flies like a robot.”

“He flies like a technician,” Hermione said. “Essentially the same thing. He knows what a good seeker does, and he does it. But it’s all a queue in his head, an order of operations that he follows to get the desired results. Harry’s a natural. He does what feels right, and what feels right is usually what the situation calls for.”

“Harry’s also just better,” Daisy said matter-of-factly, and Hermione giggled.

“That’s true,” she said. And it was. She’d never seen the two fly side-by-side, but now that she was watching it, the difference was almost night and day. Draco Malfoy was good, to be sure. But Harry Potter was simply in another league. It was often too early to tell at this age, but he could certainly go pro.

Glancing down from where she’d been staring, Hermione found Daisy peering up at her with a knowing smile on her face, and she stuck her tongue out at the girl.

“You fancy my brother,” Daisy said in a singsong voice.

“Oh, hush,” Hermione muttered, and Daisy cackled. “You’re supposed to be in my corner, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I can still tease,” Daisy told her.

“I think it’s cute!” Mafalda insisted. “Harry’s great! Why wouldn’t she fancy him?”

“Well, as long as you don’t try to steal him from me completely,” Daisy said.

“I would never,” Hermione said. “You’re going to help me keep him in line.”

“Oh, I knew I liked you,” Daisy said with a grin.

As cold wind whipped by, Hermione clutched her cloak tighter around herself, trapping the heat from the jar of blue flame she’d brought along. The girls were clustered as close as they were able, the three of them sharing the lone source of warmth on an otherwise unforgivingly-cold November day.

Despite the weather, however, the turnout to the game was quite robust. The Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was the stuff of legend, and it was no secret that Draco Malfoy had long declared Harry his personal nemesis on the quidditch pitch. Even in the corridors, he spewed scathing remarks and vitriol as often as he was able. Harry, for his part, blithely ignored the blond ponce, never once rising to his bait and succeeding in making Malfoy look the fool most often by simply not engaging.

“Did Viktor Krum really end up showing?” Daisy asked with a curious look about. “Oh, I see him. With his little herd of fangirls around him, per usual.”

“Maddening, that bunch,” Hermione sighed. “They’ve made a quiet trip to the library all but impossible with how much they follow him and lurk about, tittering and giggling and just making noise.”

“Tittering is a funny word,” Mafalda observed.

“It is,” Daisy said with a nod.

“Another foul for Slytherin!” Lee Jordan announced. “New captain Henry Urquhart needs to remember that this game still abides all the rules or his team will forfeit!”

“Who on Earth is Henry Urquhart?” Hermione asked.

“New Slytherin captain,” Daisy said, eyes again fixed through her omnioculars. “Montague finally graduated, or they kicked him out or something.”

“There’s a butterfly by Viktor Scum’s ear,” Mafalda observed.

“He wasn’t on the team last year,” Hermione mused, and Daisy shrugged.

“You’ll have to ask my dear brother about that,” she said. “He’s the one that pays attention to the rosters and stuff.”

“Not a fan of quidditch?” Hermione asked.

“I know enough to keep up with Harry and Uncle Sirius when they start going on about it, and I’ve never missed one of Harry’s games,” Daisy said proudly. “Even before Hogwarts, I would bully Uncle Sirius into bringing me to them. Not that he needed much excuse.”

“You really like your big brother, don’t you?” Hermione asked. In response, Daisy only grinned up at him.

“Well,” she said, “what’s not to like?”

Hermione didn’t really have an adequate answer to that question.

About an hour into the match, Harry made a sudden beeline across the pitch, pressed flat onto his broom and blurring a bit as he shot for his target. All three girls screamed themselves hoarse cheering as Draco tried and failed to intercept his bid for the snitch. Harry pulled out of his dive pumping his fist in triumph, and the stadium erupted in cheers, the unbeatable seeker having continued his streak. Hermione watched as his eyes scanned the pitch, and she dared hope for a moment before his gaze found the three of them, a grin lighting up his face. Waving, she giggled a bit as he waved enthusiastically back.

“You two,” Daisy said with a smirk. “When are you going to ask him out?”

“What!?” Hermione yelped. “What are – “

“Oh, be real, Hermione,” Daisy huffed. “Putting some makeup on will certainly get him to notice you, but even then, he needs to get it through his thick skull that you like him, and that’s not likely. Ask Mum sometime; Potter boys are oblivious.”

“But – “

“You need to set yourself up as his one true chance at real love,” Daisy said while Mafalda nodded along passionately. Hermione was reminded of Marietta and Cho the other day, though smaller and rather more impish. “But you have to be the one to pull the trigger. Make the first move! It’s the nineties! A girl can ask a boy out!”

“…You really are precocious,” Hermione told her, and Daisy stuck her tongue out.

“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” she said. “…Really, I don’t. What’s it mean?”

“Granger!” Harry’s voice shouted, and Hermione rounded to see him hovering near her spot in the stands. Steadfastly ignoring the hateful looks being thrown her way by the surrounding girls, she focused on his windswept hair and the absolutely cocky grin that sent her heart thudding. “Hey, did you see?”

“Of course I did,” Hermione told him. “That was quite a good catch.”

“Not half bad, am I?” Harry asked with a wink.

“Not half,” she agreed. “Are you going to go celebrate with your team?”

“Yeah, just wanted to ask you—you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?” Harry asked her.

“I am,” Hermione said, unable to keep a nervous flutter from her voice.

“Did you maybe want to meet up?” Harry asked. “I’d like to treat you to a few butterbeers, pay you back for helping me with my grades. Maybe I could buy you something—new book or a planner or something.”

“You sure know how to spoil a girl,” Hermione said, despite feeling that those were actually quite thoughtful ideas.

“What can I say, I’m a natural,” Harry said. “See you there?”

“You don’t have to buy me – “

“Sure I do,” Harry said. “Meet me in the Great Hall tomorrow, yeah?”

“…Oh, fine,” Hermione said with a giggle. “You’d best not keep me waiting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.

“Potter!” one of the Weasley twins called out.

“Stop your flirting and let’s get this party started!” the other bellowed.

“I’ll murder them,” he muttered. “Tomorrow, then, Granger. See you.”

“Bye,” Hermione said as he drifted away, turning to see Daisy beaming up at her.

“Can I be your maid of honor?” she asked. “Mafalda can be the flower girl.”

“I love flowers!” Mafalda chirped, back to peering around through her binoculars.

“Oh, you two!”

…

When she reached the entrance to the common room, Hermione ran into Cho and Marietta, where she filled them in on the game and Harry’s chat with her afterward. Cho, upon hearing that the pair would be going together to Hogsmeade, went into paroxysms of joy.

“He asked you on a date!?” she squealed, flinging her arms around Hermione and dancing happily in place. “Hermione, that’s brilliant!”

“It’s not a date, per se,” Hermione huffed, though she grinned at her friend’s antics. “We’re just going to Hogsmeade together. He asked me last-minute and everything.”

“Hey, don’t sell it short,” Marietta said. “He asked you. Harry Potter doesn’t ask people to hang out with him.”

“Have you done your research?” Hermione asked as they settled onto a couch near a high window.

“I have,” Marietta said crisply. “Padma was happy to share some of her sister’s various rantings. Evidently, you’re the bane of the existence of every girl in Gryffindor, from about third year to sixth. And even a couple seventh-years.”

“That’s a bit sad,” Hermione said. “I haven’t done anything to them.”

“Not directly,” Marietta said, “but Harry showing an interest in you where he wasn’t previously interested in anyone means now they’re forced to realize that they lack something you have.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione huffed. “Harry was only interested in me because he—um, wanted to get his grades up.”

She had almost spilled the beans about Harry’s possibly-now-bygone infatuation with Cho. There was no need to dig up that chestnut.

“Even so, it’s beyond that now,” Marietta said. “He likes you. Even if he’s too thick to realize it himself, all the girls can see it, and it’s eating them up. Before, they could just shrug and tell themselves Harry’s not interested in anyone at all, so it’s no personal failing of theirs.”

“But now that he’s into you, that excuse has run its course, and they’re jealous,” Cho said.

“Well, that seems like their business and hardly any of my concern,” Hermione said with a small frown, and Marietta snickered.

“You tell ‘em,” she said. “Bunch of harpies.”

“So, what are you going to wear tomorrow?” Cho asked.

“I don’t really know,” Hermione shrugged, staring out the window at the darkening grounds. “Probably jeans and that warm jumper.”

Glancing over at the pair, she saw Cho and Marietta both staring. While Marietta’s look was one of dubious amusement, Cho was askance, as though she’d just witnessed a murder.

“…What?”

“Marietta?” Cho asked.

“I think a turtleneck,” Marietta said immediately. “Maybe that lovely plaid skirt of yours.”

“Stockings?”

“Oh, tights, it’ll be quite chilly,” Marietta countered. “Oh, and the cardigan.”

“Oooh, the cardigan,” Cho said with relish. “Excellent. And a hat.”

“That wool beret you had for Christmas last year, from your gran,” Marietta said.

“Yes!” Cho squeaked, now jolting jubilantly to her feet and dragging Hermione with her. “Come along, dear, let’s get your outfit sorted.”

“But – “

“Just go along with it, it’ll be quicker,” Marietta told her, following in the pair’s wake. Heaving a small sigh, Hermione allowed herself to be herded toward the girls’ dormitories for another “montage”.

Truth be told, she was rather looking forward to how nice she was likely to look tomorrow.

000

Taking a steadying breath, Hermione smoothed out her skirt for what felt like the thousandth time. It felt a bit strange to be wearing one on a fairly casual excursion. A dress or skirt to a formal affair or as part of her uniform was one thing; when she was simply going about her business, however, she tended to prefer slacks or jeans. But here she was, dressed rather to the nines in a lovely blue plaid pleated skirt, black tights, a black turtleneck, and a deep bronze cardigan.

“Flying the Ravenclaw colors,” Cho had insisted.

Topping the whole look off was a black beret, perched just so on her head and charmed to stay perfectly jaunty in even the most stubborn wind. Of course, Cho and Marietta had gone at her with the makeup brushes, citing that this was a date and thus needed a bit more than the natural look. With perfectly-pink lips, rosy cheeks, and something Marietta had called winged eyeliner, Hermione personally felt that she had never looked better in her life.

Ugh, what was she becoming? Makeup and perfectly-chosen outfits? She was a scholar not some giggling schoolgirl!

And yet, as Harry finally reached the Great Hall and fixed her with a wide-eyed look of amazement, she felt that there was nothing wrong with blending a bit of both. Her date for the day made his way closer, and Hermione noted that he was dressed nicely as well—sporting rather nice slacks and a button-down shirt with a warm-looking jacket over it, it looked as though he had even made an effort at styling his hair.

It was a valiant one, at least.

“You look nice,” Hermione said as he drew near, and Harry shot her a bashful little smile.

“Daisy insisted I gussy up a bit,” he said. “Glad I did now, so I don’t look the slob. You look…amazing.”

“Oh, this old getup?” Hermione said with a mock tone of affected casualness. “Just something I threw together in…two or three hours.”

“I suppose Cho and Marietta had a hand in it?” Harry asked. “You always seemed more into your studies than fashion.”

“I can be into both,” Hermione huffed with a pout that lost the fight to a little smile. “But…yes.”

“Girls are so multifaceted,” Harry chuckled. “I’m positively flat and uninteresting by comparison.”

“Oh, you’re frightfully complex, believe me,” Hermione told him as they made their way to the carriages that would haul them to Hogsmeade. “At the very least, you’ve a silent and mysterious reputation to the girls at school.”

“Silent and mysterious?” he said with a snort. “Is that really what they think of me? I just hate small-talk and happen to be really awkward.”

“Yes, I’m learning that about you,” Hermione muttered.

“Well, if I’ve accidentally cultivated some suave façade or something, don’t spoil it,” Harry said. “I rather like it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hermione said. “It makes me look better for associating with you.”

They climbed into a carriage (Harry graciously held the door and took her hand to help her in, which was quite nice), and Hermione watched out the window as it set off and trundled along toward the village.

“You planning to watch the First Task?” Harry asked once they had settled in.

“I’m not really sure,” Hermione said. “On the one hand, the Triwizard Tournament is an old tradition, and it would be fascinating to watch it. But also…”

“The whole thing seems a bit extravagant,” Harry said. “Pointless, really. All this pomp, all this time and effort put into what’s essentially a blood sport. And to make it a school event—that’s like muggles deciding to revive gladiator games and going about to sixth-form students to ask if they want to have a go at it.”

“It does seem rather…intense for a school event,” Hermione said. “Most of those competing haven’t even finished their education, yet they’re being put up against deadly tasks. Why not make it similar to the Olympics? Surely it would be more entertaining to watch fully-trained adults take on these sorts of tasks.”

“Less danger that way,” Harry said. “Not as entertaining.”

“D’you really think this was a deliberate decision?” Hermione asked, eyes going wide. “They picked the most dangerous option for—who am I kidding, of course they did.”

“This society is brutal,” Harry said. “I think they honestly lack any sort of empathy. Did you read that garbage that Rita Skeeter wrote about Nev? And most of these fools actually believed it? You’d think they hadn’t shared a school with him for the past three years.”

“It’s mad,” Hermione agreed. “Everything I’ve read speaks of the most reactionary and gullible people imaginable.”

“And xenophobic,” Harry said. “Don’t forget that. Mum’s favorite word to use to describe them.”

“Look at us, chatting about boring politics on the way to a fun day out,” Hermione giggled. “We should be deciding where to go first.”

“Well, I did promise Uncle Sirius I’d send him some Honeydukes chocolate,” Harry said. “Fancy stopping there first?”

“I suppose,” Hermione said, and Harry grinned at her.

“Don’t like candy?” he asked.

“Mum and Dad are dentists, remember?” Hermione said.

“Right, I forgot,” Harry told her with a mock-somber expression, and Hermione gave him a gentle kick in the leg.

“Dentists provide a valuable service,” she insisted. “They keep teeth clean and healthy.”

“Yeah, and in the process, they poke and stick and prod at them with those metal tools that…scrape all over the place,” Harry said with a shudder. “Mum took us a few times before Uncle Sirius finally got her to realize that Trippman’s Tooth Tonic did all that needed doing.”

“And straightening charms,” Hermione said. “For these lovely crooked teeth of mine.”

“I think you have nice teeth,” Harry said. “Pretty smile.”

“Well, that’s because I had braces for several years,” Hermione said, hoping the dim interior of the carriage hid the blush blooming over her cheeks. Harry thought her smile was pretty!? “And I did the tooth-shrinking charm, which my parents can never find out about, of course.”

“Naturally,” Harry chuckled. “In addition to the existence of Trippman’s Tooth Tonic.”

“Oh, that would shatter them,” Hermione said. “I can’t decide if they would be brokenhearted that their entire profession is moot in this world or absolutely livid that wizardkind hasn’t shared their advancements with the muggles.”

“Perfectly willing to swipe trains and busses and buildings, but one simple dental potion that would do some real good for muggles, absolutely not,” Harry chuckled.

“One could easily market it as a mouthwash, and they would be none the wiser,” Hermione said. “Of course…Mum and Dad would see a drastic decline in patients.”

“You’ve found yourself at a real moral crossroads,” Harry said with a smirk, and Hermione snickered at him.

The carriage trundled up to Hogsmeade, and they disembarked into a chilly Scottish day. The surrounding trees had lost much of their green, though plenty of conifers still remained amidst the tangle of brown branches and trunks. Hogsmeade Village looked lovely, and while it wasn’t supposed to snow, a few flakes swirled in the slight gust blowing through the streets. Hermione was glad she had layered up.

“What’s your favorite Hogsmeade shop?” Harry asked as they walked. “Tomes and Scrolls?”

“Actually, no,” Hermione said with a playful nudge of her elbow. “Tomes and Scrolls is handy for ordering a particular book, but Flourish and Blott’s is much better when you’d rather a book find you, if that makes sense.”

“Sort of,” Harry said. “So, your favorite shop in Hogsmeade is?”

“Proudly’s Pastries, actually,” Hermione said with a little smile. “Cho took me in there once, and I really like the little cakes they have. They’re so…cute, I suppose. Sometimes I buy some of their scones and send them home to Mum and Dad.”

“I’ve been in there,” Harry said. “Mum and Dad actually had their first date at Proudly’s.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Hermione said. “Perhaps we should stop in after Honeydukes?”

“Daisy does love the little Neapolitan cakes he sells,” Harry said. “Come to think of it, so do I.”

“D’you have a bit of a sweet tooth?” Hermione asked him. “Honeydukes, Proudly’s, butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.”

“You know, maybe I do,” Harry said pensively. “Never gave it that much thought.”

The Honeydukes trip was kept rather quick; the store was of course packed with students stockpiling sugary sweets while given the chance. Harry bought a brick of chocolate for his uncle and even threw in some Peppermint Toads for his mum.

“She loves them, and you can only get them from Honeydukes,” Harry told her.

“What a wonderful son you are,” Hermione told him.

“You know, I try my best,” Harry said, “and it’s nice to be recognized.”

“Maybe they should have a Son’s Day, like Mother’s Day,” Hermione said with a grin.

“I suggested that to Mum once,” Harry said. “She told me it’s called my birthday, and if I want another, I should try giving birth sometime.”

As they left the store, Hermione let a snort, covering her mouth against a peal of laughter while Harry chuckled next to her.

“Your Mum sounds lovely,” she said. A brisk wind whipped through, and she unconsciously huddled a bit closer to him, peering about. “Um…Proudly’s next? Or did you want to go somewhere else?”

“We could go to Tomes and Scrolls,” Harry said. “They have these really fancy enchanted planners they just got in. Seems right up your alley.”

“That sounds like it would bore you to tears,” Hermione said with a smile, and Harry shrugged.

“Well, you really helped me out with tutoring me,” he said. “I figure I owe you a gift. Besides, from what I hear, you can actually link two planners together—you write in one and it shows up in the other, so you can make plans and the like. But it’s also handy for keeping in touch.”

“Like passing notes,” Hermione said, feeling her face heat up.

“Well, basically,” Harry said with a nervous little laugh. “I thought we could get two, and then it’d be easier to meet up to study or cancel plans or something.”

“That’s actually a really good idea,” Hermione said. “Goodness, you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“I do that sometimes,” Harry shrugged. “Tomes and Scrolls, then?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione said.

The trip to the bookstore was surprisingly quick (a first for Hermione), and Harry hauled the bag with their purchases while Hermione thanked him profusely—he only waved off the sentiment, chuckling at her.

“Thank my family,” he said. “I suppose I come from money.”

“I’ll be sure to write your mum a letter,” Hermione told him.

“Hopefully she doesn’t grill me about you over Christmas,” Harry muttered. “She’s been on me to make a friend or two.”

“Are you going home for Christmas?” Hermione asked. “I would’ve thought you’d stay for the Yule Ball.”

“…The what?” Harry asked, nonplussed, and Hermione giggled.

“The Yule Ball,” she said. “It’s a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament. The host school also hosts a ball on the night of Christmas. It’s open to fourth-years and above this year. Didn’t you wonder why we had dress robes on the school list this year?”

“Not really,” Harry said. “Seen some weird things on that list. Remember the year Gilderoy Lockhart pumped the entire student body for money?”

Hermione rolled her eyes that that. “Horrible,” she muttered. “I can’t believe Dumbledore actually hired that man.”

“I can,” Harry chuckled. “Dumbledore’s a daft idiot.”

“Well—you’re not the only one that feels that way,” Hermione said with a grimace. “The Prophet’s been having a field day with him with Neville disappearing like he did. Anyway—we’ve gotten sidetracked.”

“Us?” Harry chuckled. “Never.”

“Do you think you might go to the Yule Ball?” Hermione asked him as they neared Proudly’s Pastries. Harry looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Hmm,” he noised, “dunno. I’ve never stayed at the castle over the holidays before. Too much fun to be had back home.”

“Well, there’s fun to be had at the castle now,” Hermione said. “A dance, and all that.”

“I’m not exactly the dancing sort,” Harry said. “Social gatherings, crowds, loud music…”

“I think it could be fun if you went with a friend,” Hermione told him. Harry smirked a bit at that, shooting a look down at her.

“Well, you’re my only actual friend, remember?” he asked her. “Are you asking me to go with you to the Yule Ball?”

Hermione felt her face heat up, and she shrugged, peering at her feet. “Perhaps,” she said. “I thought it could be…fun.”

“…Oh,” Harry said, his smirk fading to a bemused smile. “You’d…wanna go with me?”

“It doesn’t have to be any big production,” Hermione hastened to elaborate. “I’ve a lovely dress picked out, and Cho will probably want to cake on some makeup and fancy my hair up. We can dance a few times, have some fun, and just…enjoy each other’s company like we’ve been doing.”

“I guess that does sound fun, put that way” Harry said. “Honestly, once Mum finds out about this thing, she’ll all but demand I go and take pictures all dressed up.”

“Well, think of the points you’ll get if you tell her you’re escorting the girl that got you a passing grade in Arithmancy,” Hermione told him.

“Shrewd,” Harry chuckled. “Very shrewd, Granger. Yeah, alright. I’d be honored to take you to the Yule Ball.”

“Wonderful,” Hermione said, trying not to sound overeager and desperately hoping the thudding of her heart in her chest wasn’t as loud as it sounded to her.

Surely he could hear it as well!

They had reached the pastry shop, and Harry held the door open for her again. Inside, the place smelled lovely, the scent of all manner of baked treats filling the air. Right inside, a large glass display case bore an assortment of magical sweets, from tiny cakes to chocolate bars to single-scoop bowls of delicate mousse. Next to the case sat a large old cash till, which was currently being operated by a girl that looked fresh out of Hogwarts. To the right, a large archway led to a dining area. Despite it only being late November, the shop was decorated for the season, with colored lights slowly floating freely around the ceiling in a constantly shifting sea of sparkles.

“Welcome to Proudly’s!” the girl said as soon as they walked in. “Have a seat, menus are on the tables.”

“Um…did you want to sit?” Harry asked. “Whatever they’re making that smells like chocolate, I’m thinking I might like to try some.”

“Most likely those quatre quarts they’re advertising,” Hermione said, pointing to the chalkboard menu behind the counter, which bore large blinking words announcing a new type of cake. “It’s a French loaf cake, essentially a pound cake. It’s actually quite tasty. They serve it with coffee or tea.”

“You’ve had it?” Harry asked, already leading her toward a table.

“Mhm,” Hermione nodded. “I holidayed in France last summer. It was lovely.”

“I thought French food was all snails and such,” Harry said distastefully as they sat. Hermione giggled, shaking her head at him.

“They do serve escargot, but that’s hardly all they have to offer,” she said. “French cuisine is some of the best you’ll ever have.”

“What was your favorite dish?” Harry asked once they had ordered their cakes and coffee.

“Hm…salmon caprese, I’d say,” Hermione said. “It’s the one I remember the most. It was so delicious and served with these little tomatoes.”

“Blech, tomatoes,” Harry said. “Hate them.”

“You don’t like tomatoes?” Hermione asked, finding herself unduly fascinated at this miniscule insight.

“Never have,” Harry said. “Mum would always make me try them to see if I liked them yet, and I just…didn’t. But, I like nearly every other vegetable, where Daisy’s much too picky over them, so she doesn’t mind that I just don’t like tomatoes.”

“The three of you must be very close,” Hermione observed. They were served their cakes, and Hermione took a bite of hers, followed almost immediately by another—deliciously chocolatey with a hint of buttery smoothness. Mum and Dad would no doubt chide her for eating something so laden with sugar, though it would be a simple matter to distract them with the news that she had not only a new friend but also a possible boyfriend.

Dad would be scandalized—Mum would probably be ecstatic.

“We were pretty much all we had growing up,” Harry said. “Uncle Sirius was there a lot, but he had his own family to keep track of. He couldn’t always be around. And Uncle Remus…he always seemed to be on hard times, due to his…issue.”

Hermione had found out recently that “Uncle Remus” was in fact Remus Lupin, a former professor who had resigned after it had gotten out that he was afflicted with lycanthropy. Yet another scandal in a school full of them. Apparently, he and Harry’s father had been close friends throughout school, along with Uncle Sirius.

“Didn’t you have friends?” Hermione asked, and Harry chuckled.

“Not likely,” he said. “We live in the middle of nowhere in Cornwall, by Porthpean Beach.”

“Oh, that must be lovely, though,” Hermione said. “It sounds peaceful.”

“It’s certainly quiet,” Harry said, taking a massive bite of his cake. “Oh, good cake. Where d’you live? Oh, wait, you told Hedwig. Uh…Hampstead, yeah? London?”

“Mhm,” Hermione said. “Nice neighborhood. Lots of kids my own age growing up, but…none of them really wanted to play with me.”

“Because you’re a bookish nerd and not shy about it?” Harry asked quite bluntly.

“Well…yes,” Hermione huffed.

“Eh, hang ‘em,” Harry said with an airy wave of his hand. “Who’ve you got to impress?”

“Well…I was a bit insufferable,” Hermione admitted.

“Everyone starts out insufferable,” Harry shrugged. “The point is getting better.”

“That’s…a profoundly simple way of looking at it,” Hermione said.

“That’s me, profoundly simple,” Harry said, and Hermione nudged his foot softly under the table.

“Oh, hush,” she said. “I’ve already told you you’re frightfully complex.”

Taking a bite of his cake, Harry studied her with a grin before taking a sip of coffee. “You mind telling Daisy that sometime?” he asked her.

“But I want her to like me,” Hermione snickered, and Harry cackled out a laugh.

“So do I.”

Notes:

I had no idea how to end this one. I figured I'd just end on a funny and bounce to the next chapter.

I've also been having another damnable IDEA for a fic, which I might poke at and post for consideration.

Feedback is always appreciated!

Chapter 5: Inevitable

Notes:

Well, due to a lingering sickness, I've found myself with an abundance of writing time, so my suffering translates into a bit more romantic nonsense for your enjoyment.

So, please enjoy.

“I swear, sometimes I absolutely hate that brother of mine,” Daisy grumbled.

“Oh, you do not,” Hermione said with a wry smile at her. “What’s he done now?”

“He didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend!” Daisy all but shouted, and Hermione glanced about the library with a wary eye kept open for Madame Pince.

“Do try to keep your voice down, won’t you?” she hissed. “We’re going to the Yule Ball together; that’s progress, isn’t it?”

“But you were supposed to realize you had feelings for each other on your date!” Daisy said with a pout.

“And snog,” Mafalda added, nodding sagely. Daisy gestured at her with her thumb.

“Yeah, and snog,” she repeated.

“That’s not how real relationships work, you mad little things,” Hermione said, feeling her face heat up. “It takes time to go from being friends to being…more than that.”

“Well, hurry it up!” Daisy huffed with a grin. Hermione hastened to shush her again, but too late. With a familiar quiet whirl that Hermione had in the past come to associate with impending blissful silence, she found the full force of the stern librarian’s intolerance for disruption turned on her. In a bizarre twist, she herself was shunted from the library along with the two little noisemakers, Madame Pince’s threats of a lifetime ban echoing in her ears as she followed the little ones into the corridor. Outside, she glared down to see two impish smiles fixed up at her.

“Welp, guess we can just sit in the lounge, then,” Daisy said.

“Does Harry just happen to be spending time in the lounge?” Hermione asked flatly.

“Probably,” Daisy said without an ounce of shame.

“Let’s go find out!” Mafalda chirped.

“So you two had an agenda, did you?” Hermione asked them with an arched eyebrow.

“I don’t know what that means!” Mafalda said cheerily as they set off.

It was only a day before the First Task, and Cedric was neck-deep in preparation for the big mystery event. Cho was going spare fretting over it, leaving Hermione and Marietta to attempt to distract her. Even the news that Hermione would be attending the Yule Ball with Harry (and had asked him, to boot) had provided only a moment’s respite from Cho’s mounting panic. It was sweet, in a way, to see her worry over Cedric so much—though only to a point. Eventually, unable to distract Cho and unwilling to deal with the secondhand anxiety of constantly watching over her, Hermione and Marietta had agreed to take it in shifts to keep her company and assuage her fears however they were able.

In fact, it was such an endeavor that had brought her to the library in the first place; while Cho and Marietta talked Yule Ball looks (or Marietta attempted to while Cho worried over what manner of horror awaited her beloved), Hermione had decided to devote her “day off” to looking up all she could about the Triwizard Tournament, its tasks, and their accompanying perils.

At least until the two gremlins had found her.

“You two are going to have to answer to Cho if Cedric gets himself maimed tomorrow,” Hermione cautioned the pair as they led her along.

“Oh, how very dangerous could this whole thing be?” Daisy asked in sardonic tones, and Hermione was about explain exactly how dangerous it could when a figure came bounding around a corner ahead. A familiar mop of messy black hair whirled about before Harry fixed his eyes on them and hurried in their direction.

“Oi, Hermione!” he said, and Hermione couldn’t help a small flutter in her chest. She had graduated from “Granger” to “Hermione” quite recently, and it was still such a ridiculous little thrill to hear him say her first name.

She was well aware that it was utterly mad.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Hermione said, watching as he dashed up. “Is everything okay?”

“Where’s Cho?” he asked, and for a frightful moment Hermione wondered if he had suddenly gotten up the courage to Cho out or invite her to the Yule Ball or perhaps profess his undying love and demand her hand in marriage—but that was silly. Even if Harry was still pining after the girl, he seemed to have enough respect for Cedric not to attempt to steal her away.

Not that he would have any luck; Cho was positively smitten.

Putting away her hysterical notions for a moment (which she was quite good at by now), Hermione pointed vaguely off in a westerly direction. “She’s with Cedric practicing spells or – “

“I need to talk to Cedric,” Harry cut her off urgently. In fact, he looked positively panicked; Hermione had never seen him so twitchy before. “It’s really important.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked, reaching out without even really thinking about it and taking Harry’s hand to lead him off. “They’re this way.”

“I’ve been—out,” Harry said. “Visited with Hagrid. He showed me something I think Cedric really ought to know about.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked. “Did you find out what the First Task is?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a fearful look. “He has to fight a dragon.”

…

Cho was torn between absolutely blinding fear and an all-consuming rage so white-hot that Hermione was afraid she might actually go and attempt to curse Professor Dumbledore. Cedric, meanwhile, seemed resolved, his face impassive save for a slightly wide-eyed expression upon hearing the news.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Harry,” he said. “I owe you one.”

“Reckon you do,” Harry said with a little grin. “You can repay me by not dying. I’ve grown fond of embarrassing you on the quidditch pitch.”

“You altruist, you,” Cedric chuckled before slumping against the teacher’s desk in the empty classroom he’d been using to practice. “Bugger. A dragon, eh?”

“A dragon!” Cho shrieked, for the fifth time, her voice beginning to go hoarse from the shouting she’d been doing. Hermione had cast a silencing charm on the door and walls just in case. “I can’t believe Dumbledore would – “

“Cho,” Cedric spoke smoothly, and she huffed through her nose, peering up at him with a positively petulant look. “I signed up for this, remember? I put my name in that goblet.”

“Stop making such good points while I’m trying to be mad on your behalf!” Cho spat, and Harry chuckled at that, earning a wan smile from her. “I want to thank you as well, Harry. At least he has some warning.”

“Listen,” Harry said, “I was thinking on my way here—what would I do if I had to fight a dragon, right? And I was thinking I’d want mobility, meet it on its own terms, yeah?”

“…My broom?” Cedric asked. “I can only take my wand.”

“Summoning charm, though,” Harry told him. “If you’ve got the range, if you just happen to have your broom stashed where it can reach you…”

“It’s…a longshot but…not actually a bad idea,” Cedric said thoughtfully. “I’m not half bad at a summoning charm, after all.”

“I’ll help you,” Cho insisted. “We can practice. I’ll stay up all night with you if I have to.”

“I’d best track down Daisy,” Harry said, backing for the door with a glance between the pair, who were now maintaining rather intense eye contact. “Ced, good luck?”

“Yeah, thanks, mate,” Cedric said. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you next time we play, now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry said. “You show that dragon how it’s done.”

He slipped from the room, and after a harried fluttering of the hands from Cho, Hermione got the message and followed, hurrying after Harry and falling into step beside him.

“That was really nice of you,” she told him, “warning him like that.”

“Well, I saw Karkaroff skulking about while I was visiting Hagrid, and I’m sure Hagrid’s told Maxime,” Harry said. “I just wanted to even the playing field, is all.”

“Still, you didn’t have to do it,” Hermione said. “Especially given…well, Cho and Cedric are getting rather serious.”

“…I suppose,” Harry shrugged. “I reckon Daisy was right, though. Cho and I—the more you tell me about her and the more I get to know her, she’s a bit too… I dunno.”

“Doesn’t feel suited?” Hermione asked, and Harry made a strange noncommittal gesture with his hands. “What was that little hand thing?”

“It’s my ‘eh’ thing,” Harry said, repeating the gesture with a small grin. “When there are no words, it’s just ‘eh’.”

“You’re revolutionizing communication, aren’t you?” Hermione giggled.

“It’ll catch on, I bet,” he said, and Hermione smiled up at him. “So, I think it’s about time I find a new girl to moon over, I suppose.”

“Well, make sure to pick a good one,” Hermione said, her heart in very real and imminent danger of thudding out of her ribcage. “Have you already got one in mind?”

“I might,” Harry said without meeting her eyes. “Haven’t known her long, but we’ve really been bonding lately. I actually quite like spending time with her, which is rare for me.”

“It’s Mafalda, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, giggling at the look on his face as he smirked down at her.

“Listen here, you,” he said warningly, and Hermione cackled now as he gave her a playful swat on the arm. “Maybe…we could go to Hogsmeade together again, next visit? But…for real this time?”

“As in not just an outing?” Hermione asked him, and it was certainly warmer in here than it had been moments ago. How did breathing work again? In…out…

“A date,” Harry nodded resolutely. “I… Listen, I like you, Hermione. I like spending time with you and…talking with you and just being around you. So I’d sort of like to do that more often, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind in the least,” Hermione said, embarrassed at how fluttery her voice sounded. Was this really happening? Had she dozed off in the library and dreamt this whole thing? She fought the irrational urge to pinch herself; even if this was a dream, she wasn’t eager to wake up.

“Well…brilliant,” Harry said with a smile. “Um…fancy helping me hunting down my sister? Only she does need to send a letter to Mum or there will be a Howler in the future.”

“I’m almost inclined not to help you just to see that happen,” Hermione giggled, and Harry bumped her with his shoulder.

“And make me suffer the shame of secondhand embarrassment?” he asked her. “That would be much too cruel.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Hermione admitted, bumping him back but being daring enough to remain so close. Heart hammering in her chest, she tried a technique Cho had shown her once, reaching up brush a lock of her hair back behind her ear and gazing at him through her eyelashes. To her delight, his face went very slightly pink at that, and felt a rush of satisfaction that she could have such an effect. “I’d hate to embarrass you, after all.”

Dropping her hand, she felt his brush against the back of hers, which sent a jolt like lightning up her arm. Oh, goodness, this boy was bad for her health. And, she realized, only getting worse as his hand actually sought hers out, fingers grazing against hers as he gently laced them together.

“Um…” he noised, glancing down at her, clearly unsure if he was crossing some unspoken boundary they had created. Perhaps he was, but Hermione wasn’t about to stop him. He could probably snog her in the corridor right now, and she’d be rather fine with it.

They’d need to have a lengthy discussion afterward pertaining to the nature of their relationship, of course, but she’d be quite okay in the moment.

For the time being, she gave his hand a small squeeze, enjoying the grip of his larger one, the feel of callouses along his palms and fingertips. He hated flying with quidditch gloves most days, he claimed; they hindered him more than they helped his grip on the broom or the snitch.

“Easier to keep track of you this way,” Hermione told him, and he grinned at her.

“I do have a tendency to wander off,” he said.

…

Cho wasn’t in her bed the next morning; she’d either gotten up ridiculously early or (much more likely and quite a bit more scandalous) stayed out all night helping Cedric with his summoning charm. Hermione was inclined to worry only briefly—while she wouldn’t put it past Cho to attempt to “distract” Cedric from his work every so often, Cedric was a consummate gentleman and unlikely to take advantage.

“Morning,” Marietta yawned as she made her way into the dormitory from the showers, already dressed in her uniform. “Cho getting up to no good with Ced, then?”

“I very much doubt it,” Hermione said with a wry smile. “Probably doing everything she can to make sure he survives the day. So she can get up to no good with him later.”

“Excellent point,” Marietta giggled. “And what about you? Things with Potter getting rather serious yet?”

“Well, we’ve…declared our intentions, if that counts,” Hermione said, feeling her face heat up.

“’Declared your intentions’?” Marietta asked with a dubious laugh. “Are you characters in a Victorian romance novel?”

“Well, he said he’s over Cho and…fairly spelled out that he likes me in a more-than-friendly way,” Hermione went on. “And I told him I feel rather the same, and then we held hands.”

“…Scandal of the century,” Marietta said in awed tones. “Hermione Granger held hands with a boy!”

“Oh, hush – “

“Hermione, you held hands with Harry!?” a shocked voice blurted from the corridor, and the dormitory door flung open to reveal Padma and Lisa on the threshold. “Really!?”

“Well, um…yes,” Hermione admitted. There was a moment’s silence before both girls squealed in joy, bounding over and wrapping her in a group hug.

“Progress!” Padma gushed. “Were you blushing?”

“Was he blushing?”

“Who held whose hand?”

“Cupped hands or laced fingers?”

“Oooh, did he sometimes do the little squeeze?”

“I love the little squeeze,” Lisa said, snagging up Padma’s hand to demonstrate, “like he’s not holding your hand enough and needs to hold it even more.”

“Ladies, you’re going to deafen her,” Marietta said, and the two stepped away, beaming smiles at Hermione.

“This is so good for you,” Padma insisted. “And I’m not just saying that because it’s been fun to see Parvati beside herself with fury.”

“Oh, certainly,” Hermione said with a giggle. “At least until she starts getting catty with me in the corridors.”

“…What?” Padma asked, frowning. “Is she being mean?”

“It’s just a comment here and there,” Hermione said with a wave of her hand. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Padma said with a cross look. “She’s no business taking out her insecurities on you.”

“Well, at least one of you is emotionally mature,” Marietta said, running a brush through her hair. “Enlightened Ravenclaws, putting others to shame as usual.”

“Dunno about that,” Lisa said. “We’ve our share of bullies, too, don’t we? I know nearly all the third-years have ganged up on poor Luna Lovegood.”

“That mad girl that thinks Cornelius Fudge is a vampire?” Hermione asked. “I’ve heard her spouting ridiculous theories like that at meals and trying to get everyone to read The Quibbler.”

“Even if she’s odd, that’s no reason to pick on her,” Padma insisted, and Hermione held her hands up defensively.

“No, I agree,” she said. “If someone’s odd, let them be odd.”

“For a house full of eccentric scholarly types there’s still quite a lot of pressure to conform,” Lisa pointed out.

“Well, it’s still a school,” Marietta said, turning away from her mirror. “Pressure to conform is rather part of the experience.”

Downstairs, the energy of the Great Hall was at an all-time high, even more so than last year, when the Quidditch Cup had been down to the finale between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Harry had of course clinched an easy victory, securing his place as the best seeker in Hogwarts history.

Today, there was more than a fancy cup on the line; three of the hall’s inhabitants were about to face down a dragon, and while Professor Dumbledore had insisted that safety measures had been drastically improved for this year’s Triwizard Tournament, there was still the chance that things could go horribly.

She wondered if anyone was having second thoughts. She wondered how anyone could have possibly had first thoughts. Signing up for anything with a nonzero chance of killing you in the name of glory and gold seemed mad, to her. Then again, quidditch was also potentially lethal, and here she was acting as the coach to one player while potentially dating another.

And there was her heart, going quite spastic while a smile pulled at her lips—she and Harry were…well, they were something, something decidedly more-than-friendly. Granted, the most they had done was hold hands and perhaps gaze into each other’s eyes more than once, but there was chemistry and a date in the books. That was more than enough for her, for the moment.

Seated at the Ravenclaw table and watching Cho (who had greeted them looking bedraggled and wearing the same outfit she’d been the night before) pick disinterestedly at some black pudding, Hermione found her eyes scanning the Gryffindor table before she even realized what she was doing. And there he was, chatting with an animated-looking Daisy and Mafalda, with that warm smile he always got when Daisy was being her charming self. Glancing up, he caught Hermione’s eye, grinning and casting a longsuffering look at his little sister. The two girls happened to spot where he was looking, and both waved at Hermione with their usual enthusiasm, and Mafalda even shouted “GOOD MORNING, HERMIO - !” before Daisy clapped a hand over her mouth.

“How are things going with him?” Cho asked, her tone lacking its usual intensity when discussing Hermione’s blossoming love life. The poor thing was obviously just casting around for something to take her mind off things, so Hermione threw her a bone.

“We held hands,” she said, watching Cho’s eyes widen, “and there’s a date set for next Hogsmeade visit.”

“…What!?” Cho shrieked. “Tell me everything!”

Hermione regaled Cho with perhaps a more detailed account of events than she would usually have given, and Cho drank up every detail with wide eyes and a great big smile, even scarfing a bit of food as she listened.

“He was mooning over another girl?” Cho asked. “Who?”

“Um…that’s a bit private,” Hermione hedged.

“It was me, wasn’t it?” Cho asked, and Hermione nearly spat out her tea. “Well, it was a bit obvious. But he’s over me now and into you! That’s amazing, Hermione!”

“How did— You knew!?” Hermione asked her with what she felt was a rather appropriate amount of shock. All the trouble she’d gone through to keep Harry’s secret, and he’d been so obvious anyway!

“The both of you may be absolutely oblivious to matters of love, but the rest of us aren’t, dear,” Cho told her.

“Naturally,” Hermione said in rueful tones. Any biting retort was withheld due to Cho’s rather delicate emotional state. At least she wasn’t beside herself with worry for the moment.

As the day wore on, however, even Hermione and Harry’s deepening relationship wasn’t enough to distract Cho, what with the First Task looming imminently ahead. Lessons would be ending at lunch, and they would then be dismissed to go observe the proceedings. While Hermione would normally give such a thing a miss, Cho was looking in such a lost and aimless state that Hermione couldn’t bear to leave her alone. Not that she eventually had much choice in the matter; when they stood to depart from lunch, Cho was clinging to Hermione’s arm in a grip to rival any permanent sticking charm.

“I feel like I’m about to be sick,” she said in a faint voice.

“Well, lucky you ate a light lunch,” Marietta pointed out.

“Marietta,” Hermione chided her. “Come on, let’s go get good seats.”

“Maybe he’ll slay the dragon and get a million points or something,” Marietta said as they left the Great Hall. “And they’ll take a picture of him standing all triumphant-looking on its body.”

“Shirtless,” Hermione added.

“Ooooh, and a good breeze blowing through so his hair looks proper windswept,” Marietta said.

“Cho can go clinging to his leg like the cover of a romance novel,” Hermione snorted.

“Stop making me laugh, I’m trying to have a panic attack here!” Cho said with hysterical little laugh.

They made their way out into a chilly November morning. There was no wind, giving the grounds a silent tension, like the day itself was anticipating the coming task. Hermione clutched her cloak around her, withdrawing an old and soot-smudged jar from her bag and casting her well-practiced cold-fire charm into it. Now huddling around the source of warmth, the trio pressed into the edges of the Forbidden Forest, down a marked path dotted with signs warning anyone who might feel the urge to wander off exactly how dangerous the Forbidden Forest was.

“Never understood the reasoning behind building a school next to forest filled with all manner of dangerous creature,” Marietta said.

“I never understood how the forest is so very forbidden yet they send you in for detentions,” Hermione said. “What if someone were to get hurt?”

“Or killed,” Marietta said. “Imagine you wander a bit far and get eaten by an acromantula or something.”

“According to Uncle Sirius, that’s happened,” Harry’s voice spoke, and Hermione jolted at the sound, rounding to see him and the two girls not far behind. “Alright?”

“Harry!” Hermione said before she could help herself, blushing at how very much she sounded like an eager girlfriend.

If only…

“Didn’t startle you, did I?” Harry asked, falling into step next to her and easily taking her hand. The action sent a thrill up her spine, and the heat in her face likely rivalled the warmth of the jar of flames in her free hand. Behind her, she could hear the two girls giggling to each other.

“Lurking about in the Forbidden Forest, you were bound to,” Hermione said, and Harry chuckled, his breath misting in the chill air before him.

“Next time I’ll make sure to announce myself, plod along,” he said, stomping his feet in the twigs and brush coating the ground.

“Then I’ll just think someone’s angry at me and marching up to berate me,” Hermione giggled.

“D’you make it a habit to upset people enough that they’ll come after you in a fit?” Harry asked her, and Hermione shrugged.

“It hasn’t happened yet, but I imagine I’ve come close.”

Eventually, the path led to a large stadium of sorts set up in an even larger clearing. Hermione wondered if it was naturally-occurring or if they had simply vanished a bunch of trees.

Either way, the centaurs likely didn’t appreciate all the hullabaloo on the edge of their lands.

As they approached the high wooden wall, an absolutely blood-chilling roar echoed over the treetops, a sound that screamed danger in the back of Hermione’s mind. Realizing the source, she looked over to see that Cho was white as a sheet and whimpering.

“Y’know what I realized the other day?” Harry spoke up as they followed a group of Hufflepuffs into the stadium and up a narrow wooden staircase into the stands. “Ced’s never been hit by a bludger.”

“…That can’t possibly be true,” Hermione said, mentally poring back through every match she’d seen Cedric participate in.

“No, it is,” Harry said with a nod. “He joined the Hufflepuff team in my first year at Hogwarts, and I went to every quidditch game. Never saw him take a hit, and he hasn’t since. He always dodges. Drives the Weasley twins mad. I remember one game they were talking about seeing how many times he could dodge before he got hit, but Wood put a stop to that. Didn’t want us getting fouled over and over again.”

“Ooh, what’s that one called?” Mafalda asked.

“Borking,” Harry said with a grin. “’Any excessive targeting of a single player by the beaters of the opposing team.’”

Giggling, Mafalda dissolved against Daisy’s side as they sat, apparently finding the word ‘borking’ unaccountably hilarious. Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s infectious cheer.

“She loves quidditch fouls,” Daisy explained. “Apparently they’re all funny-sounding to her.”

“Borking!” Mafalda gasped.

“It’s like I’ve adopted another little sister sometimes,” Harry said, taking a seat next to Hermione and peering out over the paddock in the middle of the stadium. The peat and moss of the Forbidden Forest was gone in here, transformed into a rocky crag that wouldn’t look out of place in the higher mountains in the distance.

The perfect habitat for a dragon.

“I think it’s good for you,” Hermione said. “You have a natural sort of big brother energy to you.”

“An unfortunate side-effect of my upbringing,” Harry told her gravely, and she giggled, shifting a bit to lean against him. Hesitantly, he brought an arm up and draped it over her shoulders, and Hermione felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. In fact, it was rather warm, warmer even than her bluebell flames had ever made her feel.

“Harry,” Daisy piped up, “doesn’t this whole paddock setup remind of you that movie we saw last summer? With the dinosaurs?”

“Jurassic Park?” Harry asked.

“Yeah!” Daisy said. “D’you think they have to fight a T-rex?”

“I think they’d be lucky to,” Harry chuckled with a glance at Cho, who was bouncing both legs anxiously.

The stands filled around them, a hum of conversation growing louder and louder until it was a dull roar. Soon enough, a booming voice filled the stadium.

“Welcome, one and all, to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament! Today, your champion must march bravely into the unknown in order retrieve…the golden egg!”

As the voice spoke, a glint of gold materialized in the middle of the paddock in front of them, along with a massive bundle of blackened stones and what looked like charcoal embers still glowing a reddish orange.

A dragon’s nest.

“Oh, no,” Hermione muttered.

“Nesting mothers,” Harry sighed. “They have to take an egg from a nesting dragoness.”

“Is that really bad?” Mafalda asked.

“Remember what I told you about a mother grizzly bear?” Harry asked her, and Mafalda winced. “Yeah.”

“Now, let us bring out our first champion—representing the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, let’s hear a big cheer for our hometown hero, CEDRIC DIGGORY!”

A roaring cheer went up, and even Harry sprung to his feet, bellowing out a yell. Yanking Cho up as well, he egged her on until she too let forth a sound that seemed somewhere between a cheer and a despondent wail.

“GO, CEDRIC!”

“And his foe, from the remotest reaches of Scandinavia, the Swedish Short-Snout!”

Another gut-wrenching roar met their ears, and a group of dragon-handlers with their wands held aloft preceded the entry of a rather beautiful-looking silvery-blue dragon. Golden talons stomped and crushed the rocky terrain beneath her to rubble, and the beast issued forth a burst of blue flame not unlike the ones flickering in Hermione’s jar though infinitely more dangerous, from what she had read.

More importantly, it was huge; Hermione had seen pictures in books of course, but none of them had prepared her for the sheer scope of a real live dragon. The thing took up nearly half the paddock, dwarfing Cedric as it loomed over him. There was simply no way a single human being could go up against a dragon and hope to achieve anything that the dragon did not want him to do. And the Swedish Short-Snout did not want Cedric anywhere near her clutch. Curling her tail protectively around the nest, she issued another warning roar at Cedric as the handlers went dashing from the paddock, leaving only the pair of them.

And then a cannon sounded, signaling the start of the task.

“Oh…” Cho whimpered, ducking into Marietta’s shoulder and squeezing onto her. “Just…tell me if he gets hurt or something!”

In the distance, the too-small figure of Cedric lifted his wand, and Hermione could just make out his words:

“Accio Firebolt!”

“…Firebolt?” Hermione asked. “Doesn’t Cedric have a Cleansweep Ten?”

“Actually, he just upgraded to an Eleven over the summer,” Harry said. “But the Firebolt’s unmatched for speed, so I figured he’d like as much of an edge as he could get.”

“You loaned him your broom?” Cho asked from Marietta’s shoulder. “Harry!”

She flung herself at him in a hug, and Harry let a bashful laugh as he gently squeezed her back. Hermione felt a flare of jealousy that she quickly quashed; there was no sense to such ridiculous thoughts.

“I told him if he gets the thing singed, he’s buying me a new one,” Harry said into Cho’s hair, and she snorted a giggle against him, extricating herself and watching as the broom zipped over the treetops and toward Cedric’s outstretched arm.

“What on Earth is young Diggory’s plan—my word, is that a broom he’s got!? I do believe it is! Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to witness wizard versus nature!”

Cedric hopped astride the broom and kicked off into the air to an uproarious cheer from the crowd. Sensing a threat to her brood, the Swedish Short-Snout fixed him in her sights and spat out a ball of electric-blue fire that Cedric only barely dodged to gasps from the crowd.

“By jove, can the boy fly! Krum, it looks like you’ll have competition in a few years! Diggory is ducking and weaving tail and talon and flame alike! The Short-Snout can’t even touch him!”

And it was true; just as Harry had said, Cedric was untouchable, zipping between attacks from the dragon as easily as though he were being pelted with bludgers. He made the whole thing look as effortless as though he were simply floating on a wind, taking a winding path heedless of the obstacles.

“He looks so cool!” Cho cooed in spite of her worry, watching Cedric from between her splayed fingers with her hands pressed over her eyes. “Oh!”

“That was a close one!” the announcer shouted as the dragon’s tail came within a hairsbreadth of hitting Cedric. “That Short-Snout is getting agitated, Diggory! Best act fast!”

“That’s the idea,” Harry said, watching intently. “He’s baiting it.”

“Trying to get it to take off?” Hermione asked as she nestled against him. Seemingly unconsciously, his arm came up to wrap over her shoulders once more.

“Right after takeoff, it’s bound be slow, clumsy in the air,” Harry said. “Lot slower than a Firebolt. Once it’s off the ground, he can swoop in, snatch up the egg like the world’s biggest snitch.”

“And he’s really good at catching snitches,” Hermione said.

“Not the best there is,” Harry said with a roguish grin, “but pretty good.”

“Oh, hush,” Hermione smirked. “Now’s hardly the time for bravado.”

“The Short-Snout has had just about enough of Diggory’s antics, it would seem!” the announcer boomed as the dragon’s wings slowly unfurled, kicking up an almighty cloud of dust and dirt. “I hope you know what you’re doing, lad!”

“Me, too,” Cho whined. On the field, the Swedish Short-Snout was lifting off with an irate roar, spitting out one last blue projectile that Cedric dodged with ease before swooping down in a blur.

“Look at him go! I do believe our lad has a plan—he’s gotten it! Cedric Diggory has gotten the golden egg! My goodness, and in amazing time, as well! Will the dragon-handlers please take to the field?”

Even as he spoke, the same group as before dashed onto the field, casting a series of restraining and restricting charms on an absolutely vexed dragoness as Cedric landed on shaky legs and hoisted the egg up high.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the champion of Hogwarts! What a show!”

A tournament official hurried up and guided Cedric toward what was presumably an exit, and Hermione craned her neck to try to see where he was going.

“Can we go and see him?” she asked, but Cho was already on her feet.

“I don’t care if we can, I’m going to,” she insisted, striding toward the stairs even as they announced the second competitor, Fleur Delacour, who was facing off against a Common Welsh Green. Their little grouping, it seemed, had no time for such things and proceeded back down the stairs as a chorus of cheers (and a mingling of catcalls, Hermione noted) went up upon the entry of the Beauxbatons champion.

But Hogwarts had already had her say.

“Where is he, d’you think?” Harry asked once they had emerged from the stadium. “He left the stadium that way.”

He pointed off to their left, and that was all Cho needed to hurry around the place. The announcer’s booming voice began to commentate on Fleur’s performance much as he had for Cedric, albeit with the addition of several glowing embellishments relating to her appearance.

Yuck.

Around the rear of the stadium, a medical pavilion had been erected, and inside, Cedric was being fussed over by Madame Pomfrey. As soon as Cho caught sight of him, she gurgled out a noise of relief and shot toward him with her arms outstretched.

“Oh, incoming,” Cedric chuckled, squeezing her in an embrace and going a bit pink as Cho began peppering his face with kisses. “Cho, c’mon, I’m fine.”

“I’m kissing you better!” Cho insisted, and Madame Pomfrey tutted but couldn’t fight a small smile at the sight of the couple. Still, she placed a hand on Cho’s shoulder and gently guided the pair apart.

“While I appreciate your efforts, Miss Chang, I need just a moment longer with him,” she said.

Reluctantly, Cho took a few steps back, bouncing in place as Madame Pomfrey finished her diagnostic spells. While he waited, Cedric shot Harry a grin, holding out the broomstick.

“Thanks for the assist, mate,” he said. “Probably saved me getting singed at least twice.”

“Well, much as I hate to admit it, sometimes the equipment does make the difference,” Harry told him with a smirk, taking the broom back and giving it a once-over. “And not a twig out of place.”

“Maybe one, but I’ll leave it to you to find,” Cedric chuckled. “You didn’t run into Skeeter on the way in, did you?”

“The reporter?” Cho asked. “No, was she bothering you?”

“Asking me questions about Neville,” Cedric said. “Sounded like she was trying to get me to say something about him she could publish. Calling him cowardly and all that.”

“Horrible woman,” Hermione huffed. “And for people to just eat up that gossip.”

“That’s what some people need to feel excitement in their lives,” Harry said, scooping up Mafalda as she attempted to clamber onto his back in a piggyback ride. “Anyway, gonna run this up to the castle. Good job out there, Ced. Glad you weren’t killed or maimed or anything.”

“So am I,” Cedric said. “See you around, Harry.”

After one last glance at the other three, Hermione found herself being urged after him by Cho, Marietta, and Cedric, and she offered them a wave before hurrying after the object of her increasing affections. Outside the pavilion, it turned out he had been waiting for her, and she blushed as he held a hand out.

“Hey,” she said bashfully.

“Hey back,” he said with a small laugh, sliding his hand into hers. “I hope I’m not pushing any limits here.”

“Not at all, no,” Hermione said with a smile as they set off. “This is…quite nice.”

And, for the moment, it was—it was all Hermione really needed.

Notes:

I feel there might be one or two more chapters left, though this will almost certainly culminate with the Yule Ball.

Probably.

Reviews and feedback are always appreciated!

Chapter 6: Escalation

Notes:

I hope the pacing is okay in this one. Inspiration came and went quite frequently, so I'd set it down for a bit and come back to write more, which wound up with a bit of a disjointed first draft I had to smooth out. After so much proofreading, it all starts to look like a meaningless wall of words.

Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Cedric Diggory was the toast of the school after his performance against the dragon. Even some of the Beauxbatons contingent were passively rooting for him after the disastrous showing their own champion had given. Viktor Krum seemed even surlier than usual during meals, listening to everyone gush and awe over Cedric’s flying prowess. Hermione thought he was being a bit childish, personally; it wasn’t Cedric’s fault the quidditch star hadn’t thought of flying. Cedric hadn’t even, not really—it had been Harry and his wonderful brand of madness which had concocted the scheme, which was a strangely personal point of pride for Hermione. Thanks to her crush, Hogwarts had outshone the other two schools quite handily.

Currently, their school was in the lead in the Triwizard standing, with Durmstrang a close second and Beauxbatons a distant third. All three had at least succeeded in obtaining their golden eggs, which were apparently some sort of clue to the next task.

Neville Longbottom, meanwhile, was abroad who-knew-where and didn’t look to be returning anytime soon. Speculation ran rampant as to his whereabouts and his motives, most especially after a one-two punch of articles featured in Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet—both of course were written by none other than Rita Skeeter.

“Utter codswallop, both of them,” Harry said, lounging back into their usual sofa in what had become their study spot. Hermione had her legs pulled up and was furiously fighting a blush while leaned against his side, both of them studying the magazine and the paper together. “I can’t believe people eat up this drivel.”

While normally quite unconcerned with matters such as tabloid gossip and “government newspapers”, as he put it, Harry was unusually riled up today, and the reason was obvious; he was (at least partially) the subject of one of the articles. While the Daily Prophet article had gone with the usual accusations of Neville Longbottom being a coward and other quite tasteless comparisons to his heroic parents—Hermione thought that if they were trying to goad him into returning or something, they were doing rather a better job of the exact opposite and pushing him further away—the Witch Weekly offering was quite a bit more…steamy:

TRIWIZARD TURMOIL!
Inside Cedric Diggory’s Heartbreak

With the juiciest bit of gossip having dried up, Rita Skeeter seemed to have realized at some point that Cedric—being quite handsome and having made a name for himself in the First Task—was an opportunity in his own right. And given that he was right in the middle of a burgeoning relationship, that was all Witch Weekly needed to run a cover story on him.

Of course, a scandal had to be woven in as well.

“Oi, Potter! Two-timing Chang with Granger, are you?”

“Sure am,” Harry said. “What was your girlfriend’s name again, Browning?”

“You – “

“Me,” Harry said, getting to his feet as Mark Browning made to advance on him. When Harry didn’t back down, however, Browning only sneered and stalked off.

“Imbecile,” Harry muttered sinking back into his seat and shooting Hermione a glance. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “He really had his tail between his legs, though, didn’t he?”

“Apparently, I can be somewhat intimidating,” Harry said blithely, and Hermione giggled.

“You do have quite a scowl,” she told him. “What did Skeeter call you? Hawkish?”

“You know, the only good to come of this article is that Mum is sure to sic Uncle Sirius on her,” Harry said. “He’s old money, he can afford to make her life difficult.”

“Maybe this will be her wakeup call,” Hermione said.

“Let’s hope so,” Harry muttered.

The Witch Weekly article had been, naturally, sensationalist gossip befitting such a rag, painting Cedric as a tragic hero just wanting to make a name for Hufflepuff House, while Cho had been made out to be his faithless love, stepping out on him with Harry Potter and flinging herself at him during the First Task. Poor Harry (who had done nothing more than try to help Cedric in the face of impossible odds) was now known to readers all over Wizarding Britain as some womanizing homewrecker, with a boundless appetite for female company and no regard for any hearts he might break in the process.

Skeeter had then seen fit to cite Harry’s dead father as a factor in this, declaring his Uncle Sirius “the last disgraced scion of the once-great Black family” and calling into question his parenting skills.

That had gotten Harry absolutely livid.

“After all he’s done for us, after all he’s still doing, for her to write such drivel. Oh, she is going to pay.”

Unable to think of anything else to do, Hermione simply nestled back into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and reaching a hand up to gently run her fingers through his hair. Fighting off a blush, she couldn’t help but marvel at how soft it was—she’d been wondering for weeks.

“Is this at least helping?” she asked, and Harry let a small chuckle.

“It’s actually helping immensely,” he admitted.

“Christmas break is quite soon,” Hermione said. “No more classes.”

“Now that’s something to cheer me up,” Harry said with a grin. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, I get to take you to the Yule Ball. That’s pretty good, innit?”

“Oh, guess who asked me to the Yule Ball the other day?” Hermione asked, and Harry let a curious noise. “Viktor Krum.”

“…Really?” Harry asked. “That’s… Did you run across each other in the library?”

“I guess that’s why he’s been skulking around there,” Hermione said, frowning a bit at the memory of his quiet little confession. “He’s been…watching me.”

“That’s actually quite creepy,” Harry confessed. “He’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?”

“Aren’t I a bit old for you?” Hermione asked him in coy tones that surprised even her, and Harry snickered.

“Touché,” he said.

“Anyway, at least I had an excuse,” she said. “I already have a date, and things are getting semi-serious between us.”

“Oh, we’ve upgraded to semi-serious?” Harry asked with a grin. “Exciting.”

“I thought so,” Hermione said primly. “I might even kiss you on the cheek while we’re out at Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

“Goodness,” Harry said in mock-proper tones. “I shall have to owl Mother and make sure it’s gentlemanly to let you do so.”

Hermione snorted out a laugh, scooting closer. “That’s it, I’m doing it now,” she insisted, pressing a smooch to Harry’s cheek and leaning back to be rewarded with the sight of his gobsmacked face and a slightly pink blush on his cheeks.

“Uh…doing what?” he asked. “I missed it.”

“Oh, this,” Hermione said, now giggling quietly as she leaned in to plant another on his cheek.

“Hang on, wait a second,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I must be missing something. Are you doing something, or…?”

“I’m doing this,” Hermione snickered, scooting in once more. This time, as she leaned in, Harry turned and captured her lips against his, a quick and tasteful peck that had Hermione stunned and lingering for a moment before she pulled away. “Oh…I’ve been had.”

“I, uh…hope I wasn’t crossing a line,” Harry said, his lovely green eyes searching hers in a nervous, flicky way.

“Perhaps that one needed to be crossed,” Hermione said. Her own face felt quite warm, and she chanced a look around before deciding she didn’t really care who saw this next bit. Let them gossip. Pulling her legs up onto the sofa, she leaned against Harry and went in for their second of many more kisses.

Let Rita Skeeter write her drivel; she wouldn’t let anything to spoil this.

000

The very next day, Harry and Hermione strode hand-in-hand to the carriages that would ferry them through snow and sleet to Hogsmeade Village. Seated across from each other, Hermione found herself unable to stop grinning like a fool as she glanced up at the boy. They had spent a bit of time…well, snogging (there was simply no other word for it) in their unobtrusive corner of the lounge—it was hardly exemplary behavior for a prefect, but Hermione was starting to become a bit disenchanted of the school and its faculty. They were allowing such mocking and bullying behavior to be heaped on poor Harry. Even Professor Sprout had apparently been treating him a bit coldly, seemingly believing that he was stealing Cho away from Cedric.

At the very least, Cedric was making sure to explain the truth to everybody—in fact, he’d have everyone believe (and rather rightfully so) that Harry was the sole reason he’d come out of the First Task so ahead in points.

In any case, to say she was smitten would be a dramatic understatement. Harry was fast becoming her very favorite person in the whole world, and just simply being around him was a treat its own.

“What’s that smile for?” Harry asked, his grin matching hers.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Hermione said impishly.

“Right,” he said. “So, we going to Proudly’s again?”

“I think that sounds lovely,” Hermione said. “Not like we can do much of a scenic walk in this weather.”

“The Three Broomsticks is sure to be packed,” Harry said with a glance out at the gray sheets of frozen unpleasantness pouring upon them. “Thankfully, Proudly’s is something of a well-kept secret.”

“Sort of a shame,” Hermione said. “They could do for more clientele.”

“Nah, Piston Proudly says the business he gets is all he needs,” Harry said. “Any more, and he wouldn’t be able to keep up with it, and all the little cakes and such would lose that personal touch.”

“Well, that would be tragic, wouldn’t it?” Hermione said with a giggle.

“Very much so,” Harry chuckled, that deep and dusky sound that Hermione went ever so slightly mad for. “Oh, and word travels fast, don’t it? Daisy’s already on my case about us snogging yesterday. Says I should’ve asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“Oh, did she?” Hermione asked, trying very hard to pretend that her heart was not in the midst of some sort of catastrophic implosion. “How very rude of her.”

“She means well, doesn’t she?” Harry said. “Just wants to see me happy, I think.”

“And she thinks that involves…me being your girlfriend?” Hermione asked, attempting and failing quite spectacularly to keep her voice level. Harry, for his part, seemed just as reluctant to make eye contact with her as she was with him, though their gazes did eventually meet—and both burst into laughter.

“Are we being a bit ridiculous right now?” Harry asked her, and she snorted.

“The fact that we both snuck a glance at each other at the same time was just…comical,” she giggled.

“Hermione,” Harry said after a moment, fixing her with a level look. “D’you reckon we should?”

“Should…what?” Hermione asked, feeling her heart begin to hammer in her chest.

“Do this for real,” he said. “Date.”

“Well, we’re on a date,” Hermione said, staring at her shoes.

“You know what I mean,” Harry said, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice that actually made Hermione feel a bit bad.

“Boyfriend and girlfriend?” she asked him. “Everyone around us would be so smug, telling us they told us so and all that.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry said. “I don’t much care, however.”

“Neither do I,” Hermione said with a smile, slipping across the small carriage to squeeze onto the bench next to him and nestle against his side. Grinning down at her, he leaned in and captured her lips in another warm and wonderful kiss that had her clutching at his coat to make sure he didn’t try to get away too soon.

He didn’t.

“Well,” she said after a fashion, still grinning like quite the fool, “do we even still need to go on this date? It seems we’ve already made a decision.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said with a chuckle, and Hermione was pleased to hear a breathless note to his voice. “Cake, though.”

“You make an excellent point.” Hermione snuggled into his side. “Cake is wonderful.”

The carriage trundled down the main path, and they disembarked into sheets of frozen rain. Harry, luckily, had brought along a massive umbrella, which he clutched to while Hermione clutched to him. Rather enjoying herself, she found herself dissolving into giggles as the pair tried to walk in sync toward the pastry shop, nearly tripping several times and causing her to squeal as Harry caught her. As he held the door open for her, she found herself taking an extra second just to look up at the boy, to revel in the wonderfully satisfying feeling of knowing that that was her boyfriend.

She, Hermione Granger, had a boyfriend!

And he was quite a catch!

Soon enough, the two were sat at the same small corner table as last time, Hermione quietly thanking the counter girl as she served them two steaming mugs of cocoa. Across the table, Harry seemed contemplative as he regarded her, though he sipped his cocoa with a pleased hum.

“Tasty,” he said.

“You seem a bit thoughtful,” Hermione pointed out.

“Oh, just…rather pondering how different things turned out than what I’d been thinking when I talked to you that day at the game,” Harry said. “Definitely went better than I could have thought, you know?”

“Did it?” Hermione asked, feeling another of what seemed to be an endless number of blushes heating her face as of late. “Well…I’m glad you decided to sit next to me. I’m…glad to have met you and…well, everything that happened after. …I do need you to stop scribbling silly things in your planner during my Transfiguration class, though!”

“Oh, c’mon, I have History of Magic, and it’s boring!” Harry chuckled. “I’d much rather talk to you.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Potter!” Hermione shot back, though she lost the fight against a smile, leaning on the table and sipping at her own mug. “I suppose a little note here or there isn’t awful. But I don’t want to keep looking down and seeing a pageful of how boring Professor Binns is.”

“What if I write about how pretty you are and how I think you have lovely eyes?” Harry asked with a grin, and Hermione huffed, her fading blush returning in full force.

“You are—horrid!” she groused.

“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” Harry chuckled. “Mum, Uncle Sirius, Daisy—I’m starting to think I might be the problem.”

Hermione snickered at that, and Harry winked at her as a plate of cakes floated toward their table, drifting gently to a landing between them along with two smaller saucers and two tiny forks.

“Oh, gingerbread cake,” Harry said, sounding delighted as he served himself up a piece. “They had this around the holidays last year, it’s great.”

He scooped out a tiny forkful and pushed his plate toward Hermione, who took a bite herself and found herself quite enjoying the flavor. Sitting back, she spent a moment simply basking in the atmosphere of this place, in their warm and cozy corner with its lovely orange glow that chased away the horrible gray outside. It was perfect.

This was perfect.

“Rather tasty, then?” Harry asked with a chuckle, and Hermione shrugged.

“I’m just…,” she trailed off with a pleased hum. “This is lovely.”

“It is,” Harry said with a nod, peering at her with those intensely green eyes that sent her heart fluttering just to look at. “Being friends with you, being…more than that now. Even getting to know Cho and Cedric and Marietta has been…different but kinda nice. For the past three years or so, it’s just been me. And Daisy. But…”

“Being the reclusive Gryffindor seeker rather got lonely, hm?”

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” Harry said with a playful grin. “Got an image to keep up, after all.”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “Mum’s the word.”

“Oh, speaking of,” Harry grumbled a bit. “Mum is going to be absolutely over the moon when she hears about this.”

“About you finally getting a girlfriend?” Hermione asked, feeling once again the little thrill at the fact that she was someone’s girlfriend.

Would that ever get old? She doubted it.

“And the fact that it’s the girl that’s been tutoring me in Arithmancy,” Harry said. “This is the absolute perfect ending to it all, for her.”

“And for you?” Hermione asked, taking another bite of cake and sliding it back toward him.

“Well, I certainly won’t complain,” Harry admitted with a chuckle. “Uncle Sirius always says, Potter lads need a smart woman to rein them in. Someone who can keep up with them and smack ‘em around when they have to.”

“Oh, then we’re absolutely perfect for each other, aren’t we?” Hermione told him with an impish smile. “A little stinging hex to the backside every once in a while to keep you in line?”

“What am I getting myself into?” Harry asked with a snicker, and Hermione poked her tongue out at him.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” she said.

…

Of course, Hermione had to tell Cho and Marietta when she returned from Hogsmeade that things between the pair had become official (and they had kissed!), and news spread throughout the common room in one fell swoop upon Cho’s jubilant shriek and subsequent giddy squeals.

Hermione wasn’t exactly surprised, simply resigned.

Still, Parvati and Lisa enthusiastically congratulated her, but it didn’t stop there. The very next day, she was stopped in the corridor by Fred and George Weasley, who also wished them well and told her to take good care of their seeker.

“Quidditch players can be rough to handle – “

“But you’ve a no-nonsense air about you, don’t you?”

“Don’t be afraid to give him a good smack every now and again – “

“Just leave him in one piece for practice,” they finished in unison.

“What a couple of weirdos,” Marietta muttered as the pair disappeared into the crowd of students around them.

“I’ve always liked them,” Cho said. “Probably the best beaters Hogwarts has, but don’t tell Jason and Duncan.”

“I’m telling them,” Hermione said immediately, and Cho snickered at her.

“Nooo, they’ll never forgive me!” she said. “Hermione, you’re so mean!”

“She has gotten a bit sassier, hasn’t she?” Marietta pointed out. “Since she’s started spending time with Harry.”

“He’s rubbing off on you,” Cho giggled. “That’s adorable!”

“Oh, hush, the both of you,” Hermione huffed, even as a little smile quirked her lips. There was something gratifying in knowing she and Harry were mingling in such a way.

“So, you two have made it official,” Cho said.

“And snogged,” Marietta added.

“And snogged,” Cho said. “Which—go Hermione, well done. D’you think this is a really real relationship? Or just a school fling?”

“Well—I dunno,” Hermione said. “It feels…more than fling-like. This feels…like we’re connecting, I suppose. I like being with him, being around him. Just talking to him.”

“That sounds really real to me,” Marietta said.

“We won’t know for sure until they meet each other’s parents,” Cho said sagely. “If they can at least pretend to get on with the parents, that’s long-lasting right there.”

“Hermione’s parents are muggles, though, right?” Marietta asked. “Can Harry get along with muggles?”

“His mum is muggle-born,” Hermione said, trying to keep an edge from her voice at Marietta’s words. She’d inherited her parents’ rather dismissive attitude toward muggles, sadly, and it was frustrating at times.

“Well, he shouldn’t do anything overly strange to weird them out, at least,” Cho said, obviously trying to keep the peace. “And you and his mum have that in common, then.”

“We have a lot in common, from what I’m hearing,” Hermione said, grinning a bit. “She sounds lovely, I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Oh, she can’t wait to meet his mum,” Marietta said with a knowing grin. “Cho, this boy is definitely the one.”

“I’d best be your maid of honor,” Cho huffed, and Marietta giggled.

“If you have a muggle wedding,” she said. “That would be interesting.”

“I—we just started dating yesterday,” Hermione said, deciding to once again ignore the subtle disdain in Marietta’s comment. Honestly, a muggle wedding would only be natural, given Hermione’s childhood spent in the muggle world and Harry’s “foot in both worlds” upbringing. But to Marietta, the idea of doing anything the muggle way was a quaint little thought—silly Hermione, don’t you know there’s a better way of doing things now?

“This is really so wonderful, though,” Cho said with a warm smile. “You and Harry, me and Ced—all we have to do is set Marietta up with someone!”

“I’m quite fine being single, thank you,” Marietta said, but Cho had her sights set on the girl now. “Cho – “

“Weren’t you and Zacharias Smith getting quite cozy together just the other night?” Cho asked her. “Chatting and whispering to each other?”

“We were not whispering!” Marietta shot back, her cheeks going a bit pink. “He was asking me for help with his Transfiguration essay.”

“But why you specifically?” Hermione asked, jumping at the chance to get on Marietta’s case. Marietta shot her a mutinous look, her mouth puckering in a pout.

“Because we have a rapport,” she said. “Hermione’s the one into younger blokes.”

“No, I’ve already bagged mine,” Hermione said with an impish smile. “It’s not tease-worthy anymore.”

“She’s right,” Cho said sagely. “Now it’s you and Zacharias.”

“I have absolutely no interest in him!” Marietta protested. “We just chat about Transfiguration sometimes!”

“Well, talking to you about his favorite subject…” Hermione said.

“Transfiguration isn’t his favorite subject, Charms is,” Marietta huffed. At this, Cho gasped with a wide smile, and Hermione shot Marietta a triumphant smirk. “Oh, you – “

“You know what his favorite subject is!?” Cho squealed. “That’s promising!”

“Ugh, I’m happy for you, Hermione, but now that you’re in dating bliss, she’s just going to pester me,” Marietta grumbled, and Hermione winked at her.

“And I for one can’t wait,” she said.

000

Two days after Hermione and Harry made things official, a retraction article was issued by Witch Weekly, apologizing for their libelous claims and personally attesting that Harry Potter was an upstanding lad of fine moral character. Rita Skeeter herself was vilified by the paper, which vowed to never publish another of her articles again. Similar claims were made in the following days by the Daily Prophet, Transfiguration Today, Seeker Weekly, and even The Herbologist’s Quarterly, who also published a glowing article about Nevile Longbottom, citing him as “one of wizard society’s finest up-and-coming herbologists”.

“Boot-lickers,” Harry muttered, the pair back to their usual loveseat in the corner of the lounge. “Uncle Sirius went completely postal on the Prophet and Witch Weekly, reminded them that he’d inherited all of his Uncle Alphard’s business dealings, including a lot of stock owned in just about every wizard publication this side of the pond. It seems Alphard’s great-great-grandfather invented the wizarding printing press.”

“And he threatened to pull their funding,” Hermione guessed. Harry grinned fondly out the window, and Hermione planted a small kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“He said if they ever printed another word against James Potter or any of his family, he’d take every last knut they have and invest it in The Quibbler,” Harry went on, snickering and squeezing an arm around her. “I wouldn’t want them to think I’m anything less than a gentleman to you, after all.”

“Trying to protect my reputation?” Hermione asked, nestling against him and inhaling that wonderful scent of his once more.

“Someone’s got to be the upstanding citizen in this coupling, and it won’t be me,” Harry chuckled.

“Somehow, I think you’ll only be dragging me into trouble,” Hermione told him with a smile, and he snickered.

“At least you’re mentally prepared for it,” he said.

Throughout the rest of the day, Harry was beset by apologies and (amusingly, to him) numerous assurances that classmates he’d never even spoke to before had been so sure the article had been utter nonsense. Professor Sprout, it seemed, even made it a point to stop him after Herbology and apologize for her earlier coldness toward him, citing a longstanding struggle with “gossip rags” as a weakness of hers.

When asked if he’d had anything to do with it, Cedric only admitted that he’d perhaps had a few loud conversations with his friends in the common room about how rubbish the article had been.

Hermione just wanted he and Harry to be best friends already.

000

Soon enough, it was the first day of the holidays, though one would barely be able to tell by looking at the Great Hall. Most everyone had stayed this year, with only a few of the third years and younger electing to go home. Daisy had even chosen to remain behind, though mostly to keep Mafalda company—her parents had written a letter detailing their upcoming holiday trip to Italy, and it had been not-so-subtly made clear multiple times that it was to be a couple’s trip, with no mention made of accommodations for Mafalda whatsoever.

Mafalda’s brisk tone as she’d claimed that Italy sounded boring anyway (and the slight shine to her eyes) had Hermione forming an instant and intense dislike for the poor thing’s parents. Of course, she and Daisy had immediately set to making plans for a trip to France in the nonspecific future, Hermione recounting all of the fun things she remembered from her recent holiday with Mum and Dad until Mafalda’s eyes had lost their sheen and instead gone wide with the imagined majesty of the Eiffel Tower, Placa de la Bourse, and the French Riviera.

It had been a singularly rewarding sight.

“Ced was telling me the other day that he’s already gotten a good start on his clue for the next task,” Harry said, pulling Hermione from her memories. The two were taking breakfast at the Gryffindor table again; it seemed no one questioned Hermione’s presence anymore, and Fred and George always made a point to greet her with matching jaunty waves when she came by. “He’s really taking this seriously.”

“Well, he came in first place,” Hermione said as she spooned some beans onto her plate. “That’s probably given him a real morale boost. He’s ready to dive in and keep that momentum.”

“Harry,” Daisy said, ambling up to the table with Mafalda in tow. The pair settled across from them, and Daisy slid a pamphlet toward her brother. “Should we go to the Louvre?”

“It’s pronounced Louvre,” Hermione said, and Daisy stuck her tongue out at her—Hermione, of course, returned the gesture, while Mafalda giggled at the pair. “It’s a wonderful place to visit, though. I’d highly recommend it. Just looking at the Mona Lisa alone is an unforgettable experience. Knowing that you’re looking at the original work of Leonardo Da Vinci himself is mind-boggling.”

“Well, that’s settled,” Daisy said with a nod. “I want my mind boggled.”

“Boggle is a fun word,” Mafalda observed.

“Of course it is, dear,” Daisy said, patting Mafalda’s hand and sending her into a fit of giggles as she served herself some eggs.

“You’re actually planning a holiday?” Harry asked with an amused look at the pamphlet, which seemed to be a wizarding tourism brochure of some sort.

“I already wrote Mum,” Daisy said matter-of-factly. “She said she’d take care of it and to send her a list of places we want to visit. I’ve a stack of pamphlets I’ll want you to look at later, by the way.”

“What an enterprising young creature you are,” Harry in flat tones, and Daisy flashed him an impish smile.

“Are you going to deny Mafalda a fun-filled holiday to France?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Mafalda’s shoulders. The smaller girl peered up at Harry with wide eyes and egg dribbling down her chin, and Hermione snickered a bit as she saw Harry smiling quite fondly at her.

“How could I possibly do so and call myself any sort of good big brother?” he said. Mafalda looked especially pleased at that, wigging happily in her seat as she sipped at some orange juice. Scooting a bit closer, Hermione gently rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, smooching his cheek.

“It’s so precious when you’re a good big brother,” she said, and Harry’s face went very slightly pink at her words.

“Well, lucky for you and these two, that’s good incentive for me to keep doing it.”

000

Christmas break was at first a pleasant blur. While Hermione normally grew fairly restless without the structure and stimulation of lessons and school life, she had much more meaningful distractions this year. The first week was spent on the occasional “Mistletoe Hunt”, which was exactly what the name implied. It became a delightful pastime to walk the corridors of the school and thrill at the sight of another of the little decorations, only to find themselves a bit enthusiastically adhering to tradition.

Professor McGonagall happened upon them once, only clearing her throat softly and encouraging them to pick a more secluded spot for their “holiday activities”. Hermione thought she might even have caught a small amused look on the woman’s face as she strode away from the blushing pair.

When she wasn’t snogging her new boyfriend, Hermione was anticipating the Yule Ball with equal parts unbearable eagerness and absolute dread. While there was a certain degree of apprehension at making sure she didn’t do something silly to foul up the occasion, she was so looking forward to getting dressed up—her dress looked absolutely fabulous. Cho and Marietta had teased and toyed with her hair for hours one evening, sorting out the perfect style in preparation, and once that had been coupled with the gorgeous periwinkle blue gown she had picked out, even Hermione had to agree with Cho and Marietta’s gushing claims that Harry’s jaw would most certainly hit the floor.

Forget the shy thing that didn’t think she could possibly land a bloke; Hermione Granger looked good.

But as Christmas Day drew nearer, she found her emotions ticking back and forth between both extremes at a rapidly-increasing staccato. Would Harry like her dress? She absolutely couldn’t wait to dance with him! What if he thought she’d overdone it? Oh, there would be a garden full of lights and fountains to stroll through hand in hand! What if he was actually a really terrible dancer?

Well—that would actually be sort of charming; the graceful seeker with two left feet on the dance floor.

Still, every time things swung back to anxiety and unease, Harry was there with a little smile and a wink, telling her quietly that he couldn’t wait for the ball, that he was actually even looking forward to it despite a general dislike of social gatherings.

If he was so confident they were going to have a good time, who was Hermione to doubt him?

Too soon but also after an interminable wait, the day was upon them. Christmas morning arrived brisk and with fat flakes of snow drifting past the dormitory window. Waking to the usual pile of presents at the foot of her bed, Hermione was delighted to see that a couple more had joined the stack. In addition to a Flourish and Blotts gift certificate from Mum and Dad (they had grown increasingly at a loss as to what to get their magical daughter over the years) and a brand-new makeup kit from Cho and Marietta (with a palette chosen especially for her), she saw that she had gotten presents not only from Harry (a book on American wizarding culture) but from Daisy (a basket of handmade Christmas treats that looked quite tasty) and even a small box from –

“His mum got me a gift?” Hermione wondered aloud.

“Mm?” Cho murmured sleepily, still quite burrowed into her bedclothes. Only the black nest of her hair was visible peeking forth. “Whassat, Hermione?”

“Harry’s mum got me a present,” Hermione said, plucking up the gift and already setting to unwrapping it.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Marietta spoke, emerging from the loo with a dressing robe on. “She must be trying to make sure the two of you work out.”

“What’d she send you?” Cho asked, poking her head out of her covers and peering curiously over as Hermione unearthed a small silver locket on a fine chain. “Oh, that’s pretty.”

“It is,” Hermione said, turning the jewellery over in her hands. There was a pale blue topaz set into the front, glinting faintly in the dim lighting of the dorm. It would actually go perfectly with her dress tonight. “Hm. I wonder if that’s why Daisy was asking what color my dress would be.”

“What a devious girl,” Marietta said.

Setting the locket carefully on her bedside table, Hermione saw that Lily Potter had also included a Christmas card, which featured a picture of a vast assortment of people waving out at her from a grand-looking sitting room. Hermione saw Harry with his arm around Daisy, who was clutching fast to her big brother and beaming. Next to them was a woman with gorgeous copper hair, Harry’s glimmering emerald eyes, and a warm and motherly smile on her face. Lily Potter was certainly beautiful, Hermione mused. Nearby, she recognized Remus Lupin from his time as their DADA professor last year, and the handsome-looking man with shaggy hair and a boyish smile on his face had to be the infamous Uncle Sirius. Next to him stood a statuesque woman with coal-black hair and dark eyes, and the pair each a hand on the shoulder of a girl no older than seven or eight, most likely the daughter Harry had mentioned Sirius having.

“Look at them all,” Marietta said, peeking over Hermione’s shoulder. “Big family.”

“When his father was killed, Harry says they all sort of came together to support each other,” Hermione said. “And they…stayed that way.”

“That’s wonderful,” Cho said, clutching her blankets to her as she crawled from her bed.

“Like a massive blended family thing,” Marietta said.

“Oh!” Cho gasped, rounding on Hermione. “You two should take a picture tonight at the ball and stick it in that locket!”

“Hm, perhaps I will,” Hermione said, turning the card over and finding a handwritten note on the back in elegantly loopy writing. Curious, she read:

Dear Hermione,

Happy Christmas, darling! I hope you have loads of fun, and I hope my rotten, ungrateful little boy treats you well at the ball tonight. If he doesn’t, you send me a letter and I’ll let him have it.

I do hope I’m not being overbearing (would you believe I’ve been accused of it before?), but when I heard Harry had gotten himself a girlfriend, I knew I just had to play the embarrassing mum role I was born to. Thank you so much for helping him study and apply himself—I know he’s brains in there, he just needs a push every now and again, you know.

And also, thank you for being a friend to him and helping him make other friends. He doesn’t tell me much in his letters (when he bothers to WRITE them), but Daisy’s told me he’s spending more time with your friends, and he even helped Cedric Diggory with the Triwizard Tournament. That got us points with Amos Diggory, let me tell you. As did siccing Sirius on the press for trying to stir up drama with these gullible fools.

Anyway, I won’t pack a whole speech about the failings of this society into a Christmas letter. I just wanted to say that I do hope we get to meet soon, and thank you for being such a lovely friend to my Harry.

Love from,

Lily Potter

P.S. The locket is a bit of handmade jewellery (I dabble in craftiness once in a while), so don’t feel like I’m trying to trap with some old family heirloom. You and Daisy actually got matching ones this year.

Feeling perhaps a small bit choked up, Hermione set the letter aside, staring down at the locket and thinking that she couldn’t wait to meet Harry’s mum, to introduce him to her parents, all of the little minutiae that came with being in a relationship with him. Perhaps it was too soon to tell—perhaps they were too young for such thoughts—but she really felt that there was something undeniably real at work here. Being around Harry and being with him, it felt so perfectly nice. Was it so wrong of her as a lovestruck girl of fifteen to entertain fanciful notions of life together, of merging her small Granger family into the massive blend of Potters, Blacks, and a Lupin? Already, Daisy seemed to consider her a sister figure; maybe someday it would be real and Daisy would be her sister-in-law.

Maybe someday there would be a white dress draping behind her, Harry standing at the head of an aisle with his crooked smile and glimmering eyes, Cedric nearby as his best man and Cho awaiting as her maid of honor—and, she mused with a small giggle, Mafalda prancing about with flower petals.

“What’s got you so giggly?” Marietta asked with a knowing smirk, and Hermione stuck her tongue out.

“I may or not be in love, is all,” she sighed.

What was this rotten boy doing to her?

 

Notes:

The next chapter will contain the Yule Ball and will with 98% certainty be the last one of this story. I don't need another long-runner in my lineup, thank you very much.

Reviews and feedback are always appreciated.

Chapter 7: Intrinsic

Notes:

Hi. Didn't forget about this one, just hit the mother of all writer's blocks, compounded by a brief but intense obsession with the game Project Zomboid and a renewal of my MMO of choice. I also prodded a bit at my own story that I've been working on for a while, but that muse flared bright and brief, and a few choice reviews on some other works of mine sent me circling back to the fandom.

The first half of this chapter and latter half were completed months apart from each other, and I did proofread to attempt to blend the two cohesively and really tried not to rush the ending, but here we are. The ending. This is the final chapter. This was never going to be a long story, just a fun dip into a stress-free AU with slice-of-life antics.

Anyway, enough waffling. Read on.

“Love?”

“…Perhaps,” Hermione huffed, pouting a bit as she dragged a mascara brush through her lashes. The trio were currently readying for the ball—Cho was sliding into her dress, while Marietta and Hermione had already dressed and were trying out different makeup looks.

And, of course, no pre-dance preparation routine was complete without a good gossip session.

“As in capital-L?” Cho gushed as her dress slid into place. “The real-deal sort of love with a ring and children and – “

“Cho!” a red-faced Hermione huffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Marietta asked, her voice sounding ghoulish as she stretched her mouth out to apply some lip gloss.

“Are you mad?” Hermione asked. “The boy’s fourteen, he’d faint on the spot.”

“She’s right,” Cho said with a sage nod. “A fourteen-year-old boy can barely handle double likes. Hermione’s doing exactly what she should, taking it slow.”

“As opposed to you, who spent the night with Cedric in an empty classroom,” Marietta said, her newly-glossed lips quirking in a knowing smirk, and Cho huffed.

“That was not anything so scandalous!” she insisted hotly. “We were researching more spells and just dozed off. The worst I got was a sore neck.”

“Marietta, didn’t I hear you got caught out after curfew with Zacharias Smith the other night?” Hermione asked, smirking when she heard Cho’s quite massive intake of breath.

“Mari!” she shrieked accusingly. In the mirror over her vanity table, Hermione saw Marietta shooting her a dirty look, and she only grinned back.

“I thought prefects were supposed to keep that sort of thing confidential!” Marietta blustered.

“Not when you’re harassing Cho about her nighttime antics,” Hermione said loftily. “Besides, now it’s all out there. I was out with Harry, Cho was out with Ced, you were out with – “

“It was completely—innocent,” Marietta insisted, her face falling as she realized she was now spouting Cho’s exact same defense. Apparently aware of the same thing, Cho fixed her with a triumphant little look. “Alright, I was perhaps a small bit out of line.”

“Perhaps,” Cho said, making her way over with a hair tie in hand. “You can make it up to me by helping me with this braid. You do them so much better.”

“Oh, turn around, you silly thing,” Marietta said with a fond smile, and Hermione watched as she twisted her fingers into Cho’s hair, pulling it into an elegant braid. Marietta was a bit much sometimes, but Hermione couldn’t deny there was certainly good under it all.

After well over two hours of getting ready (Cho simply couldn’t decide how to style her eyeliner, it seemed), the three girls made their way down to the common room. The normally rather loosely packed space was now quite crowded with students from the upper three years, mingling and babbling and seeking last minute styling advice. Hermione saw Terry Boot valiantly attempting a Tie-Tying Charm, only to succeed in nearly strangling himself before Lisa (apparently his date for the evening) set him to rights with a warm smile and a tap of his nose.

“Oh, isn’t that just adorable?” Cho whispered in Hermione’s ear.

“Young love is so beautiful,” Hermione said with a small laugh.

“Hermione!” Padma’s voice shouted above the din of voices, and she joined them on the way to the portrait hole clad in quite a gorgeous saree. “Oh my goodness, you look amazing! Periwinkle suits you.”

Hermione did a spin, showing off her own periwinkle blue dress, which hugged her torso and flowed down her arms before flaring out into a long ruffled skirt around her legs. She had opted for a fancy bun piled atop her head, using perhaps a bit more Sleekeazy’s than usual in the name of taming her curls.

“Is Harry on his way to get you?” Padma asked.

“I believe so,” Hermione said, inclining her head toward Cho. “And Cho’s waiting for Cedric.”

“Parvati’s set me up with some Gryffindor boy,” Padma said. “Ron Weasley.”

“Oh, I know of him,” Hermione said. “Harry says he’s one of two possible keepers for the quidditch team next year.”

“All Parvati would tell me is he’s handsome but not long on brains,” Padma said.

“Who’s she going with?” Hermione asked.

“Cormac McLaggen,” Padma said with a vaguely distasteful look. “I don’t much care for him, but he’s apparently handsome and so charming.”

“Harry seems to think he’s a bit cocky, full of himself,” Hermione said, and Padma let an amused sound.

“Well, that’s likely his appeal to Parvati, then,” she said in wry tones. “I think she likes being talked down to sometimes.”

“How did you two turn out so very differently?” Hermione asked. Padma rolled her eyes, speaking in patient tones that implied the same question had been worn out on her long ago.

“Because we have the same face but very different minds,” she said. “I take after Dad—bookish, some might even call me swotty.”

“No,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “Say it isn’t so.”

Padma gave her a gentle slap on the shoulder. “Parvati’s Mum’s clone some days. We both look just like her, but Parvati is…a romantic, I suppose. Fanciful.”

“To put it politely?” Hermione asked, and Padma winked.

“She is my sister, after all,” she said. “I can’t stand her some days, but I love the mad dear.”

“Hermione! Padma!” Marcus Turner called from near the entrance. “Your dates are here!”

A chorus of whoops and catcalls went up as Hermione and Padma made their way arm-in-arm to the door, and Hermione felt her face heat up when Cho shouted over the din, “Go get ‘im, girl!”

Out in the corridor, Hermione’s eyes scanned around before landing on her boyfriend.

And he looked good.

Standing there with his hands stuffed into his pockets and looking for all the world like a model for a teen clothing catalog, Harry had seemingly elected for a more modern take on dress robes, something akin to a muggle four-piece suit with a long jacket. It was an all-black getup, save for the undershirt and tie, which were both a bottle green that really did wonders to bring out his eyes. It was cut amazingly, Hermione had to marvel, fitting well to his long legs and accentuating his broadening shoulders in a way that had Hermione staring for a short moment.

Harry, she was pleased to see, seemed to be mirroring her expression, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of her.

“You look amazing,” he said. “That color really suits you.”

“Likewise,” Hermione said, taking a breath to control her hammering heart as she drew closer to him. “I love that color green on you.”

“Well, don’t get too used to it,” Harry said ruefully. “I’ve already caught some flack from Fred and George for flying enemy colors, as it were.”

“Oh, you quidditch jocks,” Hermione said with a smirk. “It really brings out your eyes.”

“That’s what Mum said when she picked them out,” he said. “And Daisy. And Sirius. And Remus. And Mafalda, recently.”

“And everyone else?” Hermione asked.

“Honestly, sometimes I’d like to get a shirt that says ‘Yes, I DO have green eyes, thank you for noticing’ to save a bit of small-talk,” Harry sighed. “I think your eyes are quite a bit more interesting.”

“Boring old brown?” Hermione asked, looping her arms around one of his as he led her along. Ahead, Ron Weasley was similarly escorting Padma Patil, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at his foul-looking dress robes. They looked like they’d gone out of fashion centuries ago and crossed over into antique territory.

Poor Padma.

“Brown eyes are the superior eye color,” Harry said, drawing her attention back to him. “When they catch the sun just right and turn all pretty and honey-colored…”

“My eyes do that?” Hermione asked, feeling her face heat up again, and Harry nodded.

“Sometimes I try to…engineer situations where it will, but then I feel bad because it involves the sun being in your eyes,” he admitted, and Hermione let a quiet giggle.

“Well, I appreciate you looking out for my eyesight, at least,” she said. “Staring into the sunlight is frightfully bad for the vision.”

“I just care so much, after all,” Harry said in longsuffering tones, and Hermione snorted, squeezing onto his arm.

They reached the Entrance Hall, where they milled about with the rest of the guests, a hundred conversations mingling together into a dull roar. A few shouts went up as dates were found, friend groups were convened, and the occasional comment (kind or otherwise) was made toward someone’s outfit for the evening. At one point, Harry’s teammates strode by, the girls smiling at the pair as they complimented Hermione’s dress. Hermione watched Fred Weasley whisper something in Harry’s ear before Harry went red-faced and slugged him in the shoulder. Cackling, the twins allowed the chasers to drag them off.

“You kids have fun!”

In short order, the doors the Great Hall were thrown open, and the crowd slowly filtered in. Still on Harry’s arm, Hermione followed him in to find that the four house tables and staff table had been cleared out in favor of dozens of smaller dining tables, reminding Hermione of the time she had been brought along to one of Mum and Dad’s fancy award banquets in order to watch Dad receive some dental hygienist award.

That had been an interesting night.

“There’s Marietta” Harry spoke in Hermione’s ear, and she shivered at the closeness, sinking into his side. “Did you want to sit with her?”

“I’m perfectly fine witting wherever,” she said. “As long as I’m next to you.”

“Oh, you,” Harry said with a chuckle, though Hermione was gratified to see a small but pleased grin on his face, which seemed a bit redder as he led Hermione toward a table where Marietta sat with—Zacharias Smith!

“You two – “

“Are attending as friends and nothing more,” Marietta said firmly. She’d gone for a strapless number in a lovely seafoam green that really let her eyes pop. Hermione thought she looked quite nice, in fact. “It was sort of a last-minute thing; we actually ran into each other on the way down, and neither of us had a date, so…”

“What d’you suppose they’re serving?” Harry asked, pulling Hermione’s seat out for her before taking his own and scooping up a menu. The usual Hogwarts tableware awaited them, though Hermione noticed that it had been pristinely polished. A neatly folded napkin sat atop her plate, and she moved it aside before taking her own menu.

“Looks like a bit of each of the schools’ fare,” Marietta said, reading off her own menu. “Baklava and bouillabaisse, moussaka and magret de canard…”

“Oh, Harry, you must try that,” Hermione said. “It’s duck, it’s actually really tender.”

“Duck?” Harry repeated, a bemused look on his face. “I don’t think I’ve had duck before.”

“First time for everything, isn’t there?” Hermione asked him. “Call it a warmup for your upcoming France trip.”

“Fair point,” Harry said with a grin.

“Oh, you’re going to France?” Marietta asked. “That sounds like fun. Hermione, you’ve been to France, haven’t you?”

“That’s what actually inspired the trip,” Harry said. “She wouldn’t stop selling the place to my sister, and now Mum’s onboard with a whole summer holiday.”

“You should bring Hermione along as a little tour guide,” Marietta said. “You speak the language, don’t you, Hermione?”

“I do,” Hermione said with a small pout at Marietta, who had an impish grin on her face.

“Actually, Sirius is fluent,” Harry said, smirking at Hermione. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a personal tour guide. We could get you a jaunty little beret and a scarf.”

“Zhis way, monsieur, pleez follow moi,” Hermione said in a French accent, and Harry quirked an eyebrow at her, his face going a bit pink.

“Well now I’m definitely bringing you,” he said, leaning down to smooch her on the cheek.

Food was apparently ordered by simply telling the plate in front of you what you wished to eat, upon which it appeared in much the same way as Hogwarts meals normally did. On any other day, Hermione might have fretted over how much extra work this was creating for the elves, but a glance over at Harry showed him taking an experimental bite of duck with the most adorable look on his face.

“How’s your duck?” she asked him, watching him chew his bite before grinning at her.

“Quite tasty, actually,” he said. “Excellent choice. Best tour guide ever.”

Hermione felt a warmth in her chest at that, at him, at how sweet he was being. Of course, he was always sweet, but being at his side while he squired her about an evening banquet was…something most girls could only dream of from a boy. Indeed, Zacharias had barely paid Marietta any sort of attention, focused as he was on his food. While Marietta claimed this to only be a friendly sort of outing, Hermione knew the jealous look her friend was throwing her way to mean she had been hoping for things to perhaps develop beyond that.

“So, Zacharias,” Hermione spoke as they ate. “Did you have a lovely Christmas this year?”

“Hm?” Zacharias looked up with a mouthful of potatoes, swallowing and grabbing at a goblet of butterbeer to rinse. “Oh, yeah, well enough. Mum sent me the Charmer’s Compendium, been wanting that for a while.”

“Oooh, I’ve heard about that,” Hermione said. “That’s seven volumes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s a doorstopper, it is,” Zacharias snickered. “Even tells you on the outside to use a Levitation Charm to move it around.”

“I’ve been wanting to have a look at the Charmer’s Compendium for months,” Marietta said wistfully. Next to Hermione, she saw Harry’s leg give a small twitch, and Zacharias jolted a bit in his seat before meeting Harry’s eyes. Seconds later, he peered over at Marietta with a slight flush creeping over his cheeks.

“Er…d’you want to…meet up sometime and have a read of it?” he asked. “Could use a big Ravenclaw brain like yours to make some sense of the denser bits, you know.”

“That would be nice,” Marietta said, her own face going a bit pink. Hermione shot Harry a triumphant look, seeing him grinning back at her, and they shared a low-five under the table.

“Masterfully done, Miss Granger,” he said in a low voice.

“Back at you, Mr. Potter,” she whispered.

Soon, their plates were cleared, and dessert was ordered in a similar fashion from small menus that appeared on their plates before them. Harry and Hermione both sampled from the French selection (it was a bit of a task talking him out of ordering his old standby—treacle tart), Hermione enjoying the cherry clafoutis while Harry absolutely devoured a decadent chocolate bûche de Noël. Of course, they sampled a few bites from each other’s plates as well, Harry even being so bold as to feed a red-faced Hermione a bite off his fork.

Hermione was certain she heard a wolf-whistle from one of the twins at that.

Once dessert had been enjoyed, the plates were whisked clean once more, and the lights in the room went down very slightly, leaving them all at the mercy of the candle centerpieces at their tables. At the head of the room—where the staff table usually sat—bright lights sprang up to reveal that the raised platform had been converted into a stage of sorts. A set of drums, a few guitars, a keyboard, and a microphone all awaited, and as they watched, what had to be a band took the stage. They looked like any young rock group, with tight-fitting clothes (perfectly ripped and distressed, of course), thick eyeliner, and a well-practiced look that flawlessly mingled apathy with discontent.

“Oh, they got the Weird Sisters?” Harry muttered. “Dumbledore’s really trying to show off.”

“Are they a popular band?” Hermione asked.

“Think Blur with a bit of Red-Hot Chili Peppers thrown in,” Harry said, and Hermione hummed thoughtfully at that; she was far from music illiterate, but Harry was on a completely different level. Lily Potter was evidently a massive audiophile—a trait Harry had most certainly inherited. In fact, he’d been introducing her to some of his favorite music, from fairly popular groups like the Red-Hot Chili Peppers to underground bands with homemade EP albums sold out of car boots.

Hermione enjoyed the music, to be sure—but her favorite part of the whole thing was listening to Harry go on and on so passionately about the different genres and the different sounds there were, how clean guitar was different from dirty guitar but both were perfectly valid, how the right song could capture emotion in ways simple words were never able to.

According to Daisy, he had actually dabbled in guitar for a while in his third year and had come out of puberty with a lovely singing voice. Hermione was still waiting for the right moment to broach that topic.

Her musings were interrupted by a quiet nudge from Harry as the band started playing.

“His guitar wasn’t hand-tuned, you can tell,” he muttered as the lead guitarist of the Weird Sisters settled into a twangy sort of riff. “Too clean.”

“I thought clean could be okay?” Hermione asked, and Harry shook his head.

“Not that sort of clean,” he said. “It’s sanitized. Not real music.”

“Snob,” she teased him, and he stuck his tongue out at her.

In front of the stage, the three champions had taken to the floor in the opening dance. Viktor Krum was escorting a tiny Durmstrang girl with stiff and overly practiced movements, while Fleur Delacour was being led through a passable two-step by the Ravenclaw quidditch captain, Roger Davies. The stars of the show, however (in Hermione’s personal opinion) were Cedric and Cho, who had eyes only for each other as a grinning Cho beamed up at her boyfriend.

Soon, the first song ended, officially opening the dance floor to the rest of the guests. A few couples began to filter out (most of them enthusiastic girls leading boys who were less so), and next to Hermione, Harry visibly braced himself before standing and holding a hand out to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, may I have this dance?” he asked with a rehearsed sort of formality. Hermione found herself grinning up at him.

“I’d be honored,” she said, taking his hand and following him to the floor. She passed by a few familiar faces, sharing an excited grin with Padma and rolling her eyes as Parvati and Lavender shot her matching murderous looks.

And then, the pair were mingling among the couples, and Harry’s arm circled around her waist at a tasteful height as he took her hand. Marveling a bit at his control of the situation, she felt him take the lead as they began to circle slowly around the floor.

“You continue to impress me, Mr. Potter,” she said quietly, and Harry grinned at her.

“I promise, this is the result of a lot of practice,” he said. “I may be a natural at quidditch, but I’m absolutely a technician when it comes to dancing.”

“Who did you practice—did you practice with Daisy?” Hermione asked, snickering a bit as he offered a bashful nod. “That is adorable, aw.”

“Thankfully she’s hit a growth spurt recently, so the difference in height isn’t throwing me off too much,” Harry said.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Hermione asked, fighting the urge to pout at him. “I would have helped.”

“I…guess I wanted to impress you,” he said. “I didn’t want to make you work for a proper date—I wanted to show up ready for it.”

“You can’t keep being this sweet, Harry Potter,” Hermione playfully chided him. “I can only handle so much of it.”

“I’m sorry I’m so effortlessly charming,” Harry said in grave tones, and she pursed her lips in a pout, leaning in to press a smooch to his lips.

“Stop iiit,” she said. Nestling into his neck as they spun about the dance floor, she sighed against his skin, enjoying the way his breath hitched when she did so. “I love this. I’m having such a wonderful time.”

“Well…glad to hear it,” Harry said, his voice rumbling in his chest as her ear pressed against him. “Maybe send a letter along to Mum telling her that as well.”

Hermione giggled, sliding her hand down his arm so both were gently wrapped around his back. His hands settled gently onto her waist, and they spun like that while the Weird Sisters strummed out a slow and cozy-sounding tune. Shutting her eyes, Hermione wished this moment could stretch out forever, the blissful perfection of Harry’s arms, of his scent, of the gentle thud of his heart.

Bugger, she was well and truly falling in love with this boy.

Eventually, the band began a song with a quicker beat that neither of them were feeling brave enough to attempt to dance along to, so they slipped through the increasingly rowdy crowd and toward the refreshments. Harry grabbed them both a serving of punch, which was pleasantly fruity and charmed to be perfectly cool.

“Having a nice time?” he asked as they quietly tapped their glasses together in a muted toast before drinking.

“It’s lovely,” Hermione said. “I always thought my first school dance experience would be frightful, but here I am with my boyfriend and punch and…”

“I know what you mean,” Harry said. “When I was in primary school, toward the end, all the boys were starting to realize that girls weren’t gross and that we wanted to do all these scandalous things like hold their hands and kiss them.”

“How dreadful,” Hermione said with put-upon severity.

“Despicable, I know,” Harry nodded. “When I found out, I remember being so petrified of the prospect. Imagine going up to a girl and telling her you think she’s pretty. It was a daunting thing to think about.”

“Well, you’ve turned out to be rather good at it, at least,” Hermione pointed out, and Harry grinned at her.

“Well I had Uncle Sirius to educate me,” he said. “And Mum and Uncle Remus to rein in some of the more extreme lessons.”

“Goodness, you ought to be the Hogwarts ladies’ man, then, shouldn’t you?” Hermione asked him, sliding her hand into his and leading the way toward the Entrance Hall. Harry let a quiet and dusky sort of laugh behind her, the sound sending a strange thrill up her spine.

“Luckily, I have the perfect combination of my father’s social ineptitude and Mum’s unfailing consideration towards others,” Harry said. “I know I can’t have a conversation to save my life, so I don’t burden others by trying.”

“Unless you need someone’s help to charm a girl you fancy,” Hermione corrected him, and Harry let a quiet snicker.

“Touché,” he said. “But that all worked out for the best, in rather a roundabout fashion.”

“You certainly won’t hear me complaining,” Hermione told him softly, clutching to his arm.

They passed through the Entrance Hall, where a number of couples and ball-goers were escaping the bustle of what was building into quite a party in the Great Hall. Dim lighting and a low burble of conversation provided a quaint sort of atmosphere, and the front doors had been thrown open to provide a stunning view of a garden that had been constructed outside. Amongst flowering shrubs and ornately-shaped topiaries, glimmering lights flitted and blinked, casting the whole affair in a soft yellow glow.

“Looks quite nice,” Harry said, already leading her toward the doors. “Care for a moonlit stroll?”

“That sounds lovely,” Hermione said.

The evening was cool, but there was no doubt a warming charm in the air to keep the worst of the Scottish winter at bay. Pressed in against Harry, Hermione strode amidst flitting and floating lights that she was delighted to discover were actual fairies, leaving glittering trails in their wake as they swarmed around the garden-goers.

“Wonder where they got these fairies,” Harry asked idly as they walked.

“I know there’s colonies of them in the Forbidden Forest,” Hermione pointed out. “These look rather young as well—the older ones tend to avoid humans. I wouldn’t be surprised if they simply stuck a bunch of eggs in the bushes and timed it so they would hatch tonight.”

“Will they be okay out of their natural habitat like that?” Harry asked, and Hermione smiled up at him, pleased at his concern.

“Fairies have a sort of imprinting instinct, a bit like sea turtles,” she said. “Egg-laden fairy mums often go great distances to find a good bush or tree to lay their eggs in, and when the eggs hatch, the fairy young flitter about a bit before going home.”

“So this lot will eventually find their way back to the Forbidden Forest?” Harry asked.

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “Probably with a story to tell all the other fairies about hormonal humans snogging in the bushes.”

“Disgraceful,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “Humans and their bizarre courtship rituals.”

“D’you suppose we should tell them to look away?” Hermione asked, tugging him to a stop and turning to gaze up at him. Grinning down at her, Harry reached up and dragged his fingers along the side of her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a gesture that sent a long-familiar shiver up her spine again. Letting a shaky breath, her eyes fluttered shut, and well…

The fairies around them were surely blushing as much as the two once they’d emerged from the gardens for another round of dancing.

Cho and Cedric found them as they returned to Entrance Hall, Cho wearing the most smug and knowing expression at the state of Hermione’s bun, which she only just noticed was beginning to collapse around her face.

“Honestly, woman, have some decorum,” she said with a wink, whipping her wand at Hermione’s hair and setting it back to rights. “Hermione Granger, rumpled and mussed after a snog in the bushes, what a scandal.”

“It was not a snog in the bushes,” Hermione insisted, feeling her face heat up as they made for the Great Hall once more. “It was under a lovely ivy trellis in the moonlight.”

“Oh, classy,” Cho said with an approving nod. “Goes from torrid teenagers in the bushes to a blossoming young couple framed in the moonlight.”

“That’s the cover of a romance novel right there,” Hermione nodded, and Cho giggled.

Inside the Great Hall, the music had slowed again, and while the night didn’t feel yet like it was winding down, there was a sense of release to the room—the energy of the crowd had certainly peaked, and it was now time to simply enjoy each other’s company.

“The Weird Sisters do know how to work a crowd, I’ll give ‘em that,” Harry admitted.

“Harry,” Cho said, latching onto Harry’s other arm. “Would you dance with me?”

“Er…” Harry glanced over at Hermione, who suddenly felt Cedric’s hand on her back, between her shoulders where no ill intent could be inferred.

“I’ll see to it she’s not neglected,” Cedric said, and Hermione looked up to see him with a genteel smile on his face. “If you don’t mind a dance?”

“I’d be honored,” Hermione said.

“Don’t make me look bad by comparison,” Harry said. Chuckling, Cedric shot him a wink as the two pairs took to the dance floor. Cho pulled Harry to a stop not terribly far from the edge of the dance floor, and Cedric led Hermione nearby.

“I hope you don’t mind this,” he said with a rueful smile, leading her in a tasteful two-step. “Cho insists on grilling Harry now that it looks like things are going to be getting rather serious between you two.”

“Grilling him?” Hermione sighed. “Oh, Cho…”

“She means well,” Cedric said with a laugh. “I doubt she’s going to attempt to wedge you two apart, at least. But it seems you mentioned the L-word.”

“Ugh,” Hermione groaned, and Cedric chuckled. “I’ll murder that girl. She’s not going to tell – “

“Of course she’s not,” Cedric insisted in placating tones. “You know, Cho’s told me that she considers you her very best friend. She really admires you, in fact.”

“She—she does?” Hermione asked.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Cedric asked. “She has you to thank for a lot. Her grades, her quidditch skills—she doesn’t get into her head nearly as often as she used to.”

“You’re going to make me cry, stop it,” Hermione said with a little laugh, prompting another chuckle from the boy.

“Well, it’s all leading to…thank you for being such a good friend to her,” Cedric said. “Even I know she can be a bit…much at times.”

“I’m telling her you said that,” Hermione muttered, and Cedric rolled his eyes.

“You two are melding into one,” he said in amusement.

Hermione felt strangely proud of that.

They spent the rest of their dance in comfortable silence, Hermione only taking a moment to make sure Cedric had been working on deciphering the clue contained in the egg he’d gotten in the First Task. After extracting two promises from him that he would seek them out if he needed any help, they finally parted as the song drew to a close. Rejoining Harry, Hermione was amused to see a grin on his face as they left the floor once more.

“Good chat?” she asked.

“Oh, she got all weepy on me, thanked me for helping Cedric and being such a lovely boyfriend to you,” Harry said. “It was adorable. In a platonic…best-friendly way – “

“She is pretty adorable,” Hermione cut him off, leaning in to plant a kiss to his lips. She was well past any feelings of inadequacy or jealousy in light of how close all four of them had become. “I can see why you liked her.”

“I like you quite a bit more,” Harry insisted, and she smiled.

“I like you quite a bit as well,” she said.

And that, to Hermione, was enough for the moment.

000

Some time later…

A wet chill greeted Hermione when the carriage door opened, and as Harry climbed out in front of her, he let a disgruntled sound before casting a quick umbrella charm to keep at bay a slushy sleet that was doing its best to pelt the Hogsmeade visitors.

“Some romantic atmosphere for Valentine’s Day,” Hermione grumbled, and Harry let a quiet laugh as he helped her from the carriage, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her to him under his improvised umbrella. “Oh! Well…alright, sarcasm rescinded.”

“Thought so,” he said. “You just need the right mindset. It’s ideal weather for a cozy cuddle.”

“How silly of me,” Hermione said. “I’m not embodying the Valentine’s Day spirit.”

“Not to worry, I’ve enough for both of us,” he said.

Ahead of them, the row of carriages stretched onward, a mob of students disembarking in varying states of romantic embrace such as them. Through the crowd, Hermione spotted Cho and Cedric, Cedric wearing a bit of a pained smile as Cho led him enthusiastically toward Madame Puddifoot’s teashop. Nearby, Marietta was sporting a profoundly pleased expression as she and Zacharias Smith made their way toward Honeydukes hand-in-hand.

It seemed everyone was pairing up these days.

“Where to?” Hermione asked as Harry guided her along. Recognizing the direction they were headed, she fixed him with a curious look. “The Three Broomsticks? Won’t it be crowded?”

“Not if you have a room reserved,” Harry told her with a wink. “I’ve got connections, you know.”

“Why d’you think I’m dating you?” Hermione asked.

“Because you’re hopelessly infatuated with me, same as I am to you,” Harry replied, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“So?”

The Three Broomsticks was, as Hermione had predicted, quite packed. Madame Rosmerta always went all-out for Valentine’s Day and had bedecked the tables in red, white, and pink runners with heart-shaped candles as centerpieces. Still, the atmosphere was raucous and loud and seemed more to favor large friend groups that were bonding over their shared lack of a valentine to celebrate with.

Madame Rosmerta herself had accrued quite a number of flowers and other gifts from aforesaid lonely hearts, which she accepted with a rueful smile and a good-natured laugh.

Still guiding Hermione along, Harry passed by the barmaid, who shot him a wave.

“Room 5, m’dear,” she called out.

“Thanks, Rosmerta,” Harry said with a little salute back to her.

“A private room all to ourselves?” Hermione asked, and Harry smiled sidelong at her as they reached the room.

“Not quite,” he admitted, reaching to open the door. Inside, a small and cozy sort of parlor greeted them, no larger than Hermione’s dining room back home. The walls were hung with simple scenic paintings, and a small window allowed muted white light through translucent curtains.

Hermione caught only a glimpse of this before a familiar voice spoke up, one that was jarringly unexpected to hear in the Three Broomsticks.

“Surprise, dear!” Mum cried with joy, hopping to her feet and nearly upending a chair as she sped toward Hermione and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you!”

“Mum!?” Hermione squeaked. She gathered herself enough to hug her mother back, inhaling the achingly familiar scent of her perfume mingling with her favored laundry detergent. It smelled like home, and Hermione felt herself swallowing past a lump as Dad’s deep rumble came from over her shoulder.

“Surprise,” he echoed in a small chuckle, extricating Hermione from Mum’s arms only to sweep her up as well. Squeezing him back, Hermione was dismayed to feel tears in her eyes as Dad pulled away from a much briefer hug, grinning down at her.

It was often said that Hermione greatly resembled her father. Both had brown eyes and curly brown hair, though Dad kept his short enough that a bulk of the bushiness was kept at bay—he made up for it with a respectable beard, however. From Mum, Hermione had (thankfully) inherited her somewhat petite size and (arguably less thankfully) prominent teeth. Mum’s hair was enviably manageable, straight and sandy blonde.

“What…on Earth are you two doing here?” Hermione asked thickly. “How did you even – “

“Oh, that would be my handiwork,” a woman said, and Hermione only then noticed that her parents hadn’t been the only ones in the room. Rounding, she took in the sight of Harry’s mum.

Lily Potter looked much the same as she had in the Christmas card she’d sent, with gorgeous red hair, vibrant green eyes, and a smile bordering on impish. Hermione knew she was only in her mid-thirties, but she looked even younger in person; she would have believed the woman standing in front of her to be Harry’s older sister rather than his mother.

“Hello, Hermione!” Lily gushed, moving to wrap Hermione in a squeezing hug that Hermione feebly returned, but that wasn’t enough, it seemed. “Go on, you can do better than that! Hug like you mean it!”

Giggling a bit, Hermione squeezed with all her might, and Lily finally released her with a satisfied nod. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you! My goodness, but you are adorable!”

Hermione glanced about to see Harry exchanging a firm handshake with her father while Mum enthusiastically chatted at him. “You brought my parents here?”

“Well, it was actually Harry’s idea,” Lily said. “That boy, just when I think he’s done surprising me, more of his father shines through. He wrote me saying you hadn’t been able to have your parents visit because no one magical could accompany them and asked if I might be up to the task.”

“He did that for me?” Already emotional, Hermione felt a tear finally slip free and glide down her cheek. With a quiet laugh, Lily withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and passed it to her (she still wore her wedding ring, Hermione noticed), giving her a moment to dab at her face. “But…he never asked for an address or anything.”

“Oh, I played a little of the detective, actually,” Lily said proudly, leading Hermione to a chair and sitting with her. “I got out the phone book and looked for dentists named Granger, and wouldn’t you know it, there they were. I even called them up and scheduled an appointment to go and see them.”

“She had far too much fun with the whole thing,” Harry said flatly, and Lily grinned at him.

“I got in there, we started chatting, and I told them I was Harry’s mother, and we all talked about what a rotten boy he is and how you have your work cut out for – “

“Muuum!” Harry groaned while Hermione snorted.

“We actually discussed how Lily has taken to the wizarding world as a muggle-born and what sort of future you have with them,” Mum said. “We’ve always been a bit worried about it, given what you’ve told us of the prejudice those…purebloods have.”

“And I told your parents that while there is a lot of systemic prejudice in place, it’s still worth it to at least get a basic education at Hogwarts and then consider your options,” Lily said. “I had two little ones to take care of, and I don’t regret it one bit,” she looked significantly at Harry, who rolled his eyes in a familiar way, “but the two of you have so many more options at hand these days. You can study in France, Italy, over in America or in Australia. Or all of the above, make a proper world tour of it.”

“It’s actually customary after Hogwarts to spend a year travelling around and putting what you’ve learned to use, learning more, and getting accustomed to the world,” Hermione said. “I’d love to do that.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Dad said with a nod. “It’s just refreshing to have more of an idea what’s actually happening to you while you’re away.”

“And to see you,” Mum said with a fervent look at Hermione. “Oh, love, you look wonderful! I saw pictures of you at that Yule Ball of yours, and it reminded me so much of your father and I on our wedding day – “

“Helen,” Dad said with a rueful chuckle, and Hermione saw that Harry’s face had gone quite red at that last remark.

“Winston,” Mum shot back with an impish look to match Lily’s. Hermione thought she saw a slightly wistful look from Harry’s mum as she watched the pair, but then the door opened, and Madame Rosmerta entered to take their drink orders, and the moment was gone.

Drinks were ordered, and the parents chatted amiably before gently grilling the students on how school was going, their friends, their classes, their upcoming exams, and any minute detail they could extract from the pair. Hermione was delighted to see that Harry got along rather well with her parents; it had been a secret worry of hers that any boy she dated from school (however remote the possibility had once seemed) would flounder when introduced to a couple of muggles and find himself unable to relate to them. Harry coming from a muggle-born mother and growing up familiar with the muggle world meant that he was perfectly able to chat with Mum and Dad with minimal awkwardness. He even bonded with Dad over a mutual love of football, and they spent a fair amount of time chatting about the sport. Dad was a fan of the Premier League, while Harry preferred to stay abreast of the various National Leagues.

By the time they were due to return to the school, Harry had promised to write Dad after the next England National game.

“That was actually quite painless,” Harry said once they had said their goodbyes and were making their way along the ice-slickened road toward the carriages. Hermione clung tightly to Harry’s arm, both to keep herself from losing her footing but also because she simply wanted to.

“You know, once we get back to the carriage, you’re getting a proper snog,” she told him, enjoying the little smile that quirked his lips when she did, the slight flush to his neck and cheeks.

“Am I?” he asked. “To what do I owe such a lovely time?”

“Being the absolute best boyfriend in all of history,” she said. “The worst part about Hogwarts is not seeing my parents for months on end, and you go and just—bring them here! That’s the most thoughtful thing ever, Harry.”

“Well…it wasn’t entirely my idea,” Harry said. “I was telling Daisy I wished there was a way to just bring them here, and she looked at me like I was daft and said I could just write Mum and ask her to do it.”

“What a little problem-solver,” Hermione giggled. “I’ll have to be sure to thank her.”

“She’s happy just to help,” Harry said. “She’s rather taken with you, it turns out.”

“I seem to have that effect on Potters in general,” Hermione said, and Harry winked at her.

“Hard to deny that,” he said.

Her heart gave another little flutter, and Hermione sighed in utter contentment as they strode along. How was she not supposed to absolutely fall head over heels for this boy? What point was there in resisting or denying or pretending that she wasn’t caught up in some adolescent fantasy, that she wouldn’t march down the aisle with this boy tomorrow if the mere mention of such a thing wasn’t liable to send him into a panic?

Hermione Granger was categorically and completely in love with Harry Potter, and she was ready to embrace it.

And him, which she did readily once they had secreted themselves away into a warm and cozy carriage—after all, she had promised a snog, and she intended to deliver.

Notes:

I left most of the indy!Neville stuff unsaid, but I do imagine he was never heard from again. Once Ginny turned seventeen, she dipped out as well to find him, and they started a family. At some point, Voldemort probably returned, and the members of the magical community did the smart thing and just...left. Once he realized there was no one left to rule over, Voldemort tried to take his show international and was soundly trounced by the ICW.

The end.

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