The Recognition

by making_it_through

Summary:

After the Battle of Hogwarts and all the funerals, after cleaning up the dust and making Grimmauld Place a place he could see as a home and returning to Hogwarts for his NEWTs Harry finally has time to breathe and makes a few surprising realizations.
OR the time Harry Potter realizes that he is in love with Hermione Granger and not with Ginny Weasley.
(Harry’s POV)
Mature themes: Trauma, PTSD. Reader discretion is advised.

Notes:

I thank my beta Icy-Platypus on Reddit for beta-ing this fic. English is my second language, so any mistakes are my own.
I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, nor profit from this work. My views differ from the author, and I fully support trans rights.
This is a Harry and Hermione fanfic. It is not canon compliant.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 1: Hogwarts Part 1

 

May 2, 1998

Harry sat on a bench, pausing to recover after a life-or-death battle. His head throbbed with pain and his whole body was sore. His heart ached from the sorrow of the losses around him. His clothing was torn beyond repair and cleaning charms. There were visible scars and blood on his face from the encounter.

Surveying the remains of the castle and the quad around him, he observed his surroundings: The Weasley family had gathered in a half circle beside Fred’s lifeless body, offering support to one another while Molly Weasley mourned her son audibly.

“My baby!” She sobbed, as Arthur kneeled next to her, pulling her close to him, trying to soothe her while lightly stroking her hair. George’s eyes, once full of life, were dead. The younger siblings stood nearby, visibly affected by the loss of their brother. Hermione was positioned next to them on Ron’s left side, holding his arm with her lithe fingers and whispering supporting words to him.

When did that happen, Harry noted this closeness between his two best friends with mild curiosity and recognition of its inevitability. He knew they had their differences and argued, but he also knew Ron and Hermione harboured feelings for one other. Harry observed Ginny’s gaze directed at him, accompanied by a subdued smile.

He approached them at a measured pace, uncertain of how to adequately express his grief. Having lost a friend in Fred as well, he extended his condolences to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who nodded and thanked him.

"Hi," he said quietly, holding Ginny’s hand.

"Harry," she said, her voice breaking with sobs. He embraced her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, trying his best to soothe her and offer comfort. Even after many years, he was still utter rubbish when it came to crying witches.

Harry saw Professor, or was it now Headmistress McGonagall with Madam Pomfrey, healing some pupils and ushering more injured students and adults to the Hospital Wing. She stood tiredly, looking at the four teens and glanced at her colleague. The matron fired healing charms on the less wounded pupils. She would have a full house tonight, Harry thought. His green eyes caught Hermione’s brown eyes in an instant, asking wordlessly if they needed to join them. She shook her head, still huddled next to Ron.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger and Ms. Weasley, please come with me," Madam Pomfrey said in a firm tone that Harry knew meant that they didn’t have much choice in the matter.

The sun dipped as they got to the Hospital Wing. At that moment, Harry felt they were forever changed from the events that had happen in the last months. 

Even after all those moments spent there, the strong smell of potions and antiseptic still made bile rise in his throat. Guess it’s better here than at St. Mungo’s.  Or joining my parents at Godric’s Hollow, he mused darkly…

Pulling the privacy screens to a small section, Madam Pomfrey multiplied the bedpans and pointed one to each of the quartet. Harry and Ron lay on one side, as Hermione and Ginny lay on the other. She went to each, casting diagnostic spells, giving them Healing and Dreamless Sleep potions.

“Good night,” Hermione said softly as she fell asleep, looking at Ron and him.  

“Good night, Hermione,” he murmured back, his eyes closing for the night.

*-*

The next morning, they were fed a small breakfast of buttered toast, eggs and tea. Ron ate like a starving man and grumbled that he would still be hungry after the meal. Harry chuckled lightly at his best mate’s antics as he sipped his tea, while the two women shook their heads disapprovingly. Their clothes were less dirty and they had slept better than most nights. Madam Pomfrey released them all, but Harry, who looked puzzled at the nurse who did not answer him. 

A few minutes later, McGonagall came to him, silencing the area and sitting down next to his bedside. 

"Mr. Potter, surviving such danger is remarkable. I am sure that your parents would be proud of what you achieved for the magical world." McGonagall said solemnly, her eyes tired, but with tears at the mention of James and Lily Potter. She had taught his parents and was rather fond of them both. She cleared her throat from emotion. "You might know this, but the coming months will be difficult. Filled with grief, sorrow and remembering. You must remember to not keep it in and seek help, if you need it; I hope you have support. You can always count on me, Potter", she continued, holding her gaze to him.
Immediately, Harry looked at his professor and thought of his close friends, especially a certain brunette and two redheads. "Don't worry, Professor. I'm not alone. Not anymore, at least." he replied. She nodded, stood up and wordlessly casted Finite .

Madam Pomfrey swiftly pulled the screen and approached Harry. "I won’t hold you much longer, Mr. Potter as most of your injuries are healed. I would advice to not strain yourself and not to do any mischief, but you are a Potter. You can return to your friends now."

After leaving the Hospital Wing, it was nearing lunch. Harry went down the stairs and found his friends sitting in the Great Hall with his fellow Gryffindor. McGonagall stood at the stand and announced to the remaining students that the castle would close for the summer repairs but welcomed anyone who wished to help restore it to its former condition. The four friends glanced at each other, as they ate in silence. Then, they made their way to the Tower and respective dorms. 

“Did something happen between you and Hermione?” Harry asked his best friend, once alone in their dorm.
Ron blushed furiously, the tip of his ears becoming fire-engine red. “Er... We kissed in the Chamber of Secrets, mate. It was… I can’t believe I kissed ‘Mione”. He said, in a hushed tone, his hand running through his shaggy hair. “I mean, it had to happen eventually. Maybe now we can finally be together”, he finished, pulling the last of his belongings in the trunk, not paying attention to how he put it in.
"Cheers, mate," Harry responded promptly, his attention momentarily diverted as he became absorbed in contemplation, experiencing an uneasy sensation. 

"I should be happy my best friends finally got together." Harry said to himself , yet he couldn't help but feel a pang of a certain emotion he hadn't felt in quite sometime. At that time, Harry was not yet aware that the emotion he felt was jealousy.

With his trunk in hand, Harry descended the stairs to the Common Room to find Hermione, alone on the loveseat in front of the fire, fixing the embers, lost in her thoughts. She shot her head when she heard him, her senses tuned to him. 
“Hi. Are you okay?”, the brunette said to him, softly. Was he , he wondered, as Hermione looked at him with concern. Before he could answer, the two Weasley siblings descended the stairs and interrupted their conversation.

“Are you guys going to the Burrow?” Ginny asked, looking at him, as Hermione stood up.  

“Er. I mean… I’m not sure if I should.” Harry hesitated, unsure if he belonged with them as they grieved. 

“Don’t be daft, mate. You’re both family and you know it.” Ron responded, shuffling closer to Hermione, with his hands in his pockets.
“You should be with each other, Ron, really. I’d feel like an intruder.” Hermione said to him softly. She looked at her feet, nervously. 

The siblings were quiet for a brief period until Harry spoke. “I’m going to Grimmauld Place for now. You can come with me if you want,” he said, looking at Hermione. She was biting her lip nervously and looked at him, agreeing with a nod.

"Understood," Ginny remarked quietly, noting they would meet again soon. She embraced the brunette and gave Harry a brief kiss on the cheek. Ron turned his gaze from him to Hermione and softly mentioned they would send an owl the next day. Then, they made their way through the Fat Lady's portrait.

Chapter 2: 12 Grimmauld Place- Part one

Summary:

Harry and Hermione stay at 12 Grimmauld Place together for the first night after the war.

Notes:

First of all, I want to thank everyone for reading this fanfic of mine. I did not think I would get so much love for this work.
Second of all, this chapter will feature a brief description of torture and trauma. I hope that you are safe and if you wish to skip this part, you can.

I decided to split the first night and the Weasley's visit into two chapters, because we will get a bit of tension in the next chapter.
With that, I hope you enjoy this one. Feel free to leave kudos and comments.

 

After asking Headmistress Minerva for her private floo, Harry and Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place. He brushed the soot off of his clothes as Walburga Black’s portrait came to life.

“Who dares come in here, staining this house with their filthy blood?” She shrieked, before the brunette silenced her. 

“What a warm welcome.” Hermione said under her breath.
*Pop*
Kreacher stood in front of the two, his face appearing neutral. “Master Harry, you came.” He spoke as he bowed to Harry and Hermione.

“Kreacher. I’m glad you’re here.” Harry said kindly to the elf. “Of course, Master. Will you be needing anything from me?”, Kreacher asked with a hint of disdain. Even if he had grown accustomed to Hermione and Harry’s presence, the elf still viewed them sometimes as impure. 

“Can you clean two rooms Kreacher, please? Hermione and I will be staying for a bit”, he answered and thanked him. 

“Kreacher will do what the Master asks.”, came the reply, as he apparated out.

The Black Manor still looked uninviting, its dark walls and its furniture dusty, as if it hadn’t been cleaned in months. Hermione went to the couch and removed a small layer of dust with the back of her hand. She sat, looking at Harry with her warm brown eyes. He sat down next to her and exhaled tiredly.

“It’s all over, isn’t it?” Hermione remarked. The young adult nodded in response. She reached out and gently squeezed his hand in a reassuring gesture. Harry experienced a moment of nervous anticipation. The two friends had always shared a close bond, something a lot of people thought was strange. Even before the Horcrux hunt, they provided each other with comfort during challenging times. Their supportive touch brought them a sense of reassurance.

The old elf came back with a small pop and bowed to them 

“The rooms are cleaned, Master. Will it be all?” He muttered.

 Harry looked at the clock, noting it was past 4 and his stomach softly growled. “Could you prepare us supper, Kreacher, if that’s not too much of a problem? The last few days have been a lot and I'm not sure we'll be able to cook.” His best friend asked the small elf. 

“Yes, Mistress”, he said. That’s odd, he never calls Hermione, Mistress, Harry thought. Then, he disappeared in the kitchen, cutting onions and vegetables wandlessly. 

“Want to see your room and have a tour?” Harry asked her. She nodded and they went up the stairs. Harry gave her a small tour of the upstairs as the gaslights came to life. Kreacher had given them adjacent rooms; Harry had the master bedroom, which had dark green walls, a large four-poster bed, a fireplace, a chair and a desk, a dresser and an adjoining master bath. She had a similarly sized room with cream walls, with the same furniture and a smaller bathroom. Kreacher had added a small throw blanket at the end of the bed, not knowing that Hermione always felt cold. She smiled at the attention and took her wand from her jeans pocket. 

 "Accio trunk," she said, as her belongings shot past and nearly hit Harry in the face. She laughed softly, "I'll stay here for a while, if that's okay with you."
"No problem, make yourself at home”, as he summoned his trunk "I might grab a shower; you should have a bath in there too."
The two friends retreated in their bedrooms, changing out of their clothes, until Kreacher popped in to tell them supper was ready. 

After their meal of roast vegetables and grilled chicken, Harry and Hermione sat at opposite ends of the large sofa, each holding a cup of tea prepared by Kreacher, just the way they liked it. Hermione appeared tired, her eyes heavy with fatigue. "Time for bed; I can't stay awake," she said with a yawn as she stood up, her short-sleeved shirt shifting slightly as she raised her arms. Harry’s eyes darted to the scar on her stomach for a minute longer than he should have.
“Goodnight Mi” Harry stood up and kissed her forehead, something he had begun to do while on the run.
“Night Harry” She whispered, doing the same, while walking groggily up the stairs. The young wizard sat down and let his thoughts meander as he stared at the wall.
Kreacher appeared behind him and asked him if he needed more tea, which Harry declined.
A couple of moments later, put out the fire in the drawing room and went to bed. He set his glasses and wand on the small night table. As he pulled the covers, fatigue took over and he slumbered.

In her room, Hermione had already been sleeping, clutching tightly the throw blanket. Last night was blissfully uninterrupted by the nightmares that plagued her, ever since Shell Cottage and Malfoy Manor. It was always the same one. In the dark of the night, as she drifted off to sleep, she was transported back to the Manor. She saw herself laying on the floor, screaming as she was tortured. Bellatrix Lestrange was hovering over her with her knife, her laugh manic, repeating the Cruciatus Curse. She asked if she had taken the sword from Gringotts, as she sliced mudblood on Hermione’s arm.

The nightmare woke her up in a cold sweat and screaming. She sobbed as the mark on her arm stung. Her magic pulled from her, seeking Harry’s in his room. Harry woke up rapidly, as he felt Hermione’s magic and heard her screams. The sound of it, shot through him like a hex. Kicking the covers, he put his glasses on, with a wand in his hand. His long strides brought him to her room in an instant; he could not trust himself to apparate in her room. He kneeled next to her bed and beckoned her to look at him. Even in the darkness of the room, he could see how the nightmare affected his best friend. Her breathing was erratic, shaking like a leaf and quiet sobs raked her body. Her brown eyes were glassy and her cheeks were wet from her tears.
“Harry”, she whispered, her voice hoarse from sobbing and screaming, her hand reaching him. He squeezed her fingers softly. Oh, Mi. It’s all my fault , Harry thought. Exhausted, she lay her head on her pillow, her wild curls fanning out.

As she had done multiple times in the tent when he experienced nightmares, the wizard rose to his feet and joined Hermione in the bed, on her opposite side. He knew better than to ask her about them now. He wanted to soothe her, to hug her and make sure she’d get some sleep.
“Want me to stay?”, he murmured, his green eyes brimming with concern for her. She nodded slowly, facing him. Harry stroke her cheek softly and held her in his arms. “I’m right here, Mi, as long as you need me. Always”. Harry said. “Always”, she answered, her eyes closing. He held her gently, stroking her brown curls. Her once erratic breathing had slowed down as she fell asleep in his arms.

Comforting Hermione had been easier for him than it had been with Ginny yesterday. Something about being close to her and knowing she needed him, felt like he had to; he needed to be there for her. Maybe it’s because you felt like you weren't forced to , his mind provided as he reminisced. His eyes closed as he drifted off to sleep.  

*- *

When Harry woke, the other side of the bed was cold, smelling faintly of her shampoo. He had forgotten how much of an early riser Hermione was, even after all this time. He dragged himself out of bed and into the hallway to the stairs. There she was, in the kitchen, reading a Daily Prophet, a coffee in a large mug and an untouched scone with jam in front of her.

“Hi. You know you could have slept longer”, Harry mentioned his best friend.
She took a sip of her mug. “I tried, but the owls woke me up”, she said tiredly, motioning to two envelopes on the table. Harry saw one with Ron’s familiar handwriting and one with the Ministry of Magic’s purple seal. Harry took a coffee mug and drank, curiously eying them. “I already opened mine from Ginny. She gave us news about the Burrow. They are planning Fred’s funeral... I got the same envelope from the Ministry as well”, Hermione declared.

Harry opened Ron’s letter first:

Harry, 

Thought I should give you news from us. We’re back at the Burrow. George won’t come out of his room. Mom is crying most of the time, she tried cooking when we came back. Let’s just say, the mushrooms that Hermione cooked were better.
Dad always knows what to say to her; he even took it upon himself to make us dinner.  

Can we come by at Grimmauld? Ginny asked about you.

Send Pig with the letter back, mate.

Hope to see you and ‘Mione soon, 

Ron

Ron and his food , Harry thought, as he shook his head. He looked at Hermione before answering his other best friend, not knowing if she would be up for some time with them, after the rough night she had. ”Want some company from Ron and Ginny, Mi?” She hummed in agreement, looking at the window.  

Harry wrote to him back, sending the small pudgy owl with the letter. He would open the Floo after breakfast. Pig hooted and scrambled off to the opened window, his talons scraping the table when he took flight. The small owl almost flew straight into the window before Hermione opened it. 

“Er, did you sleep okay?” Harry asked.
She held her mug tightly and looked at him. “Okay. You should open the other letter.” She purposely avoided the topic. Knowing he wouldn’t get an answer, he took the envelope, his hand shaking. 

The Ministry is summoning you on May 13th for the trial of
Lucius and Draco Malfoy to give testimony.

The missive read, with Kingsley’s signature at the bottom. What would I possibly say ? He mused as he bit into a scone that appeared in front of him.

Notes:

I edited it a bit to make it easier to read. Next chapter will come tomorrow with the Weasley visit, cleaning of Grimmauld Place and a funeral.

Chapter 3: Grimmauld Place - Part 2

Notes:

Author’s Note: I made some small non-canon changes to the layout of the Manor. This one is a doozy with tension, some reassurance, a funeral. We'll cover other funerals and the beginning of Draco’s redemption in the next chapter, as this one went away from me.
Thank you for reading :)

 

After finishing breakfast and his morning routine, Harry returned to the sitting room with a grin on his face. Hermione sat cross-legged on the couch, reading with a blanket on her knees, focused on her book and unaware of Harry's presence.

"You're still reading Hogwarts: A History, haven't you memorised it by now?" Harry asked jokingly. Hermione looked up, slightly startled and put down the book. "Oh, Harry, I didn't hear you come in. You know it's my comfort read."

"Of course, I remember, I was only joking”, Harry smiled at the brunette and walked to the fireplace, tapping it with his wand. Sitting down next her, she had resumed her reading, as Harry started “Are you okay? I mean we haven’t talked about- “, before the floo came to life abruptly. He chanced a glance at Hermione to finish their conversation later, once alone.

Their two redhead friends dusted themselves and looked around the Manor. “Blimey, this place hasn’t changed.” Ron muttered, carrying a modest but patched duffle bag over his shoulder. “Hiya mate”, he greeted Harry and exchanged a knowing glance at Hermione. Turning to the brunette, “Hi ‘Mione”, she huffed softly and narrowed her eyes before standing up to offer him a small hug.
“Honestly, Ronald. How many times have I said that I don’t like it when you call me that”, she responded, visibly annoyed. Hermione crossed her arms on her chest.They’ll argue in 3,2,1… Harry thought to himself, looking at his two best friends, expecting them to fight, but Hermione only sighed, resigned.  
Ron’s ears flushed noticeably, reminiscent of past admonishments from Mrs. Weasley. “Sorry Hermione, I’ll remember”, he muttered before looking at his feet, his hands in his pockets.  

An uncomfortable pause lingered among the group until Ginny initiated an embrace with the other witch in the room and with Harry. She too had a duffle bag over her shoulder along with a small brightly coloured casserole dish in her hands. Her hair was braided, and she seemed to be wearing the smallest amount of make-up. “Dad made us bring his latest dish. Some sort of attempt at er… a cottage pie or something resembling it.” The group laughed and they all sat down on the armchairs and couch.
“You look tired, Mia. Did you sleep alright?” Ginny inquired Hermione, who sat next to her, not answer straight away. “I… reckoned I slept better after...” She glanced at Harry when replying. “Are you planning on staying here a while?” He pointed to the bags on the floor.
“The atmosphere at the Burrow makes me think of Fred too much. Mom’s mental around the house. Oh, and let’s not talk about Dad’s cooking and we wanted to see my two best friends”, Ron rambled on.
Hermione’s shook her head, while the messy haired wizard chuckled as he looked at his other friend. Emotional range of a teaspoon, this one before replying, “Sure. The more the merrier, I’m sure Kreacher will be happy to have you around”.

As if summoned, the elderly elf promptly arrived. "Young Master has additional visitors; delightful," Kreacher murmured under his breath, looking displeased at Ginny and Ron, before disappearing with their two bags.

“I didn’t finish the tour, did I, Hermione?” Harry asked. She shook her head with a smile, leading them through the rest of the basement and house. The kitchen and drawing room were divided by an archway and nearby was a pantry and Kreacher’s den—now clean thanks to Hermione’s charms.
Down the hall was what Harry hoped would be Hermione’s favourite spot: the office and Black library. She gasped at the towering bookcases, the ornate desk, hearth and small green loveseat, prompting Ron to joke, “Well, I think we lost her,” earning him a playful slap. Hermione remarked it would take ages to inventory the books, still beaming. Harry wrapped up the tour by showing them the other floors and their bedrooms on the second floor, skipping Sirius’ room.

Right around lunch, Kreacher warmed the casserole and supplied bread rolls with tea for the four of them. The meal was fine, it wasn’t Molly’s usual food, Harry knew she was too affected by her son’s passing.The four made small conversation about Quidditch while he observed his two best friends. Ron’s table manners still left much to be desired, but it seemed like he was genuinely trying.  Hermione didn’t comment on it, apart from a small “Ronald”, muttered under her breath, before she asked “Why don’t we clean the Manor? We could even do so together or split in two groups,” which Harry knew was a distraction and a way to keep her mind occupied with a task.
Ginny responded with “Brilliant, Mia. I could do it with Harry and you with Ron”, her cheeks showing colour. “Er. Yeah, why not?” Ron feigned not to be thrilled by the prospect of spending all afternoon with his crush. Hermione encouraged him to join her, bringing along a quill and parchment roll before tugging his arm.

Ginny and Harry completed the task of cleaning the dishes and the sitting room using their wands, working together in a somewhat uneasy silence. After approximately fifteen minutes, Ginny uncomfortably attempted to initiate a conversation with him but was interrupted by a shouting match from another room, which they didn't hear the beginning.Ron, was displaying characteristic Gryffindor courage, said loudly “I was just saying, Mione, I liked kissing you and I’d like to do it again, if you, er, are up for it. Maybe even take you out on a date.” However, Hermione, was clearly up to her last nerve and seethed, “Ronald, now’s not the time”, before forcefully slamming the door to his face.
Ron, surprised by her reaction, called for her to open the door. The witch, furious, yelled behind it: “Don’t even say you are sorry, Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Harry looked at Ginny and walked to the door.
“Reckon she’ll let me in?” Ginny asked the two wizards and attempted to unlock the door. Hermione probably warded it off from Weasley’s, Harry’s mind supplied.
“I wouldn’t try it now, if I were you. She almost bit my head off just now” Ron replied to his sister.
Harry observed the door, aware that Hermione’s reaction had more to do than what the two siblings presumed. “Why don’t you tidy the first floor? I’ll see if I can get her out,” he suggested. The younger witch and her brother moved upstairs.
Harry tried to open the door with his wand, but it did not work. He then stood in front of it, ran a hand through his messy hair and knocked. “Leave me alone, Ginny”, “It’s not Ginny, Mi”, he said at a volume she could hear. After a pause, she removed her wards and he entered the office, closing the door behind him. He approached her as she appeared visibly upset and offered her a supportive embrace.

*-*

Working with Hermione to catalogue the books from the Black had been easier and they made a considerable dent in the inventory process. She had confided in him about her recent nightmare and requested that he explained to Ron and Ginny that she preferred to remain in the office for the time being- or at least until it came time to sleep, along with the reasoning.

Later, he shared the news with the siblings, who nodded in understanding.
“Will she be alright tonight?” Ron asked with concern. “Don’t know, mate. She might need someone to comfort her”, Harry answered. Ginny and Ron didn't know he had shared a bed with her the previous night, but he could tell his best friend would be both angry and jealous if he told him.

Harry asked Kreacher to bring a meal for himself, Hermione and another two for Ginny, and Ron. The elf returned to the office with two plates of pasta, chicken and broccoli in a white sauce with two glasses of pumpkin juice. The duo ate on the floor before it was time to head to bed, before Hermione asked: “Can you be with me again tonight, Harry?” He nodded and they went to their respective bathrooms.

They slept on opposite sides of the bed, undisturbed throughout the night. By morning, Harry had unconsciously moved closed to her, with his arms resting above hers. She appeared not to notice anything unusual, like his nether region poking her bum. Oh. No. No. Please don’t be awkward, Harry inwardly hoped the situation would remain so, while trying to think about a dancing Snape or Umbridge. Shifting away from his friend, she whispered groggily “Morning”.“Er. Morning, Mi”, he answered, his cheeks burning, hoping his morning wood was gone by then.

If she had noticed, she didn’t make a big deal out it. She gave him his glasses and wand, getting up from the bed.  “You should go back to your room”. Harry nodded and awkwardly went to his room, hoping the floorboards of the old Manor wouldn’t give away where he was. He sighed; his hands clutching his head. He took a cold shower, dressed in a muted sage blouse with black trousers. and made his way to the kitchen.

Neither of the siblings were awake now, only Kreacher was at the stove."Young master ought to give greater consideration to his own heart and have better company," the elder elf advised the young wizard, as he cooked the eggs and sausage.
“Thanks Kreacher”, Harry muttered under his breath. Hermione sat down, her hair in a low ponytail, dressed in a long black skirt and a gray jumper he could have sworn that he had lost.“It’s the first funeral today” she told him, while looking at the Daily Prophet that was delivered. She continued, “Are you going?” He nodded as she smiled sadly.

The first was a mass one, held at Hogwarts in the Great Hall. Harry would go to every funeral he could, even if it would exhaust him to no end. He had to be present for all those lives that were lost. The Weasley came down, already dressed in black robes and sat down. “I’m sorry, Ron.” Hermione said softly, biting her lower lip. “It’s okay, I hope you’re better now”, he reassured her, his large hand over hers. Harry looked away from the pair for a moment as the four ate breakfast.

Ginny and Harry apparated together, as did Ron and Hermione, arriving at the gates of the castle as they opened. On the way to the Great Hall, Hermione gave him a brief smile. They offered condolences to the families who had experienced loss; most accepted, while some avoided him. As the names were announced by the Minister, he noticed that Fred, Remus, and Tonks were not in the list and sighed. Hermione held both his and Ron’s hand. He tried paying attention, but his thoughts were swirling around his head, stuck on Kreacher's advice. He caught some words like bravery, greater good and battle. The guests all raised their wands, as tears streamed down their faces, light emitting from their tip.

After the funeral, Harry invited Neville and Luna to Grimmauld Place, but both declined, saying they were too tired. Feeling Harry’s magic and energy waver, Hermione switched side-along apparition partner with Ginny, who narrowed her eyes. As they arrived, Harry stumbled and collapsed tiredly on the couch, before dozing off. The last things he remembered were a blanket put on him, Hermione’s hand stroking his unruly hair and kissing his cheek softly. 

Chapter 4: More funerals and hard conversations

Summary:

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny attend Fred's funeral.
Ron gets a telling off.
Hogwarts and rejections
Remus and Tonk's funeral.

Notes:

A recent comment provided a different perspective on Ron's actions in the previous chapter. The characters have various flaws and experiences that influence their behaviour. While the story centres on Hermione and Harry, the other member of the trio can be caring as well.

 

Harry woke up with a small crick in his neck and to the smell of toast in the morning. I didn't make it to my room last night. The couch hadn’t been the worst thing he slept on - it had been surprisingly comfortable. After getting up, he grabbed his glasses from the table and stretched. When he walked to the kitchen, he found the two witches giggling and chatting as they made breakfast. Both looked tired, and Hermione was setting the kettle on the burner to make tea.

“Hey, did we wake you up?” Hermione inquired, retrieving the tea tin from the pantry and placing it on the countertop. He responded with a shake of his head. “I covered you with a blanket last night. You should take a shower, you kind of smell, Harry. It’s going to be a long day”, Ginny sniffed, attending to the eggs in the pan. Harry squeezed her shoulder gently, thanked them both and lazily made his way to his room.

Ginny glanced at Hermione, who quickly silence the room with a flick of her wand. “Can't believe my brother thought it was the best moment to ask you on a date. What a git. We're burying our brother today, for Merlin's sake”, the redhead said angrily. “I was going to ask Harry if he wanted to start again.” She added, the brunette hummed “I mean, I appreciate the fact that he didn’t snog me in the library, but I’m not sure if this is what I want anymore. Ron’s a good guy and all, but we just argue, and he doesn’t get me.” Hermione replied before they continued to cook breakfast. Kreacher popped in and shooed the witches away from the stove with a scowl on his face. “Rest, mistresses. Let me do it”.

Ginny sat down to Hermione at the table and crossed her arms, “Guess I need to talk to my brother. Maybe to Harry too”, Hermione gave her hand a small squeeze, before she lifted the spell. A few minutes later, Ron and Harry came down the stairs at the same time, showered and dressed for the day. They ate breakfast and both Weasley's went back to their home early for the funeral.
“We’ll see you there, yeah?” Ron asked his two best friends, with teary eyes. “We wouldn’t miss it”, Harry answered him.

At the Burrow, Ginny took her brother by the arm before the ceremony started and whacked his head. “You prat. I can’t believe you did that!”, she yelled, Ron’s yelp draw attention from their dad. “What is wrong?” The two siblings glanced at each other, not answering before Mr. Weasley asked them again to explain themselves.

Ginny explained the situation, which made Ron’s ears turn a bright red from embarrassment. Mr. Weasley took him aside and looked at him with an exasperated sigh “Ron, you are just as bad with witches as your old man. I’m glad you didn’t know something rash like give her a love potion or ask her to marry her.”
Ron blanched. “Now’s not the time to scold you, son. Perhaps, you should take a moment to think before you speak.” Ron looked at his feet before trying to make a point
 “I understand that you feel a certain way.  but have you given any thought to how she feels?” He asked his son, before putting both hands on his shoulders and looking at him in the eyes. “Let’s rejoin the others. The guests are starting to arrive, and I do not want to aggravate your mother further”. Mr. Weasley whispered the last part.   

Fred’s funeral was attended by a significant number of wizards and witches who gathered to honour his memory. Many of Fred’s fellow Gryffindor classmates were there, along with a few professors. It was a warm and sunny day, perfect to be outside.  After paying their respects to the Weasley family, Harry and Hermione were seated together. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Draco standing in the shade of the orchards, hidden from view. Bill comforted his grieving mother in the front row. Charlie, back from Romania, sat with Percy.

Several of Harry’s Quidditch teammates and Lee shared stories about Fred. When Ron introduced George to address the audience, the attendees attentively listened and laughed as they were told the tales of the twins and their aspirations of establishing a joke shop. George, overcome by emotion stopped, their closest friend recounted stories on his behalf and delivered a heartfelt tribute. Following the conclusion of the ceremony, the pair remained to dine with the family at Mrs. Weasley's insistence but returned to Grimmauld Place to sleep.

Unlike the previous day, Harry wasn’t as exhausted. Kreacher tended to them both with a steaming mug of tea each, which they drank, talking until both mugs were drained from their contents.
 “Promise me you won’t tell Ron?” Hermione spoke softly, to which he nodded. She then continued, "Ron never asked about my plans for this summer or after. He just assumed… I would like to travel to Australia to visit my parents, get their memories back and then return to Hogwarts," she stated with a sigh. “We missed our seventh year, always running instead of living like normal teenagers.
"Has it ever been normal, Mi?" Harry joked, making her laugh and she gave him a light slap. "Ron’s always been like this—maybe that’s what you like about him," he added, bracing himself for her answer. The witch bit her lip. “It usually irritates me. I don't even know if I want to be with him or anyone right now", she whispered. He paused, processing her words. "You should go to Australia. I'll be here when you return—always."   

"Always," she replied, giving his forehead a quick kiss. "Night, Harry." He kissed her forehead as well and watched her leave. That night, in the darkness of his room the young wizard couldn’t help but feel relieved and knew he had to have a hard conversation with a redhead in his future. Nightmares didn’t wake him or Hermione up.
*-*

Harry woke up early, to the sound of the birds singing outside his window. Today was Remus and Tonks’ funeral, the last one, he hoped, for a very long time. He planned to ask Professor Sprout for flowers from the greenhouse so that he could bring them to Andromeda and put on their grave. Andromeda had asked the Headmistress to hold it on castle grounds near the Shrieking Shack. He didn’t expect the turn out of Fred’s funeral, but it would be just as emotional, if not more. He dressed in his darker robes, not bothering to shave the stubble that grew on his jaw.

The young wizard made his way to the kitchen, the letter from the Ministry still opened before him- The Malfoy trial was starting on the next day. Kreacher was busy, preparing coffee and pancakes for the two occupants of the Manor. Hermione appeared in the archway, her curls flowing past her shoulders. She was a vision, dressed in a dark burgundy dress, black tights, with a small black cardigan and boots completing her look. “Hi”, she said to Harry, before addressing kindly the elf who gave them both their plates. “It smells delicious Kreacher. Thank you”. The pair dug in their pancakes and bacon in comfortable silence, apart from appraising sounds.

A Hogwarts owl came to the window with two letters. Harry let him in, before he was pecked by the bird for a piece of meat. The envelopes were heavy with the lists of books and supplies for the next year, and a letter addressed to each.
Hermione’s eyes opened wide as she saw the Head Girl badge. “Congratulations, Mi”, Harry responded, with a side hug. “Thanks Harry”. His did not have the badge, nor the Quidditch captain armband. He smiled Guess it’s just a regular year for me; he mused before the floo in the next room roared.
Ron and Ginny came out with their own letters. “You’ll never guess who’s Captain!” The redhead witch told them happily. “Oh Ginny, I’m so proud of you”, Hermione provided, launching in one of her missile hugs.
Ron looked at her, a small smile. “Can I talk to you in private?”, he asked. The young witch nodded before they went to the library and closed the door. Harry stood still and smiled softly at Ginny, before congratulating her.
“I’m so happy I could kiss you right now!” Ginny declared, her cheeks burning, leaning in. The young wizard looked at his feet and shook his head. “Oh. I thought”, the redhead whispered, before he sat down on the couch. “Er. You’re amazing, Gin, but I- “she interrupted him with her hand, joining him on the far end. “Save it, Harry. I knew something was different. I’m so stupid!”.
“You’re not, I’m just at a different place in my life and I think it would be better if we could stay friends”, Harry held her gaze. Ginny’s brown eyes were filled with tears, which she wiped with her sleeve, before she nodded.

Ron’s ears were pink as he and Hermione came back in the sitting room. They apparated to the grounds in pairs, Harry and Hermione going to the greenhouses. She didn’t have to speak; he knew by looking at her, that she had rejected their other friend.
“He’s not coming back to Hogwarts. He wants to help George at the shop”, she mentioned him.
“Who’s going to be the Head Boy then?” Harry asked as Hermione shrugged, before answering. “I’ll ask McGonagall later. Gods, I hope it’s not a Slytherin. Or worse, Draco”.
Harry glanced at her for a moment. “Er. Maybe I could mention your name. Partners in crime, again, you know.” They both blushed.
“Only if you want me to, Mi”. Harry whispered, holding her gaze, as she nodded.

Remus and Tonks’s funeral was attended by most of his friends, Hagrid and McGonagall, Kingsley and a couple of Aurors he thought he recognized from sixth year. Harry was the only one who spoke, his voice thick with emotion as he retold their first meeting. He looked at Andromeda holding Teddy in her arms and brought the small piece of chocolate to his mouth beofre taking a bite, nodding to the sky. His last link to his parents had died and he didn’t have time to hear more stories from him or to ask him for advice about his future, about love or becoming an Animagus. Tears brimmed his emerald eyes, but he held on before he put the flowers on the grave, he regained his place in the row. Hermione stood by his side as he sobbed softly in her arms. Ron and Ginny consoled him. 
After the ceremony ended, she invited Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean, Ron and Ginny back to Grimmauld Place. Most of them came and they spent the night telling stories about 'the best DADA teacher they ever had', drinking butterbeers and fire whiskey the Irishman brought. While some played Exploding sap, he stared at the fire, a butterbeer bottle in his hand. The night died down in the small hours of the morning when most of the guests had flooed home. 

Chapter 5: The Malfoy Trial

Summary:

The Malfoy Trial (and a mention about the others).

Notes:

A/N: I decided to change my username; it’s still the same fanfic author – don’t worry.
Little life update, the chapters might be shorter as I am on sick leave and would prefer not too to be on the computer too much. Another chapter about the Ball will come soon. Thanks again for reading.

 

The next morning, Harry woke up with a throbbing headache, and his throat was drier than the Sahara. Why did I drink so much last night? I hope there’s some Hangover Potion left, he thought. Getting out of bed, he sits back down, feeling dizzy, and conjures a glass of water and slides his glasses on.
“Kreacher,” he called, his voice still hoarse. The elf appeared, holding a Hangover Potion in his tiny hand. “Young Master, would this be needed, considering the mess that can be found downstairs?” he teased.
“I know, I know. It won’t happen again,” Harry replied, taking the vial from Kreacher and draining it with a grimace.
“Kreacher will return to the kitchen before Mistress burns it down,” the elf said before popping back downstairs. Harry glanced at his wardrobe, sighed, and chose a pair of black trousers, a dark gray shirt, and a matching jacket.
After showering and dressing, he headed to the kitchen, where Hermione was trying very hard not to burn the bacon. Kreacher was cooking eggs and toast, and the coffee pot was gurgling. “Morning, Mi!” Harry greeted her. She had her hair in a plait, wearing a light pink cardigan over a white blouse and a skirt that swished as she turned around.
“Harry!” she exclaimed, a warm smile spreading across her face. “You just missed an owl from the Ministry—they’re organizing a Victory Ball, whatever that is,” she muttered the last part.
“Not fancying going to a ball?” he teased her, and she huffed in response. “Not really my type of activity, you know that, Harry. Plus, I’ll need new dress robes, and getting my hair to cooperate will take ages,” she explained, biting her bottom lip.
“I’m sure you will look, um… beautiful,” Harry replied, causing both their cheeks to blush pink. She looked at him, her doe eyes filled with surprise and another emotion he couldn’t quite identify.
Tugging at her sleeves, she glanced down at the floor. It was the first time he had ever complimented her like that, without any prompting. It felt different, yet at the same time, it felt familiar. They remained silent until Kreacher plopped their plates and mugs onto the table.
“We should eat; we don’t want to be late,” Hermione finally broke the silence, busily buttering and jamming her toast. Harry did the same and picked up the unopened invitation.

Victory Ball

The Ministry of Magic invites you to the Victory Ball, a celebration of the victory of Light, where Harry Potter will receive the First Order of Merlin...

He began to read the invitation and widened his eyes. “I never asked for this,” he muttered, clenching his fists.
“Harry, it’s okay, you're not the only one. They’re giving Ron and me similar awards. We’ll all be there” she reassured him, her hand gently stroking his forearm, provoking goosebumps on his skin.

They finished eating, stealing glances at each other under the watchful eyes of Kreacher. Then, they flooed to the Ministry of Magic, with Hermione’s beaded bag slung over her shoulder. They arrived early and made their way toward the courtroom. Suddenly, a large group of journalists and photographers stood in front of them, all hoping to get a quote from the Golden Trio or the Malfoys. Ron sat down on a bench, his lips pursed.

A few minutes later, the three Malfoys entered the courtroom, handcuffed and accompanied by an Auror. All three wore dark robes. Narcissa sighed in relief when she saw Harry and Hermione. Her husband looked at the floor, and Draco appeared subdued, his gray eyes widening as he saw the Trio. They remained silent and did not address the journalists.

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode by in his dark purple robes, motioning for the trio to follow him to a smaller room.

"Harry, Hermione, Ron, I’m glad you could be here. If you wish to have no journalists present, just say the word, and I’ll ban them from entry,” he told them as they exchanged glances. “Please, Minister,” Harry replied. "It’s Kingsley,” he said, gazing intently at the young wizard before entering the courtroom.

The trial room was dimly lit by torches, filled with stands for the most influential wizarding families. The Longbottom seat was occupied by Neville’s grandmother, wearing her usual vulture hat. Next to her stood Amelia Bones and several other wizards and witches that Harry didn’t recognize.

“Aurors, bring in the accused!” Kingsley bellowed, and the Malfoys took their seats at the front.

The Chief Warlock read the charges against each of them. All three were accused of aiding in a conspiracy to eradicate Muggle-borns, Muggles, and anyone not of pure-blood status. Draco had been cited for the attempted murder of Dumbledore. Narcissa's eyes misted as she looked at her son. She was accused of aiding in the capture and attempted assassination of Harry, as well as hiding Voldemort. Lucius’s offenses were severe: attempted murder of Harry, infiltrating the Ministry of Magic, revealing information to Voldemort, and numerous others. His sentence would be harsher than that of his wife and son. They all understood the gravity of the charges against them.

Both Harry and Hermione were called to give testimonies for the Malfoys. Hermione took a deep breath and began, her eyes focused ahead. She spoke strongly about the night she had been tortured at Malfoy Manor. When it was Harry's turn to testify, he sat quietly at the table, taking a small, encouraging look at Draco and Narcissa before speaking.

“I wish to speak in favor of the accused,” Harry said. Kingsley’s gaze was intent on him. “If it weren’t for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale. Draco lied to Voldemort, saying that he didn’t recognize my friends and me, and he threw his wand during the Battle of Hogwarts. He didn’t want to kill Dumbledore. I was there that night. I saw him lower his wand. He had no choice.” He paused for a moment, looking around at the stands, where most members appeared taken aback by his defense of the Malfoys.
“And Malfoy Sr., Mr. Potter? You can’t possibly think he was innocent,” the Chief Warlock challenged. “I know he wasn’t, sir,” Harry replied, “but he acted out of necessity to save his family. We’ve all done things that we are not proud of to protect our loved ones.” With that, he took a seat.

After leaving the Wizengamot chambers, the trio sat in the Atrium for a cup of tea and a sandwich from the canteen. Hermione had brought a book on memory charms and was deep in reading while Harry and Ron were in conversation about Quidditch. They listened as witnesses were called and testimonies continued, with the trial proceeding for another two hours before breaking for lunch and restarting until 5 PM.
“Do you think they’ve reached a verdict?” Harry asked his friends. Ron shook his head and replied, “Dad tells me it’ll take another day. Usually, when the charges are severe, it takes longer.”
“I think I’ll head back. Are you coming with me?” Hermione asked as she put her book away in her beaded bag. Harry nodded and looked to Ron. “I’ll get back to the Burrow before Mum puts a missing poster for me. You’re going to the Ball, right?”
The two looked at each other and sighed, “I guess we have to, don’t we?” Harry mumbled. 

They arrived at Grimmauld Place through the Floo, the warm aroma of Indian spices lingering in the air. “Did you tell Kreacher to make curry?” Hermione asked, glancing at Harry. He shook his head. “Nope. He must’ve just known we’d like it.” Hermione raised an eyebrow, and her eyes shone like she had come across another area of magic to learn about. “I really need to research elf magic,” she muttered, already eyeing the hallway that led to the library. Harry’s seeker reflexes gently caught her arm.
“Not tonight, Mi. Let’s just eat and relax for once.” She sighed but relented, letting him guide her to the sitting room floor where they ate cross-legged, the food rich and comforting.

Afterwards, Kreacher quietly brought them tea and biscuits, then disappeared without a word. Hermione had already pulled out a book, her eyes devouring the pages.
“Mi,” Harry said softly, touching her shoulder. She looked up. “Let’s get to bed. You’ll wear yourself out if you keep going.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” she whispered. “It’s silly, but I’m scared I’ll have a nightmare again…”
“It’s not silly,” he said gently. “We all do. I’ll be there, like last time.”
“We could—” she hesitated, “—sleep in the same bed again?”
“If it helps you, of course.” Harry smiled, tugging her closer. “Come on, Mi. I don’t mind.” His fingers found a stray curl and toyed with it absently. She relaxed.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Just one more chapter.” Five minutes later, she closed the book with a decisive thunk and stood up. Harry followed her upstairs.

They changed quietly—Hermione slipping into a pair of shorts and a tank top, Harry into his boxers and a t-shirt. He took his place on the opposite side of the bed, setting his wand and glasses on her nightstand.
Hermione lay beside him and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. He returned the gesture, brushing his lips against hers in silent comfort.

As expected, Hermione woke with a jolt, sweat dampening her skin. The nightmare had passed quicker this time, but her magic had surged in her sleep, reaching instinctively for Harry’s. The burst stirred him from slumber, and he was at her side instantly, his hand rubbing slow circles along her back, his own magic wrapping protectively around her. They lay there in the quiet, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“I think Kreacher keeps Dreamless Sleep in the cupboard,” Harry murmured. “Want me to get you some?”
She shook her head. “I’m better now… because you’re here.”
He didn’t reply, only pulled her closer as her eyes slipped shut again.

Harry woke to the familiar feel of Hermione’s curls tangled against his face. He cast a silent Tempus. Still early. He turned toward her, whispering, “Mi.” She stirred with a soft groan. “Mmm… Harry.” The sound sent a jolt through him and his thoughts betrayed him; summoning images he had no business thinking about. His body responded before he could stop it.
She shifted, and brown eyes met his—bright with mischief… and desire?
“Morning, Harry,” she said, voice velvety, before slipping from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.
Merlin’s beard, he thought, burying his face in the pillow with a groan. This witch will be the death of me. He grabbed his glasses and slunk off for another cold shower.

Over breakfast, they stole glances at one another, cheeks pink, smiles lingering. Something had shifted. They both knew it.

That morning, the Wizengamot had reached a verdict after two hours of being sequestered.
“How does the council find Draco Malfoy?” The Chief Warlock asked.
“Not guilty.” The chorus said. A brief sob escaped Narcissa’s lips. The Chief Warlock continued “We will still need to monitor your wand monthly for dark magic and you will be on magical probation. You will need to write an apology letter to a list of people. As for Narcissa Malfoy?”
“Not guilty, sir”, they intonated as her breath caught in her throat, and she hugged Draco. “Your wand will be monitored as well and an Auror will conduct a monthly sweep of the Manor.”

“Malfoy Sr?” The Chief Warlock paused. “Guilty of all charges, sir”, the Wizengamot said. A beat of silence was broken into with Narcissa’s sob. “You are lucky that Mr. Potter spoke on your behalf- we would have sent you to Azkaban with a Dementor kiss. You will be sent there for 5 years, during which you can receive visitations. Once out, you will be on magical probation. You will need to give 1000 Galleons from your vault.” He said gravely.
“I understand, sir”. Lucius said, his voice strong. His family looked to Harry, grateful to have him in their corner. The Aurors took their bindings off, before they were escorted out for a small moment together.

The other trials found most Death Eater guilty of all charges and sent out to Azkaban. Harry and Hermione did not supply testimonials for the others.

As the trial ended, the trio made their way out of the court room. Ginny and Luna sat on a bench, looked up to Hermione and asked "Ready to go dress shopping at Diagon Alley, Mia? Come on it'll be fun!" "As I'll ever be", she replied, before casting a small smile to theboys, her eyes lingering on Harry, making him blush.
"I need some new robes as well, I'll come with." Harry said and Ron looked surprised. "I guess I'll go to. Wouldn't want to be wearing the robes from 4th Year again." He added.
They went out the Floo and separated with a wave, the witches going to Twilights & Taffeta, a smaller shop that had opened and the wizards went to Madam Malkin's in hopes of finding a robe.

Chapter 6: The Ball

Summary:

The Ball (Finally!)
Elf magic 101 and some more Kreacher meddling.
Jealous and possesive Harry.
A little surprise for all of you Harmony shippers.

Notes:

Author’s Note: Thank you all so much for reading! Like the tags point out, it is not canon-compliant. This chapter will contain some mild sexual content and switch between Hermione’s and Harry POV. The tension between the two will be high and will need a release ;)

 

Hermione’s POV
The three witches arrived at Twilights & Taffeta, with its small wood board that said: Where starlight meets stitchwork with a bold cursive lettering. The shop was tucked between Zonko’s and a small bakery that had just opened a couple of weeks ago.
As Hermione, Ginny and Luna entered, they were in awe: The shop seemed bigger on the inside, whimsy and a little bit mysterious. At the counter, Pansy Parkinson greeted them warmly, before realising who they were. “Welcome to Twilights & Taffeta! I’m… Granger! Weaslette! Loony! What a surprise”, her tone all business-like.
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Did you just greet us or hex us?” Pansy offered a tight smile. “Both, perhaps,” she replied smoothly. “Old habits die hard. But do feel free to browse — we cater to all witches, even those with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw... leanings.”

Hermione’s eyes were already scanning the nearest rack, where bolts of fabric shimmered. “This place is incredible,” she murmured, running her fingers over a length of midnight blue velvet that shimmered with constellations moving subtly under her touch and that caught her eye. “I had no idea you were running a business.”

Pansy’s chin lifted slightly. “I am Madame Velours’ apprentice. She studied at Beauxbatons” She answered, before pausing. “I know I have never been a friend to any of you and have taunted you, Granger, but I wanted to say, I am sorry that I was a jerk in school. I’d like to start a new. Please consider our shop as I am sure you will find something for the Ball”. She added, her tone sincere. The three witches were surprised by this sudden change of attitude from the Slytherin. Her eyes flicked over Luna, who had wandered to a display of floating accessories—ribbons that danced like wisps of cloud and silver buttons that chimed faintly when touched.

“Did you enchant the space yourself?” Luna asked dreamily, tapping a hat that seemed to whisper secrets from beneath its brim.

“With a little help,” Pansy said, softening a bit. “Twilights & Taffeta is for witches who understand the magic of presentation. Not all power is in wand work, you know.”

There was a flicker of something amused behind Pansy's sharp eyes, and for a heartbeat, the tension melted into something almost... companionable. Then she cleared her throat. “Are you here for anything in particular, or just to gawk?” The three witches shook their heads and looked around.

The shop had many racks of gowns and robes of different styles, all shimmering. Floating mannequins modeled the dresses and in a few corners of the shop stood ornate mirrors that would most likely whisper fashion advice. There were four changing rooms, that could provide multiple dress and gown variations to choose from.  They continued browsing, before Ginny pulled Hermione’s sleeve.
“What was that with Harry at the Ministry, Mia?” She asked her, casting a simple silencing charm over the three of them.
The witch blushed “Oh, it’s nothing really. I just had a nightmare again and we slept in the same bed. I may have felt his… his broomstick”, she answered hesitantly. She knew that Ginny and Harry were no longer together, but she still felt not at ease to talk about him that way.
The redhead’s eyes went wide. “His broomstick? Oh”, she laughed, and Hermione followed suit.
“What are we laughing about? Were you tickled by a fairy?” Luna said.
“No, no Luna. Hermione had a nightmare and bunked with Harry last night and she felt his broomstick.” Ginny answered, making Hermione’s cheeks reddened, as she tried hiding behind a dress rack. This is so embarrassing. I need to stop this conversation.
“Oh, it’s perfectly normal and healthy for a wizard to experience that, Hermione. My Neville has one with a little curve in it.” Luna provided, embarrassing the brunette further.
Of course, Hermione knew that wizard got aroused and reacted in such a way- even witches could get similar reactions. She even researched it in Fourth Year, when her hormones were acting out and partook in masturbation under the covers at night. What she did not know was why Harry’s body reacted to her in such a way, but it aroused her slightly, the more she thought about it.
“I don’t even know why Harry would react in such a way to me. We’ve been friends our whole lives.” Hermione muttered loud enough for the two witches to hear.
Ginny looked to Luna and paused for a minute before saying: “Things change sometimes. Maybe you are less of a sister to him, now. Let’s blow his mind!”, casting a Finite to lift the silencing spell.  
“Pansy, if you want to help us, we are looking for a dress for our smart friend here, we want to a guy’s mouth to fall to the floor”. Ginny said to Pansy. Hermione groaned, as the Slytherin smirked. “Is it for your brother or someone else, say Potter?”
“What. No, it’s not.” Hermione fumbled.
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, Granger”. Pansy winked and grabbed a few gowns of different styles. “Go in there and come out when you are done”.

The witch sighed and entered the changing room with one of the first model. She undressed and held it to her body before putting it on: The dark plum dress had a bodice that hugged her curves in the right places. I wonder if there’s a support charm in the fabric. It shimmered and had a slit down her leg. She went out to her friends.
“This model is charmwoven, it enhances the charisma and confidence in social settings. Perfect for a ball.” Pansy said, appraising Hermione. “I don’t think that is the one for you. This – “Pansy stopped and gave Hermione an emerald gown with embroidery details in gold on the top part.  “– will wow everyone and it will go with his eyes”, she whispered the last part to the brunette who huffed.
She went back into the changing room and sighed. It was indeed perfect: The style showed a little more cleavage than she was used to, but it was still modest. The silk hugged her curves like the first one and add a cleverly hidden wand holster. Hermione took a small breath and went outside. The three other witches clapped excitedly and huddled. “I think you will take his breath away, Mia” Ginny whispered her.
A tall witch with blonde hair pinned to her head, came out from the back of the store, wearing a light blue tailored ensemble and clapped her hands. “Ms. Granger. Lysandra Velours, I see you have one of my most beloved models. You will be the belle of the Victory Ball, and it is perfect for such an occasion. Allow me to offer it to you for all that you have done.” She said, her hand on Hermione’s shoulder.
“I can’t possibly take it, Mrs. Velours.” She spoke.
“Consider it a gift, young lady. You deserve to be magnificent. Pansy, why don’t you show her the accessories section, dear?” She told the Slytherin, who took Hermione to a small cabinet with jewellery, shoes and bags. The Gryffindor found a small bag, with sensible black heels and a pair of tear-drop earrings that matched the dress she would wear.
“I can’t possibly accept it, Pansy.” The Slytherin shook her head. “Pay for the accessories, but you are not paying the dress, Hermione.” The other witch relented and went back to the cabin to put the dress into a large bag. She paid for her belongings, thanked Pansy and looked to her two friends: Ginny found a one shoulder, deep burgundy dress, while Luna found a silver robe with a small slit to her leg. They both looked like royalty in them. They all went out of the store, pleased of their purchase.

Harry’s POV and Hermione’s POV.

At Madam Malkin’s, both Harry and Ron were fitted for new dress robes and suits. Harry brought an emerald pocket square and a new pair of dragonhide boots. The two wizards also didn’t pay for their clothes, as Madam Malkin wouldn’t let them.

“Butterbeer?” Ron asked as they got out of the store with their suits. Harry nodded and they walked to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry sent a Patronus to the girls to tell them where they were.  
“I’m sorry about you and Hermione, mate.” Harry said to his best friend, while the redhead shrugged. “My dad made me realize that maybe I didn’t think about Mione’s feelings and was a git to her. We’re not that well-matched. She deserves better suited for her. Anybody except Malfoy.” Ron said, laughing. Harry thanked silently Mr. Weasley for his advice to his younger son. Harry’s feelings for his other best friend had grown in the past weeks and both his dreams and thoughts were occupied by her. I wonder what colour her dress will be.

The pair of wizards sat down to a booth after ordering two butterbeers from Tom. Theo Nott came up to them and looked at Harry. “I heard what you did for Draco yesterday, Harry. Thank you. I promise you; we’ll be on our best behavior now.” The other wizard told them before leaving the Leaky.
“That was odd.” Ron said, taking a sip from the foam. “Yeah, odd. That’s what you get for siding with one Slytherin; the rest is nice to you.” Harry mused, taking a sip from his glass. The three witches arrived shortly after and sat down. Ron had Ginny on his side with Luna. Harry sat next to Hermione. Their legs touched under the table due to the size of the booth. They drank their glass, making conversation back and forth and apparated back to their respective homes.

Back at Grimmauld, Kreacher was preparing another supper for the pair, this one with an air of romantism, which he hoped would help his young Master to confess the depth of his feelings. The old elf conjured small candles and a bouquet of flowers in a vase. As she entered, Hermione gasped at the scene, touching the flowers before looking at Harry.
“I swear I didn’t do anything, Mi.” He said, eyes wide with surprise. “Let’s put our robes in our rooms and eat. We wouldn’t want his hard work to go to waste”. Hermione laughed and went to her room, putting the dress on the knob of her dresser.
They went down and sat down to eat their meal. “Tea?” Harry asked Hermione with pleading eyes. “I was hoping to read in the library, tonight.” She answered. The young wizard smiled and nodded.

The young witch made her way to the library, closing the door behind her. She began searching tomes for elf magic, thanking Circe for her foresight of making an index, finding three books on the topic. Learning to bond with your elf was the first one she thumbed, scanning the pages for anything that could help her understand Kreacher better.

House-elves bonded with their Master to remain loyal and devoted to them. This bond also applies to their partner, recognizing the witch or wizard and will answer when summoned. They will do everything commanded to, unless freed. They only serve their Master and their family.

Hermione read out loud before dropping the book to the desk, her mind racing with questions. Harry is Kreacher’s Master, why would he recognize me if we aren’t together? Does this mean what I think it means? Perhaps I should continue reading.

The house-elf magic is powerful and can perform tasks and Apparate when asked. They are in tune with their Master’s magic and feelings.

Deep in thought, Hermione did not hear the pop which meant Kreacher was in the room. “Master has asked me to bring you tea, Mistress.” He drawled, bowing to her.
“Thank you, Kreacher. Why are you calling me Mistress?” She asked her.
“I recognize a bond between Young Master and you.” He spoke and disapparated. Hermione sipped her chamomile tea and set down the cup. It was late and the Victory Ball was tomorrow. She placed the book back on the shelf and made her way to her room to sleep.

*-*

The morning of the Ball, Harry woke up from a very pleasant dream about Hermione, imagining her curves in the most elegant of dresses, dancing close to him, her brown eyes filled with longing and desire. Looking down at the covers, he sighed and lowered his boxers to free his erection, while silencing the room and locking it. I’m sorry Hermione, he thought as his hand took hold of his length with slow movements. His breathing and his strokes accelerated when his mind provided dream Hermione lowering the dress to show her breasts, hardened nipples and small silk panties- The vision making him cum instantly. Harry shuddered and cleaned the sheets, taking another cold shower and shaving his beard.  

The rest of the day passed in a blur before the Floo roared with Ginny and Luna arriving to get ready with Hermione. They ascended the stairs with their bags, giggling and went down to her room, closing and silencing it.

In his room, Harry dressed in his new robes and summoned Kreacher.
“Kreacher, can you help me tie this, please?” He asked the elf, who snapped his fingers and the tie was fastened around his neck.
“I took the liberty of bringing a gift to young Mistress, Master.” He told Harry, handing him an emerald and onyx bracelet. The young wizard blushed furiously, putting the bracelet in the pocket of his outer robes and went downstairs.

In Hermione’s room, she had taken a shower to help her curls behave, putting a dollop of Sleekeazy's on the top of her head. “Go easy with the potion, Mia. Harry likes your curls!” She heard Ginny yell. She went out in a robe. “Alright, Pansy said that our dresses have a support charm in the fabric, so no need for anything to hold them. Just wear your prettiest panties” She added, with a small smirk at Hermione’s underwear drawer. The witch in question blushed as she took a pair of silk underwear. With their dresses on, they spent their time applying make up charms to their faces and helped each other with their hair. Ginny had made a braided crown in Luna’s hair, while the blonde put the redhead locks in an updo.
“Now, how do you want yours, Mia?” Luna asked Hermione.
“We could twist it.” She murmured and the two witches got to work.

With thirty minutes to spare, the witches made their way to the sitting room and flooed to the venue, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. She looked at Harry and the way the robes were fitted to highlight his broad shoulders and noticed the emerald pocket square which matched her dress exactly.
“You look…” Harry started, looking at her, with reverence. Her make up was light on her brown eyes and her mouth was painted a dark red. She looks better than in my dream, he thought as his eyes roamed her body. “I have this for you”, taking the bracelet from his pocket.
“You shouldn’t have”, she murmured as he fastened the piece to her delicate wrist. They flooed in, arm and arm to the ballroom.

*-*

After getting roped into an interview with the Daily Prophet, the pair made their way to their friends. Neville, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Parvati, Padma, Hannah and Luna were standing in a small circle, next to their tables. Harry saw a couple of his classmates from other Houses and professors in the room.
“We’re sitting next to each other”, Ron told Harry, motioning him the enchanted placemarks. Hermione was in the middle of the two wizards.

“Members of the Wizengamot. Distinguished guests.” Kingsley began his speech. “We are here tonight to celebrate the victory of Light. It wouldn’t have been possible without the help of the Golden Trio: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley”, he continued as the crowd clapped their hands. “Tonight, we will award each of them an award to thank them for their service. Let this be a reminder of what we can do if we are one.” He ended the speech.

The trio received their awards under the flashes of the cameras, and they were served their meal, before the band started to play. Neville stood up, bowing to Luna, while Ron looked to a blonde witch that caught his eye in the crowd.

Harry noticed Hermione’s appearance was gaining many glances from men in the crowd as he felt the pang of jealousy.
“Dance with me.” He said, standing up and holding his hand to her.“Don't you hate dancing, Harry?” She asked, taking his hand. “Not with you.” He whispered before whisking her off to the dance floor. She held his neck, while his hands were possessively on her waist, but still gentle.They waltzed to the music, while holding each others gaze.
“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight, Mi?” He whispered in her ear, causing her to blush crimson.
“No, you haven’t. I must say you look particularly handsome too.” She whispered back.

The band ended the song and before another started, Draco Malfoy made his way to the duo. “Potter. Granger, you both clean up nicely when you want to.” He said, teasingly and bowed to Hermione. “May I have this next dance?” He asked the witch, kissing her hand. “Um, yes, Malfoy.” She answered, surprised. He took her and elegantly swayed with her, as Harry made his way back to the table and seethed.

“I think Potter is jealous of us, Granger.” Draco said to her, twirling her as she huffed. “I wanted to talk to you, not with a letter and say how sorry I am for all that I made you endure. I should have been nicer to you and not blinded by my father’s beliefs.” He told her with sincerity. Hermione nodded and said, “I’m sorry I punched you in third year.” She laughed. “I deserved it”, Draco answered.

At the bar, Harry ordered a Firewhisky, hoping that he could hold on to something, to keep his jealousy and rage at bay. “Is that Mione and Draco?” Ron asked him. The young wizard nodded but didn’t speak.
“She’s been getting a lot of attention tonight.” The redhead muttered. “Yeah, but did she have to dance with him?” Harry asked.
“I know mate, but I trust Mione to do the right thing. You should too”, his mate was surprisingly mature.

As the rest of the night went on, more wizards came up with varying levels of interest from the brunette. The latter was Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw prefect that she knew from the last years and a common interest in Runes and Arithmancy. Harry lingered on the edge of the room, his hands clenching around his second Firewhisky of the night. He watched her laugh, smile and dance with another. Someone else that wasn’t him. The sight made him rage, even if he told himself it shouldn’t matter, that it was just a song, just a few minutes, but every spin, every easy smile she gave him, felt like a betrayal. His chest ached with something ugly and unspoken, a tight knot of longing He looked away, but only for a second.

Neville stood next to him. “Why don’t you just tell her?” Neville’s voice came gently beside him, careful, as if afraid Harry might snap at him.
Harry laughed bitterly, eyes still locked on the dance floor. “Tell her what, exactly? ‘Hey Hermione, I think I might be in love with you, and it’s slowly killing me to watch you with anyone else’?”

Neville was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Maybe work on the delivery a bit.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “She looks happy.”

“Maybe, but she’d look happier with you,” Neville said, then added, softer, “but you’ll never know if you just keep standing here.”

Harry stood frozen for a moment after Neville’s words, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. Then, before he knew it, he sighed, took the last sip of his drink for courage and stepped toward the dance floor. All he could focus on was Hermione and her soft laughter, her hands in Anthony Goldstein’s, the way she leaned in to say something only he could hear.

Harry’s stomach twisted.He walked to through the crowd with a steady pace, trying not to look like he was storming over, even though every step felt like he was going to war. Anthony twirled her again, and for a moment her brown eyes caught Harry’s mid-spin. Her smile faltered slightly.

“Mind if I cut in?” Harry asked, his voice light but tight, eyes flicking from Hermione to Anthony. The wizard raised an eyebrow, his hands still loosely holding Hermione’s. “Oh? Didn’t think you danced, Potter.”

“I do sometimes,” Harry said evenly. “With the right person.” Hermione’s brown eyes blinked, cheeks flushed pink from dancing—or maybe something else. She looked between the two of them, then gently stepped back from him. “It’s okay, Anthony. Thanks for the dance.”

Anthony gave Harry a slow, unreadable look before nodding and slipping away into the crowd. Harry stepped in to take his place, hesitating for half a second before resting his hand at Hermione’s waist.

She looked up at him, eyebrows knit in concern. “Are you alright, Harry?”
Green eyes met brown eyes. “Not really. I couldn’t stand there and watch anymore.” Hermione’s lips parted, surprise flickering across her face. “Watch what?”

“You,” he said softly. “With someone else.” She gasped his name.
“We can’t do this here.” She told him under her breath.

He caught her hand and rapidly made their way to the entrance to apparated to Grimmauld Place. Harry’s eyes were hard on her as he took his outer robes off and laid them on the back of the sofa.
“I couldn’t watch you dance with someone else tonight, Mi. It was driving me insane and had to do something.” He told the witch in front of him holding her gaze with his emerald eyes. For the first time, she noticed how dark they were.
“Harry”, she breathed, her voice cracking, filled with something caught between shock and longing. He stepped closer, the silence of Grimmauld Place pressing in around them.

“I know it’s sudden. And I probably should’ve said something a long time ago,” he said, his voice restrained. “But tonight, every time you smiled like that with someone else, it tore me apart. I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

Hermione swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked up at him. “You don’t get to just show up and say things like that, Harry. After all this time, you never.” She paused. “Not when I’ve tried so hard to not feel.” She stopped herself, eyes wide.

“To not feel what?” he asked quietly, taking a step closer, his fingers on the curve of her waist. She shook her head, but she didn’t move away. “You’re my best friend.”
“And maybe that’s the problem,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve been hiding behind that for too long.”

He reached her face, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. His eyes lowered on her lips, still stained with the lipstick. Hermione’s voice trembled “This will change everything.” Harry nodded, gently brushing his thumb over her cheek. “It already has.” He leaned in, his lips touching hers for the first time. The kiss was soft as her lips were. She pulled away and her forehead touched his, breath hitching.

Harry leaned in again, this time, when their mouths met, it wasn’t gentle. It was deeper, like the dam of their feelings broke. His hands were on the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. She had her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, to anchor her. His mouth followed hers and moved in a dizzying rhythm, like they had waited far too long to do this. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his tongue tentatively meeting her as a soft, helpless sound escaped her throat — half surprise, half surrender.

It was like a Fiendfyre, burning everything in its wake. Friendship twisted into something more, something that had always been there, hidden under years of glances and silence. When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, their foreheads touched again, and neither spoke. They didn’t need to. Something had changed — not just between them, but within them — and there was no turning back.

Chapter 7: The Departure

Summary:

Hermione is leaving for Australia and it breaks Harry.
Draco Malfoy pays Harry Potter a visit.

Notes:

I hope you can tell I loved writing the last part of yesterday’s chapter. This one contains a bit of angst, because what is a fanfiction without it.
Thank you all for your comments and let’s get this chapter on the road.

The morning after the Victory Ball, Harry woke up with the pitter patter of the rain outside his window. His sleep had been the best he had in the last weeks, not feeling the pressure of unreciprocated feelings: He had finally kissed Hermione Granger; his best friend of the last seven years and she kissed him back with the same passion and want. 
As he finished his morning routine, he went downstairs, whistling a silly tune, a smile on his face and a pep in his step to the kitchen. He looked around the basement, only finding scones, jam and tea on the counter, meaning Kreacher had made breakfast in advance. Two owls pecked the unopened window: the brown one with a larger edition of The Daily Prophet in his talons and an eagle owl, with the Malfoy seal. Harry opened and let the birds in, receiving a small hoot from both and gave them a treat.

The Golden Trio celebrated at the Victory Ball, read the newspaper in bold font, with a picture of them with their awards. The article was what he expected it to be and had a large spread of pictures filling the next page. Hermione twirling with him and in another with Draco Malfoy, Ron smiling at his friends with a glass in his hand. Neville dancing with Luna. 

On the other hand, Witch Weekly had done a long article about Hermione and her many ‘conquests’ of the night, mocking her slightly, but still providing great detail of the dress she wore. They even had the audacity to do a ranking of the outfits, his best friend ranking no 2. She is the no. 1 in my heart, Harry thought, scoffing and almost burning the magazine in a bout of accidental magic.

With a mug of tea in his hand, he bit into a scone with jam, while Hermione was still nowhere to be found. Then, he heard the door to the outside open, the witch coming, slightly out of breath, curls high on her head, with a flowery suitcase that must have belonged to her parents. 

“You’re up early,” Harry said, his voice light but laced with surprise. He sipped his tea and glanced down at the suitcase by her side. “What’s the suitcase for?” Hermione hesitated, her hand tightening around the handle like it anchored her.

“Oh hi, Harry. I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.” She forced a smile. “It’s for my trip. To Australia. You remember?”

“I do,” he said slowly, frowning. “I just didn’t think it would be… today.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not today. It’s tomorrow, but I wanted to be ready.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Does this have anything to do with last night?” She looked at him then, really looked at him and there was something raw behind her eyes, something fraying at the edges.

“Of course not,” she said softly. “This was planned before we… before that happened.”

He put down the mug and stood up, his emerald eyes seeking hers. She swallowed hard. “It’s just… I need to go. Before I get too comfortable.”

He crossed the sitting room and stood in front of her, gently prying her fingers off the handle. “You mean like feel something?” His hand tilted her chin. “Because I do. And I don’t regret it.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and her voice broke a little. “Neither do I, Harry. I promise. But this isn’t about regret.”

“Then what is it about?” he asked, his voice cracking and she hated how broken he sounded.

“It’s about timing,” she said. “And damage. I need to fix what I’ve broken before it’s too late. My parents... I made them forget me. What kind of daughter does that?”

“The kind who was trying to save them,” he said fiercely. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“But I did, Harry.” Her voice trembled now. “And I chose the war. I chose to fight. I chose to forget them to survive. And now I need to make that right.

His hand stilled in her hair. “When?” he asked. “Tomorrow afternoon at 2,” she whispered. “Kingsley’s giving me a special portkey. After that, they won’t be able to make any more until they round up the rest of the Death Eaters.”

Harry went very still. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, almost to himself. Then, more quietly, “So this is really happening.”

Hermione nodded, forehead resting against his. “It’s not forever. A few weeks, maybe a month. Enough time to meet the specialists, undo the spell, and come back. I promise. I'll be back for your birthday and Neville's.”

He nodded, as tears fell from her eyes. “I owe them everything. And I’ve been running from it for too long.”

He brushed a tear away with his thumb. “You don’t have to explain. I get it, love.”

“You always do,” she whispered, and that made it worse somehow. He always understood, but for the first time she was leaving him. It’s not as if Harry didn’t understand what she had to do, but the timing she chose broke his heart.  

They sat on the couch in silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into the quiet. The fire crackled, oblivious to how everything was falling apart just a little.

“I’ll miss you,” he said finally, voice almost inaudible.

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered. Her hand found his, fingers curling around his like they belonged there — like they always had.

Later

Hours passed unnoticed. Time was always strange with her; it paused when they were together. Her head rested on his shoulder, the quiet holding them like a breath they didn’t want to exhale.

“Let’s go out today,” Harry said. “Before you leave. Muggle London. Lunch or dinner.”

“Or,” Hermione said, teasingly “we could get takeout and have Kreacher conjure candles.”
“I can conjure them too, you know, just because – “, he was interrupted by a kiss, filled with passion and need to be closer.

“I asked McGonagall to name you Head Boy,” she said after a pause.

Harry blinked. “You did?”

“She agreed. Last night. I wanted to do something good before I left.”

He laughed, the tension of the last hours. “Did you promise no mischief?”

“Mischief finds us, Harry,” she said. “Besides… I didn’t lie to her. I might apprentice under her when I’m back.”

“Still undecided?” he asked gently.

She nodded, gaze unfocused. “There’s so much I want. I thought about law. Magical or Muggle. Maybe Healing. Maybe both. Maybe neither.” She exhaled. “Everything feels possible. And impossible.”

Harry watched her. “The Brightest Witch of Her Age can do anything she puts her mind to. I’m sure you’ll find it.”

She gave him a small, tired smile. “It helps, knowing you believe that.”

He tapped her nose. “Just don’t over do it, love.”

“I’ll try,” she said. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers again, slower this time, memorizing the shape of her, the warmth, the way she always leaned back like she was afraid of needing too much.

“I hate this part,” he murmured into her hair.

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”

Evening

Dinner was Chinese. Hermione barely touched hers, too busy talking, as always. He listened, clinging to the sound of her voice.
When she grew quiet, Harry said, “Bed?” She nodded, too tired to pretend she wasn’t. “Is yours as comfortable as mine?” she asked with a crooked smile. He blushed, and she laughed. “Yeah,” he said softly. “They’re the same. Come on.” He held his hand as he stood up and she followed him to his room.

They didn’t speak after that; she just rested her head on his chest as they laid down. He held her tighter than he meant to, afraid that if he let go now, she might already be gone.

*-*

The next morning, Hermione woke up from Harry’s arms, still holding her. Her shifting made him wake up, wanting to spend the last hours they had before she was going away. After her morning routine, she put on the bracelet he gave her and he tries to not fall apart. The young wizard made them breakfast to keep himself busy.

They continued to talk and then ate lunch. Ten minutes before it was time to leave, Hermione stood up and hugged Harry, like it was the lastt time she would see him, almost crushing him with the force. Green eyes met brown eyes, and he kissed her, not wanting her to leave.
“I have to go, Harry.” She whispered, tears falling down her face. He brushed them with his thumb. “This. This isn’t goodbye, love. I won’t forget you while you’re away, I’ll wait. Promise me you’ll write as soon as you can.” He told her and she nodded. “I will.” Hermione answered and held to the watch in her hand that was her portkey.
“Bye Harry, I’ll come back.” She told him. “Bye Mia”. He answered her, before she disappeared to Australia.

Harry sat down on the couch, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands and he cried. Not the kind of tears he had shed at Dobby’s grave or after Sirius died. This was quieter. Raw. Helpless.

She was gone and the room still smelled faintly of her shampoo, lavender and something earthy. The cushions were still dented where she had been curled beside him just hours ago. He pressed his palms against his eyes, but it didn’t stop the ache behind them.

She’s really gone, he thought. Eventually, he stood, throat tight and dry, and headed toward the kitchen. He reached for a glass, but his hand stilled when he noticed a folded letter resting on the counter, still unopened with the Malfoy seal. He opened it, expecting sarcasm or veiled superiority.
Instead:

Potter,

I want to thank you for what you did at the trial. My family and I are eternally grateful.

I would also like to apologize for my unkind behavior over the years. I guess it takes a war and far too many graves to see things as they are.

I don’t expect you to trust me—not yet, maybe not ever. Frankly, I wouldn’t if I were you. But for what it's worth, I’d like to try… to be your friend. Or at the very least, not your enemy.

I thought of inviting you to the Manor, but even I know that’s a terrible idea. If you’d rather meet somewhere neutral, I’m open to that.

Don’t be a stranger.

—Draco Malfoy

Harry blinked, reading the letter twice. The words didn’t feel rehearsed. No hidden jab. Just... honesty. And something else he hadn’t expected: humility.

He hesitated then picked up a quill.

Malfoy,

I appreciate the letter. It means more than I thought it would.

If you’re serious about this, friendship or civility or whatever you’re aiming for — I’m willing to try. Grimmauld Place is empty these days. If you want to stop by, the Floo is open.

—Harry

He gave the note to Kreacher, who gave him a long look but said nothing before disappearing with a pop. Less than five minutes later, he returned with a smaller note, written in the same familiar script:

Open your Floo.

Harry lit the fireplace, brushing ash from the hearth. A flash of green flames roared and Draco Malfoy stepped out of them, looking slightly too composed for a surprise visit.

His gray eyes scanned the room, wary but curious. “Potter. I mean… Harry,” he corrected himself, smoothing invisible dust from his sleeve.

Harry nodded. “Draco. Welcome to Grimmauld Place.” He gestured toward the sitting room. “Tea?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have something stronger? No offense, but you look like shit.”

Harry huffed out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. It’s been a day.”

He called out, “Kreacher?” and the elf popped into view, eyeing Draco with a mix of suspicion and reluctant obedience. “Do we have anything stronger than tea?”

Kreacher vanished and reappeared with two tumblers and a dusty bottle of Firewhisky, which he set down without a word. Harry poured them each a glass, and they drank in silence for a beat.

“She left not long ago,” Harry said finally. “Hermione. She’s gone to Australia.”

Draco’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his eyes flickered. “She didn’t want to be here? Or… something’s waiting for her there?”

Harry exhaled, jaw tightening. “Her parents. She Obliviated them during the war. She’s trying to restore their memories.”

Draco stared at his glass. “That’s… brave of her.”

“It’s Hermione,” Harry said simply. “She always does the right thing, even when it tears her apart.”

“She tears you apart too?” Draco asked carefully, the hint of a smirk softening the bite.

Harry didn’t answer. He just drank.

Notes:

It broke my heart to write this one after the last one. I promise, we'll get fluff in the next chapter to compensate.

Chapter 8: Going to Australia- Part 1

Summary:

Harry and Draco continue drinking.
Harry cleans the Manor and finds some intriguing things.
Harry decides to go to Australia.

Notes:

Thank you all for your patience with this next part. I had an idea in mind of what this chapter could be, but I think this is much better. Enjoy it ! 😊
The prequel to Operation: Get Harry Potter Laid will come in the next days in two chapters: 1) Neville, 2) Draco.

Harry and Draco were still in the sitting room well into the evening, the bottle of Firewhisky on the table was half drunk. Its amber contents were replaced intermittently with water and tea when one of them had the sense to suggest it. Their conversation had meandered from awkward apologies to surprising common ground and now drifted somewhere between tired confessions and companionable silence. Who knew I could have some things in common with Draco Malfoy? he thought to himself when the conversation came to a lull. They drank in sync, like old soldiers.  

Draco leaned back in his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, the top buttons undone. “I will say this, Potter—you’ve gotten better at hiding how miserable you are.”

Harry chuckled into his glass. “Practice.”

The strong, savory aroma of supper cut through Harry’s slurred sentence like a spell, and Draco sniffed. “Did your elf just make dinner for both of us?”

Harry blinked as well, the smell finally reaching him. “Yeah. Kreacher’s used to it, I guess. Hermione and I… we always ate together.” Draco arched a brow but said nothing.

Kreacher appeared moments later with two steaming plates of spaghetti Bolognese, with crusty bread and a glass of water for each, grumbling under his breath about “wizards and their bloody drinking.” He set the dishes down with a sharp clink and vanished before either could thank him.

The food and the water grounded them. The warmth, the heaviness of it chased the spinning from both their heads and slowed the slurring in their speeches. Forks scraped gently against porcelain, and for a long while, the only sound in the room was chewing and the occasional hum of agreement.

Draco was the first to break the quiet, yawning as he pushed his empty plate forward. He gave Harry a sideways glance. “Not that I didn’t enjoy your tragic company, Potter, but I assume you don’t want me crashing here.”

Harry gave a tired half-smile. “No offense, but yeah. I think I’ll go to bed soon, too. It’s been a day. Thanks for being here.”

Draco stood, swaying just enough to catch himself on the back of the couch. “It has. But remember, one day at a time. She’ll come back.” He paused by the fireplace as if he wondered if it was the right thing to say, hand half-buried in the pot of Floo powder. “And if you miss her too much... nothing’s stopping you from going to her. To Australia, I mean.”

“Yeah, I suppose I could.” Harry muttered, not meeting his eye instead staring at the fire in front of him, knowing that his former nemesis’ suggestion made sense.

“Bloody hell, I’m going soft.” Draco added with feeling, “Take care, Potter, um Harry. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” and then he tossed the powder into the grate and vanished to Malfoy Manor in a swirl of green flames.

Kreacher reappeared silently and began clearing the dishes the moment Draco left. His sharp eyes swept over Harry, but he said nothing. The silence was permission to be lost in thought.

Harry stood, a little too fast. The world tilted, just slightly, and he steadied himself on the armrest before heading upstairs. He didn’t want to sleep on the couch again, not tonight. His room smelled like her.

That was the first thing he noticed when he opened the door. Not perfume, not soap — but her. That impossible-to-bottle scent of parchment and lavender, it lingered in the sheets where she’d lain beside him only nights ago.

He climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, his mind kept running:  her laugh, her voice, the way her eyes had searched his face before she kissed him goodbye, the way she felt in his arms.

“Nox,” he whispered, and the room went dark. Sleep came slowly.

The next morning, the headache that he had was a monster, a real beast of a hangover that Kreacher pointedly refused to cure. 

“Young Master ought to suffer the consequences of his poor decisions again. Maybe he’ll think twice before drinking or will pace himself much more,” the elf muttered, handing him a cup of strong coffee and dry toast with all the compassion of a goblin tax collector.

Harry groaned and cradled his aching head in one hand, his other fumbling for the coffee. He hadn’t even touched the toast when a sudden silver shimmer floated to the kitchen. Hermione’s otter patronus curled through the air and landed softly on the edge of the table.
“ Harry, ” her voice echoed gently, tired, but sure. “I made it to Sydney. I’ve found a small flat in the magical quarters. It’s quiet and safe. Here is the address, but you can also Floo in if you’d rather talk than wait for the post. I’ll be in touch soon.” The patronus vanished in a soft glow. The space it left behind felt bigger somehow.

Harry sat back slowly in his chair, the hangover suddenly a distant second to the rush of feeling in his chest. She has arrived. She has sent word. She hasn't forgotten about me , He thought and the patronus brought hope to the dark-haired wizard. He didn’t realize he was smiling until Kreacher muttered something about “stupid grins and sentimental mornings.”

The wizard kept his hands and mind busy for the remainder of the morning. He wrote to Headmistress McGonagall thanking her for the opportunity to become Head Boy and asking her if she had time for a meeting about his future career. Being an Auror didn't feel like the right path for him anymore. He needed someone to help him make sense of it all, someone that had known him for a long time.  

In the next room, the Floo roared to life with Ron stepping out of the flames. “Harry, are you there, mate?” His best friend said loudly. The wizard groaned.
“Louder and you’ll wake up the whole neighborhood, Ron.” Harry said annoyedly, holding his head and slumping on the couch.
“Rough night?” Ron asked, sitting next to him, looking at the Firewhisky bottle and the two tumblers curiously.
“Malfoy wrote to me an apology letter and we may have had a few drinks together.” Ron looked at him, like he was hexed and laughed.
“You could have asked me, instead of the ferret.” He said teasingly, before looking around. “Where’s Mione?” He asked.
“She’s gone to Australia to bring her parents’ memories back. She sent me a Patronus before you arrived.” Harry said sadly.
Ron looked to him, his brows drawn together in a mix of confusion and concern and asked “So that’s why you were drinking. Did something happen after the Ball?” 

Harry sighed. “I was jealous of the attention she got from blokes, told her about it and ended up snogging her before she told me she was leaving the next day.” Ron laughed heartedly and didn’t appear jealous. “You could say that mate. You were glaring the whole night at anyone who wanted to dance with her.” His best friend pointed out. 

For a minute silence stretched, before Harry asked the redhead, “I didn’t ask, but did you end up with that witch you were making eye contact with during supper?”
Ron furiously blushed, “A wizard never kisses and tells, but since you are my best mate: We’re meeting at the Leaky in the afternoon. She wanted to thank me for being a hero.”
“Good on you mate.” Harry said cheerfully.
“I have an idea for something we could do every week. Not just you and I, but we could invite other guys and make it an evening at the Three Broomsticks or wherever. A sort of lads’ night. We could talk and drink.” Ron said.
Harry looked at his best friend, nodded, before asking. “Since when did you become so mature?”
“Being awarded a Second Order of Merlin does that to you and Hermione may have rubbed a bit on me.” His best friend answered, before he asked him. “Do you reckon you’ll join her in Australia?”
Would he? If he was listening to his heart, he would go to Kinglsey and ask for his very own Portkey right away, but his mind retorted that she wanted to do right by her parents, so the best he could do was wait until she wrote to him that she had found them and had made progress.
“Not yet. I think Hermione needs to find them first and then do right by them and I wouldn’t want to prevent her chance at reuniting with them, especially if I’m the reason she did it in the first place.” Harry answered. Ron hummed sadly.
“Want to help me clean this place until you meet this witch? I reckon some rooms have yet to be dusted.” Harry asked his best friend.
“Er. Not that I don’t want to stay, I also think it would be best if I didn’t smell dusty for this date.” Ron answered him, blushing and added. “I’ll come by after if you’re still doing it.” 
Harry nodded and patted him on the back, before Ron told him. “I’ll be alright, mate. Before you know it, Hermione will be back and you will be able to snog her all over the place, or more, if you know what I mean.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and Harry’s cheeks were red. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it!” His best friend said before making his way to the Floo.
“Good luck, not that you’ll need it with that charm.” Harry teased, before the redhead disappeared. 

He cleaned the second floor with his wand and the muggle way, whenever the dust and grime wouldn’t budge. Full of sweat, he sat down tiredly in one of the sitting rooms of the Manor and looked around. In a corner, under a blanket, he found an old crate of records that must have both belonged to Sirius.
“Kreacher.” He said to the wall, which summoned his elf. “Do you know if Sirius or anyone else made it work?”
“I never paid much attention to him when he was there, Young Master. There is a TV in the attic as well.” The dark-haired wizard thanked him and stood with his hand on his chin. He levitated both to the sitting room downstairs and tried playing an old Led Zeppelin record. Not knowing if the Manor was hooked to electricity, he looked expectedly and waited. The sound didn’t come right away, but after a few tries with his wand, the record played softly.

Then, Harry made his way to the attic to retrieve the TV set Kreacher had mentioned; it was an old model, with a VCR, which he hoped would still work and some tapes. He did the same thing with it and set it out on a wall of the sitting room, in front of the window.
“Alright, is there a remote of any kind?” He muttered to himself. “Accio Remote”, he said and something flew to him. He pushed the ON button and waited. The small tell-tale sign of cable resounded. He didn’t try the tapes, not knowing if it was going to be adult movies or memories from a far away time. He shot a Patronus in the air to Hermione. “Mi, it’s Harry. You’ll never guess what I found in the attic? A TV with a VCR set and a record player. I miss you so much and would have loved for you to be there to see it. Be safe.” His stag sauntered off and he sighed. 

Harry looked at the pantry and the ice box: There were leftovers from the supper he had with Draco, a few things he could make a meal, but nothing substantial and called out Kreacher to tell him he could take a leave as he would cook tonight. He went to the store, where he bought ingredients for the week and some snacks for the movie nights he would do.  

Ron was back from his date, grinning widely. “What is this, Harry?” He asked his best friend, in awe of the TV and record player.
“This is a TV, it plays shows and movies. This plays music, kind of like the Wireless. I think I can hook it up to the thing and make a hybrid.” He answered.
“My dad will flip when he sees this. Do you think I could call him?” The dark-haired wizard nodded and before he knew it the patriarch of the family was in his sitting room.
“Harry, so good to see you again. Now, Ron tells me you have two things to show us, wizards.” Arthur Weasley said, as Harry showed them both the TV first. “Blimey, lad. This is wonderful. I wonder how it works, perhaps I could take it apart.” He said, raising his wand, before Harry stopped him. “I’ll try it for a few days, Mr. Weasley. I’ll let you know of my findings, OK?” 

The Weasley’s men sat down on the couch in awe, with the remote, trying the different channels and reading the tapes. It was mostly older movies that Lily had probably shown James and Sirius, but nothing scandalous. Harry busied himself in the kitchen and made chips with a cheese toasty and brought the plates to the two men that were enthralled by the TV.
“Thanks Harry. This device is brilliant, Merlin.” Ron had said, a mouth full of food. 

*-*

In the last weeks of May, he had received a first letter from Hermione: She had gone to the library and found through the phone book and a directory from the Association of Dentists four Wilkins in Australia, two residing in Sydney. She had yet to go meet them and had spent some time at the beach, even if it was winter there, swimming when the weather was nice and running for fun , she added. She missed him and thought of him often. She included a picture of her, which Harry kept hidden in a book.

During those weeks, Harry had cleaned Grimmauld Place thoroughly. The last room he had yet to touch was Sirius’ room. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. The walls had mostly magical pictures of women in different states of bikini, as well as a few posters of Quidditch players. On the desk, Sirius had left a pile of letters, written while he was in hiding at Grimmauld: some were addressed to Remus and Tonks, which Harry didn’t open, but for the most part, were addressed to him. He read the first one:

Dear Prongslet, 

If you read this letter, it will probably mean that I am dead and have rejoined James and Lily. I wished that I would have at least given you some advice on how to wow a witch or seen you get married and have kids of your own. I have written you some letters for those three specific things.

I will always regret not being more present in your life, but this is what happens when you trust the wrong person.

Don’t forget about me. Take care of your friends and always be present for them.

Also, I have written some book recommendations if you wish to become an Animagus and how to charm mirrors like the one I gave you. I’m sure Hermione will love reading them. She reminds me of your mother, her greatness and selflessness.

Love 

Your Godfather, Padfoot
Sirius Black.

PS. The vaults of the Black family are yours and contain dark artefacts. I would advise you to go with someone who can neutralize them or better yet, destroy them. 

Harry had not noticed tears streaming down his face as he read and looked at the pile of parchment, with Sirius’ neatly written advice about becoming an Animagus, the charms for the two way mirrors and his letters of advice. Harry pocketed the letters in his jeans pocket, before he cleaned the rest of the room and took some clothes that he could wear.

During those weeks, he also saw his Gryffindor friends at their lads’ night. He had tried to vouch for Draco’s presence, but most of them were adamant that he was still a snake and hadn’t changed. Neville was the only one who sided with him. Harry and Draco exchanged owls about various topics and had gotten together once more. 

Still missing Hermione, he owled Kingsley asking for a meeting and went the next day to the Ministry of Magic and was welcomed by a group of journalists, hounding him for a quote. 

“Mr. Potter, what do you think of the reforms the Ministry is doing?” Said one of them, with a quill in hand. The others stood by. 

“Members of the press, if you please, I am sure Mr. Potter has no comment for today.” Kingsley said, meeting with the young wizard. “Come, I know a faster way to get to my office”, he then whispered to Harry.

They silently walked to his office.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you, Harry? Tea?” He asked, his hand on a tea pot.
“Please.” Harry answered, his leg jumping up and down. “Er. Minister. I would like to travel to Australia. You see, my friend, Hermione Granger is there. I think she might need me.I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important to me, sir.” He said rapidly, sinking into the armchair.
The Minister looked at him, his teacup to his lips, with kind eyes. “I see. Right now, it is impossible for me to give Portkeys, unless they are needed. Ms. Granger had a good reason.” He said. “I could make an exception for you, if you give me something in return.” He added.
“Anything, Minister”, Harry said without thinking. Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “Anything? Then, you would be able to be present to one or two events held by the Ministry. In exchange, we’ll do the Portkey. Deal?” The Minister said.
“Shit.” The young wizard said under his breath. “Okay, I’ll do it.” He added.

“Thank you, Harry. Let’s make it now, before the employees go to lunch and we’re stuck with a slow wizard handling this.” Kingsley told him, standing up.

They took the same route and took the elevator to Level 6. Kingsley talked with Percy Weasley, the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation in his office. He asked Harry to come in and gave him a small, polka dotted lampshade.
“You know how to use these?” Percy asked Harry, who nodded. “Good. The Portkey will leave tomorrow at noon. Is that alright?” He asked again, handing him the lampshade.
“Yes, Percy. Thank you so much.” Harry said.
“Now, hide this into your coat and don’t tell anyone you have one. Not even my brother. This will get to the press and we will be in trouble with the rest of the wizarding world.” Percy said sternly.
Harry casted a Notice-Me-Not charm and a Disillusionment Charm on the lampshade. “There. Do you see it?” The two wizards shook their heads.

Harry walked back to the lifts and flooed back to Grimmauld Place.
“Kreacher.” The dark-haired wizard said. “I need to pack for Australia, I’ll be joining Hermione there. Can you help me?” Harry asked the elf.
“Yes, Young Master. Do you need warm or light clothes?” Kreacher looked at him. “I think it’s winter there, so like something I would wear out here in winter, maybe. I should have asked Hermione in my last letter.” He muttered. Kreacher sighed and vanished to the master bedroom.

Harry couldn’t sleep at night, as he was nervous to see her again. He tossed and turned. Do I have enough Galleons? Would she be glad that he had come? Would they be able to pick up where they left up?, all these questions were spinning in his mind. He looked at his suitcase, which Kreacher had put a charm on to make it lightweight and tried counting Theatrals to sleep.

Notes:

The next chapter will take off right where we left off this one with Harry and Hermione reuniting in Australia.

Chapter 9: Going to Australia - Part 2

Summary:

Harry reunites with Hermione as he goes to Australia. Smut ahead.
They meet her parents.

Notes:

Here we have a new chapter that will contain smut and I changed the rating accordingly.
Don't forget to read and leave a comment if you want.

Harry couldn’t sleep, ever since he had decided to go see her in Sydney, his mind raced. What if it felt different in person? What if her letters had been kinder than her eyes would be?

He sighed and turned over for the hundredth time, staring at the ceiling fan. Do I have enough Galleons? Should I have brought flowers? Would she want to talk first, or just— No. He wasn’t going to spiral again.

The next morning, Harry rose early. He showered then stood in front of the mirror with a towel slung around his hips, wondering whether to keep the stubble or charm it smooth. Before he could decide, Kreacher popped in with a faint crack.

“Keep it or don’t, Young Master,” the elf said bluntly. “I doubt Mistress Granger will care. Breakfast is ready.”

Harry rolled his eyes, smirking despite himself. “Thanks, Kreacher.”

Downstairs, he nibbled distractedly on toast and oatmeal while rereading the travel notes Hermione had included in her last letter. A quiet neighborhood in Sydney. She was staying in a rental flat close to the coast, not too far from where her parents now lived, separately, at least for now.

He was folding up the note when Draco’s owl tapped at the window. Harry let it in, and it dropped a small scroll on the table.

Harry,

If you’re still going to Australia, would you give this to Granger?

It’s a letter I should’ve written years ago, an apology long overdue. For everything. I don’t expect forgiveness, but I figured… now might be the right time to try.

I’d tell her myself, but somehow I doubt she’d want to hear it from me.

Safe travels. You’ll need it.

— Your acquaintance, friend
Draco

P.S. Tell her I’m not entirely awful anymore. Just… mostly.

Harry stepped out in the overgrown garden and casted “Expecto Patronum.” His stag emerged with ease, brighter than it had been in weeks. It stood proudly, waiting.

“Take this to the Burrow,” Harry told it, then added, smiling slightly,

“I’m going to Australia to see Hermione. Can you tell the lads please? You can come to Grimmauld to watch telly if you want, try not to eat all my snacks .”

The stag tossed its head, almost as if exasperated, then bounded off, hooves echoing faintly on the garden stones before fading into the distance. Next, Harry called the stag back.

“Again. Malfoy Manor this time.” The Patronus shimmered once more, ready and alert.  “I’m bringing your letter to Hermione. If I’m back before my birthday, you’re invited and it's going to be quite simple. Try not to be a prat.”

The stag huffed soundlessly, then turned and galloped away. Harry exhaled, sitting on the steps with a sigh. The Portkey wouldn’t activate until noon and he was already packed. Kreacher had triple-checked his bag, twice for clothes, once to sneak in a tin of treacle tart.

A few minutes later, a faint crack split the air, and a familiar, shimmering dragon trotted through the garden hedge, nose in the air. Draco’s voice came out dry as dust: “Try not to get hexed, Harry. Tell Granger the letter isn’t groveling, just... overdue.”

The dragon winked and vanished. Harry snorted, brushing grass off his jeans. “Classic.” The nerves were still there, settling low in his stomach as the reality set in. He was going to see Hermione, in person and no matter what they’d written in their letters or said through flickering Patronuses, it would all come down to the look in her eyes when she opened the door.

He only hoped it would be the same soft warmth she used to have for him.

*-*

Sydney.

The light was beginning to fade. In Sydney, it would already be dark, deep winter down there, a sharp chill in the air and clear. Hermione had written about it, the cold walks she took near the coast. Between the lines, he could read how much she missed him and needed him.  He wrapped his scarf around his neck, slipped on his coat, and grabbed the small, light suitcase Kreacher had charmed. When the polkadot lampshade began to glow softly, Harry grabbed it and landed on a quiet Sydney street with a gust of winter wind tugging at his cloak, his breath visible in the lamplight. He looked up at the familiar number on the letter she’d written. Whitewashed brick. A row of tidy hedges. Warm light in the front window. And then, before he could knock, the door opened as if her magic sensed him.

Hermione stood in the doorway barefoot, wearing a soft pair of leggings and an old Hogwarts tee-shirt. Her hair was up, wild curls and all. She looked exactly like he remembered and not at all, Harry thought in awe of her beauty. She didn’t hesitate. She crossed the threshold and pulled him into a hug, burying her face into his shoulder with a shaky exhale.

“You’re here,” she whispered. Harry hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear. “Told you I would be.”

The evening was filled with quiet conversation over a bottle of wine, about her parents, the renovations he wanted to do at Grimmauld and his new friendship with Draco Malfoy. She had made progress since her last letter, but it was a slow and bittersweet process of unbinding their memories. They knew her name now, the garden shed her father had built the summer before she got her Hogwarts letter. Then it was late. The wine had been poured and finished. They were sitting close together on the couch, her leg tucked beneath her, one of his arms resting along the back.

Hermione turned toward him, her hand warm where it rested over his knee. “I missed you so much, Harry.” she said softly. “I’m sorry I ran away after we kissed. You have no idea how much I wanted this. To see you and to feel normal again. I think I need you for that.”

Harry reached for her hand. “I need you too.”

They both leaned at the same time. slowly, brushing their lips to each other with tentative softness. The kiss deepened gradually, her fingers sliding into his messy hair. He groaned quietly as her tongue met his, her body pressing into his side.

“Come with me,” she murmured, standing and offering her hand. He followed her to her bedroom, heart racing, his hand clasped tightly in hers. They stopped on the way to share a bruising kiss against the wall. He had been dreaming of this for weeks. As they reached the door to her room, Hermione turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation and desire.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he pulled her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a passionate kiss. Hermione melted against him, her body molding to his as if they were two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together. He roamed his hands over her back, tracing the curves of her body through the clothes, while her hands were pulling him closer to her. He could feel his length hardening and her heat through the fabric of her leggings.

Their mouths never parted while their tongues danced in a familiar yet exhilarating rhythm. Hermione's hands moved to the hem of Harry's shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Her fingers traced the scars on his chest, each one a testament to their shared history and the battles they had fought together. Harry's hands found the hem of the t-shirt, slowly pulling it up, revealing inch by inch of her soft, warm skin. He trailed kisses down her neck, her collarbone, finding the curve of her breast and her nipples that were pebbled for him. Hermione gasped his name and cupped his length through his pants.

In a tangle of limbs and urgent kisses, they tumbled onto the bed. Harry's hands continued exploring every inch of her, committing to memory the feel of her soft skin, the curve of her hips, the way her body responded to his touch. Hermione's nails dug into his back, urging him closer, deeper. Her hands tugged his pants down as he took hers down.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure about this?" She turned to face him, her brown eyes meeting his with a mix of nervousness and resolve. "Yes, Harry. I've never been more sure of anything."

Harry's hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a tender, exploratory kiss. Hermione's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, her body responding to his touch with a life of its own. They pulled each other’s underwear down. 

Their bodies pressed together, Hermione felt a rush of nerves and excitement. Harry's touch was gentle, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he was giving her time to adjust, to feel, to savor every moment. The young wizard’s lips found hers again, his kiss deepening as their hands explored each others’ bodies, learning their reactions and desires. Hermione arched into his touch, her body begging for more.

“If you keep this up, I don’t think I will last very long” He told her, making them laugh. They both took a moment to breathe, before she said the contraception charm over her belly with her wand. 

Harry brought his fingers close to her entrance and pushed two inside. “You’re already so wet for me, Mi”. He told her as he fingered her softly at first. 

“Harry!”, she whimpered. He picked up the pace as if in tune with her reactions and desires. Harry brought his thick cock and softly entered her, inch by inch, slowly rocking against hers. Harry bit his lip to keep from cumming too soon, wanting to make it last for them both. Hermione's legs wrapped around his waist, urging him deeper, her body welcoming him. 

Their breaths mingled, their hearts beat as one, and as they reached the peak of their passion, their bodies shuddering with release, Hermione knew that this was just the beginning. This was their first time, but it would not be their last. They had a lifetime of firsts ahead of them, and she couldn't wait to experience every single one with him. They cuddled in bed, post orgasms and slept in each other's arms.

*-* 

The next morning, Harry woke up to a cold breeze brushing over his bare shoulder and the faint scent of eucalyptus drifting in through the open window. 

He blinked against the grey morning light, reached for his glasses, and slid them on, just in time to catch sight of Hermione across the room, bent over to lace her trainers. Her wild curls were pulled into a haphazard ponytail and she wore another pair of leggings with an oversized jumper he vaguely remembered stealing from her sixth year trunk.

“Oh,” she said softly when she noticed him stirring. “I didn’t think I’d wake you. I was just going out for a run.” She padded over and leaned down to kiss him good morning, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh. Morning breath.”

Harry laughed, then grabbed his wand from the bedside table. "Recens Spiritus." A cool, minty breeze tickled his tongue, and he smirked. “Better?” Hermione kissed him longer this time. “Much.”

He stretched, yawning as he pushed back the duvet. “I forgot you told me you took up running. I’ll come with. Ginny won’t go easy on me when Quidditch picks up again, especially now that she’s Captain.”

Hermione smiled and tossed him a spare hoodie. “You’re going to freeze in just that. It’s six degrees outside.”

“Brilliant,” he said, voice muffled as he pulled it on. “I’ll run just to stay warm.”

Outside, the Sydney winter was quiet, crisp air, damp sidewalks, the occasional crackle of frost on low hedges. They ran side by side through sleepy suburban streets, the only sounds their footsteps and breath mingling in puffs of white.

Harry glanced at her as they turned the corner toward a small park, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her breath steady. “I missed this,” he said between breaths. “Us. Being like this.”

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance, eyes soft. “Me too.”

They got back to her flat, where she pulled a tin of tea, with oatmeal from the pantry. “Do you want to get washed up first or have breakfast?” She asked him.

“Mmm. Shower together to save water maybe?" He answered, making her blush.

Hermione's heart raced as she considered his suggestion, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through her. She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile, and nodded. "You’re incorrigible."

They made their way to the bathroom, their steps light and anticipatory. Hermione turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. Steam began to fill the room, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Harry stepped in first, holding out his hand to help her in. The water felt warm and soothing against their skin, washing away the chill of the morning.

Hermione reached for the soap, her hands trembling slightly as she began to lather it. She started with his chest, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of his muscles, the scars that told a story of bravery and survival. Harry's eyes never left hers, his gaze intense and filled with a depth of emotion that made her heart flutter.

He took the soap from her, his hands finding her shoulders, her arms, her back. His touch was firm and passionate, exploring every inch of her skin with a hunger that left her breathless. Hermione leaned into him, her body pressing against his, the water cascading over them, creating a sensual, intimate dance.  Their lips met in a deep, urgent kiss, their tongues exploring each other with a fervor that left no room for doubt. Hermione's hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her body aching with desire. Harry's hands roamed lower, cupping her hips, pulling her against him, letting her feel the intensity of his need. They took their time, savoring every moment, every touch, every kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other's arms, rediscovering the depths of their passion and connection. As they stepped out of the shower, wrapped in towels, Hermione knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, one filled with love, passion, and endless possibilities.

“What do you usually do after a run?” Harry asked as he stirred the oatmeal.

Hermione, at the stove, glanced over. “Library, usually. Or I visit my parents before lunch. We see each other every other day. I could call and see if you'd like to come.”

Harry stilled. “Are you sure? I mean... I’m part of the reason you Obliviated them.”

She turned, crossing the kitchen to kiss his cheek. “They’re more understanding than you think.”

He stirred slowly, watching the cinnamon swirl. “I just don’t want to mess up the progress you’ve made.”

Hermione slipped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back. “You won’t. They don’t remember you clearly, but I’ve told them about you. About what you did and for all of us.”

Harry sighed. “And what I undid for them.”

“You supported me. Never judged. They’ll see that.”

He turned in her arms. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “You being here feels like the most right thing in my life lately. Especially now…”

A quiet moment passed before the kettle whistled and the oatmeal bubbled.

“Eat first,” she said with a smile. “Then you can panic.”

They ate by the window, knees brushing under the table as a magpie warbled lazily outside. After breakfast, Hermione made the call while Harry absently pushed oats around his bowl.

“They’d be happy to see you,” she said, returning with a faint smile. “They remember you a little. Apparently, you made quite the impression.”

“Because I wore glasses and had messy hair?”

“Because you were kind. Quiet. Polite.” She smirked and he chuckled. “They remember I’m a wizard?”

“Bits and pieces. They know I’m a witch again and… they’re open. Curious. Mum even asked about Hogwarts.”

“Did you tell her about the troll in the bathroom?”

“God, no. I started with the library.”

“Classic Hermione.”

She took his hand, voice soft. “You’re not intruding, Harry. You’re a part of this.”

He hesitated. “Do I call them Mr. and Mrs. Granger? Because we’ve met, and, well… now we’ve slept together. Twice.”

“Harry.” She smacked his arm, grinning. “Say sir and ma’am, and do not mention sex. My dad owns a cricket bat.”

“Understood.”

Bundled against the winter wind, they walked the few blocks to her parents’ house under a soft, pale sun. Harry was unusually quiet, tugging at the sleeves of his coat.

“They’re going to like you,” Hermione said, brushing her gloved fingers against his.

“They used to,” he murmured. “What if I bring back the wrong memories?”

She stopped, turned to him. “Harry, you never really left. You’re still the one person I trust with everything. That hasn’t changed.”

His chest tightened at her words, and he nodded. “Alright.”

Notes:

Meeting her parents will come in the next chapter, like Harry's birthday party.

Chapter 10: Going to Australia- Part 3 and Harry and Neville's birthdays

Summary:

Meeting the in-laws, going on their first official date and a birthday party with surprising guests

Notes:

We’ve reached the end of our journey in Australia, for now (who knows what might happen next). Our duo is heading back to Britain for Harry and Neville’s birthday.
Mild smut and light angst… of the comedic variety. You’ll understand once you read it.
As always, thank you for reading—enjoy, and drop a comment. I’ll love you for it.

Harry was nervous. He stood beside Hermione on the front step, palms sweaty, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

He realized with a jolt: he hadn’t shaved. A faint shadow of stubble clung to his jaw and cheeks, not that Hermione minded. She’d run her fingers along it just last night with a pleased hum, but he did. He wanted to make a good impression. As her friend. Or maybe… boyfriend? They hadn’t had time to define things.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, scratching at his neck.

Hermione glanced at him with concern. “What’s wrong, Harry?” she whispered, just as the front door opened. Too late.

“Mum! You remember Harry, right?” Hermione said brightly, a little too brightly. She squeezed his hand as if to apologize.

“Harry! Hermione! Dears, come in!” Emma Granger stepped forward with open arms, immediately wrapping them both in warm hugs. That’s where she gets her hugs from , Harry thought, dazed.

Emma was taller than Hermione, with the same untameable curls and warm brown eyes. She smiled as she helped them off with their coats. “Let me take those. Dan, love, they’re here!” she called over her shoulder.

A moment later, Dan Granger appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. He was tall, like his wife, with a kind face and the same nose as Hermione’s.

Harry stood a little straighter. Time to impress the in-laws.

“Hi, dear,” Dan said as he stepped into the entranceway, pulling Hermione into a hug before offering Harry a firm handshake—one that bordered on a grip , like he was sizing him up. His sharp blue eyes lingered for a moment on Harry’s unshaven jaw.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir—er, Mrs. and Mr. Granger,” Harry said nervously, his voice a touch too formal.

An awkward pause followed.

“Are you making your special meatloaf, Daddy?” Hermione asked quickly, breaking the silence. She gave her father a sweet smile.

Dan nodded. “Yes, and your mother’s just finished tossing the salad and setting the table.”

“I’ll give you a hand, Mrs. Granger,” Harry offered immediately, eager to be useful and to earn some points.

But Emma waved a hand at him. “Oh, pish, Harry. Dan could use help with the firewood out back. Go on with him. Hermione can set the table and help me with the salad.”

She gave her daughter a lingering look, subtle, but observant. Like she’d noticed something new. A shift. Maybe in how Hermione stood a little closer to Harry than before, or how her smile warmed when she glanced his way.

Hermione, catching the look, busied herself taking off her scarf. “Come on, Harry. The wood’s stacked by the shed.”

Harry nodded, shooting a quick smile at Emma. “Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as the backdoor clicked shut behind Harry and Dan, Emma turned toward her daughter, wooden salad tongs in hand.

“So,” she said, too casually, “you’re quite close with Harry these days.”

Hermione didn’t look up as she pulled plates from the cabinet. “We’ve always been close, Mum.”

“Mm-hmm.” Emma tossed another handful of greens. “Not always holding hands on the doorstep.”

Hermione flushed. “It’s complicated.”

Emma raised a brow. “That’s what women say when it’s not complicated but they don’t want their mothers asking questions.”

Hermione sighed, fighting a smile. “We’re… figuring things out. There’s been a lot going on, and we haven’t had time to label anything.”

“Is he good to you?” Emma asked more softly now, genuine curiosity in her voice. 

Hermione glanced out the window, just in time to see Harry fumble a little with the axe before getting the rhythm. Her smile softened. “Yeah. He is.”

Emma gave a satisfied little nod and went back to the salad. “Well, good. Your father likes him, I think. He’s just doing the classic protective-dad routine.”

Hermione snorted her breath “You think?”

“I said what I said.” Emma replied, grinning. 

Outside, Harry followed Dan to the back garden, where a neat pile of split firewood waited by the shed. The air was crisp and smelled faintly of eucalyptus and last night’s rain.

Dan rolled up his sleeves and handed Harry a few logs. “She seems happy.”

Harry blinked. “Hermione?”

Dan nodded, starting to load the firewood into a basket. “Last time we saw her, she was quieter. Something was weighing on her. Now… she laughs.”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “She’s been through a lot. We all have. I just try to be there for her. That’s why I came, really. So she’d have someone who… cares.”

Dan paused, looking at him. “She’s always been headstrong. Brilliant, too, but she forgets to slow down.”

Harry chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

Dan grunted. “You remind me of someone I served with, long ago. Kind eyes. Wore the weight of the world. Got promoted before he was ready but somehow held it together.”

Harry looked down at the log in his hands, suddenly feeling like Dan could see right through him. “I try,” he said quietly.

Dan clapped him on the shoulder—firm, but not unfriendly. “That’s all any of us can do.”

There was a pause. Then Dan said, more gently, “You love her, don’t you?”

The question stunned Harry. But only for a second.

“I do,” he said. “I really do. It’s taken me far too long to realize it.”

They gathered around the dining table not long after, the smell of meatloaf, warm bread and roasted potatoes filling the house. The salad sat proudly in the center, in Emma’s “nice” bowl. Hermione had set everything with quiet, precise care, her thoughts obviously elsewhere.

Dan poured water into each glass while Emma handed out the plates. The meal began in a comfortable hush, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery and a few murmured compliments.

“This is really good, Mr. Granger,” Harry said after his first bite. “The rosemary’s perfect.”

Dan gave a pleased nod. “Thank you. It’s my mother’s recipe. Hermione used to refuse it when she was little.”

“I didn’t like onions!” Hermione said, straightening in her seat.

Harry grinned, mouth full. “She still picks them out of things, you know.”

“Traitor,” Hermione muttered, stabbing her fork into a potato with mock betrayal.

Emma laughed. “You two sound like you’ve been married for a decade.”

A heavy silence followed, for just a second too long.Harry looked at Hermione. She looked back. Both flushed.

Dan cleared his throat and reached for the bread basket. “So, Hermione,” he said casually, “what’s the plan when you’re back in London?”

Hermione hesitated, then folded her hands in her lap. Her voice was soft, but steady. “Actually… that’s something I wanted to talk to you both about.” Her parents looked at her expectantly. “I want you to come back with me. To Britain.”

Emma’s brows lifted slightly.

“You’ve built a life here, I know and I’m so glad for that,” Hermione went on, her words quickening with emotion. “But… I miss you. I want to be near you again. I thought maybe… you could come home.”

Dan and Emma exchanged a look. The kind of long-married look that said entire paragraphs in a glance. Emma reached across the table to take Hermione’s hand. “Sweetheart…”

Dan sighed gently. “We understand, love. But we’ve really settled in here. The clinic’s doing well. The house, the community, it feels like home now. We like the quiet.”

“I know,” Hermione said quickly. “And I’m happy for you, I really am. I just…” She swallowed. “I feel like I only just got you back. And I don’t want to keep losing time.”

Harry, silent beside her, touched her knee under the table.

Emma’s thumb rubbed gently over the back of Hermione’s hand. “We can visit. We could come for the holidays, or even sooner if you need us.”

Dan nodded. “We want to stay connected, love. Just… maybe not in the same country.”

Hermione offered a tremulous smile, blinking fast. “Okay. A visit. That’s… something.”

“You’ll never lose us, darling,” Emma said. “No matter where we live.”

There was a pause, then Dan looked across the table. “And Harry, of course, is welcome anytime. You’re practically part of the family now.”

Harry nearly choked on his water.

Emma chuckled and handed him a napkin. “Don’t look so startled, dear.”

Hermione laughed quietly beside him, nudging his leg with hers under the table. She looked at him, and he looked back with soft eyes. Maybe there wasn’t a label yet, but there was something undeniable sitting between them.

Once the dishes were cleared and the afternoon sun had mellowed to gold across the kitchen floor, Emma brought out a pot of Earl Grey and a plate of shortbread. They sat back around the table, sated, content, the earlier emotions settled into something softer.

After a few sips of tea, Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand. “I was wondering…” she began, looking between her parents. “I’d like to… add a few more memories. For you. Ones you can keep.”

Emma and Dan exchanged a glance, then nodded. “We’d like that,” Dan said. “Just… go slow,” Emma added, but there was no fear in her voice this time. Just curiosity. Trust.

Hermione smiled. “I will.”

She stood up, wand steady in her hand, and murmured the incantation. A soft light shimmered in the air like smoke catching sunlight, and then gently, carefully, she lifted a series of golden threads, memories, and placed them in the enchanted glass vial her mother kept in the drawer.

She started small: vacations as a family one summer in first, second and third year, a moment of laughter in the Gryffindor common room, a spell gone comically wrong in first year, the library where she spent most of her childhood.

“The first time I did this with you,” she said quietly, still holding her wand, “you were so scared. You didn’t even want to look at me for hours.”

Dan smiled ruefully. “We were afraid of breaking you.”

Emma added, “It felt like we’d raised a stranger.”

Hermione nodded, but this time there was no guilt in her eyes, only understanding. “I think I was scared too.”

She placed one final memory into the vial, Harry and her, walking through the sunny Hogwarts corridors last spring, deep in conversation, side by side like always.

When she sat down again, her parents were still watching her, their expressions warm and thoughtful. “So,” Dan asked, “what happens next? When you’re back at Hogwarts?”

Hermione beamed. “Harry and I have been chosen as Head Girl and Head Boy.”

Emma nearly spilled her tea. “Hermione! That’s incredible!”

Dan smiled proudly. “Of course you have. We should’ve guessed.”

She laughed. “I’m excited. Nervous, but it’ll be good. I think it’ll help.”

Harry, quiet until now, gave her a look, soft, fond, proud.

“You’re going to be brilliant,” he said.

And in that moment, with her wand on the table, her parents beside her, and Harry across from her, Hermione felt it, like she had both halves of her life in the same room at last.

The sun had dipped low by the time Harry and Hermione stood at the curb outside her parents’ house. Dan and Emma hugged them both tightly, promises of letters and future visits lingering in every word.

When they finally returned to Hermione’s flat, the silence between them was soft, not awkward—thick with feeling, but not uncomfortable. Hermione dropped her bag near the sofa and turned to him.

She stepped into his arms and wrapped him in one of her signature hugs: tight, certain, full of things she didn’t need to say. Her face was buried in his shoulder, and when she pulled back, her eyes shimmered with tears.

“I’ll be okay, Harry,” she whispered, voice cracking just slightly. “It’s just… a lot.”

He nodded, brushing her hair back gently and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She sniffled, then gave him a watery smile. “Did my dad give you the ‘If you hurt my daughter, I will find you with my cricket bat’ speech when you were outside?”

Harry let out a quiet laugh. “Not really. He just said you seemed happier.”

Hermione blinked, surprised. “I am,” she said simply and kissed him.

It was soft at first, slow and searching, but quickly deepened as months—years—of restraint melted between them.

When they broke apart, Harry lingered near her lips, his breath still shaky. He clasped his hands together, nervous in a way she rarely saw in him.

“He made me realize something too,” he said. Hermione tilted her head. “What?”

“I love you so much, Hermione Jean Granger. So, so much.” His voice trembled, raw with emotion. “I think I’ve loved you for longer than I knew. It’s been you this whole time. You make me so happy and so completely full.”

Hermione’s eyes filled again, but this time with something entirely different. Her fingers traced the side of his face, resting on his cheek.

“I love you too, Harry James Potter,” she whispered. “For so long.”

His brow furrowed, touched and awed. “Really? How long? Because I think I’ve loved you since the Yule Ball.”

Hermione gave a tearful little laugh. “Since the troll.” He stared at her. “The troll?”

Her hand moved to his jaw, thumb brushing along the line of his stubble. She leaned in, their foreheads meeting again. “You came back for me,” she said softly. “I think my heart never really recovered.”

They kissed again, slowly and certain, this time neither hesitated. They stayed like that for a while, until the mood was interrupted by the sound of both their stomachs rumbling. Hermione broke into a giggle, pressing a hand to her belly. “Well, that’s romantic.”

Harry chuckled. “What do you say we go on a date? Find a restaurant for our last night in Sydney?”

Hermione nodded, cheeks flushed from more than just the kiss. “Not too fancy. I have nothing to wear.”

Harry smirked. “Have you forgotten, Ms. Granger, that you are a witch?”

She rolled her eyes, but blushed anyway. “Right. Still, nothing too over the top. I saw a little Italian bistro about five minutes from here,” she added a bit sheepishly. “It looked cozy.”

Harry smiled. “Perfect. Let’s go make one last memory here.”

*-*

The little Italian restaurant was nestled on a quiet corner and glowed under string lights. It smelled of basil, freshly baked bread and woodsmoke. They were seated in a candlelit nook near the window, close enough to hear the hum of the city but far enough to feel like they had their own world.

“This is nice,” Hermione said, looking around as she shrugged off her light coat.

Harry smiled across the table at her. “It is. You picked well.”

She gave a modest shrug. “I like places that don’t try too hard.”

Harry leaned forward on his elbows. “You’ve never needed anything fancy to shine.”

That earned him a quiet blush and a slightly flustered smile, and for a few minutes, they just enjoyed their wine, their food, shared plates of pasta and garlic bread, small sips and glances between bites.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, dipping from Hogwarts memories to future plans, laced with that charged, new layer of honesty between them.
“My mom asked me if we were dating.” Hermione said, looking at Harry who just smiled. “Would you want to be my girlfriend? Even though this doesn’t half represent what you mean to me.”
“You could ask me to be your girlfriend a hundred times and I’d say yes to every single one.” She responded, taking his hand in hers. 

As dessert arrived, a divine tiramisu with two spoons, Harry nudged her foot under the table. “So… does this count as our first official date?”

Hermione smirked. “You’re going to retroactively date this as our first?”

“Unless you’d prefer to say it was the troll.” He jabbed.

She laughed, full and genuine, and passed him a spoonful of tiramisu. “We’ll call this the first one we admit to .”

The night air was warm and still when they stepped back into Hermione’s flat. Their fingers were laced, and though they’d talked and laughed all through dinner, a quiet had settled between them now, gentle, expectant.

Hermione slipped off her boots and coats by the door, watching as Harry pulled off his jacket and set it on the back of the couch. The lamplight caught the curve of his jaw when he turned toward her.

Walking up to him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek resting against his chest, as if she had always done it. His arms came around her instantly.

“You have no idea how much it means to me that you came to Australia. Thank you.” she whispered, voice muffled by his shirt. 

Harry tilted her face up and brushed his lips against her brow. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt as she looked up at him. “Come to bed with me?”

He answered her with a kiss.

It wasn’t new, not anymore, but it still made her breath catch. There was no rush as they moved to the bedroom, undressing between kisses and fond smiles, hands brushing familiar skin. Every touch felt like affirmation. Every breath, shared. Their clothes fell to the floor in a trail of forgotten fabric, a map of their desire.

 

They’d done this before, but tonight, it meant something different. There was quiet laughter when she tugged his shirt the wrong way, soft murmurs when her lips found the hollow beneath his jaw, finding the spot behind his ear that made him moan. Harry’s breath hitched as her fingers traced the line of his abs, dipping lower to tease the waistband of his boxers. He pulled her down to lie with him, their limbs tangling as they sank into the warmth of the bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the heat of their skin.

Their bodies found a rhythm they already knew, but the emotion between them made everything slower, deeper. They moved like people who knew everything about the other; every reaction, every soft spot and wanted to be gentle with it all. Harry’s hands explored her curves with a reverence that made her shiver, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure that brought goosebumps across her skin. His fingers found her most intimate places, teasing and exploring, drawing out soft gasps and moans from deep within her. He circled her clit, feeling it swell and pulse under his touch, before sliding a finger, then two, into her folds, feeling her wet and ready for him.

It wasn’t just desire. Harry brushed her hair back from her face as he held her gaze, his thumb stroking her cheekbone with a tenderness that made her heart ache. Hermione arched toward him with a quiet, trembling breath, her hand splayed over his heart like it belonged there, feeling its steady beat against her palm. She could feel every inch of him, hard and ready, pressing against her thigh. Her hand wrapped around his penis, stroking him gently, feeling him pulse in her grip. He gasped her name. 

When Harry finally entered her, with a gentle yet firm thrust, it was without words and left them both breathless. They were wrapped around each other, skin to skin, soul to soul. Their bodies moved in sync, a dance of intimacy and trust, each touch a promise, each kiss a vow. Moans and gasps of names echoed in the room, as they moved together. 

Hermione switched them and straddled him, her hands on his chest, pulling her where she needed him. “Yes. Yes”, Hermione moaned, pulling him deeper, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. Harry’s thrusts became more urgent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he chased his release. Hermione met him stroke for stroke, her body clenching around him, drawing out his pleasure until they both reached the edge, tumbling over together in a shared climax that left them breathless and sated, their hearts beating as one.

Later, when the sheets were pulled up and her leg hooked loosely over his, Hermione traced lazy circles on his chest.

“I wasn’t ready to leave them today, but I didn’t want to stay either.” she said quietly. Harry kissed the top of her head. “They’ll be okay and you will too.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Because I’m not alone anymore.”

He looked down at her. “You’ve never been.”

Hermione’s brown eyes meet his emerald eyes. “I know. Now… I finally let myself believe it.”

They lay there in the hush of the night, wrapped in each other and the peace that came with finally not holding back.

The next morning, they woke up in each other’s arms. “I suppose you don’t have many things to cook breakfast?” He asked his beautiful girlfriend.
“I will let you know that I’ve got eggs, milk, toast and bacon.” She said, feigning to be angry at him.
“French toast it is then.” Harry told her as he stood up. He put on his glasses and boxer briefs and walked to the kitchen, whistling. He cooked them each a plate with bacon and orange juice. They both ate.
“The Portkey can be activated whenever we want, just be mindful of the time difference.” He said to her, “I can be ready in an hour. I don’t have much to take home.” Hermione said, sipping her tea. 
“Not even gifts for the Weasleys?” She shook her head and took off to her bedroom as Harry cleaned the dishes magically. “I almost forgot, Malfoy wrote you a letter. I was supposed to give it to you, but I had other things on my mind.” He said loudly for her to hear them across the flat.
“I read it last night when you showered.” She said, appearing in the doorway, holding one of her travel blouses in one hand and a puzzled expression on her face.
She crossed her arms loosely. “It was civil. Thoughtful, even. A bit… stiff, but that’s Draco.”

Harry turned, watching her closely. “What did he say?”

Hermione walked over to the counter, setting her blouse aside. “He said he heard I was in Australia, and he hoped I was well. He said he was a jerk when we were in school and that he was sorry he treated me badly. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to reach out. Not out of obligation. Just… I don’t know. Like he was trying.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s new and that tracks with his letter and visit to Grimmauld’s.”

Hermione gave a small smile. “He’s trying to be different. I think he doesn’t always know how , but it still counts.” She paused, leaning against the edge of the kitchen island.

“I didn’t expect to feel anything when I read it,” she admitted. “It made me… reflect, I guess. Everything’s changed. The people we were during the war, and even before it. I mean, I barely recognize us sometimes.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m not angry,” she added. “Not anymore. I don’t forgive everything, but I can let it go.”

Harry watched her for a beat, then offered a soft smile. “You’re better at that than most people.”

Hermione smiled faintly, then stepped closer and leaned into him.

“He asked if I’d write back.”

“Will you?”

“I think I might,” she said after a moment. “Not because we’re friends, or because I owe him anything, because he reached out and maybe we’re all allowed to start again, in small ways.”

Harry kissed the side of her head. “I’ll pretend I’m not a little jealous.”

She looked up at him with a knowing smirk. “You don’t have to pretend.”

He grinned. “Fair.”

The Portkey to London was short. They landed at Grimmauld’s Place just past sunrise. The sky was still pale and sleepy, the city not yet awake. Hermione yawned into Harry’s shoulder.

“Bed first,” she mumbled. He nodded. “Definitely bed.”

They barely changed. She pulled on one of his old T-shirts, he slipped into boxers and a clean t-shirt, and within minutes they were tangled under the duvet in her bed, limbs wrapped together like they were afraid the real world might pull them apart. Hermione fell asleep with her face tucked into his neck. Harry didn’t last much longer.

*-* 

They both slept later than usual, the time difference had taken a hold on them, but with sufficient sleep and lounging around the Manor, they both were okay for Harry and Neville’s joint birthday party. 

The dining room at Longbottom Manor was buzzing with warmth, light, and the mingled voices of old friends. Laughter spilled out into the garden, where Ginny and Ron were mock-dueling over who had the better Quidditch reflexes. Harry was certain neither of them did, at that moment. A floating banner blinked gently above the buffet:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NEVILLE & HARRY
Another year closer to being as cool as Professor Sprout.

Inside, Harry stood by the drinks table, chatting with Bill and George, when the front door creaked open again. The room didn't immediately quiet, but there was a ripple, like a silent breeze passed through the gathered guests.

Draco Malfoy stepped into the foyer in a tailored grey coat, followed by Theo Nott, whose smirk grew at the immediate wave of blinking and awkward half-smiles rippling across the room.

Harry blinked. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. 

“Draco?” he said aloud, not confrontational, genuinely pleased, even if just a bit stunned.

Draco gave a polite nod, his posture straight and a touch stiff. “Harry,  don’t look so surprised, you invited me. Thought I could bring a friend along.”

At that moment, Molly Weasley, who had just been refilling the gravy boat, froze mid-pour. Arthur turned slightly, eyebrows rising. George leaned toward Ginny with a whisper that was definitely something along the lines of “Is this a cursed mirror dimension?”

Ginny shot him a look but said nothing, her eyes flicking between Malfoy and Harry.

“Hi, Draco,” Hermione said, emerging from the hallway with a plate of scones. She didn’t sound surprised, only calm.

Draco glanced at her, something flickering briefly behind his eyes. “Thank you for reading the letter.”

“I meant to write back,” she said. “Life’s been full.”

Theo gave an exaggerated cough. “As cute as this is, I would love to see someone other than me touch a drink before I resort to raiding the kitchen.” That seemed to break the spell.

Harry stepped forward, extending a hand. “I’m glad you came.”

Draco looked at it, just a beat too long. Then took it. “You are?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Honestly, yeah. It’s good to see you, Draco.”

Around them, murmurs rose. Ron gawked from across the room, mouth half-open, treacle tart halfway to his face. Percy made a strange little noise that sounded like he'd swallowed a question. Even Fleur looked intrigued.

Theo, meanwhile, had already poured himself a drink and was now examining a treacle tart like it might curse him.

Draco glanced around the room, as if feeling the weight of every set of Weasley eyes, then turned back to Harry and said, “You’re very strange, Potter.” Harry grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Hermione brushed her fingers across Harry’s hand as she passed by him, leaning in slightly. “Look at you, surprising everyone.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, eyes still on Malfoy, who had now cornered Luna in a conversation that somehow involved dirigible plums and magical forgiveness rituals.

Neville came over, clapped Draco on the shoulder with his usual gentle force, and said, “You made it! Good. There's a cake with your name on it.”

Theo raised his glass. “Finally.”

Ron, still stunned, leaned over to Hermione as she sat beside him. “So… I see they came after all.”

Hermione smirked. “He’s not an enemy anymore, Ron. Get used to it.”

Fred would’ve loved this , Harry thought, Sirius too . The chaos, the unexpected friendships. The sheer madness of it all.

He took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, Hermione’s hand finding his under the table again.

Yeah. This was good .

Chapter 11: Summer before Hogwarts

Summary:

The summer before their Hogwarts’ return, Harry, Hermione and their friends embrace the joys of young adulthood. The boys enjoy their first official lads’ night, while the girls gather for a gossip-filled evening of their own.

Notes:

This chapter will be carefree fluff for the two and will feature some moments of friendship between unlikely people.

 

The joint birthday party that had been held at Longbottom Manor, and it turned out to be the perfect place to celebrate. The beginning had started in the Manor, but had been soon moved to the gardens to let Neville’s Gran sleep. The exterior glowed under strings of floating lanterns, and the night air buzzed with laughter, music, and far too many drinks. Between Ginny’s enchanted wireless blaring The Weird Sisters and Luna passing out cupcakes shaped like exploding snapdragons, the evening had been loud, chaotic, and full of life.

Ron and Ginny’s parents had gone after the two birthday boys had been toasted more than once: Harry, for surviving another year and still not figuring out how to relax; Neville, for managing to cultivate a magical orchard that now powered half of St. Mungo’s potion wing and for taking Professor’s Sprout apprenticeship. 

Hermione moved constantly. Whether chatting with Padma and Parvati, dancing under the stars with Luna and Ginny, hugging friends, or topping up drinks, she was always busy. She also kept a wary eye on Ron, making sure he wasn’t hexing anyone—though, surprisingly, he and Theo Nott had fallen into a civil discussion about Chudley Cannon’s latest stats.

Draco Malfoy kept his distance at first, speaking only to Theo. But he was no longer unwelcome. He spent much of the night talking with Harry and even exchanged polite words with Ron. He complimented Luna’s dragonfly earrings, earning a grateful smile. The tension that once clung to him like a second skin seemed to have softened.

Hermione pulled Draco aside for a quiet walk down a far garden path. They returned fifteen minutes later, not holding hands or smiling, but visibly lighter—something important seemed to have been put to rest.

Harry didn’t ask what they talked about. He didn’t have to. The ease in Hermione’s eyes told him she’d made peace with something—or someone.

*-* 

The next morning was all groans and regret. Hermione and Harry had both fallen asleep on opposite ends of a plush chaise in the Longbottom sunroom, limbs tangled in knit blankets and empty glasses. When they stirred around ten, their heads pounding and mouths dry, neither could form coherent sentences until Ginny appeared wearing a robe and sunglasses, with coffee and a scowl.

“Never let Seamus make shots again,” she muttered.

Figby, the Longbottoms’ ancient and irritable house-elf, grudgingly brought toast and water to the hungover survivors. Ron was buried under a quilt in one of the drawing rooms and Theo Nott, irritatingly cheerful, passed around a bag of lemon pastries as if he hadn't had a single drink.

“I think I died last night,” Harry croaked.

“You’re definitely still here,” Hermione said, sipping her water with a wince. “I’d know. You snore like a troll.”

Harry grinned despite the pain. “You stayed up with me.”

“Always”.

 

A few days after the chaos of Neville and Harry’s joint birthday bash at Longbottom Manor, things had finally settled. Sort of. 

Ron was still complaining about a mystery hex he swore Theo had cast; he denied everything. Ginny kept humming a Weird Sisters tune that drove everyone mad.

Hermione, in her no-nonsense tone that meant this was happening whether they liked it or not , declared:
“Which means no drinking games, no dramatic revelations, absolutely no dueling in the hallway, Ron.”

Which is how eight of them ended up crammed into Grimmauld Place’s drawing room, surrounded by conjured bean bags, mattresses, mismatched cushions, and bowls of popcorn Hermione had popped the Muggle way “for authenticity.” Harry and Hermione had vetoed a documentary about frogs and a rom-com. They had insisted they watch a proper classic—Jurassic Park.

“Dinosaurs?” Ron asked, suspicious. “This is the relaxing thing?” He was shushed by Neville and Luna who seemed genuinely intrigued by the movie.

Harry, sprawled beside Hermione on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them, grinned. “Just wait till the raptor scene.”

Predictably, Ron shouted at the screen the entire time.
“That bloke’s an idiot! Don’t get out of the bloody car!”
Theo, unimpressed, leaned over from the armchair. “I think I’m rooting for the dinosaurs.”
Luna tilted her head thoughtfully. “They are technically victims of human arrogance.”
Ginny flung popcorn at her. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

When the T. rex finally appeared, Hermione jumped. Harry laughed, because she had elbowed him hard in the ribs. “You knew that was coming.”
“I did, ” he said, grinning. “100% worth it.”

Neville and Luna whispered questions about the genetics (“Muggle cloning is more advanced than I realized”), while Ginny clutched a cushion to her chest during the velociraptor kitchen scene. By the time the credits rolled, everyone was breathless and buzzing.

“That was actually brilliant,” Ron admitted.“Told you,” Harry said smugly. As the others trickled off to the Floo, still arguing over whether dinosaurs could survive in wizarding Britain, Harry and Hermione lingered on the sofa, the empty popcorn bowl forgotten between them.

“That’s one of my favourites,” she said softly.
“Mine too,” Harry replied, watching the screen fade to black.
She smiled at him. “You’re not just saying that to impress me, are you?”
“No,” he said, and his voice dropped a little. “I don’t really have to try to impress you.”

She nudged him with her foot. “Next time, you’re picking. Just—please, not something involving sharks.”
Harry laughed. “No promises.”

A few days after the movie night, Hermione invited Harry out for a “Muggle day,” just the two of them. She had worn a simple sundress with daisies embroidered on it and had left her curls free, while he had worn a pair of transfigured shorts with a t-shirt. Apparating in Muggle London, they settled themselves in a quiet café, sipping lattes while Hermione pointed out details about the architecture around them that Harry wouldn’t have noticed in a hundred years. He loved how animated she became when talking about old buildings or a perfectly preserved mosaic on the floor.

They walked for hours, holding hands whenever they could. Their steps brought them to the British Museum, where unsurprisingly, Hermione was giving the guides a run for their money with her knowledge. They visited bookshops with crooked shelves and sneaked in a kiss or two, before finally sitting down into a tiny park tucked behind a row of Georgian houses. They bought sandwiches and ice cream from a cart and sat on a bench in the shade.

“I can’t believe how peaceful it is here,” Harry murmured. “Like… none of the wizarding world exists.”

Hermione smiled, watching a dog chase pigeons across the lawn. “I used to come here when I needed to think. It’s my little patch of quiet.”

He looked at her, really looked, her hair curling slightly from the humidity, sunglasses perched on her head, her fingers idly tearing the paper from her sandwich wrapper.

“You’re different here,” he said quietly. She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re lighter,” he said. “Like… you don’t have to carry everything all the time.”

Hermione hesitated before answering softly: “I don’t have to. Not when you’re with me.”
They happily made their way to Grimmauld’s Place, where they tucked into a meal made by Kreacher, while watching a film that was showing on the telly, cuddled together on the couch. 

 

*-*

The next morning, they woke up in each other’s arms. Hermione’s bedroom had become more of a wardrobe than anything else, her clothes neatly hung, books stacked on the desk, but her bed untouched. Without much discussion, she and Harry had simply decided to share a room. Sharing comfort and sleep. Neither of them had had a nightmare since returning from Australia, which meant they could catch on sleep - finally. 

Harry’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his body curled around hers, the steady rhythm of her breathing a balm to the ache he hadn’t known he still carried. He was warm against her back, his face buried in her hair, and she could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest.

She hummed softly when she stirred, just enough to press back into him before sliding out from under his arm. He murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake. Hermione padded quietly to the bathroom and took a long shower, letting the water ground her.

By the time she returned to the room wrapped in a towel, her hair damp and skin still flushed from the steam, Harry was beginning to wake. He blinked blearily at the ceiling, then turned his head, his green eyes landing on her.

He smiled, slow and a little lazy. “Hey.”

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft.

His eyes dropped to the towel, then back up to her face, and his grin widened, though there was nothing teasing about it, just quiet appreciation and affection. “Did you dream last night?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “Only about you.”

Hermione smiled and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. “We must’ve exhausted the trauma for a night.”

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear, “we just needed this.”

She stilled at the touch, her eyes meeting his. Neither of them spoke for a moment, caught between comfort and something unspoken still hovering beneath the surface. She kissed the top of his head lightly. “Breakfast?”

Harry smirked, flopping back onto the pillow. “Only if you make tea. Yours is better.” Hermione stood, rolling her eyes fondly as she disappeared toward the kitchen. Harry watched her go, heart full, body warm, and, for the first time in what felt like years, peace settling quietly in his chest.

That day, they had decided to go to Diagon Alley to purchase their school supplies, with their returning friends. The morning light shone softly through the kitchen windows of Grimmauld Place. The smell of toasted bread and black tea filled the room. Hermione stood at the counter, already dressed in a fitted shirt and jeans shorts, wearing the bracelet that Harry had given her at the Ball, her damp hair curling slightly around her shoulders. She was buttering toast one-handed, holding a mug in the other, humming to herself under her breath.

Harry stepped into the kitchen behind her, barefoot and still sleep-warm, shirt rumpled from where he’d tossed it on over his joggers. He moved quietly, but she sensed him, smiling as he slipped his arms around her waist and pressed a slow kiss to the back of her neck.

She turned in his arms to face him, her hands curling around the fabric of his t-shirt. He looked sleep-creased and adorably wrecked, like he hadn’t slept that deeply in years. She was already smiling as he leaned in, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her, slow, lingering, like they weren’t in any hurry. He tasted like sleep and toothpaste, and she let herself lean into him, fingers sliding up into his hair.

They didn’t hear the door creak open. They didn’t register the footsteps. But they definitely heard the sharp, stunned voice that followed:

“WELL. That’s new.”

Hermione jerked back, nearly dropping her tea.

Ginny stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and holding a bakery bag in one hand and her wand in the other like she wasn’t sure which she needed more. Her gaze flicked between them, Harry still blinking dazedly, Hermione flushed and breathless, and her jaw dropped in slow motion.

“I knew something was going on,” she said, walking fully into the room. “But I didn’t think I’d walk in on it. Merlin, you could’ve at least warned me.”

Hermione cleared her throat and straightened her jumper, trying to regain composure. “Ginny, it’s not… well, it’s still new and it only just… happened.”

Ginny arched an eyebrow. “That didn’t just happen . That was the kind of kiss that rewrites timelines.”

Harry coughed into his tea. “Gin.”

She held up her hand. “No, no. I’m not mad. I just, wow. Okay.” She placed the bakery bag on the table. “So this is real?”

Hermione glanced at Harry, who met her eyes, calm and sure. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s real, but we want to keep it to ourselves for now.”

Ginny let out a long breath and gave them both a crooked smile. “Good. About time, honestly. I always knew it would be one of you who made the first move.”

Hermione blinked. “You knew ?”

“Oh, please. The way you look at each other? I’m surprised it took this long.”

Harry grinned. “So… you’re okay with it?”

Ginny shrugged, grabbing a scone from the bag. “I’m more than okay, somehow that explains why you wouldn’t go back with me. You guys are practically married at this point.” She took a bite, chewed, then added to Hermione under her breath, “I’ll need a gossip session soon, Mia”, which made the brunette flush.

The trio flooed in the Leaky Cauldron, with Harry and Hermione trying hard not to hold hands. They bought new robes, quills and their textbooks for the year. They went to the Weasleys' shop and talked with George and Ron. 

“Luna, are you free soon for a gossip evening with Mia and I?” Ginny asked once they were seated at a booth with Neville and Ron.
“I am, this evening, in fact. I have some elf-wine we can have.” She said, a smile forming on her face. “I’ll invite the twins too and Hannah so we can have a proper sesh!” Ginny added, making Hermione groan.
The wizards around the table glanced at each other, before Ron said “Maybe we could have our lad’s evening tonight too.” Harry groaned and Neville asked “Three Broomsticks? Can we invite Draco and Theo? I have some questions about their gardens.” Ron chuckled. “Sure, Nev. I’ll send a Patronus to Dean and Seamus.”
The redhead raised his wand before sending his Jack Russell Terrier to both Gryffindors. Neville raised his wand and surprised everyone by producing a Swan patronus to Draco and Theo.
“What? I practiced a lot last year.” He said, blushing slightly.
“That’s amazing, Neville!” Luna had said, before kissing his cheek.
The rest of the lunch passed amicably between the friends.
“We do need food, girls for tonight. I’ll ask Mum to bake her something. Ta’ ladies. Does 7ish sound good, Mia?” Ginny said happily.
“Sure.” Hermione waved at Ginny and pushed her head on Harry’s shoulder.
“Keep me some food, yeah?” Harry had said, jokingly.

Later that night at The Three Broomsticks 

The pub was alive with laughter and clinking glasses, the fire throwing warm light over the crowded table. Harry sat wedged between Ron and Neville, trying to enjoy his butterbeer while dodging the questions flying his way. Dean had gone to fetch another beer, while Draco and Theo were exchanging information about the plants growing in their gardens. 

“So,” Seamus began with a grin that spelled trouble, “are you shaggin’ her or not?”

Harry nearly choked on his drink. “What?! I’m not having this conversation if we’re not silencing this booth.” He whispered. 

“Oh this ought to be good.” Draco said, rubbing his hand together before muttering a wandless silencing spell.  

Theo raised his brow. “I assume ‘her’ means Granger.”

“Of course it does,” Seamus said, his grin widening. “You two have been practically attached at the hip since she got back. You’re clearly not just holding hands and talking about books.” 

Ron groaned. “Seamus—” But the Irishman leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Come on, mate. You’re living together. You’re young, you’ve got working parts if you know what I mean.” Harry flushed and tried to hide. 

Draco smirked over his Firewhisky. “You’re making him turn Gryffindor red.”

Harry rubbed his neck, nervously and stammered “I’m not having this conversation. It’s private”.

“Which means yes,” Seamus said triumphantly, raising his glass to Dean who had returned to the table. 

Before Harry could respond, Neville cleared his throat. “Speaking of relationships… Luna and I broke up.”

That got everyone’s attention. “What?” Seamus and Ron said in unison. Neville shrugged, looking more relaxed than sad. “It was mutual. She’s… well, Luna. Brilliant, but she’s got her own path. We’re still friends.”

“Bloody hell,” Seamus said, shaking his head. “First you, then… wait, does this mean Ron’s the only one not in a relationship?”

Ron smirked into his butterbeer. “Not exactly.”

All eyes turned to him. Harry frowned. “Oh, that witch you had a date with before I went to Australia, is it?”

Ron leaned back, looking smug. “Yeah, she’s bloody brilliant.”

Theo’s eyebrows shot up. “Who?”

Ron grinned. “You don’t know her. She works at Quality Quidditch Supplies and I took her to the Victory Ball.”

Seamus whistled. “And you’ve been holding out on us? You hypocrite! You’ve been giving Harry looks all night for not spilling about Hermione!”

Ron shrugged, still looking pleased with himself. “Didn’t say I wasn’t curious.”

Seamus turned back to Harry. “Alright, Potter. Your turn. Spill.”

Harry groaned and drained the rest of his butterbeer. They would put Veritaserum if he didn’t speak or give something. 

The kitchen at Grimmauld was warm and cozy, fairy lights strung haphazardly along the shelves. A spread of crisps, biscuits, and two half-finished bottles of wine sat between Hermione, Luna, Parvati, Padma Ginny, Hannah, and Susan. They were curled up on mismatched chairs and the old sofa, music humming softly in the background.

“So,” Ginny began, twirling her wineglass with a look that made Hermione suspicious, “how’s life sharing a house with Harry?”

Hermione gave her a wary glance. “Perfectly fine. Peaceful. We cook together, we talk-”

“Peaceful,” Susan repeated, smirking. “That’s one word for it.”

Hannah leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Now, how often is he walking around shirtless?”

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. “Occasionally. That’s not—”

“Oh, please,” Ginny cut in. “You’ve been joined at the hip since you got back. It’s only a matter of time before-” She paused dramatically, grinning. “Actually, has it already happened?”

“Ginny!” Hermione sputtered, nearly spilling her wine. Her cheeks were now red and so was her neck. 

“Don’t ‘Ginny’ me. We’ve all seen the way you look at each other,” Ginny said, eyes glinting. “Besides, I caught you kissing him in the kitchen yesterday. You can’t deny that.”

Susan gasped. “Oh, we’re getting confessions tonight, aren’t we?”

Hermione took a sip of wine to buy time, but the teasing didn’t stop.

Luna saw that Hermione was uncomfortable. “Oh, Neville and I broke up.” Ginny blinked. “Wait, really?!”

“It was very mutual,” Luna said. “We’re still friends, but going separate ways.”

Susan raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s one big surprise. The other? Ron’s seeing someone new.”

Hermione couldn’t help but be surprised and intrigued. “What? Who?”

“Some witch from Quality Quidditch Supplies,” Susan replied. “Hannah’s friend’s sister works there, says they’ve been out a few times.”

Ginny smirked. “Figures he didn’t tell us. Probably didn’t want us grilling him.”

Hermione gave a small smile. “Seems like everyone’s moving on.”

Ginny’s eyes slid back to Hermione, mischievous as ever. “Exactly. Which is why you should stop pretending nothing’s happening with Harry.”

Hermione groaned and reached for the biscuits. “I’m not having this conversation.”

The other exchanged knowing glances, which, of course, said more than words ever could. They giggled before providing Hermione with tips on how to charm Harry, “Not that you need it, by the way he looks at you.” Hannah said. “Ohh, we could buy you lingerie, pleaseeeeeee Mia!!” Ginny had excitedly said. 

The fire had burned low in the hearth when the familiar crack of Apparition echoed through the hallway. Footsteps stumbled on the old floorboards, and then Harry appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair even messier than usual, cheeks flushed from firewhisky and the night air.

“Evenin’, ladies,” he greeted, leaning on the doorframe with a lazy grin. “Miss me?” Ginny took one look at him and snorted. “Merlin, you reek of the Three Broomsticks.”

Hermione got up to meet him, already shaking her head. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m… relaxed,” Harry corrected, drawing out the word. He glanced around at the spread of snacks and empty glasses. “What’ve you lot been talking about? Looks like I’ve missed something .”

Ginny smirked. “Oh, nothing important. Just catching up.”

Harry stepped closer to Hermione, lowering his voice in what he clearly thought was a whisper but was just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Funny. We were catching up too. Seamus wanted to know if we’d… you know…” He made an exaggerated hand gesture that had Hermione’s eyes going wide.

“HARRY!” she hissed, shoving him lightly in the chest.

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth forming a perfect O . “Ohhh?”

Hermione turned crimson. “That’s not. We didn’t—”

Harry blinked, realising a second too late what he’d just implied. “Wait, no, that’s not what-” He looked at Hermione. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

Ginny leaned back in her chair, positively glowing with vindication. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Hermione groaned, dragging Harry toward the stairs before Ginny could get another word in. Behind them, the sound of the girls’ laughter followed them all the way upstairs. The girls left Grimmauld, after having drunk the last of their wine. 

Hermione all but dragged Harry up the stairs by his wrist. He was still grinning like an idiot.

“You realise,” she hissed, shoving him into their room, “that Ginny is going to interrogate me within an inch of my life tomorrow.”

Harry flopped onto the bed. “You could just… not answer.”

She crossed her arms. “Or I could avoid the whole thing by sleeping in my actual room tonight.” That sobered him a little. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re lucky I love you, Potter,” she muttered irrated, kissing his forehead and tossing a blanket at him. “But tomorrow, you’re making breakfast. And you’re apologising for being a complete idiot.” She crossed her arms and left Harry alone for the night. 

Harry groaned into the pillow. “Worth it.”

Chapter 12: Summer Firsts

Summary:

Harry meets Headmistress McGonagall to talk about his career and learn more about Head Boy duties at the castle. Ginny takes Hermione shopping for lingerie.
Harry visits his vaults for the first time. The pair visit Teddy and Andromeda for the first time.
Harry and Hermione POV’s, because it’s fun to get inside their heads.

Notes:

As you can see, I’ve updated the fanfic with the numbers of chapters that it will amount to. The updates will come mostly at night, since I’m heading back to work on Monday. We do have some chapters at Hogwarts (at least 2) and about their respective careers and the last one will be an epilogue.

The sun was shining a bit too brightly for him when Harry woke up. He rolled over in his bed and found the spot Hermione usually slept, empty and cold. 

He groaned. Ah yes, I was a prat last night. A drunk prat , his thoughts reminded him. 

His glasses on his face and a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt on, he waddled to the bathroom where he hoped to find a Hangover Draught in the medicine cabinet. Ah, ha! He chugged the vial, before looking at himself in the mirror: His hair was disheveled and seemed to have a mind of his own, his eyes were glazed over and the stubble was still on his jaw. He used his Enchanted Razor and took a short shower before heading downstairs. 

In the kitchen, he was completely alone, which was the first sign that he had awoken very early. He took eggs, fruit and milk from the ice box and began preparing French toast for Hermione and him. Mrs. Weasley had given him a book on household spells, which Hogwarts’ curriculum lacked. He put the kettle on with water for the tea.

Ginny leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded, watching him. She looked at him and smiled, like the cat got the cream. As if he had done or said something that she could hold against him. 

“Well, look at you,” she said, eyeing the neat stack of French toast. “Playing the doting husband already?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s called making breakfast and it’s for Hermione, not you.”

“Yeah I know, I figured you would do that to apologize to her for last night.” Ginny replied, pushing off the frame. “I’m kidnapping her today anyway. We’re going shopping.”

He raised a brow, curious. “Shopping for what?”

“Oh, you’ll see when she gets back and isn’t angry at you anymore and yes, it’ll be worth it. You’re welcome, by the way.” She poured herself a cup of tea like she owned the place and added, “You might want to use the quiet to sort yourself out.”

Harry smirked faintly. “Is that your way of telling me I look like I crawled out of the broom shed?”

“Exactly.” Ginny took a sip. “So, what are you doing while we’re gone? Brooding, oh, I know! Pining after your girl?”

“I got a summon from Gringotts” Harry said, grabbing his wand to send the plates hovering toward the table. 

Ginny’s eyes flicked to his. “Oh, first time since…” He nodded. “Yeah.”

Something in her expression softened, but she didn’t press. “Well. You’d better eat. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to face goblins.” 

Harry shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him, until he caught movements on the stairs. Hermione had descended, hair still a little mussed from sleep, her gaze flicking between the two of them with caution. 

“Still here, Gin?” she asked, voice neutral but laced with curiosity.

“Had too much of a good thing last night,” Ginny said breezily. “Crashed in one of the bedrooms. Now I’m kidnapping you, Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, a faint flush colouring her cheeks. “Oh, Merlin,” she muttered under her breath. “Gin, could you give us a minute? I’d like to talk to Harry in private, please.” Her tone was soft, but there was a firmness beneath it that made Ginny’s brow lift in amusement.

“Alright, alright,” The younger Weasley said, stepping towards the Floo. “Two hours is more than enough, right?,” she called over her shoulder before vanishing in a swirl of green flame.

The kitchen felt oddly quiet once the Floo’s green light died away and the room was filled with an awkward silence. Hermione stepped forward, folding her arms. She looked not quite angry, but her eyes were sharp. “Rough night?”

Harry winced. “You could say that.”

She tilted her head, the way she did when she was trying to decide if she should let him off easy or tear into him. “You came home loud, smelling of firewhisky, and…” She took a breath. “Harry, you told my friends we’d-” Her cheeks flushed. “-that we’d slept together.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Bloody hell.”

“Yes,” she said crisply. “In the middle of the sitting room. While half of them were still holding their drinks and were trying to get information about us from me.”

He raked a hand through his hair, the hangover draught suddenly not feeling nearly strong enough. “I don’t remember saying it, but… I’m sorry. I was being an idiot. A drunk idiot.”

Hermione’s arms tightened across her chest, but her voice softened. “Just… think before you open your mouth next time? Please?”

“Promise.” He managed a sheepish smile. He leaned in to kiss her, but before either could do or say more, a sharp tapping rattled the kitchen window. Two owls were perched outside, one the official, regal brown of the Hogwarts post, the other a small, fluffy barn owl. Harry let them in. The barn owl stuck its leg out first, bearing Andromeda’s familiar handwriting:

Harry,

Teddy’s been asking for you. If you and Hermione are free, we’d love a visit when you both can. 

The Hogwarts owl waited primly until he untied the second letter, McGonagall’s script crisp and to the point:

Mr. Potter,
I received your letter about Head Boy duties and your demand for career advice. If convenient, I would like to discuss both in my office at your earliest opportunity before classes start.

Harry set both envelopes on the counter and glanced at Hermione with a smile. “Looks like we’ve got a busy day ahead.” Harry answered both owls and sent them away.

They ate their breakfast, glancing shyly at each other. “Any idea what Ginny wants to shop with you?” He asked Hermione with curiosity; she had flushed considerably and answered a soft “Wouldn’t you like to know” and winked at him.

Before heading out, he looked at Hermione. “We’re alright, are we?” He asked, nervous of her answer. “Of course, we are. I know you didn’t mean to blurt that out.” She kissed him softly and he murmured how sorry he was and how much he loved her between kisses. 

An hour later, Harry stood before the wrought-iron gates of Hogwarts. They swung open at his approach, the wards recognising him instantly. The August air smelled faintly of warm grass and lake water, and the sight of the castle rising against the bright sky made something in his chest loosen.

The Headminister’s office was exactly as he remembered, tidy, sunlit, smelling faintly of tea leaves and parchment. The portraits slumbered as he entered. She rose from behind her desk, offering a small, genuine smile. She had a tea tray before them and offered some to Harry. 

“Mr. Potter. Do sit down.”

Harry obeyed, glancing briefly at the shelf where Dumbledore’s silver instruments used to whir. “Thanks for seeing me.”

“I suspect you didn’t come solely for the pleasure of my company,” she said dryly. He gave a half-smile. “Mostly I wanted to talk about my options. Auror training, maybe, but I’m not completely sure what I want to do after Hogwarts.”

McGonagall studied him over her spectacles. “I imagine you’re feeling the weight of choosing something that will define your adult life. You’ve got on one side the family legacy of being an Auror like James and Sirius, but also, you’ve been in the thick of things since you were a boy, thrown into danger again and again. It is no small task to decide whether to continue on that path.”

“That’s just it,” Harry admitted. “Part of me still wants to be out there making sure the world’s safe. Part of me…” He trailed off. “Part of me wants something quieter. Something that doesn’t have me wondering if I’ll come home.”

“As your former Head of House,” she said, her tone softening, “I have watched you act with a sense of responsibility beyond your years. You don’t seek danger for glory’s sake, you act because someone must. That is a rare quality, Mr. Potter, and one the world needs. It’s also the very thing that can burn a person out if they are not careful.”

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So you think I should go for it?”

“As Headmistress, I would tell you the Ministry could benefit greatly from an Auror with your moral compass. The office needs reform, more than just enforcement of the letter of the law. As your former professor, however, I will tell you this: choose a path that allows you to live, not merely survive. There are other paths that could bring you that. I have heard great things about a certain Dumbledore’s Army and you teaching DADA.” She gave him a small smile and took a small sip of her tea cup. He nodded slowly, letting that sink in.

“And as for your Head Boy duties,” she added, “you will find them a fitting testing ground. You’ll learn to mediate, to listen, to organise others and, perhaps most importantly, to make decisions that affect more than yourself. Those skills will serve you in any career.”

Harry allowed a faint grin. “Hermione thought that too, apparently.”

“Miss Granger is rarely wrong,” McGonagall said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Do not underestimate the confidence she has placed in you.”

Before going, the Headministress gave him a pamphlet about Head Boy and Girl duties and his badge, which he studied for a moment. "Thank you, Headministress." He stayed a bit after to learn more about the renovations at the castle.  

When Harry left her office, the air outside felt brighter. He didn’t have his answer yet, but McGonagall’s words had shifted something, giving him permission to think about a future that wasn’t only about fighting. A future that was worth living with someone by his side.

*-* 

Hermione’s POV

Hermione was just about to close the door to her bedroom at Grimmauld Place when Ginny slipped inside like she belonged there.

“Morning, sunshine. Did you make up with Harry?” Ginny asked, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

Hermione gave a tired smile, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Is that any of your concern, Gin? Why are you kidnapping me anyway?”

“Operation Upgrade Hermione’s Underwear is underway,” Ginny announced dramatically, plopping down beside her.

Hermione blinked. “Excuse me?” Ginny sprang up and headed straight for Hermione’s dresser. “Come on, you’ve got to be kidding me with these.” She yanked open the top drawer, revealing rows of plain, practical undergarments. “Look at these, cotton, beige, sensible. Hermione Granger, Patron Saint of Practicality.”

Hermione flushed but couldn’t suppress a reluctant smile. “They’re comfortable.”

Comfortable, yes, her mind said. Sometimes she wondered if she was too comfortable with blending in, with hiding beneath layers that kept her safe but invisible. Did Harry even notice what was underneath? Would he care if she dared to be more than just the bookish girl? The thought tangled with a knot of uncertainty in her chest.

Ginny held up a delicate pair of underwear with a flourish. “Comfortable is great for research papers and saving the world. Trust me, Mia, there are other occasions that call for something more.”

Hermione glanced at the drawer again, then back at Ginny, who was holding up a handful of cotton and some silk. “Let me take you somewhere today. Somewhere that’ll change your mind about what lingerie can be. Blokes love that stuff.”

The older witch hesitated, caught between the safety of old habits and the flicker of daring that Ginny’s grin promised. “Alright, alright. Just for an hour.”

Ginny linked her arm through Hermione’s and tugged her toward the Floo. They exchanged a look, both knowing they’d probably be photographed and quickly cast glamour charms to mask their features.

She steered Hermione into Evangeline’s Fine Silks, a sleek little shop tucked at the end of Diagon Alley before Knockturn Alley. Delicate lace and silk in every imaginable colour floated on charmed hangers. Ginny’s eyes gleamed as she dragged Hermione past racks of deep emeralds, midnight blues, and playful reds.

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Ginny, I. This is-” She had never gotten underwear like this, most of what she wore was brought by her mother. Maybe it was due time for me to buy something for myself that would charm the wand off Harry. 

“Perfect,” Ginny finished for her, plucking a deep emerald set with lace and silk details from a rack. “This would kill Ha, er, him.” She caught herself from saying the wizards’ name in public. 

Hermione flushed scarlet. Would it? She tried to imagine Harry’s face if she wore something daring like this. She knew he loved her just the way she was, but would he look at her differently if she wore that kind of undergarments? Would he desire her more? Or was this just a game she played with herself, a hope that she could be more than the quiet, practical Hermione he knew? 

“That’s not the point!” she blurted, cheeks burning.

“Sure it is,” Ginny grinned, shoving a handful of options into her arms. “You don’t have to wear them for anyone right away. There’s power in knowing you’ve got something like this,” she dangled the demi-cup bra, before adding, “under all those layers.”

“Try this one too,” Ginny said, holding up a Gryffindor red balconette bra trimmed with gold embroidery with matching barely there knickers. “You’d look lethal.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Ginny…”

“No buts. You deserve to feel like the fiercest witch in the room. Even if it’s just for yourself.”

Hermione took a deep breath and allowed herself to be coaxed into the fitting rooms, where the world narrowed to her reflection and the silken fabric slipping over her skin. Her breasts somehow looked fuller and perkier than they were. 

From outside the curtain, Ginny’s teasing voice floated through. “Well? Show me!”

Hermione caught her own eyes in the mirror one last time before slipping out, feeling something soft and powerful stirring inside her. She showed the model to her best friend. 

“Perfect,” Ginny declared, as she excitedly clapped her hands. “Come on, we’ll find more.” 

While browsing the racks, Hermione hesitated, then looked up at Ginny. “Hey, Gin… when you say blokes like lingerie…” Ginny glanced at her, eyebrows raised, silently urging her to finish. “Did you… wear it while you were at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked quietly. Ginny nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. “I did,” she whispered. “Not every day, but sometimes—when I wanted to feel sexy to someone.”

Hermione looked thoughtful, then asked gently, “Did it help?” Ginny flushed, a bit self-conscious. “You must think I’m some tart or something,” she said in a low voice, “but I’m not really. There weren’t that many guys I wore that for.”

Hermione reached out, brushing her hand softly over Ginny’s. “Of course not, Gin. You’re not like that at all.” Ginny smiled, squeezing Hermione’s hand briefly. “Thanks, Hermione. I’m glad you get it.”

The two friends shared a quiet moment among the silks and lace—a soft understanding passing between them. The brunette witch tried on the deep emerald set, a periwinkle chemise with matching underwear and a black, almost see-through negligee. In the last ensemble, she didn’t dare to get out of the fitting room, red in the face. Trying out these different ensembles and the conversation with Ginny about wearing it made her slightly horny, now that she thought of it. The redhead also made her try some more silk knickers and a thong, which the redhead said, “It’s comfortable and it’s like you’re not wearing anything.”

Maybe , Hermione thought, this is the kind of magic I’ve been missing all along .
The two witches exited the store with multiple sets, which made Hermione groan at their prices. “It’ll be worth it, when he sees you, I promise.” Ginny whispered in her ear once they were out. They ate lunch at Grimmauld Place after putting the purchases in the drawer. 

Harry’s POV

The conversation with McGonagall still played in Harry’s mind as he crossed the marble floor of Gringotts. Her words about living, not merely surviving sat uncomfortably alongside the truth he didn’t often voice: he had no idea who Harry Potter was outside of a fight.

A goblin in fine robes approached. “Mr. Potter. I see you’ve received our summon. I’m Asmard, the goblin in charge of your vaults.”

“Yes, it seemed rather urgent.” He said.

The goblin said “Indeed. We will talk in my office and to the inheritance office as well. We’ll visit your vaults after.”

Harry frowned. “Inheritance office?”

“This way, please.”

The cart rattled through the familiar stone tunnels, torchlight flickering over damp walls, until they stopped before a small office with two piles of paper: one with the Potter crest and one with the Black crest. The goblin took out a small dagger to prick Harry’s blood and confirmed he was the heir of both Houses.
“It appears you are indeed Lord Black and Potter,”Asmard said. “But I’m not the Black heir!” Harry argued.
“You are,” Asmard interrupted, producing a roll of parchment. “Per the magical will of Sirius Orion Black, you are his sole heir. Combined with your status as last of the Potters, the Wizengamot now recognises you as Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and Lord of the House of Black.”

The words landed like stones. “What exactly does that… mean?”

“It means you hold voting rights in the Wizengamot, control of two ancient estates, and final say over all family matters and assets.” The goblin’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. “It is a great deal of power… and responsibility.”

McGonagall’s voice echoed in his head: Make decisions that affect more than yourself.

Harry signed the necessary scrolls, the ink sealing with a shimmer of magic that wrapped briefly around his wrist like a cuff. The weight of it was far heavier than the gold in his pouch.

“Very well. There is also the matter of your break-in, Lord Potter. While most of the other goblins would not serve someone capable of such a repressible act, my uncle was loyal to House Potter until his death. We will need to subtract a certain amount from your vaults to cover the damages. You won’t see a difference. Would that be alright, Lord?” he asked gravely. 

“Of course, please. Do the necessary.” Harry said to the goblin. He casted a charm which took money from both vaults.
“Now, here is the list of all assets from the Potter and Black vaults. I would suggest looking at the parchments before we go into them.” He handed Harry two long pieces of paper that Harry read with wide eyes.

I have an island, properties, patents for Skele-gro, Sleekeazy’s Hair, Pepperup Potion and how many galleons?! His thoughts were loud and he felt a small headache coming his way. 

“Asmard, can I take these home and show them to someone? I feel like I could benefit from advice.” Harry found himself asking his account manager, who nodded. “We will go to your vaults for now.” 

The heavy silver door was embossed with the Potter crest. Inside, piles of gold, heaps of silver, and chests of objects and documents stretched into the shadows. The vault of the Black was further down and had a strong enchantment on the door. “To ward off anyone impure who would want to enter.” Asgard provided, as if Harry’s eyes asked him a question.

“Thank you Asmard. I’ll come back soon with a friend of mine, once I understand everything.” Harry said. 

Harry walked briskly through the lively streets of Diagon Alley, the weight of the day pressing on him in a different way than usual. The titles of Lord of both Houses still felt surreal, swirling in his mind like a storm of expectations and responsibility. He turned down the familiar path to the Leaky Cauldron, the warm glow of its windows a small comfort amid the whirlwind. He set off with the Floo to Grimmauld Place.

The house was quiet when he arrived and he paused just inside the sitting room, his eyes falling on Hermione curled up on the couch. The flickering fire cast gentle shadows across her face, and her breathing was slow and even, she was dozing.

A soft smile touched Harry’s lips as he stepped forward. “Hi,” he whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, a sleepy smile blooming as she recognized him. “Hey,” she murmured, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

Harry settled beside her, the room wrapped in a calm quiet that felt like a balm.

“You looked peaceful,” he said softly.

“After today, I think I needed it,” she replied, voice still thick with sleep. “Ginny dragged me to a… lingerie shop.”

Harry chuckled, the image of his usually composed Hermione being led around by Ginny brightening his mood. “That sounds… adventurous.”

“It was,” she admitted, cheeks coloring. “I never thought I’d do something like that.”

He reached out, taking her hand in his. “You deserve to feel beautiful. All the time.”

Hermione’s eyes met his, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper shining there. Harry brushed a loose strand of hair from Hermione’s face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. 

“You know,” Hermione began, voice hesitant but playful, “Ginny… she picked out some things for me today. Things I never thought I’d wear.”

Harry’s eyebrows lifted in amused curiosity. “Oh? Should I be worried?”

Hermione gave a small, shy smile, then tucked herself more comfortably against him. “No. At least, not really. I was thinking… maybe you’d like to see some of them?”

Harry’s heart skipped. “You mean… model them?” She bit her lip, eyes flickering with a mixture of nerves and excitement. “Only if you want. I thought it might be… fun.”

He pulled her closer, voice low and warm. “Mi, I’d love that, but only if you’re comfortable doing that.”

Her cheeks flushed deeper as she stood, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt. She headed toward the bedroom, a small, playful smile curving her lips. “Wait here,” she murmured, disappearing behind the door. Harry laughed, the sound rich and full of affection. He settled back on the couch, heart pounding with anticipation. 

Moments later, she returned, wearing the deep emerald set Ginny had chosen—a delicate balance of silk and lace that seemed to shimmer with every movement. The soft fabric hugged her curves, the intricate patterns tracing her skin like whispered secrets.

Harry’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight before him, Hermione transformed, radiant and utterly captivating. The firelight flickered, casting a warm glow that made her seem almost ethereal.

Slowly, she moved toward him, the silk sliding against her thighs with each step. Harry’s hands twitched, aching to touch, but he held himself back, letting the moment build.

“You look breathtaking,” he breathed, voice low and thick with desire. “You should wear it every day.” 

Hermione’s smile deepened, eyes locking with his. “I wanted to try something different… for you.”

Before he could respond, she slipped away again, leaving a trail of soft silk and anticipation. When she reappeared, she was adorned in the Gryffindor red balconette bra and matching panties, trimmed with delicate gold embroidery that caught the light like tiny flames. The vibrant color was bold, fiery and it made her look fierce and magnetic. Harry couldn’t look away from her and his pulse quickened; the heat pooling between them was almost tangible. He felt his erection straining in his pants. 

She sauntered closer, the confidence in her movements stirring something primal inside him. His gaze roamed over the curves the fabric both revealed and hinted at, every line and shadow magnified by the flickering fire.

Without thinking, his fingers reached out, tracing the delicate embroidery on her shoulder strap, the warmth of her skin sending an electric thrill through their bodies.

“I can’t believe this is the same Hermione that taught me how to summon my Firebolt in Fourth Year and argued about the Half-Prince,” he murmured, voice husky.

She laughed softly, stepping into his embrace, the scent of jasmine and silk enveloping him. “Maybe I’m full of surprises,” she whispered, before straddling him and pressing her lips to his in a kiss that promised more. 

The night stretched on, charged with a strong burning desire neither wanted to rush, every touch and glance weaving them closer together in a dance of rediscovery. They made their way to their bedroom and made love sweetly, Harry taking care not to rip the silk and lace of the ensemble Hermione wore. 

*-* 

Harry read the parchments from Gringotts once more. He had shown Hermione the two lists of objects and they decided to visit Gringotts to see the two vaults and owled Bill asking his help with the cursed objects in the Blacks' vault. 

That day, Harry and Hermione stepped out of the swirling green flames of the Floo network and into the cozy sitting room of Andromeda Tonks’ home. Soft sunlight filtered through the windows, warming the room filled with gentle clutter, books, enchanted trinkets, and the faint scent of fresh baking.

Before they could settle, a tiny bundle was suddenly thrust into Harry’s arms. Baby Teddy wriggled happily, his bright eyes wide and sparkling as he gurgled excitedly.

“Harry!” Hermione smiled softly as she reached out to stroke Teddy’s soft curls.

Andromeda appeared in the doorway, carrying a small tray of lemon cakes. “He’s been waiting for you two all morning,” she said warmly. “And I’ve just finished enchanting this little toy broomstick to hover for him.”

Harry gently rocked Teddy, who cooed and reached out his tiny hands toward the hovering miniature broomstick, suspended just above the floor.

Hermione laughed quietly. “He’s such a happy little one.”

Harry looked down at Teddy, feeling a surprising rush of affection and responsibility settle in his chest. For a moment, all the weight of titles and duties faded, replaced by the simple joy of this tiny life.

Harry gently cradled baby Teddy in his arms, feeling the soft weight of the child against his chest. Teddy’s bright eyes tracked the tiny broomstick hovering near his chubby hands, his little fingers twitching with curiosity.

“Isn’t he just perfect?” Andromeda smiled, setting the tray of lemon cakes down on a nearby table. She settled into an armchair, watching the scene with maternal pride. “He’s growing so fast. It feels like just yesterday he was born.”

Hermione stepped closer, brushing a stray curl from Teddy’s forehead. “He has your eyes, Andromeda,” she murmured softly.

“And his father’s mischief,” Andromeda added with a wink. “Though hopefully not too much.”

Harry looked down at Teddy, who had started to giggle softly as the enchanted broomstick dipped and twirled. “You’re going to have so many adventures, little one,” Harry whispered.

Hermione smiled up at him, her hand finding his. “It’s good to be here. To be part of this.”

Harry nodded. “It feels… right. Like a family.”

The room settled into a gentle quiet, filled with the warmth of fresh baking, soft laughter, and the soft flutter of magic from the tiny broomstick.

Andromeda poured tea for them both, the steam curling in the sunlight. “You two must stay longer,” she said kindly. “There’s a lot of catching up to do.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, both feeling the rare peace settling around them.

“I think we will,” he said.

Chapter 13: Hogwarts - Part 2

Summary:

Summary: Harry’s second visit to Gringotts with Bill and Hermione.
Heading back to Hogwarts and their first days.

Notes:

Author’s Note: I made some edits to the last chapter with Harry’s conversation with McGonagall, which I thought lacked something. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you do.
Smut at the end of the chapter, because I felt like it. The tags are updated.
Obligatory denial of ownership.

After returning from Andromeda’s, both Gryffindors were worn out. Teddy had energy to spare, clinging to them both and cooing happily when Harry gave him his bottle. Hermione had watched all evening, her eyes dancing with quiet mirth as Harry cradled the baby. They stayed until Teddy was tucked into bed, then changed into sleepwear and curled together on the sofa.

“Good night, Mi,” he murmured into her curls, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Good night, Harry,” she whispered back.

They woke together the next morning and went for a run around Grimmauld Place. The August air was warm, though rain was forecast for later. Showers in their respective bathrooms saved time, and by the time they came down, Kreacher had laid out eggs, toast, and bacon.

Alongside the Daily Prophet lay two letters—one with the purple seal of the Minister, the other from Bill.

Kingsley’s note was brief: Harry was expected at the unveiling of a statue commemorating the victory over Voldemort. Harry sighed into his coffee.
“What is it?” Hermione asked.
“One of those public events I promised Kings I’d attend. Part of the deal for the portkey to Australia.”
She reached for his hand, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “I know you hate the attention, but… that portkey is why we’re here together now.”
Harry smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hermione’s eyes brightened. “Since it’s raining later, and we’ve still got two weeks before term, we could work on our Head duties. You need to learn the Code of Conduct and make the prefect patrol schedules—”
“Or,” he interrupted with a grin, holding up the second letter, “we could meet Bill at Gringotts. Think of what we might find in my vaults.”

Bill had already done some research on Harry’s accounts and could meet them at ten. His neat handwriting filled the parchment:

Harry
I’ve had a quick look at the records.
Some of the older vaults are flagged for ‘special handling,’ so let’s hope nothing in there is cursed or too dangerous.
Fleur’s been making me swear I won’t bring anything home that could hex the baby.

Harry chuckled and slid the letter to Hermione.
“He’s not wrong to worry,” she said with a knowing smile. “With your luck, we’ll probably find something that belonged to a Dark wizard two centuries ago.”
“Only one way to find out,” Harry replied, pushing his chair and draining his coffee. They Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron making their way to Gringotts, where Bill was already waiting, leaning casually against a pillar in dragonhide boots. He greeted Hermione with a warm hug and clasped Harry’s shoulder in that brotherly way of his.

“Good to see you both. Thanks for coming along, Hermione, this makes me feel slightly safer if Harry starts picking up cursed goblets.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Do you have that little faith in me?”
Bill grinned. “Absolutely, but then again, faith hasn’t been on your side at Hogwarts, so I’m not counting on it.” The trio laughed. 

Inside, the cool, echoing hall smelled faintly of metal and parchment. Goblins glanced up from their ledgers as they saw Bill with a pass granting him access beyond the main counters. 

“I spoke with your account manager and he told me the two vaults haven’t been touched in decades,” Bill explained as they descended deeper into the tunnels. “A few were only accessible after the war and there are many layers of protective enchantments tied to them.” He gave Harry a sideways glance. “That’s why Fleur’s making me promise not to bring anything home that might sprout fangs.”

Hermione’s eyes lit with curiosity. “I can’t wait to see what’s in them.” Harry just grinned. “Me neither.”

The cart lurched forward, and the shadows of the upper bank were left behind as they plunged toward the unknown. It screeched to a halt in a narrow, torchlit cavern. A pair of goblins in fitted armor stood before an imposing door of blackened steel, its surface crawling with faint silver runes.

Bill hopped out first, landing lightly despite the height. “This is one of the Black vaults,” he explained, his voice echoing off the stone. “The gold and the objects are protected against anyone they deemed impure by their standards, it will only open for those of ‘sufficiently pure’ blood. Goblins can bypass it with the right wards, but it’s risky if the enchantments are old.”

Hermione stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the intricate runes. “That’s… vile,” she muttered, though she couldn’t help noting the craftsmanship. “They turned blood prejudice into a lock.”
Bill nodded grimly. “Typical Blacks. Stand back. I’ve cleared one similar to this one before, but it’s not fond of strangers.”

He murmured something in Gobbledegook, tracing a sigil in the air. The silver runes flared once, then bled into darkness as the heavy door groaned open. Inside, shelves climbed the walls, laden with carved boxes, gilded frames, and heaps of coins. On a central plinth sat a crystal decanter filled with dark amber liquid that seemed to shimmer unnaturally in the torchlight. A long glass case against the far wall held a ceremonial dagger with an obsidian blade, its hilt wrapped in black leather embossed with the Black family crest.

Hermione circled the room slowly, her gaze lingering on a dusty stack of journals bound in deep green leather. “These could be family records… or spellbooks,” she said, almost to herself.
“Or both,” Bill replied. “But nothing leaves until it’s been tested. Some of this stuff can curse you from across the room.”

After cataloguing a few of the less volatile items, Bill re-sealed the Black vault with a sweep of his wand. The silver runes shimmered back to life, locking the darkness away.

“Right,” he said, brushing dust from his dragonhide sleeves, “time to see your vaults, Harry. And I’m warning you, if this is anything like the last one, we’ll be here all day.”

The cart rattled on, the air growing cooler the deeper they went. When it finally jerked to a stop, Harry stepped out into a cavern even larger than the Black vault’s chamber. The door here was plain by comparison, heavy steel with a crest of the Potter stag worked into the center and opened easily at Harry’s touch.

Bill followed him inside, then stopped dead. “Merlin’s beard…” Shelves upon shelves stretched into the shadows, stacked with trunks, chests, and cabinets. Piles of coins glittered gold and silver under the torchlight. Here and there, draped in protective cloths, were objects of every shape and size: Harry’s crib when he was an infant, a grandfather clock with a constellation face, a set of Quidditch robes so old the fabric had gone threadbare, portraits still in their frames but turned to face the wall.

Harry pried open  the Black chest they’d brought along on a small wooden table; inside lay a cracked dragonhide grimoire with silver runes across the cover.  Hermione’s eyes lit. “A family grimoire. This could hold centuries of magic.”
Bill smirked. “Or centuries of trouble. We’ll test it first. This is… more than I expected,” Bill admitted, his voice carrying that mix of professional fascination and mild horror. “Some of this hasn’t been touched in centuries. I’m seeing at least four generations’ worth of heirlooms, plus a few I’d bet were ‘liberated’ during the war with Grindelwald.”

Hermione moved toward a towering stack of leather-bound journals, carefully charmed to hover above a glass display case containing a delicate silver circlet set with opals. Harry ran a finger over the name on the cover of one of them. “They’re my mum’s. I didn’t know these existed,” he said quietly. “It’s like… a piece of her I never thought I’d have.”
Hermione’s voice softened and her eyes gleamed with tears. “Harry…” Next to her, he sniffed. 

Beneath the diaries lay a small, intricately carved jewelry box. He lifted the lid to reveal a collection of Potter heirloom pieces: brooches, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, a gold watch, and, nestled in the center, a simple yet elegant ring: a single diamond set in a band of intertwined gold leaves and platinum.
Bill whistled and softly said “That’s a proposal ring if I’ve ever seen one. Think you’ll need it?”
Harry closed the box gently. “Maybe… someday.” His gaze flicked to Hermione, who was still cradling one of Lily’s diaries, oblivious to his expression. He rapidly pocketed the ring into a small box that he conjured. 

By the time Bill finished the paperwork and security checks, the goblins were already edging them toward the exit. They shook hands on the marble steps, Bill promising to send word once the grimoire was safe to open. The rain had started pouring while they were inside the bank. 

Back at Grimmauld Place, it was already lunchtime. They took a short break to eat. Kreacher appeared with a tray of biscuits and tea for them to nibble on as they worked on their Head Duties. Knowing they needed more space than the small table in the kitchen, they set their work in the library. Hermione spread the Code of Conduct, the pamphlet given by McGonagall and a parchment across the desk. She then handed Harry a quill. 

“You can work on the patrol schedules first, then we’ll review the rules.”

Harry tried to focus on the parchment with the names of the prefects and their houses before him, but his mind kept drifting. First to his mother’s diaries, written since her seventh year. He would read them and perhaps, Hermione would want to read them too. Then his mind went to the ring now burning a hole in his pocket. Even though they hadn’t been together for long as a couple, he knew he wanted to marry her, build a life and a family with her.

His mind provided images of him proposing to Hermione at the Black Lake after the Leaving Feast or their graduation ceremony, Hermione walking toward him in a white dress. Then in another flash, he saw her belly protruding while pregnant with his child and then, their home full of laughter, perhaps a child with her curls and his eyes.

“Harry?” Hermione tapped the parchment in front of him.“You’ve been staring at that column for five minutes. Are you okay?” 

He blinked and flushed, forcing a grin. “Yeah. Just… planning ahead.”

Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Good. I like it when you plan ahead.” She returned to her neat, precise notes while Harry let the dream linger a moment longer, unaware that Hermione’s own quill had paused for just a heartbeat. She had seen him look intently at the jewelry box and she had noted that the bracelet she wore came from the vaults. 

The rain poured steadily outside as the afternoon slipped by in a quiet haze of planning and reading. Hermione meticulously reviewed the patrol schedules while Harry’s thoughts drifted to the leather-bound diaries safely tucked away and the ring burning a hole in his pocket.

They took a brief break to cuddle on the couch, the warmth of the room contrasting with the chill from the rain outside.

Hermione’s eyes twinkled as she glanced at him. “It’s important to know it, Harry. I know we’ve bent a few rules before, but now we must respect them. Or at least not break them as often.” She said, as he nodded in understanding.
Harry smirked, brushing a stray curl from her face. “So, no sneaking into broom closets for us?”

She swatted his arm playfully. “Harry!” she exclaimed with mock outrage. “We’re supposed to be exemplary.”

He leaned closer, voice low and teasing. “Exemplary doesn’t mean boring, love.” Before she could answer, his lips found hers in a slow, soft kiss. Soon, it grew into a full heated snog session with Harry’s hand under Hermione’s t-shirt. She melted into him, moaning softly as the world narrowed to just the two of them on that worn couch.

Pulling back just enough to catch her breath, Harry grinned. “See? Even Heads know how to have a little fun.”

Hermione laughed quietly, her cheeks flushed. “Don’t let the prefects catch you saying that.”

They ate supper from a take-away place in front of the TV. While Harry did the dishes, Hermione disappeared upstairs and returned in more comfortable clothes for bed: a tank top and the same pair of shorts she’d last worn during a run.

“Seriously, Mi, I’m going to rip those if you keep wearing them to bed,” Harry said, grinning as she sat down beside him.
She shot him a sharp glare. “Don’t. They’re really comfortable, and they fit me perfectly.”
“Too well, Miss Granger,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on her legs, “far too well.” Later, they went to bed, Hermione reading a book as Harry watched her quietly and fondly. 

*-*

The next few days were packed. Between the statue unveiling and its press conference, Harry and Hermione found time to hang out with their friends.

Because she was the Captain of the Gryffindor team, Ginny had renewed passion for the sport, which meant more strategy sessions and training for the returning players.
“She reminds me of Oliver Wood,” Harry said one evening after a grueling session at the Burrow. Hermione looked up from her book for one of their classes. “That’s… a bad thing, right?”
Harry grunted, visibly exhausted and sweaty, before plopping onto the couch beside her. “I know, I know. Shower first, then cuddle.”

The next day,they met Ron and his girlfriend Alice at the Leaky Cauldron.  Alice was tall and willowy witch, with faintly tanned skin and long blonde hair pulled into a loose braid, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Alice smiled warmly, a flicker of nervous excitement in her eyes. “It’s so nice to finally meet you both.” There was a faint scent of broom polish about her, a side effect of working at Quality Quidditch Supplies. She had a quick, playful wit that kept Ron grinning like a fool. While the two witches went to get drinks for the table, Ron leaned toward Harry.
“Things are going well with her, I see. Bill told me you found a ring in the vaults.”
“Does no one have secrets anymore?” Harry said with mock indignation, just as the girls returned with two Butterbeers.

Though Alice worked in a Quidditch store, she wasn’t as obsessed as Ron, which made it easier for Hermione to find common ground. The two chatted easily, while their boyfriends were engrossed in sports talk.

That day, they’d wandered through Muggle London, shopping for clothes. Hermione had insisted they’d both changed size and needed new things. In truth, she simply wanted Harry in clothes that fit the man he was becoming—taller, broader-shouldered, and far too handsome to keep drowning in Dudley’s old cast-offs.

“These actually look good on you,” she said, eyeing the fitted shirt he was trying on.

Harry smirked. “Better than Dudley’s old jumpers?”

“Much better,” she replied, her eyes lingering on his figure, just a second too long.

The last days before Hogwarts were filled with final preparations for their first Prefects’ meeting, which would take place aboard the Express. Packing for their final year felt different—more like readying for a new chapter than another school term. Hermione triple-checked her trunk, while Harry found himself thinking about the future, about telling her everything one day… and asking her to share it with him.

The morning of departure, neither slept much—Harry restless over his new duties, Hermione fretting over NEWTs and classes. Once aboard, the Head compartment was calm, the rhythmic clatter of wheels filling the quiet. They sat close, a comfortable little pocket away from the bustle outside.

“I’ve been thinking,” Hermione began softly. “About us. About how we’re together now.”

Harry took her hand, squeezing gently. “Me too.”

“We should keep it quiet for now. Hogwarts thrives on gossip,” she said with a smile. “Besides, this is our thing.”

“Secret or not,” Harry replied, “I’m just glad it’s you.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment neither of them cared about robes, meetings, or the rules they were supposed to uphold. Harry leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a slow kiss that lingered just long enough to make them both forget the steady rocking of the train.
“Mr. Potter,” she murmured, mock-stern. “We have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Then we’ve got nine left,” he countered, pulling her back in for another kiss.

Prefects, new and returning, filed in the wagon for their meeting: Draco Malfoy, Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil. Anthony greeted Hermione warmly as he entered, earning a subtle glare from Harry. The Ravenclaw lingered a bit too much to Harry’s liking and had tried, unsuccessfully, to invite her to a date at a bookstore on Diagon Alley. She had refused, bless her, citing that she was trying to save money. 

At the end of the meeting, Draco smirked. “You know, Potter, people will put two and two together if you glare at every bloke who talks to Granger.”

“Sod off,” Harry replied without real heat.

The castle was alive with the hum of returning students, voices echoing in corridors that seemed both familiar and new. There were new portraits now, including a taunting Fred Weasley that already made friends with Peeves. The Great Hall glowed with candlelight as Headministress McGonagall welcomed them back, speaking of unity, growth, and finding friendship in unlikely places. She also pointed the two Gryffindors to the new First Years, telling them to seek the duo out, if needed. 

After the Feast, she personally led Harry and Hermione to the new Head dorms. The rooms were spacious, with the Gryffindor colours proudly displayed. They were separated by a common study and sitting area.

McGonagall caught the look Harry gave Hermione and arched an eyebrow.
“I know that look, Mr. Potter. Your father had the exact same expression when shown these rooms with Lily. There are wards and charms in place to prevent… shall we say… overfamiliarity. Many have tried; few have succeeded.”
Hermione’s cheeks flamed crimson. Harry’s grin was purely unrepentant.
As soon as their former Head of House’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Harry leaned against the doorframe to Hermione’s room, arms folded.
“So… exactly how strong do you think those wards are?”
Hermione set her bag on the bed, refusing to meet his eyes. “Stronger than your self-control, I’d imagine.”
“That sounds like a challenge,” he said, stepping closer.

She gave him a pointed look, but her lips twitched. “It’s not a challenge, Harry. It’s a fact.” He closed the distance, brushing his fingers along her arm until they laced with hers. “Then we should… test it. For purely academic purposes, of course.”
“Purely academic,” she repeated, laughing softly as he leaned in.

The kiss started slow, the kind that seemed harmless at first, until Harry’s other hand found her waist and pulled her closer. Hermione melted against him, her fingers sliding into his hair, and for a blissful moment they forgot the rest of the world.

And then—
Bzzt! A faint spark zipped between them, not painful, but enough to make them both jump apart with startled laughter. “Guess that answers it,” Harry said, rubbing his arm. Hermione smirked. “Told you. Stronger than your self-control.”
“Not by much,” he muttered, already looking like he was planning a workaround.
The first day of classes was mostly professors urging them to pay attention, do their assignments, and study harder than ever before. Hermione sat down with Neville for the first class, wanting to pay attention to the teachers and avoid getting distracted by her boyfriend, which meant Harry sat down next to Draco.
“This year is important for your future,” Professor Aurelian Amaranth, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and the new Head  of House for Gryffindor warned. He had worked at MACUSA before his wife had a job at St. Mungos. The brunette nodded seriously, taking notes. The Professor made them duel and praised Hermione’s wand technique as she casted a strong Protego. She blushed furiously at his praise; Harry fought the urge to smirk and kept that information in his mind for future reference.  

They moved through the corridors with calm purpose, their Head duties already pulling them into meetings and planning sessions. Hermione had been roped into tutoring Transfiguration to younger students once a week. Yet beneath the steady rhythm of their hectic schedules and protocols, a secret thrummed. It was tight, electric, pulling their magic together with every glance and every “accidental” brush of fingers.

In the Great Hall, Hermione caught Harry’s gaze across the table, a secret smile touching her lips before she turned away. No one else saw the way his jaw tightened or how her cheeks warmed.

Later, on patrol, they used the Marauder’s Map to find students out after their respective curfews. His hand grazed hers again, and again she didn’t pull away. “We’re doing this,” she whispered, voice steady even though her pulse wasn’t. Harry’s eyes softened but burned at the edges. “Together.”

They rounded a quiet corner, the corridor silent and dim. Harry’s gaze flicked to a broom closet; the look he gave her after was all the warning she got. His fingers closed around hers, warm and certain, tugging her inside.

The door clicked shut and darkness swallowed them. Harry’s mouth found hers instantly, his kiss deep and greedy, tasting faintly of mint and something darker. Hermione gasped against him, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around her, spiced and clean, and beneath it, the warmer, headier scent that was just Harry . Her back hit the rough wooden wall, a faint scrape through her jumper, and he pressed into her, his body all heat and solid muscle.

His hands slid under her jumper, and she shivered at the shock of his skin against hers, calloused fingertips brushing up over her ribs until they cupped her breasts under her bra. His thumbs rolled over her nipples, the lightest pressure making her knees weaken. She broke the kiss on a sharp inhale, her breath hot against his jaw.

“Harry—”

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his lips never left her skin, trailing along her jaw and down her neck, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His breath was hot, his stubble scraping lightly against her throat in a way that made her shiver harder.

She didn’t tell him to stop. Her hands found his hair, pulling him closer until their chests pressed together. One of her legs slid between his, and he groaned, a low, guttural sound that she felt more than heard. His hips shifted against her, and the hard line of him sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

One hand stayed on her breast, possessive and teasing, while the other traced down her stomach. The wool of her skirt bunched in his fist as his fingers skimmed the waistband of her knickers.

Hermione’s breath caught. Her head tipped back against the wall, the wood cool against her heated skin.

“Merlin, you’re wet, love” he whispered, pressing his palm against her through the silk. His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, the heel of his hand finding that sweet spot that made her bite down on her lip to keep quiet. Her hips pushed into him without thought, chasing the friction.

He kissed her again, swallowing the small, helpless sounds she made. His fingers slipped just under the elastic, barely inside, teasing her clit, but enough to make her knees tremble.

Then, footsteps. Faint but growing closer.

Harry froze, forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathing hard. She trembled, caught between wanting him to stop and desperately not wanting him to.

“Harry,” she breathed, not a warning, a plea.

“If I don’t stop now…” His voice was low, rough with restraint. She nodded, though the frustration in her eyes matched his. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, smoothing down their clothes and hair, but his palm lingered, warm and reluctant.

When they stepped back into the corridor, their hands brushed as if nothing had happened. But every time their eyes met, the air between them felt heavy, thick with the memory of heat, breath, and the dangerous knowledge of how close they’d come.

Hermione couldn’t concentrate on the words on the paper. Every time she tried, the words blurred into the memory of Harry’s breath against her throat, the way his hands had felt under her jumper, the hard press of his body against hers. She’d managed to make it through the rest of patrol without combusting, but only just. Now she sat cross-legged on her bed in the Heads’ common room, a book open but entirely unread, while the fire cast slow, lazy shadows across the walls.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him. Harry stepped through the doorway, hidden under his Invisibility cloak, hair tousled, his sleeves rolled, eyes dark in the low light. He stopped when he saw her, and for a long, breathless moment, neither of them spoke. Then he closed the door. The quiet click of the latch sounded loud in the stillness. Hermione’s pulse spiked. She set the book aside, suddenly hyperaware of the heat curling in her stomach. “You’re back late.”

“Couldn’t sleep, I went flying,” he said, voice low, walking toward her like a predator in no rush to pounce, but completely certain of the moment he would. “I kept thinking about you. About earlier.”

Her breath caught. “Me too.”

He reached the foot of the bed and stopped, looking down at her. “We shouldn’t.” Her answer was to reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt to pull him closer. “Then don’t.”

The restraint in him broke. He came down onto the bed, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was all heat and urgency. Hermione’s hands threaded into his hair, pulling him closer, angling his mouth harder against hers. The room didn’t pull them away, as if the cloak had tricked the wards and charms. He pushed her back against the pillows, his weight settling over her, and she let out a soft sound that made his control snap completely.

His hands found the hem of the old Quidditch t-shirt she borrowed from him and wore to bed, shoving it up, baring her to the warm air. She arched into him when his palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples until she gasped. “Merlin, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin before his mouth replaced his hands, hot and wet, sucking them. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him there as her hips shifted restlessly beneath him.

Harry’s hand slid down over her stomach, finding the waistband of her sleep pants. This time, there was no hesitation. He pushed them both down her hips, fingers finding her slick and ready. She let out a broken moan, biting her lip too late to muffle it. “You’re soaked,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe and want. His fingers moved slowly at first, teasing, circling just enough to make her squirm. “Tell me if this is too much.”

“It’s not enough,” she said, breathless.

That was all he needed. His thumb found her clit, rubbing with just the right pressure while two fingers slid inside her, curling in a way that made her gasp his name. “Come for me, Hermione,” he commanded, his voice a low, demanding whisper. “Show me how good I make you feel.” She clutched at his shoulders, back arching, the tension winding tight in her core. “Such a good girl for me, so fucking perfect, Mi. So responsive. I love watching you come undone for me.”

When she came, it was sudden and shuddering, her thighs clamping around his hand as she buried her face in his neck to keep from crying out. He kissed her temple, not stopping until she went limp beneath him, panting. “That’s it, good girl. You took that so well,” he murmured, his voice filled with praise and satisfaction. “You’re incredible, Hermione. So beautiful when you come for me.”

But then she was pulling at his belt, fumbling with the buckle. “Your turn,” she whispered, eyes dark and determined. Harry’s breath hitched as Hermione’s fingers deftly undid his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the buckle filling the room with a promise of what was to come. He helped her, quickly shedding his pants and boxers, his penis already hard and straining against her touch. Hermione wrapped her hand around him, her grip firm and confident, stroking him from base to tip with a rhythm that made his hips jerk.

“Hermione,” he gasped, his voice a mix of plea and command. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, “I want to taste you.” Before he could respond, she was pushing him back onto the bed, her mouth replacing her hand, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his penis. Harry’s hands fisted in the sheets, his body tense with the effort of holding back, wanting to give her control. “Merlin, Mi. Didn’t know you could suck like that,” he said huskily as she surged on. He could feel the tension coiling in his lower back, his orgasm building with each pass of her mouth.

“Hermione, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained. But she didn’t stop, her pace quickening, her suction tightening. With a final, deep thrust into her mouth, Harry came undone, his body shuddering as he spilled into her, her name a choked cry on his lips. Hermione swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she released him, her hand gently stroking him through the aftershocks. “That was amazing, Mi. You’re so good at that. So fucking perfect,” he praised, his voice filled with awe and adoration.

Harry pulled her up to lie beside him, his arm wrapping around her, holding her close. Their breaths slowly returned to normal, their bodies still tingling with the aftermath of their passion. Hermione rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin, a contented sigh escaping her lips. In that moment, there was no NEWTs, no Head Girl duties, no outside world. There was only them, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in the intimacy of their shared desire and the depth of their connection, their bodies and souls entwined.

Chapter 14: Quidditch tryouts and a first match. The rumour mill goes wild with gossip as they have a first Hogsmeade weekend.

Summary:

A glimpse at Quidditch tryouts and a match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. There's gossip at Hogwarts about two Heads and the first Hogsmeade weekend.

Harry woke in the middle of the night in another bed, in her bed. The faintest smell still clinging to him after the heated way they’d fallen asleep. He’d reached to pull her closer, only to feel a gentle buzz of the wards and charms against his arm. It was a subtle warning for their rooms to stop any heated nights between Heads. 

Sighing, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting his eyes linger on the soft curve of her bare shoulder in the moonlight before slipping out. He padded back to his dorm, already missing the warmth of her skin.

Three hours later, his wand alarm shrieked for the last call for breakfast. He dragged himself out of bed, yanking on his clothes and nearly tripping on the stairs.

“Slept in late, Harry?” Seamus called as he dropped into his seat at the Gryffindor table, hair sticking up wildly. Harry grunted something non-committal, stealing a bit of Hermione’s eggs as he passed her. She didn’t look up from her conversation with Ginny and Parvati, though a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

Double Potions with the Slytherins followed, the damp chill of the dungeons clinging to them. Neville gave Harry a curious glance when Hermione bypassed the seat beside him.

“Sit with Harry, Nev. I’ll sit with Ginny for this one,” she said lightly, though her eyes flicked to Harry for just a heartbeat.

Harry smirked faintly. As she moved past, he leaned in to murmur, “Can’t sit with me because my charms are too distracting?” Hermione’s cheeks flushed, but she only shook her head with a small, private laugh.

Slughorn’s voice boomed over them. “Students, this lesson marks the end of our journey together! Today we brew Polyjuice. To your cauldrons!”

Harry volunteered to get the ingredients, meeting Hermione halfway as she reached for the same jar of lacewing flies. Their fingers brushed, and for a second, neither moved, just a quick flicker of heat before they stepped apart.

After lunch came Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Amaranth strode in briskly. “Patronus work today,” he announced, tone making it sound like a chore. “Full corporeal forms only. And don’t think I’ll be impressed by half-hearted puffs of mist.”

Harry folded his arms, unimpressed. “Some of us can do that in our sleep.”
Amaranth’s gaze flicked to him, cool and assessing. “Prove it, Potter.”

Harry stepped forward, wand in hand. “Expecto Patronum.”
Prongs leapt forth instantly, silver light flooding the classroom, antlers catching the glint from the high windows. The stag paced the room before fading, and Harry arched an eyebrow as if to say your move . The Professor smirks at Harry and calls. “See me after class, Potter. Granger, you're next” 

Hermione nodded, steady as always, but when she cast the charm, the shape that emerged made Harry’s breath catch. It was no longer the otter he’d seen countless times. This Patronus had long legs, delicate lines, and a gentle tilt to its head, a doe, silver light shimmering along its flanks.

Gasps rippled around the room, but no one seemed to read into it except him. His eyes locked on her, searching. She didn’t meet his gaze, her wand lowering as if nothing unusual had happened. Only he noticed the way her fingers tightened imperceptibly around the handle, or the faintest hint of colour rising in her cheeks before she turned away.

He didn’t say a word. But when she walked past him on her way back to her seat, his hand brushed hers, just enough to let her know he’d seen.

The classroom emptied quickly, students eager for a break or whispering about the Patronus lesson. Harry stayed behind, wand in hand, watching the professor pack away his notes with a measured calm.

“Mr Potter,” His new Head of House said without looking up. “Your Patronus is… impressive. But impressive alone doesn’t cut it here.”

Harry folded his arms. “So, what’s the problem?” The Professor finally met his eyes, sharp and assessing. “You carry more weight on your shoulders than most. That weight affects your magic. If you want to truly master your Patronus, you need focus and discipline. Emotions can’t be a crutch. They cannot drive you if you want to become an Auror”

Harry smirked, but there was an edge of frustration in his voice. “Is that all? Or am I supposed to take lessons on self-control from the new Defence professor?”

Amaranth’s eyes flickered. “You’ll learn, Potter. If you want to keep this position, you’ll learn.” Harry said nothing, only gave a slow nod and pocketed his wand.

As he left the classroom, he walks with a steady pace to his Transformation class that he has with McGonagall. The stern witch gives them new spells to learn. Hermione sits at the front of the class with another student. He sighs. I really need to talk to her, the young wizard thinks as he sits next to Draco for the first time in all of his years at Hogwarts, who raises an eyebrow at him.   

After their classes of the day, Ginny puts a flyer in the common room for the Quidditch tryouts for the team on Friday. With Ron’s departure as a Keeper to work with their brother George, she is a player short. This is her year, her moment to shine and to be scouted by a professional team. In the corner, a young Gryffindor is eying the flyer, unsure if she should participate.

Back at the Head dorm, Harry found a note from Hermione— In the library. Don’t wait up.
He sank onto the couch, starting his Slughorn essay, but his mind drifted to her Patronus and the secret it held.

Just before curfew, she returned and sat beside him.
“Missed you today,” Harry said, kissing her cheek.
“Missed you too,” she smiled. “It’s the first time my Patronus changed.”

Harry looked at her. “Yeah, I noticed it’s no longer the otter anymore.”
“It isn’t,” she whispered. “The books I found say that it can change form due to significant emotional shifts in the wizard or witch, most notably when falling in love. It can mirror the Patronus of a loved one.”

He blinks as if the realization sinks in more. “Think it could have happened to my parents?”, he asks her.
“Maybe we should read your mum’s journal.” She answered, resting her head on his shoulder, and silence spoke everything between them.

 

*-* 

The September sun hung low over the Quidditch pitch, its golden light spilling across the stands as Ginny paced at the centre circle, clipboard in hand.

“Come on, we need a Keeper who can be in the net and stop anything that comes,” she muttered, ticking angrily another name off her tryout list. The season’s first match loomed like a Quaffle aimed straight at her head.

Harry hovered nearby, a broom slung casually over his shoulder. He’d kept his role as Seeker, despite juggling NEWTs and Head duties.

“You’ll find someone,” he said, trying to sound encouraging.

Ginny shot him a sharp look. “We’d better. Otherwise you’ll be catching the Snitch just to lose by a hundred points.” She scanned the clipboard, brow furrowed. “Roberta Dawlish”, she says. A petite girl comes with two thick braids. She gets on her broom with assurance and flies to the hoops. She saves a few well aimed Quaffles at her, almost knocking herself off her broom to dive. She breathes heavily as her turn ends.

Harry grinned and whispered to Ginny. “Dawlish? Any relation to—”

“—the overzealous Auror? No idea,” Ginny said, shrugging. “But if she’s half as persistent, we might be in luck.”

*-*

The first match of the year came a fortnight later: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. The air was crisp, the stands packed with students wrapped in scarves and shouting themselves hoarse.

Harry felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as Madam Hooch’s whistle cut through the air. Ginny’s voice carried over the pitch as she directed the team, her mane of red hair flashing in the autumn light. His eyes scanned the field for gold. 

It was a fast, aggressive game. Roberta made three spectacular saves in the first ten minutes, drawing cheers from the Gryffindor stands. Ginny barked encouragement while marking plays on her clipboard between passes. Hufflepuff’s Chasers were relentless, but Ginny’s strategy held. “Catch it before my hair turns grey, Potter!” She had yelled from her broom.  

Hermione followed every movement, her stomach tightening when a Bludger whistled past Harry’s shoulder. Neville, seated beside her, muttered, “Relax, he’s fine,” but Hermione’s grip on the railing didn’t loosen.

Then, there! The Snitch shimmered by the Hufflepuff stands. Both Seekers dove, wind screaming in their ears. Harry reached out, fingers closing around it a breath before his opponent’s. It was a risky dive, but it was worth it as he showed the small ball in his palm, grinning widely.

The stadium exploded with cheers. He landed and jogged toward the Gryffindor section, sweat-damp hair in his eyes. Hermione leaned down to congratulate him, their smiles meeting like a secret handshake.

Final score: Gryffindor 190, Hufflepuff 130.

The Gryffindor locker room rang with cheers, laughter, and the clatter of gear hitting the floor. Ginny was swept up in strategy talk for their next match.  Someone in the locker room clapped Roberta on the shoulder. “Not bad for your first game, rookie!” She blushed furiously. Then, as most of the players were done, Hermione slipped inside, parchment in hand, muttering something about McGonagall needing an update on the match result.

Harry barely registered the excuse before crossing the space to her. The door clicked shut, muffling the noise outside, and then his mouth was on hers, urgent and claiming.

Her back hit the lockers with a metallic thud , and she gasped when his chilled fingers slid under her jumper, cupping the warmth of her breast.

“Harry—” she managed before his lips found the hollow of her throat, tongue tracing the flutter of her pulse.

“You taste better than winning,” he murmured, earning a low moan that she bit back too late.

She fisted his damp hair, pulling him back to her mouth, deepening the kiss until the rest of the world dissolved into heat and breathless urgency. Somewhere in the corridor, footsteps approached.

They stilled, foreheads pressed together, sharing stifled laughter and fast, shallow breaths. “You should go,” he whispered, hands reluctant to let go.

“Not until I’m sure you’ve cooled down,” she teased, stealing one last kiss before slipping out, her cheeks flushed, hair deliciously mussed.

*-* 
The next day, it was the first Hogsmeade weekend and the gossip mill was in full swing. It started as whispers at the Gryffindor table — Hermione Granger was seen leaving the locker room after the match — and spread like Fiendfyre by lunch. Speculation ranged from wild to ridiculous, though no one seemed to notice the smug, private glances Harry and Hermione exchanged across the Great Hall.

Even Ginny cornered Harry in the corridor. “Anything you need to tell me about yesterday?” she asked with a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Nope,” Harry said smoothly, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest flush.

The autumn air was crisp and spiced with the scent of Honeydukes’ sweets and the Three Broomsticks’ butterbeer. As Heads, Harry and Hermione’s official job was to keep an eye on the younger years, but they still walked together through the cobbled streets, shoulders brushing, deep in conversation. 

Every now and then, a student they passed would smirk knowingly — and while Hermione rolled her eyes, Harry felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

At Honeydukes, Harry slipped away and returned with a small box.
“For you,” he said.
“Because…?” she asked, eyebrows arched.
“You looked cold.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Still true.”

They found a small table in the Three Broomsticks, knees bumping under the wood. Hermione’s hand lingered on his thigh as they talked about lesson plans and Prefect rotas. The moment tilted toward something else, until Ginny and Parvati appeared, cheeks red from the cold.

“You two keeping warm?” she asked, eyes glinting.
Harry nearly choked on his butterbeer. Hermione’s cheeks went pink, but her lips twitched in amusement.

By Monday, the castle was buzzing.
“I saw them in the library,” a Ravenclaw whispered.
“Not unusual”, another said under their breath. “Past curfew.”, the first one said. 

By dinner, the rumor mill still carried whispers about the two Gryffindor. Someone else claimed they’d seen the Heads slip into a broom closet on patrol. 

Draco slides by the Gryffindor table just to drop this in Harry’s ear:
“Potter, the castle’s abuzz about you and the Head Girl. I told them you were far too professional for that sort of thing. They didn’t believe me.”
Harry, keeping his cool: “How noble of you, Draco.”
The pure blood says with a smirk, “Don’t worry, I told them you’d never get caught. Not unless you’re stupid enough to try the Prefects’ bathroom.” Hermione, nearby, drops her fork and turns pink.

 

Later, in their dorms, Hermione is curled up in an armchair, pretending to read. Harry walks in from his room, hair damp from a shower, a towel slung around his neck. He catches her eye and smirks.

"So, we’re criminals now?"

She doesn’t look up, turning a page with a little too much emphasis.

"Only if you’re foolish enough to sneak into the Prefects’ bathroom after curfew."

Harry raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "You did drop your fork, love. Very dramatic."

She flicks another page, unbothered. "It startled me. That’s all."

Harry laughs, leaning against the doorframe. "Startled you, huh? Or maybe it struck a little too close to home?"

Finally, Hermione glances up, arching a brow at him. "If you’re trying to suggest that I’ve ever broken a rule in that bathroom with you, Harry Potter—"

He smirks and steps closer, lowering his voice. "Of course not. You’re the Head Girl. You only break rules strategically."

Hermione fights a smile but loses the battle. "One of us has to keep a clear head. Unless you want us to be on the Daily Prophet’s front page tomorrow."

Harry grins. "Not really. But one of us has to make sure I die wondering if we ever did."

A beat. The room feels a little warmer as Hermione tries—and fails—to suppress a laugh. Harry plucks the book from her hands and closes it gently.

"Just for the record," he says softly, looking at her, "I’d never do anything to get you in trouble."

Hermione looks at him, her smile turning tender. She whispers, "And for the record… I’d probably help you do it anyway."

They share a look, a long moment passing between them. A thousand unspoken words hang in the air. The fire crackles softly in the background.

Harry grins, breaking the moment. "Still—no Prefects’ bathroom?"

Hermione rolls her eyes, but there’s no hiding her smile. "Not unless you want echoes and scandal."

He grins mischievously as he turns toward the stairs. "Alright, fine. Seventh-floor broom cupboard it is."

Hermione calls after him, mock-exasperated, "Harry!"

He grins without looking back. "Night, Head Girl."

And behind her book, Hermione is still smiling when he’s gone.

Chapter 15: The secret is out

Summary:

Their secret is out and she receives a gift from her parents. It’s also her birthday. Hermione is stressed from their classes and Harry wants to try to find a way to relieve her.

Notes:

Smut ahead, but also fluff.
I really hope you are still reading this and that you enjoy it. Please don't forget to leave a comment or kudos if you did.

The next few days, Harry and Hermione kept sneaking moments together, in alcoves and empty corridors, careful not to draw too much attention to themselves. They had always been close, it wasn’t a secret, but lately even the smallest touch seemed to be noticed by the rest of Hogwarts, with whispers and gossip.
One night on patrol, the two Gryffindor stumbled upon a group of younger Slytherin students huddled in a corner, exchanging coins.
“What’s this?” Harry asked, folding his arms. His expression and tone demanded an answer.
“Uh—just a bit of fun, sir,” one mumbled, eyes darting to Hermione.
It didn’t take long to discover the betting pool that wasn’t just this House, but a large proportion of the student body: how long before the Head Boy and Head Girl “made it official.” Points were taken, stern warnings given, but the damage was done; by the time they reached the common room, Hermione was muttering, “Not their business anyway,” her cheeks pinker than the cold warranted. She stayed up, burying herself in a Charms textbook for their essay.
Back in his dorm, Harry glanced at the calendar and froze: A week until her birthday, the first one as a couple and he still had no idea what to give her. Too soon for anything as serious as a ring and books or perfume felt far too impersonal. Ginny might have ideas, but she’d never keep it quiet, maybe Neville or even Draco could help.
The next morning, they crossed paths in the Head dorm common room at exactly the same time, both bleary-eyed. Harry caught her by the waist before she could pass, pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Morning, love. Sleep well?”
She gave a distracted hum, dropping onto the arm of the sofa.She froze, frowning at the empty spot where she’d meant to put her Charms essay. Harry handed it to her — she’d left it behind on the common room table.
“You’re forgetting things now, Mi,” he said quietly. She didn’t answer and seemed to be completely lost in her thoughts.
“The year’s barely started and I’m already drowning in classes, Head duties, tutoring… I feel like we never have time for us.”
Harry brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Then let’s make time. Dinner here tonight, just us. We’ll eat, talk, and maybe not move from the couch.”
Her smile was small but real, then “That actually sounds perfect.” She kissed him quickly before they headed to the Great Hall, their hands brushing but never quite holding. They kept that careful distance that had become second nature when they were among peers. The hall was already bustling with chatter, but it quieted just a fraction when they entered together. Harry caught sight of a few knowing smirks down the Gryffindor table.
Hermione slid into her seat, determined to ignore them, when a large tawny owl swooped down, dropping a neatly wrapped package beside her plate. She recognized her parents’ tidy handwriting instantly.
“Oh, this is from Mum and Dad,” she murmured, untying the string. Inside lay a sleek Muggle mobile phone, the latest model, along with a note: For when you can’t get to us by Floo.
Her eyes softened. “I had trouble reaching them last week and had to bother McGonnagall for her Floo,” she said, already pocketing the device before anyone could ask too many questions.
Harry was about to comment when the rustle of the morning post grew louder. Seamus, two seats down, whistled low and unfolded the Daily Prophet so everyone could see the front page.
The headline screamed in bold enchanted letters:
HEAD BOY AND HEAD GIRL: SECRET NO MORE?
Below it was a few photographs of Harry and Hermione: one of them in the corridor and one at Hogsmeade the weekend prior, her face half-hidden as he leaned close.
Hermione froze mid-bite, cheeks heating. Harry’s jaw clenched. Around them, whispers were already starting.
“Well,” she muttered under her breath, “I suppose that settles whether it’s their business or not.” Harry noticed the untouched toast and the way her tea sat cooling by her elbow, but she waved him off with a distracted, “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. Over the next few days, he saw the signs piling up: dark bags under her eyes, the ink on her hands was almost permanent and trembling. She seemed to disappear behind stacks of parchment rather than join him for meals. When he caught her slipping out of the library after a study group for Arithmancy, muttering about patrols she didn’t actually have, he decided enough was enough.
“Mi, you’re scaring me, love.” He said, concerned.
“It’s okay, Harry. I’m fine,” she murmured, reaching for a book. He put his hand on hers.
“You’re not. When was the last time you relaxed?” He asked.
She took a minute to answer, before crossing her arms on her chest. “It’s just that I have to make more effort than most students, Harry. I have goals for myself.”
“You need a break and I’ve got an idea.” He tipped her jaw and she nodded softly.

Harry didn’t let go of her hand until they stood before the familiar brass door with its carved mermaid.
“The Prefects’ Bath?” she asked, one brow lifting despite the shadows under her eyes.
“Best place in the castle for stress relief,” he said simply, giving the password.
Warm, fragrant steam rolled out as the door swung open. The vast marble pool shimmered under floating lights, the water swirling with colours like melted gemstones. Hermione hesitated, her tired fingers curling around the strap of her satchel.
“You don’t have to think about homework, or classes, or headlines,” Harry told her gently. “Just… be here with me.”
She gave a small smile and stepped inside. “Alright, Potter. But if you think I’m letting you win at bubble-beard competitions, you’re mistaken.”
Harry busied himself with the shelves of potions and oils, holding up two bottles. “Lavender and vanilla?” Her smile softened. “Perfect.”
He poured a measure into the water, releasing a warm, sweet scent. Hermione undressed with unhurried, weary movements, folding her clothes neatly before slipping into the water. The heat wrapped around her like a blanket, drawing a quiet sigh from her lips.
Harry joined her moments later, locking the door and lowering himself in until the water reached his shoulders.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much,” she admitted, eyes closing briefly.
He found her hand under the water and laced their fingers together. “You’ve been carrying too much.”
“I can’t help it. The Prophet, the whispers… and I can’t fall behind in class.”
“You never do, Mi. You don’t have to carry it alone,” he said, tilting her chin so she met his gaze. “You’ve got me and I’ve got you.”
The first kiss was slow, meant to reassure, but it deepened naturally, warmth turning to something hotter. Hermione pressed closer, her hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her palms. Harry’s free hand traced up her back, fingers skimming along damp skin until she shivered despite the heat.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, she rested her forehead against his. “I think I might actually sleep tonight.”
His smile curved into something a little more wicked. “I could always make sure.”
Her answering look was half-challenge, half-invitation. “Just this once.”
They stayed until her eyelids began to droop, the tension in her face completely gone. As she climbed out, Harry’s gaze followed her almost involuntarily, his eyes lingering on her ass and the curve of her back. She caught it and gave a soft laugh, flicking her wand to dry herself. “Stop staring and get dressed.”
“You don’t know what your body does to me, Mi,” he murmured.
She shot him a knowing look, eyes flicking briefly to the evidence between his legs, before meeting his again. “I’m not blind, love. I think I can see it.” He flushed rapidly.
They walked back to the Head dorms hand in hand, no longer bothering to hide that they were a couple. In front of her door, Harry tugged her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Talk to me when you’re spiraling, Mi. I’m always going to be here.”
Her gaze caught his, warm and steady. “Only if you promise to talk to me, Harry.” He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I would have loved to sleep in the same bed as you tonight.”
“Only sleep, darling?” she asked, her voice teasing.
Harry’s answering look was dark and knowing. “Probably not. What can I say? I love taking care of your needs.” His tone was low, husky, enough to make her pulse skip.
Hermione flushed, but she shook her head, lips curling in faint amusement, as if to say that wasn’t on the menu tonight. They both knew that if not for the wards between their rooms, they’d already be tangled in sheets, whispering each other’s names into the dark.
*-*
The next few days until her birthday, Harry used every free moment Hermione was away to pester Draco and Neville in the Head dorm common room. Budget wasn’t a problem, he just didn’t want to overdo it. Not yet, even though he thought she deserved the whole world and much more.
“So you got her a bracelet from your vaults, right?” Neville asked.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, but… I want something more. Something that feels like her.”
Draco smirked into his glass of pumpkin juice. “Granger’s not exactly a jewels-and-pearls witch, Potter. You’ll have to use your brain. She loves books. You gotta find her a rare one, her favourite, if you’ve paid attention.”
Harry groaned. “I can’t just hand her Hogwarts: A History, can I? She’d know I pinched it from the library.”
Neville chuckled, while Draco rolled his eyes. They drank in silence for a beat before Harry suddenly sat forward.
“She loves Jane Austen. She mentioned once that Lizzy Bennet reminded her of herself. What if I tracked down the first edition of Pride and Prejudice?”
Draco clapped him on the back. “Now that’s not terrible. Classy, thoughtful… almost Slytherin of you.”
Neville, who had been quiet until then, frowned in thought. “I know she always complains her quill runs out of ink when we’re revising. Maybe you could get her one charmed, so she never has to worry about it.”
Harry’s grin spread. “Even better. I could charm it to refill itself and… change colour if she’s overworking herself.”
“Don’t look at me,” Neville said quickly. “Charms aren’t my strong suit. But Flitwick would help, especially for his star pupil.”
The next day, Harry lingered after class and explained the idea. Professor Flitwick's eyes twinkled as he listened.
“Very clever, Mr. Potter. You’ve inherited Fleamont’s ingenuity, I see.”
“Fleamont, sir?” Harry asked, startled.
“Your grandfather,” Flitwick said warmly. “Inventor of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Brilliant at Charms and Potions. He was one of my finest students.”
Harry blinked, the words settling strangely in his chest. “I… didn’t know him.”
The professor’s smile softened. “Well, he would be proud. Let’s make sure Miss Granger’s quill is just as brilliant as this idea you’ve had.”
Flitwick guided Harry patiently through the last flick of his wand, then placed the quill back in his hand. The feather shimmered faintly, the colour shifting like sunlight through water.
“There you are, Mr. Potter. It will never run dry. It should nudge her when she forgets to mind herself. A gift made with thought, not just galleons, she’ll treasure it.”
Harry smiled and thanked his professor before tucking it into a slim rectangular box he’d picked up from the Room of Requirement. It wasn’t much yet, but it was something. The book could come later. He refused to give up.
Back in his dorm, he slipped the box carefully into his trunk and pulled out one of his mother’s diaries. The handwriting was neat and firm, looping across the yellowed page. He almost felt her presence with him on the couch. He almost missed dinner.
“Harry?” Hermione’s voice broke the silence, soft but insistent. She was leaning against his doorway, hair a little frizzled from the library, worry etched into her brow. “I thought we’d read them together.”
Guilt flushed through him. He shut the diary carefully and set it aside. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”
Her expression softened, though her eyes lingered on the closed book. “Don’t keep it all to yourself, Harry. Some things… are meant to be shared.”
He reached for her hand, tugging her into the room. “I know. With you.” They both went down to eat dinner and met the prefects for a new schedule they had worked on.
*-*
Hermione’s birthday morning began not with excitement, but with the faint click of her mobile phone going black for the third time. Hermione was growing more and more annoyed. She sat cross-legged on the sofa of the Heads’ common room, her wand in one hand, phone in the other, muttering diagnostic charms that fizzled against the stubborn bit of Muggle technology.
“I swear, it worked for a minute last night,” she sighed, brushing a curl from her face. “Then Hogwarts decided to eat the signal.”
Harry emerged from his room, hair messier than usual, already tugging his tie straight. He leaned down to kiss her temple. “Maybe the castle just wants your attention more than your parents do.”
She gave him a look, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “Don’t be cheeky, Potter.”
“I’ll ask around,” he offered, before he added. “Now that I think about it, Dean had a walkman for a while in our dorms. Maybe even Luna could help. She makes half the impossible things work anyway.”
Hermione set the phone aside with a sigh. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
He hated how tired she looked still, dark circles under her eyes, a stiffness in her shoulders from nights spent hunched over parchment. She was turning eighteen, but she was still wound tighter than a bowstring.
As she reached for her bag, Harry caught her hand. “Don’t disappear into the library all day. At least let me steal you for dinner tonight.”
“Dinner?” she asked, brow furrowed.
“Here. Just us,” he said, keeping his tone casual though his heart was pounding. He’d already planned it: candles, food from the kitchens, the small chocolate cake and the enchanted quill waiting in its box. A night where she wouldn’t have to think about homework, headlines, or the phone that refused to work within these walls.
Hermione’s expression softened, and she rose on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. “Alright. Only if you promise me you’ll actually eat breakfast instead of running late to class.”
He grinned, stealing another kiss. “Deal.”
Hermione received many well wishes from her fellow classmates. Ginny had bought her some chocolate from Honeydukes and Neville, a small enchanted plant. “I promise it won’t die, Nev.” She said, hugging both of her friends.

Classes dragged on longer than usual that day, at least for Harry. Between Transfiguration tutoring for Hermione and essays to write he nearly forgot the errand he had sent out after he talked with his two friends. Just before dinner, a discreet owl from Flourish and Blotts arrived in his dorm. Wrapped in brown parchment and sealed with wax, the package contained a carefully preserved, first-edition Pride and Prejudice. His chest tightened with relief. Perfect.
He hid it in his trunk along with the rectangular box containing the enchanted quill, then slipped down to the kitchens. The elves were more than delighted to prepare a quiet meal for two, complete with a small chocolate cake, fresh strawberries, and Hermione’s favourite tea. By the time dinner arrived, the Heads’ common room had transformed: soft floating candles, a warm fire, and the scent of cinnamon and chocolate in the air.
Hermione stepped in, dropping her bag with a thud. “Oh, Harry…” She pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes glistening as she took in the room.
He came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. “Happy birthday, love. Tonight’s just for you.”
Dinner was slow, full of stolen glances and touches that lingered longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, her leg sliding against his beneath the table. By the time they shared the small chocolate cake, she was laughing softly, cheeks pink, eyes warm in the candlelight. He took the two boxes and handed them to her.
“Harry…” she started, already protesting, “You didn’t need to.”
“I did.” He handed her the long box first. “This one’s practical.”
She opened it to find the sleek quill, her name engraved delicately along the side. “Oh, Harry.”
“It never runs out of ink and it changes colour if you’re overworking yourself. That way, I’ll know when to drag you away from the library or from your work.” he teased.
Her throat worked, but words failed her for a moment. She leaned in and kissed him tenderly, murmuring against his lips, “That’s… perfect.”
Then he gave her the other box with the book. When she peeled back the paper and saw the title, her eyes filled instantly. “A first edition…” she whispered, clutching it to her chest before throwing her arms around him. This time, her kiss was hard, desperate, her tongue sliding against his with sudden urgency.
He groaned, hands gripping her waist as she pressed herself against him. The book slipped onto the table, forgotten, as they stumbled back toward the couch.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” she murmured, straddling his lap as his hands slid under the hem of her shirt, palms warm against her skin.
“Mmm, not yet, Mi,” he whispered against her throat, kissing and nipping until she gasped, tilting her head to give him more. His voice was rough, husky. “I’ve been thinking about this all week, since the Prefect bath.”
Hermione shivered as his teeth grazed her collarbone. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, her hips rocking against his in a slow, needy rhythm that made them both groan. The air thickened with heat, firelight painting their bodies in flickering gold.
The gifts lay forgotten on the table as their kisses deepened, touches turning more urgent. Hermione’s breath came quicker as she rocked against him, every movement dragging a low groan from Harry’s throat. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and chest rising hard against hers.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, birthday girl?” he rasped, his fingers digging into her hips as if he might lose control at any moment.
Hermione’s answering smile was wicked, her voice low and teasing. “I think I do.” She shifted deliberately, grinding herself against the hard length beneath his trousers. His head fell back against the couch, a strangled curse slipping past his lips.
Taking advantage, she leaned down, kissing along his jaw, down his throat, her tongue flicking against the pulse hammering there. “You planned this whole night for me…” she whispered, nipping lightly at his skin, “…maybe I should thank you properly.”
Harry’s hands slid under her skirt now, fingers brushing dangerously close, making her gasp. His voice was gravel when he answered, “Merlin, Hermione… if you keep this up, there’s no way I’m stopping tonight.”
Her only reply was to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside, her eyes roaming hungrily over his bare chest before leaning in to kiss him again, deep and urgent. The room didn’t stop them, as if the wards recognized that at least one of them was an adult. She reached for his belt and her hands trembled slightly as she worked it loose, her eyes never leaving his. The sound of the leather sliding through the buckle was loud in the quiet room. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire, as she slowly unzipped his trousers, freeing him at last.
“Hermione,” he groaned, his breath hitching as her fingers brushed against his shaft. His hands weren’t idle and tangled in her hair. Her touch was electric, sending shivers down his spine. She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. “I want you, Harry. All of you.”
Harry’s response was a low growl as he pulled her up, his lips crashing down on hers. Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them intense and all-consuming. Hermione’s hands roamed over his chest, exploring every inch of his skin, her touch leaving trails of fire in its wake.
Harry’s hands found the hem of her skirt, unzipping it, exploring the soft skin of her thighs. His fingers brushed her core through the lace of her underwear, teasing and tantalizing. She ground against him, her hips moving in a rhythmic dance that drove him wild.
“Harry,” she moaned, her voice breathless and desperate. “Please, I need you.”
Harry’s response was to lift her, his hands gripping her ass as he carried her to her bed. He laid her down gently, his body covering hers as he kissed her deeply. Hermione’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, her body arching against his.

Movements soon became more urgent, more desperate. Clothes were shed, until they were bare. Harry’s fingers went to her slit, curling just the way she liked.
“Harry. Please.” He entered her with a single, powerful thrust, making them both gasp. Hermione’s nails dug into his back as he began to move, his hips thrusting against hers in a primal rhythm.
“You feel so good, Hermione,” Harry groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. “Still so tight and wet for me. I swear I’ll never tire of seeing you like this. You’re driving me crazy.”
Hermione’s response was a moan, her hips meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. “Harry, yes! Just like that.” He pushed more of his length inside. “You’re so deep inside me. I can feel every inch of you”, she gasped.
Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, the room filling with the sounds of skin against skin, their moans, a symphony of their desire. Hermione’s hips met his thrusts, her body moving in perfect sync with his.
“You’re so beautiful, Hermione,” Harry whispered, his voice filled with desire. “So perfect. I love every inch of you. All mine.” His hand possessively gripped her hips.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze with an intensity that made his heart race. “And I love you. You’re mine, Harry. All mine.”
Their climax built; waves of pleasure threatened to consume them both. Her body tensed first, her inner muscles clenching around him
“Just like that, Mi. Let it all go. Come for me, sweet girl” Harry murmured against the shell of her ear as she finally came. He soon followed as she cried out his name. His body shuddered with release as he collapsed on top of her, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. She pulled her wand to apply the contraceptive charm on her belly.
They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined, the world outside forgotten. He slipped out of her, catching his breath. Hermione’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Harry’s back, her touch gentle and soothing. Harry’s head rested on her chest, his ear pressed against her heartbeat, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Happy birthday, Hermione,” he whispered, his voice filled with love and contentment. She held him closer, her eyes closing as she drifted off to sleep, a small smile on her face, knowing that this night was just the beginning of many more to come.

They exchanged kisses that alternated between soft and needy. They explored each other’s bodies with a hunger that seemed insatiable. Hermione’s hands roamed over every inch of Harry’s skin, her touch both gentle and demanding. She traced the lines of his muscles, her fingers lingering on the scars that told stories of battles past. Harry’s breath hitched as she leaned down, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin.
Harry’s own hands were not idle, exploring the curves of Hermione’s body with a reverence that belied his urgency. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, making her gasp and to pinch them harder, which Harry complied. Hermione’s back arched, pressing herself more firmly into his touch. Harry leaned down, his mouth replacing his thumbs, his tongue circling and teasing until she was moaning his name.
Harry switched them off, with Hermione on top of him. Their bodies found each other again and moved together in a dance as old as time, their touches, kisses and thrusts building the fire between them. She descended on him, finding a rhythm that was slow at first and that grew more desperate.
“You’re so incredible, Hermione,” Harry whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “So strong, so passionate. I love you more than words can express.”
Hermione’s response was a moan, her body trembling with pleasure. “I love you too, Harry. Always and forever.”
As their climax approached, Hermione’s body tensed, her inner muscles clenching around him, drawing him deeper. They both cried out, their bodies shuddering with release.
“Happy birthday, Hermione,” he whispered again, his voice filled with love and contentment. Hermione’s only response was to hold him closer, her eyes closing as she drifted off to sleep, a small smile on her face.
*-*
On one Saturday morning, Hermione sat cross-legged on the rug of their common room, her new phone in her lap. The sky was a deep gray and there were heavy chances of rain forecasted. She had spoken to Dean and they had found some charms to use to make the device work, yet it didn’t. She tapped the screen for what felt like the hundredth time, muttering under her breath. “I know it should turn on, but the magic around here scrambles everything.”
Harry, lounging against the couch with his Charms essay ignored, tilted his head. “Have you tried casting something on it?”
“That’s the problem,” she sighed, tucking a curl behind her ear. “The wards around Hogwarts disrupt most Muggle devices. Dean says it took him ages to make his walkman work.” Her eyes lit up suddenly. She pulled her wand, murmured a string of complicated incantations Harry barely caught, and the screen blinked to life with a cheerful chime.
Hermione gasped. “It works!” She beamed, typing quickly, and a moment later, the phone buzzed in her hand. “Oh! Mum just texted me. She says happy birthday again. She also texted that they might come to Britain for the holidays if they can both take time off.”
Harry grinned at her excitement. “Brilliant, Mi. Now you can talk to them anytime.” He kissed her head softly and stood up to retrieve his broom from his room.
“You’re not going to fly in this weather, love?” She stood up and took a comfortable position on the couch, with her knitting needles and a blanket.
“Just for a bit, it’s not supposed to be raining until this afternoon. Don’t worry, your pretty little head,” he told her with that teasing lilt that made her want to roll her eyes and kiss him at the same time.
“With you, I always worry,” she muttered softly, just low enough that he nearly missed it. Her cheeks flushed as she looked away, the ache in her belly and the restless heat under her skin reminding her it was that time of the month — making her sharper with her words, yet oddly yearning for him too.
The following weeks blurred together in the familiar rhythm of Hogsmeade weekends, late-night patrols, and Harry’s Quidditch matches. Hermione found herself both exhausted and grateful for every small pocket of quiet they could steal. Headmistress McGonagall, after a long conversation with Harry, had finally relented and adjusted her tutoring schedule. Once a month instead of every two weeks — and Hermione nearly sagged with relief when she heard the decision.
It gave her breathing room, a chance to focus on her classes without drowning, but more importantly, time with Harry. Real time. The kind where they weren’t both running from responsibility to responsibility, but could simply be together.
And Merlin help her, it was exactly what she needed.
*-*
That Friday evening, Hermione finally slowed down. No tutoring, no essays, no patrols, just them in their common room. That week, they had hung out with their friends when they weren’t studying or having Quidditch practice. When she came down into the common room, Harry nearly forgot how to breathe.
She was wearing one of his old Quidditch jerseys. It was loose on her, hem brushing her bare thighs, the faded number 7 stretched across her back.
“That’s mine,” Harry blurted, already smiling.
Hermione smirked, curling onto his lap as though she’d belonged there all along. “It was lying in your trunk. Finder’s keepers.”
“Not when you look like that in it.” His voice was low, rough, his hands instinctively settling on her waist.
“It’s warm,” she murmured, pretending innocence, she took a whiff of the jersey. “It smells like you.”
“Then you’d better keep it.” He kissed the top of her head, though the way his thumb brushed the bare skin of her thigh betrayed just how distracted he was.
For a long moment they kissed slowly, lips parting, his hand slipping under the jersey to trace her hip. Hermione gasped, heat flooding her face and belly.
“Harry…”
“Just holding you,” he whispered, though his fingers grazed higher than ‘holding’ really allowed. His voice was strained, the promise in his tone thin as paper.
She caught his gaze, mischief sparking. “You’re not very convincing.”
He laughed softly and then, instead of taking it further, he reached for the leather-bound diary on the table. “Let’s do what we promised. Together.”
Her teasing melted into something softer. She nodded, letting him hand her the book. “Your mum’s handwriting is so beautiful,” she whispered, brushing her thumb across the ink.
She began to read aloud, voice quiet, reverent. Lily’s words filled the firelit room with warmth that was bigger than both of them.
But Hermione couldn’t help herself. Every time Harry’s hand wandered back beneath the jersey, she faltered, breath catching, cheeks pinking.
“Focus,” he teased in her ear.
“Then stop distracting me,” she whispered back, though her own hand curled in his shirt, pulling him closer.
Harry chuckled, kissing her shoulder where the jersey had slipped down. “I like distracting you.” She playfully swatted his arm away.
Hermione’s voice was steady, but Harry could feel the emotion trembling beneath each word as she read aloud. He sat with his chin hooked on her shoulder, eyes fixed on the neat loops of his mother’s handwriting.
“‘James is being insufferable again. He knows I’m trying to study, but he keeps charming daisies to follow me around the library. I’ll never admit it out loud, but… it’s not entirely unwelcome.’”
Hermione smiled faintly. “She sounds a bit like you.”
Harry didn’t laugh. His chest tightened. “I never got to hear her voice. Never heard her laugh, or how she teased my dad. This…” He reached out, brushing his fingers across the ink. “This is the only way I get to know them.”
Hermione set the book down carefully, turning to him. His eyes were bright in the firelight, glassy with emotion he rarely let anyone see. She cupped his cheek. “Then we’ll read every page together. Slowly. As many times as you want.”
He kissed her then, sudden and desperate, tasting of longing and gratitude all at once. His hands clutched her as though afraid she might vanish too, like the voices he’d never known.
Her jersey slipped down her shoulder, and for a heartbeat Harry nearly gave in to the fire running hot through his veins. But instead, he pressed his forehead to hers, whispering, “Thank you, Mi. For giving her back to me. Even if it’s only this way.”
Hermione’s eyes stung, though she smiled. “Always.”
They curled together on the couch, diary balanced on their knees. And though the heat between them never fully faded, her thighs brushing his, his hands sneaking beneath fabric just to feel her skin. It was wrapped inside something bigger, heavier, unshakably theirs.
When the fire burned low, Hermione closed the diary with a soft snap. Harry didn’t let go of her. “Let’s stay like this,” he murmured.
And for once, Hermione didn’t argue.

Notes:

A fluffy chapter about the holidays is coming your way tomorrow (probably).

Chapter 16: Halloween and some holiday fluff

Summary:

Halloween arrives with the return of nightmares for Harry and promises and the couple celebrate the holidays together for the first time.

Notes:

I promised some holiday fluff, which we will get in this chapter, but we will also get some dark moments for Harry with Halloween approaching. I’ll be doing some time jumps; otherwise this fanfic will be beyond the number of chapters I had imagined.

The rest of September passed quietly. Then, October came with its gray skies and a heaviness that Harry could not shake. Each morning seemed to arrive sooner as sleep eluded him, the air suddenly colder and sharper. Life in the castle went on with its rhythm of classes with Quidditch practice, matches and prefect rounds to supervise. No amount of tea or of coffee seemed to help him, as he felt as though he were a ghost or someone walking with a shadow pressed tight to his back.

The nightmares returned at once familiar and cruel. Sometimes it was his mother’s scream, other times it was Cedric’s blank eyes, or Sirius slipping beyond the veil. The worst one, the one that left him waking drenched in sweat and gasping, was not about his parents at all: It was Hermione, on the marble floor of Malfoy Manor, her cries echoing as Bellatrix’s laughter split the air. He saw her getting cursed over and over again, unable to help her. He would reach for her, always too late, always powerless. 

Hermione never mentioned it, but she knew. She felt his magic seek hers, when he jolted awake in the night. One night, she joined him in his bed, hoping her presence would help him sleep better. It was the opposite: his breath hitched against her shoulder, tears were streaming down his face and he was thrashing in his bed. 

“Hermione!”, he screamed himself hoarse. She only held him tighter until the trembling eased. Once, in the quiet between nightmares, Harry whispered, “I can still hear you.” He sat up in his bed and she did the same, soothing his hair. Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness there, and she answered softly, “I’m here. I’m right here, Harry.”

During their classes, Harry would do the minimum, as if the toll of nightmares and insomnia took away everything. Hermione stayed behind one Transfiguration class to talk with Headministress McGonagall. 

“Headministress, I was hoping to have a word about Harry with you,” she began, her voice trembling.

McGonagall set down her quill at once, her sharp gaze softening. “Go on, Miss Granger.”

Hermione twisted her hands together. “He’s not himself lately. The nightmares are back, worse than before. He barely eats and when he gets sleep, it’s fractured at best and during lessons he…” Her throat tightened, fighting hard not to cry and she pushed the words out. “It’s like he’s here, but he isn’t. I don’t know how to help him.”

McGonagall’s expression wavered with something Hermione rarely saw: sorrow. “Halloween is never easy for him,” she said quietly. “You must understand, this time of year carries a… particular weight. Both for what was taken from him and for what he has endured since.”

“I know,” Hermione whispered. She swallowed, forcing herself to meet her Headmistress’s eyes. “But it’s more than that. He dreams of the war, of me, of Malfoy Manor.” She paused, remembering the Cruciatus curse that etched in her bones. “I can still hear it too, sometimes. When I am awake, he’s already awake. He stares into space and he isolates himself. He hasn’t stopped blaming himself for any of it.”

For a long moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then McGonagall rose and placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, the weight of it both grounding and gentle. “You are doing more than you realize simply by being at his side. Still… perhaps I might offer him and the other students affected by the war some reprieve. A Mind Healer perhaps. For him, I think we could change his duties with fewer patrols. If he is to heal, he must be given the space for it.”

Hermione nodded, relief and worry colliding in her chest. “Thank you, Professor, er. Headministress.”

As she left the office, her steps echoed in the corridor, the enormity of it pressing on her. She knew Harry would resist help, as he always did, but she was determined. If she had to stand between him and the darkness itself, she would.

The next morning at breakfast, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter, owls swooping overhead with letters and parcels. Hermione sat close to Harry, trying to coax him into eating something more substantial than toast. His eyes were shadowed, his movements sluggish, but before she could press further, the Headmistress rose at the staff table.

McGonagall’s voice cut cleanly across the room, firm yet measured. “I have an announcement to make. In recognition of the difficulties many of you have faced during the war, and with the knowledge that such trials do not end simply because the battles are over, Hogwarts will be hosting a Mind Healer here at the castle.”

The room stilled. A few whispers rippled through the student body, some surprised, others relieved. McGonagall continued, her eyes sweeping across the Hall. “Madam Eloise Greengrass, certified in the care of minds and magical trauma, will be available twice weekly for those who wish to speak with her. I urge you all, students and staff alike, to understand that healing is not a weakness. Seeking guidance in the aftermath of darkness is as necessary as mending a broken bone.”

Harry’s fork clattered against his plate. He kept his eyes fixed on the table, shoulders tense. Hermione’s hand found his under the bench, her thumb brushing across his knuckles.

Beside them, Neville leaned forward. “That’s… actually a good idea,” he said softly. “I reckon I might go.” His voice was casual, but his jaw was tight, eyes far away.

Hermione gave him a small, grateful nod. She looked at Harry, who still hadn’t moved. She could feel the storm gathering in him, the resistance, the shame, the old instinct to carry his burdens alone. As the hall erupted in murmurs again, she tightened her hold on his hand, silently promising she wouldn’t let him sink without her.

They made their way out of the Great Hall, Hermione tugged Harry aside before the staircases.

“Harry,” she said carefully, “it might help, talking to someone.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t need that.”

“Harry, please.”

“I said I don’t.” His words were clipped, final. Without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, shoulders hunched, leaving Hermione staring after him.

He spent the rest of the day brooding, withdrawing further into himself. She let him have the distance, but her worry only deepened.

That night, in the quiet of their dorm room, the nightmares came back worse than before. Hermione woke to him thrashing, his voice hoarse with her name. She pulled him upright, wrapping her arms around him until he stilled, breath ragged against her neck. When he finally lifted his head, she spoke, soft but firm.

“It’s me,” she whispered. “It’s just me.”

His breathing slowed, though the tremors still shook him. “I can’t—” he started, then broke off, burying his face in her shoulder. “I can’t keep seeing it.”

Hermione held him, smoothing his hair back. When his trembling eased a little, she leaned back enough to look at him properly. “Harry, you don’t have to keep doing this alone. Let the Healer help you.”

He stiffened at once. “I don’t need—”

“Harry, this isn’t something you can carry alone anymore. Please… let the Healer help.” Her voice was steady, though her hands still shook. “You can’t pretend this isn’t breaking you.”

For a long moment he stared at her, frustration and fear written in every line of his face. “I don’t want someone digging in my head,” he muttered. “I don’t want pity.”

“It isn’t pity, love” Hermione whispered. Her thumb brushed across his cheek, catching the salt of his tears. “You don’t have to carry it alone”. She tilted his chin to meet his tired eyes “You’ve got me and I’ve got you. You told me that, remember? When I was running myself into the ground in the library, when I wouldn’t stop working.”

His breath caught, memory flickering across his face. He closed his eyes, shoulders sagging.

“I only said that because I care about you,” he murmured.

“And I’m saying this because I care about you,” Hermione answered gently. “Please, Harry. Don’t shut me out. Don’t shut yourself away.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy but no longer hopeless. Slowly, Harry nodded, the fight draining from him. He rested his forehead against hers, whispering, “I’ll try.”Hermione, relief flooding her, only held him closer.

The days leading up to Halloween weighed on Harry like lead. Every corner of the castle was filled with grinning pumpkins and floating candles, laughter bubbling through the corridors as if nothing dark had ever touched them.  Memory was merciless. Every jack-o’-lantern grin reminded him of another October night, of a house blown open by green light. Inside, he felt stretched thin, brittle, his nights broken by the same scream echoing over and over in his dreams.

Hermione didn’t press him after their talk, but her worry was palpable. It followed him everywhere, her hand brushing against his, her gaze searching his face when he looked away too quickly. Her words kept circling back in his head: You’ve got me and I’ve got you.

Two days before Halloween, Harry found himself outside the small study that had been given to Madam Greengrass, the Mind Healer. For a long moment, he stood outside the door, palms sweaty, heart hammering. He thought about turning back, about disappearing into Quidditch practice or hiding in the library until the feeling passed.

Then Hermione’s voice came back to him, soft but certain: Harry, this isn’t something you can carry alone anymore. Please… let the Healer help.

He raised his hand and knocked.

The door opened with a quiet creak, revealing a tall witch with kind eyes, her silver-streaked hair tied back neatly. She smiled as though she had been expecting him. “Mr. Potter,” she said warmly. “I’m glad you came.”

Harry swallowed, shifting awkwardly in the doorway. “I don’t know how much I’ll… have to say,” he admitted, voice rough.

“That’s all right,” Madam Greengrass replied, stepping aside to let him in. “Sometimes, the hardest part is just walking through the door.”

For the first time in weeks, Harry felt the faintest flicker of something breaking through the fog, relief, maybe, or the beginning of it. He stepped inside. He sat down on the chair in front of her. His hands clasped in his lap.
“Everything you will say here, will be confidential, Harry. Unless I fear for your safety or the ones around you, it will remain here.” She stared at the wizard before her, who nodded. “This space is safe. Healing isn't about returning to who you were before, but rather about becoming a new, stronger, and more resilient version of yourself by embracing your experiences, even the painful ones, with self-compassion.” She told him, taking her quill and notepad of parchment.  

Harry blinked and sighed. “I keep having nightmares and I can’t help it.”

Madam Greengrass gave a small nod, quill poised but not moving yet. “Nightmares are the mind’s way of trying to process what the heart hasn’t found words for. They’re not a sign of weakness, Harry. They’re echoes.”

His throat tightened. “It’s always the same ones, my mum, Cedric, Sirius…but the worst is Hermione.” His voice broke, and he stared down at his hands. “Bellatrix. The Manor. I see her screaming, over and over. And I can’t stop it. I can’t save her.”

The Healer’s voice was calm, steady as stone. “You’re describing a survivor's guilt. It’s common among those who’ve lived through war. You’ve carried so much of the weight of protecting everyone on your shoulders, that it feels like failure if you can't stop every wound, every loss.”

Harry flinched at that, but didn’t argue. His nails dug into his palms. “I was supposed to stop it. If I had been faster, if I’d fought harder”

“You were a prisoner too,” Madam Greengrass said gently. “You were a boy facing impossible odds, and still, you survived. So did she.” 

Silence stretched between them. Harry’s eyes burned, but he didn’t look up. Slowly, Madam Greengrass picked up her quill. “Harry, the first step is not pushing these memories away, but learning how to face them without letting them own you. We’ll work on that together, if you’re willing.”

They had a full hour together and with her reassurance and patience with him, Harry found himself more at ease. For the first time, Harry dared to glance up and he shallowed. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You only have to try.” 

Harry let out a long breath, something loosening inside his chest. “All right,” he murmured. “I’ll try.”

The night of the feast, he forced himself through it, he ate a little, he spoke and he laughed when Hermione nudged him, though he smiled when Ginny teased. As he looked up at the enchanted ceiling and saw the cold sweep of stars, he thought only of the ones who should have been there and weren’t.

Later, when they were alone, he didn’t pretend. Hermione gathered him close as he shook, as the ghosts clawed at him. She whispered through his silence, a steady rhythm of words and breath. When he finally slept again, it was with her hand still tangled in his, holding him to the living.

*-*

Harry continued his sessions with the Mind Healer every time she came to the castle. He brooded less and had less nightmares. One evening while on patrols, Hermione looked outside the window.
“It’s so peaceful outside.” She whispered, as he got closer to her.
“It is. It’s even more peaceful on a broom.” He whispered back. She laughed.
“Is this your way to get me on your broom, Harry?” She teased him. He laughed softly. “Maybe, but I am sure that I could show you some different parts of Hogwarts you haven’t seen yet.”
“We would get caught, Harry.” She bit her lip.
“We’re Heads and the only ones patrolling right now… Filch isn’t patrolling tonight.”
Hermione nodded and he pulled the Marauder’s Map to finish their patrol faster: No students were out, except them. Since they were close to their dorms, he Accio’d his broom and he took her hand in his. They went down the stairs to the doors and outside the courtyard.
Harry tugged her closer, keeping his voice low. “I did notice something near the Forbidden Forest last time.”

Hermione’s brows knitted in curiosity. “Something… or someone?”

Before he could answer, a familiar form padded out of the shadows of the trees: Crookshanks, tail high, eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Hermione laughed softly. “Crookshanks! What are you doing out here?”

The cat meandered between them, brushing against Harry’s legs as if guiding them somewhere. Harry’s lips curved into a small smile. “Looks like he’s showing us a secret path. Maybe he’s tired of the forest.”

Hermione shook her head, laughter still in her voice. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned, catching her hand again. “Maybe. Come, I promised you parts of Hogwarts you haven’t seen.”

With that, he swung onto his broom, Hermione hesitating for only a heartbeat before he steadied it for her. Crookshanks stayed behind, laying down on the grass, while they rose into the crisp night air. Below, the castle stretched silently, its windows glowing warmly. Above, the stars shimmered like frost across black velvet.

For the first time in weeks, Harry felt lighter, the nightmares and brooding temporarily pushed aside by the wind on his face. Hermione held him tightly, the scent of her hair, calming him. They came back to the castle after flying for fifteen minutes. They both slept. 

*-* 

The month of December arrived softly with its promise of warm meals, calmness and time away from the castle. Hogwarts held a joint Yule Ball with the Ministry and the pair were summoned by Kingsley to attend.

“I don’t understand why you make a fuss of going, Harry.” Hermione said as she came out of the shower with a towel in her hair and wrapped around her body. She had brought a beautiful dress while at Hogsmeade one weekend at the same boutique she went to for the last ball, but refused to show Harry to keep the surprise. He sighed and resigned himself. “I know it’s one of the events I promised, Kings, but do we have to dance?” He asked her, as he put on his tie. 

Hermione wrapped the towel tighter around her shoulders and gave him a pointed look. “Harry, you agreed . Kingsley expects us to be there.”
He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. “I know, I know… it’s just, I’m hopeless at dancing.”

She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Hopeless or not, you’ll survive. I’ll be there to make sure you don’t step on anyone’s toes.”

Harry chuckled despite himself. “That’s reassuring. Truly.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, voice softening. “Besides… I wanted to see you in a tie.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that all it takes?”

“Maybe,” she teased, and a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “Or maybe I just want you to look… nice for me.”

He shook his head, grinning despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach. “Fine, fine. Don’t be too harsh on me if I embarrass myself.”

Hermione laughed, tugging the towel from her hair to shake loose the damp strands. “I’ll be gentle. Mostly.” She went to her room to get ready, as Harry sat down on the couch of their dorms. She chose the Gryffindor ensemble she had shown him to put underneath the dress. The fabric was a dark burgundy fabric that clung to her curves in all the right places and shimmered in the light. 

As he finished adjusting his black tie one last time and peeked at Hermione, trying to sneak a glance without her noticing. He felt a flicker of anticipation he hadn’t felt in weeks. The castle would be alive with music, laughter, and magic, but for Harry, the best part was knowing Hermione would be there beside him, making it all feel… lighter.

She emerged from her bedroom and took his breath away. Her hair was swept into a loose updo, a few tendrils softening her face and she wore a delicate silver necklace that glinted like starlight. The bracelet he had given her was around her wrist. Harry blinked. “Merlin,” he muttered, his voice low. “You… wow.”

Hermione laughed softly, a blush rising to her cheeks. “You don’t have to say anything, just” she gestured for him to follow her to the door, “Try not to trip over your own feet.”

He grinned sheepishly, trying to compose himself. “Right. Yes. Of course. I’ll be… fine.”

As they walked down to the Great Hall, they saw that the elves and the staff of Hogwarts had outdone themselves to decorate it. Harry couldn’t help but steal another glance. Hermione’s gown shimmered under the enchanted chandeliers. Every nervous thought he’d had about dancing or socializing melted away in that moment, replaced by the simple truth: he was exactly where he wanted to be.

They danced with each other throughout most of the night. Since their couple was officialized in the Prophet, the attention towards Hermione changed into jealousy from witches and wizards who hoped to be with one half of the Golden Trio.
“I can’t feel my feet, love.” She told Harry who laughed. “Let’s sit and have something to drink.”
He walked them up to a table where a few of their friends sat. He got two punch coupes for them and sniffed them for good measure. Oh Seamus , he thought.
“Don’t drink it too fast, I think Seamus added a whole bottle of Firewhisky to it.” He murmured in her ear as she took a large gulp of the coupe.
“Merlin.” She coughed as the liquid made its way to her throat and burned a bit. “Should we tell someone?” She asked.
He looked around the staff, Ministry officials and students: Most of them were merry and didn’t seem to be too intoxicated. 

Harry smirked as Hermione coughed again, more lightly, waving her hand in front of her face. “I think it’s safe to say that you definitely felt that one.”
She shot him a mock glare, lips twitching. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” He nodded and grinned “But it’s Christmas, what’s a little Firewhisky between friends?”

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed, the warmth of it making Harry’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in months. “I think I’m going to need another glass of water,” she muttered, waving at a passing elf.

He handed her his arm and leaned closer, voice low and teasing. “Or… we could dance it off.”

“Harry!” she whispered sharply, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. “I can’t move my feet. We just sat down.”

“Right, right.” He leaned back, scanning the room. Their friends were chatting, laughing, and occasionally throwing glances at the couple who now drew more attention than any other. They weren’t jealous, or if they were, they were gracious about it.

Hermione leaned against him, still nursing the heat of the Firewhisky. “You know, you always seem to find mischief wherever we go.”

“And you always seem to make it fun,” he replied softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

They sat together, enjoying the music, the glow of enchanted lights, and the comfort of being with each other. Even amidst the jealous glances and whispered murmurs, Harry felt something he hadn’t in a long time: lightness. For tonight, the darkness and the weight of the past were far away, and all that mattered was Hermione’s laugh and the warmth of her hand in his.

By the time they finished their second coupes, the warmth of the Firewhisky had seeped through them. Harry felt lighter, his usual self-consciousness dulled, and Hermione’s laughter seemed brighter, freer.

“You know,” Harry whispered, leaning close so only she could hear, “I think you’re even more dangerous when you’re tipsy.”

Hermione smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because you smile like that,” he said, letting his hand brush hers across the table, “and suddenly, I can’t think straight. You make me forget how to behave.” She laughed, leaning a little closer, her voice low. “That sounds like your problem, not mine.”

Harry grinned, feeling the warmth of her proximity and the Firewhisky, erasing his usual reserve. “Maybe, but it’s a very serious problem. You’re… dangerous.”

“Dangerous, am I?” she teased, nudging him gently with her shoulder. “I thought you liked a little danger.”

He caught her hand in both of his eyes glinting mischievously. “I do. Especially when it comes with you.”

For the rest of the song, they let their usual caution slip. Hands lingered, laughs came more easily, and glances held longer than usual. Even in the midst of the glittering ballroom, Harry felt as though the rest of the world had faded, leaving only Hermione and the daring, warm thrill of the moment between them.

As the music swelled and the crowd shifted to a faster song, Harry noticed a shadowed alcove near one of the tall windows. “Come on,” he murmured, taking Hermione’s hand. “Let’s get some air.”

She raised an eyebrow, but the playful warmth in her gaze gave him permission. They slipped quietly away from the dance floor, the glow of enchanted chandeliers softening as they stepped into the alcove. Outside, the castle grounds were bathed in silvery moonlight, the wind rustling the bare branches and carrying the faint scent of pine from the distant forest.

Hermione leaned against the stone wall, eyes sparkling despite the faint flush on her cheeks. “Much better,” she whispered. “No one staring, no music pounding in our ears.”

Harry let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Exactly. Just you… and me… and a little mischief.”

She smiled, tilting her head toward him. “Mischief? Didn't we promise McGonagall that we'd stay away from it this year?”

He grinned, leaning closer until their foreheads touched. “The best kind,” he murmured. The warmth between them grew, emboldened by the Firewhisky and the thrill of being alone together. Hermione’s hands found his, their fingers intertwining naturally. “I like this,” she breathed. “Being away from everything, just… us.”

“Me too,” Harry admitted, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t know why we wait so long to find quiet corners.”

She laughed softly, the sound like music itself. “Because sometimes, you need a bit of nudging to get here.”

He tilted his head, brushing his lips against hers in a gentle, teasing kiss. Hermione responded, leaning in, the moment stretching, intimate and warm. Their tongues found each other, mingling their tastes. His hands held her waist on the wall and hers were around his neck. Outside, the night was cold and still, but inside that alcove, the rest of the world melted away, leaving only the quiet pulse of their connection.

*-* 

The holidays began in the softest way, with Grimmauld Place transformed into something almost unrecognizable. Andromeda had insisted on decorating, and even Kreacher had grudgingly gone along with charmed garlands and sparkling wreaths that twinkled like stars. The scent of mulled cider and freshly baked pastries drifted through the house, mingling with the faint tang of polish that Kreacher had insisted on maintaining.

On the 23rd, Hermione’s parents arrived unexpectedly, with warm smiles and a flurry of hugs. Hermione’s eyes lit up as she pulled them close, and Harry felt a soft swell of happiness watching her family together. Hermione’s parents joined in the cooking and decorating, sharing jokes and playful nudges with Harry. 

Her mother teased “Make sure you save her some pudding, Harry, or there will be consequences,” while her father added, “And don’t let her carry all the ornaments by herself, she’ll have you organize them next!” Harry couldn’t help but grin at the good-natured ribbing, feeling welcomed into her family in a way that was both comforting and amusing. 

Christmas Eve passed in laughter and warmth, with Teddy bouncing gleefully on Hermione’s knee before finally curling up to sleep by the fire, cheeks flushed and tiny arms tucked under his chin. The pair exchanged gifts privately: Hermione had enchanted a photo album of pictures of them that she found. “I’ll add more as time goes on,” she told him as he tearfully held the album and kissed her softly.

Harry handed her a small, neatly wrapped package. Inside was a beautifully bound notebook, its cover enchanted to shimmer softly with protective charms, and inside each page contained a series of small, hand-drawn maps and notes: places in the wizarding world they had visited together, little reminders of adventures, and blank spaces for the ones still to come. 

Tucked into the last page was a folded piece of parchment: a heartfelt note from Harry. Hermione’s eyes softened as she ran her fingers over the notebook. “Harry…” she whispered, touched. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I wanted you to have something to capture all our memories… and all the ones we haven’t made yet.”

Christmas Day found them at the Burrow, chaos in full swing. Molly’s feast overflowed with magic and comfort alike; platters of roast, mountains of pudding, and steaming bowls of vegetables made the air smell rich and homely. George’s enchanted snowballs zipped through the yard, bouncing off walls and ducking under arms, while Arthur fussed over Hermione’s phone with the same fascination he had once shown over plugs. Hermione’s parents laughed alongside the Weasleys, helping Teddy dodge flying snowballs and marveling at George’s enchantments. 

Mr. Granger clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Keeping up with all of this magic, Harry?” he asked with mock concern. Hermione giggled at Harry’s flustered response, and Mrs. Granger added softly, “He’s doing very well, really. You should be proud of him, Hermione.”

By Boxing Day, their circle of friends had gathered back at Grimmauld Place. Ginny, Neville, Luna, even Draco and Theo had turned up. He was carrying a bottle of Firewhisky and wearing a half-smirk that suggested he still wasn’t entirely sure why he had agreed to come. Hermione’s parents had stayed on, helping to distribute blankets, cocoa, and warm encouragement as the group made themselves at home. Blankets and cushions were strewn across the floor, mugs of hot cocoa steaming in eager hands, while Hermione insisted on showing a Muggle Christmas film.

As the little screen flickered to life with It’s a Wonderful Life , the room fell into quiet awe. Ginny’s endless questions about why no one used magic drew chuckles; Neville quietly wept at the emotional turns of the story; and Harry found he couldn’t tear his eyes from Hermione. She was curled against him under a blanket, laughter soft and easy, fingers warm and entwined with his, her head tucked against his shoulder. Hermione’s parents smiled quietly, watching their daughter in this warm, happy chaos, her father nudging Harry playfully, “See, I told you he’d be perfect for her,” while her mother added with a teasing grin, “Don’t let him fool you, he’s actually very good at keeping up.” Harry laughed, cheeks warm, feeling fully embraced by Hermione’s family.

The room was simple, messy, and perfect. For the first time in years, the holidays felt whole, alive with love, warmth, and the people who mattered most.

Later that night, after the last of their friends had departed and the crackling fire was the only sound, Harry and Hermione stayed behind. The blankets remained wrapped around them, mugs of cocoa cooling on the low table. Outside, snow fell softly, frosting the windows in delicate patterns.

Hermione leaned back against Harry, head resting on his shoulder. “It feels… peaceful,” she murmured, her voice almost lost in the soft pop of the fire.

Harry pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. “It does. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this—just being here, like this, with you.”

She lifted her face, brushing a hand against his cheek. “I think we both have.” Her eyes glimmered in the firelight, and Harry felt that familiar tug at his chest, the kind born from relief, love, and the comfort of knowing someone understood him completely.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around her, holding her close. “It doesn’t have to,” she replied softly, leaning into him. “Not ever, as long as we’re together.”

For a long while, they simply stayed there, the warmth of the fire mirrored by the warmth between them. Words were unnecessary. It was enough to hold each other, to let the past dissolve for a little while, and to know that, for the first time in years, the holidays were theirs,whole, safe, and shared. Eventually, Hermione’s fingers entwined with his, and Harry felt the tension of months of fear and sleepless nights finally ease. Outside, the snow continued to fall silently, a quiet promise that even after darkness, there could be peace.

New Year’s Eve found Harry and Hermione at Longbottom Manor, welcomed by the familiar warmth of the house and the glow of countless enchanted lanterns strung across the ceilings. The air was rich with the smell of roasting chestnuts and freshly baked pastries, mingling with the faint scent of Neville’s herb garden that had somehow made its way indoors. Teddy toddled happily between legs, squealing at enchanted snowflakes that hovered just above the polished floors, while Ginny and Luna tried to teach him a few simple spells. Hermione’s parents were there too, joining in the fun, laughing at Teddy’s antics and continuing to tease Harry warmly whenever they could.

At one point, Hermione’s father, ever observant, watched Harry as he offered Hermione a blanket with a careful, protective smile. 

His eyes twinkled knowingly, and he murmured softly to Mrs. Granger, “I’d bet he’ll be asking for her hand before long.” 

Mrs. Granger chuckled, giving him a subtle nudge. “Don’t scare him off before he gets the nerve,” she whispered back, and Harry, oblivious, fumbled to help Teddy dodge another enchanted snowflake.

The grown-ups, Arthur, Molly, Andromeda, and even Draco, who had somehow relaxed into the festive chaos, were laughing, swapping stories, and teasing each other over board games and enchanted fireworks that popped softly in the corners of the room. 

Harry caught Hermione’s hand across a blanket fort they had hastily constructed to keep Teddy entertained. “I think this might be my favorite New Year yet,” he murmured, smiling as she leaned against him. Hermione’s mother leaned over playfully, whispering, “He seems awfully devoted, doesn’t he?” Hermione blushed, and Mr. Granger gave Harry a gentle, fatherly smile, the kind that felt like quiet encouragement.

As midnight approached, everyone gathered in the garden. The sky was clear, the stars bright, and with a wave of Hermione’s wand, the first of the fireworks burst into shimmering patterns overhead. Laughter rang out as they counted down, Harry holding Hermione close as the clock struck twelve. “Happy New Year,” he whispered in her ear. She smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “Happy New Year,” she echoed, and for the first time in a long while, the future felt like something they could step into together, full of possibility, warmth, and love.

Even amidst the laughter, teasing, and sparkling fireworks, Harry felt the quiet approval of Hermione’s parents like a gentle anchor at his side, a promise that the family he loved was fully behind him, and that whatever came next, he and Hermione would face it together.

Chapter 17: Valentine’s Day and career decisions.

Summary:

Harry and Hermione have their first Valentine’s Day together. Harry makes a career decision.

Notes:

I’m back! I have to admit my mind wasn’t firing chapters as much. On a personal note, I've been on sick leave (again) since last week. I hope I’ll be able to update with two new chapters. Also we are nearing the end of this fanfic. I hope you enjoyed reading it.

As the two Heads boarded the Hogwarts Express, the truth hit them square in the face: this was their last term before the NEWTs.

Hermione clutched her trunk a little too tightly, biting her bottom lip as she left it in their designated compartment. Harry followed with his own, setting it down before dropping into the seat beside her.

“I can hear your mind whirring, and your eyes are miles away, love,” he murmured, nudging her shoulder gently.

She exhaled, her breathing was shorter. “It’s silly, but I just realized, we’re five months away from exams and graduation. It feels like yesterday I was on the train looking for Trevor.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. “Don’t remind me. I still haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life.”

Leaning in, Hermione pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “That only means we’ve got a lot of revising to do, darling.”

Harry groaned again, but this time with a crooked grin. “Think we can work in some broom closet reconnaissance between study sessions?”

She smacked his arm, laughing despite herself. “Prat.”

The door to the compartment slid open just then. Ginny strode in, dragging her trunk with Neville close behind, plants in his arms that looked far too fragile for train travel.

“Honestly, Neville, are you moving the whole greenhouse with you?” Ginny teased as she heaved her trunk into the rack.

“They need care!” Neville protested. “Some of them are rarer than dragon hide. I couldn’t leave them in the greenhouses for the whole break.”

Hermione smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, Nev. We’ll make space for them.” 

A moment later, Luna drifted in, humming to herself with a copy of The Quibbler tucked under her arm. She settled across from Ginny, her dreamy gaze sweeping over everyone. “It feels like the train is vibrating with endings. Or beginnings. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Some of us should be careful with Nargles,” she said serenely. The group laughed softly. 

Then Draco and Theo appeared in the doorway, dragging their trunks.

“Don’t mind us,” Theo said dryly as they entered. “Half the compartments are full of squealing fifth-years, and I’d rather hex myself than sit through their giggling about their holidays or Valentine’s Day.”

Draco smirked as he shoved his trunk into the rack with surprising ease. “Besides, we couldn’t possibly leave you all unsupervised. Imagine the trouble Potter would get into without us.”

“Because you’re such paragons of restraint?” Ginny shot back, arching a brow.

Theo gave a theatrical shrug. “Someone has to maintain the standards of mischief at Hogwarts, dear.”

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin as everyone settled in. The air filled with the sound of trunks being shoved into racks, Neville fussing over his plants as Luna read aloud snippets of The Quibbler about invisible creatures living in train wheels. Harry felt the tightness in his chest ease. This was it: their last term. Whatever came after, at least they would face it together with their unlikely group of friends. 

Draco paired up with Harry to do a sweep of the train before it arrived at the station, while Neville went with Theo to check the other end.

“Any plans for the grand proposal, Potter?” Draco drawled, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as they passed compartments filled with chattering students.

Harry shot him a warning look. “Can you be a little louder? Maybe broadcast it with Sonorus while you’re at it?” he muttered, as they sidestepped a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff trying to squeeze back into their seats.

Draco snorted. “Relax, I’m only asking. Everyone knows you’re besotted. It’s practically painful to watch.”

“Funny,” Harry said flatly, checking a latch on one of the doors. “Because I don’t remember signing up for your running commentary on my love life.”

“Ah, but where would you be without it?” Draco shot back, smug. Then, softer, more genuine: “For what it’s worth… she’ll say yes. You two are disgustingly perfect for each other.”

Harry blinked at him, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Coming from you, that almost sounds like a blessing.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Draco said quickly, straightening his robes. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.” He glanced at Harry with a sly smile. “We should have another Lad’s Night at some point.”

Harry raised a brow. “Are you offering Malfoy Manor to us?”

“Absolutely not,” Draco deadpanned, shaking his head. “I’m sure we can find a suitable venue to host all of us.”

They arrived at Hogsmeade Station, greeted by Hagrid’s booming voice and infectious cheer. Together, the group hauled their trunks up to the castle, laughter and chatter bouncing between them.

“We should have a girls’ night, Mia, in your dorm before the end of term!” Ginny said brightly as they climbed the stairs.

Hermione sighed, though her lips curved in a small smile. “Sure. Maybe this weekend or next.” Ginny smiled widely and they parted ways. 

Once inside the Head dorms, the two Gryffindors unpacked. Harry lingered, finally stepping into her room as she sorted through her trunk.

“Draco asked me about that too,” Harry said casually.

“Uh?” Hermione looked up, distracted, then flushed as she realized she hadn’t been listening. “Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said. Mum slipped some gifts into my trunk without telling me.”

Harry crossed the room and rested a hand on her shoulder before peering into the trunk with her. Inside was a neatly folded hand-knitted scarf and socks, a tin of Muggle tea with a packet of biscuits, and a small stack of notebooks with sleek pens tucked alongside. Nestled between them were two new toothbrushes and a roll of dental floss.

Harry chuckled, picking one up. “I’m guessing one of these is for me.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “She must have thought. Oh, honestly, Mum.”

But Harry only smiled, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “I think it’s sweet. She’s looking out for both of us.” Hermione laughed before raising her wand to put her belongings in their respective places. 

They walked hand in hand to the Great Hall to have dinner with their House mates. Harry and Hermione lingered, as was often the case now that they were Heads, waiting to ensure the younger years didn’t stray or cause trouble. Professor McGonagall’s sharp gaze found them across the hall and motioned for them to approach.

“Potter, Granger, a moment if you please,” she said briskly, though there was something gentler than usual beneath her tone. She led them into the side chamber off the Hall, where portraits of former headmasters dozed against the walls.

“I imagine it’s occurred to both of you that this will be a rather decisive term,” McGonagall began, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “Your NEWTs will determine much, and so will the choices you make this term.”

Hermione straightened, ever prepared. “Yes, Professor. I’ve already applied for-”

“I would expect no less of you, Miss Granger,” McGonagall interrupted, a faint smile softening her severe features. She turned to Harry. “And you, Potter, have you come to any decision since our discussion?”

Harry shifted, feeling Hermione’s curious eyes on him. “Not entirely, Professor. I… I’ve thought about the Aurors and I think I’ve had enough fighting for a lifetime. Teaching has been on my mind lately.”

McGonagall tilted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. “It may surprise you, Potter, but I think you would make a fine teacher. You’ve always had a knack for rallying others. Though, if I may be frank, you needn’t decide this instant. The path is yours to choose, not one others expect of you.”

Hermione’s hand slipped into his under the table, a silent squeeze of support.

McGonagall’s eyes softened just a touch at the gesture before she addressed them both again. “Whatever comes, Hogwarts will always be proud of you.”

After McGonagall had spoken about their futures, she adjusted her spectacles and gave them both one of her piercing looks.

“One last matter before I let you go. You’ll be aware, I’m sure, that Valentine’s Day tends to bring… disruptions to the castle. Peeves finds it positively irresistible. Certain students believe themselves immune to rules when roses are involved.”

Hermione sat straighter immediately. “We’ll draft an extra patrol schedule.”

McGonagall’s mouth twitched, as though she were suppressing a smile. “Indeed. You’ll both take the lead that evening. Consider it a test of your ability to balance authority with… tact. Some of these couples will not thank you for interrupting their attempts at romance.”

Harry choked on a laugh. “You’re asking us to stop kids from snogging in broom closets?”

“That would be an accurate summary, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said dryly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “I trust the two of you to handle it with the utmost decorum.”

Hermione flushed faintly but nodded. “Of course, Headministress.”

As they left the chamber, Harry bumped her shoulder lightly. “Our first Valentine’s together, and we get to spend it breaking up other people’s make-out sessions.”

Hermione sighed, though she smiled despite herself. “Somehow, that feels very us.” Harry laughed, and for the first time that evening, the knot in his chest about the future loosened.

*-*

The following night, both groups of friends had their evening: The girls were in the common room of the Head dorms, each nursing a glass of elf wine or hot chocolate. They giggled as Ginny explained a joke George had played on Molly at Christmas.
“I can’t believe I’ll have to stop people from snogging on my first Valentine’s with Harry.” Hermione grunted, before drinking from her cup.
“Do you have to patrol that night? Could the Prefects do it instead?” Parvati asked. The brunette chuckled. “It seems to be a non-negotiable with Headministress McGonagall.” 

The boys were at the Leaky Cauldron, with Draco, Theo and Blaise added to their group for the first time. It was louder and rowdier than it had ever been. Cards and butterbeer bottles littered the table between them.

“Is there a way to celebrate Valentine’s and patrol at the same time?” Harry asked, leaning back in his chair. He hadn’t meant it to sound wistful, but judging by the looks he got, it had.

Theo smirked instantly. “Well, well. Who would’ve thought the Chosen One’s a romantic?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just asking.”

“Celebrate it on the day before,” Neville said thoughtfully, ignoring Theo’s jabs. “Less crowded, fewer interruptions. You’d actually have time to enjoy yourselves.”

Harry glanced at him, surprised, then nodded slowly. “Not a bad idea.”

“Practical Longbottom, at it again,” Draco drawled. He flicked his gaze to Harry. “Though it’s very Gryffindor of you to try and have both duty and romance in the same breath. Let me know if you want a proper Slytherin plan. We’re good at scheming.”

“Merlin’s sake,” Harry muttered, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Before the conversation could drift further, Ron blurted, “Alice and I broke up.”

The noise dropped at once. Even Theo stopped smirking.

Harry leaned forward, frowning. “Blimey, Ron. Are you okay?”

His best friend shrugged, his expression tight. “It was mutual. We both knew it wasn’t really working. She wanted someone… steadier. I’m spending all my time at the shop with George.”

Neville shifted in his chair, looking awkward but sincere. “That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

Blaise raised his butterbeer in a quiet salute. “To mutual breakups, then. At least you dodged a messy one.”

Ron gave a small huff of laughter, though his eyes were still downcast. “Yeah. Guess so.” Harry clapped a hand to his shoulder. “You’ll be alright, mate. You’ve got us.”

“And the shop,” Draco added smoothly. “I hear business is booming. You’ll have women queueing up at the door soon enough.”

That earned a round of chuckles and lightened the mood, though Harry kept sneaking glances at Ron. He knew that “mutual” or not, his best friend was hurting. 

 

*-*
The next weeks passed in a blur of classes, owls swooping down bearing cards, sweets and packages up to the day. 

“Are you doing anything tonight, Mi?” Harry asked Hermione the day before Valentine’s. “I don’t know. Should I?” She teased him.

Harry chuckled before taking her hand. “Just us, dinner and some candles. That way we can celebrate before everyone else does.” He kissed her cheek.
“Sounds like a plan. Should I dress differently?” Hermione asked.
“Whatever you will wear, I’ll probably take it off by the end of the night.” He whispered in her ear, huskily. His girlfriend blushed crimson, before a smile tugged at her lips. 

That evening in their dorms, the scent of warm food and candlewax filled Hermione’s dorm when she opened the door. Harry had transfigured a little table in their common room, set with two plates of roast chicken, vegetables, and treacle tart for dessert. Dozens of candles floated lazily overhead, their light catching on the glass of pumpkin juice he’d poured.

Hermione stopped in the doorway, momentarily stunned. “Harry… this is beautiful.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “It’s not much, but I wanted tonight to be just us. No interruptions. No patrols. No exams.”

Her lips curved into a smile as she crossed to him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “It’s perfect.”

Dinner was warm, filled with laughter and gentle teasing, the kind of ease only they ever seemed to share. Harry told her about Neville’s suggestion to celebrate early. For a moment, it almost felt like the war had never happened. They were just two ordinary students in love.

When the plates were cleared away with a flick of his wand, Hermione stood, smoothing the front of her simple black dress. Harry had seen her in it before, but when she stepped closer, candlelight catching on the curve of her neckline, something felt different.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

“More than I should,” he admitted, tugging her hand until she perched lightly on his lap. He leaned close, voice low, brushing his lips along her ear. “But I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, a shiver running through her at his husky whisper. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Then I’ll help you enjoy it.”

Her fingers slipped behind her dress, tugging it down slightly to reveal the emerald lingerie she’d chosen underneath. Harry’s eyes darkened immediately, his hands finding her waist as he traced the delicate lace.

“You look… incredible,” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

“You like it?” she teased, biting her lip.

“Like it?” he growled, pulling her closer. “You’ve ruined me again, Hermione Granger.”

The familiarity between them made every touch more electric. They kissed with ease, hands exploring, teasing, learning each other’s preferences with the confidence of experience. She tugged him closer, grinding slightly against him as his hands roamed, eliciting a low groan that made her shiver.

When they finally paused, breathless, Harry reached for a piece of parchment on the nightstand. “There’s something else I need to show you,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

Hermione glanced up, curiosity flickering across her flushed face. He handed her the folded parchment.

She unfolded it, eyes widening. “Harry… this is—”

“My resignation from the Auror track,” he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’ve spent years doing what I thought I should, but this… this is my choice. I want a life that’s mine. That’s ours.”

Hermione pressed her forehead to his, voice trembling with pride and love. “You’re choosing your path, Harry. Finally.”

He kissed her gently, lingering, before pulling back slightly to smile. “And I want to do it with you.”

The candles flickered lower, their shadows dancing across the walls. They leaned into each other again, whispering, laughing, exploring, not because it was new, but because it was theirs, a perfect mix of intimacy, trust, and desire. The parchment lay on the nightstand, a quiet promise of the life Harry was finally choosing to live.

The fire had burned low, the candles guttering softly, leaving the room bathed in a golden glow. Harry lay back on the bed, Hermione sprawled across his chest, her hair tickling his jaw.

“You’re ridiculously warm,” she murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone.

“Only because you keep stealing all the blankets,” he replied, smirking, one hand idly tracing circles on her back.

Hermione’s fingers danced down his chest, teasing under the hem of his shirt. “I think you’re enjoying that a little too much.”

“Am I?” His voice was low, playful, a teasing lilt in his tone. “I can’t imagine why.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, brushing her nose against his. “You’re impossible.”

He tugged her closer, tilting her onto her side so their legs tangled together. “I know. And you love it.”

Hermione laughed, the sound soft and breathless. She kissed him again, lingering this time, hands slipping along his sides as if memorizing the heat of him. “You’re insufferable,” she whispered, voice thick with amusement and desire.

“And you’re stunning,” he countered, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Emerald… never looked so good on you.”

She flushed, swatting his chest playfully, but the smile never left her lips. “Careful, Potter. Flattery like that might get you in trouble.”

He leaned in, kissing her jaw, down her neck, brushing against the lace he’d already explored earlier, careful, teasing, reminding her how much he knew her, and how much she trusted him.

Hermione tilted her head, moaning softly as his hands wandered under the silk of her nightwear, tracing familiar paths with renewed hunger. “Harry…” she murmured, breathless, teasing with her tone. “Stop talking and do something.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said with a grin, leaning in to claim her lips again, warm and insistent, dragging her closer, fingers tangling in her curls as if to anchor them both in this perfect, intimate moment.

Eventually, they collapsed against each other, laughing and whispering, bodies tangled under the sheets. Harry brushed a stray curl from her face, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You know,” Hermione murmured softly, “I could get used to this.”

Harry chuckled, nuzzling her nose. “Yeah? Me too. But don’t worry. I plan on it.”

The parchment with his resignation still lay on the nightstand, a quiet reminder of the future he’d chosen. But right now, there was only this, warmth, laughter, whispered names, and the soft, lingering heat of two people completely in sync.

 

*-*
Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts had always been something of a spectacle, but this year it seemed particularly chaotic. Owls swooped in at breakfast with everything from heart-shaped Howlers to enchanted roses that sang until silenced. Ginny laughed as Luna unwrapped a basket of pink radishes tied with a bow, and Theo spent most of the morning dodging a bewitched quill that insisted on scribbling “Be Mine” across his face.

Neville was already red-faced when Harry and Hermione sat down. He was holding a tiny potted plant with leaves shaped like little hearts.

“Do you think it’s silly?” he asked, glancing nervously at Hermione. “Hannah sent this. It’ll bloom red every Valentine’s. I don’t even know how to thank her properly.”

Hermione beamed. “It’s lovely, Neville. Plants are how she speaks. Just tell her what it means to you, that’ll be more than enough.”

Before Neville could respond, Luna appeared, drifting toward the Slytherin table. She set a painted card down in front of Draco Malfoy, who looked as though someone had hexed him into place.

“This one’s for you,” Luna said serenely. “It shows a Blibbering Humdinger flying over the moon. Don’t worry, they’re only dangerous if you lie too often.”

Theo leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Careful, Malfoy. That’s practically a death sentence for you.”

Draco muttered something under his breath that Harry didn’t quite catch, though the pink in his ears spoke volumes.

By evening, the castle buzzed with restless energy, couples sneaking into alcoves, friends giggling over contraband sweets. It meant one thing for the Heads: extra patrol duty.

“I swear, if I catch one more second-year trying to charm the suits of armor into serenading someone, I’m docking points,” Hermione muttered as she and Harry turned a corner.

Harry smirked. “That’s harsh, considering you probably would’ve loved a singing knight when you were twelve.”

She shot him a look, but her lips twitched. “Maybe. But you’d have been the one hexing it silent, wouldn’t you?”

“Definitely,” he admitted, laughing.

They paused by a window overlooking the snow-dusted grounds, the faint glow of the lake reflecting the moonlight. For a moment, the noise of the castle seemed far away.

“Funny,” Harry said quietly. “All these kids are sneaking around, trying to make Valentine’s perfect, but here we are, patrolling like it’s just another night.”

Hermione slipped her hand into his, her voice soft, almost shy. “It’s not just another night. It’s our first Valentine’s together.”

Harry kissed the top of her hand, lingering a moment, before they started walking again through the quiet castle corridors. The patrol had been long and sometimes tedious, but moments like this made it feel effortless, like the rest of the world had paused just for them.

“You know,” he murmured, glancing down at her, “we survived the chaos of Peeves, rogue first-years, and Theo’s terrible jokes. I’d say we’re officially a great team.”

Hermione laughed softly, leaning into his side. “The best, I’d say. But don’t think I’m letting you forget that you fell into the suit of armor near the third corridor.”

“Details, details,” he said, tugging her closer so their shoulders brushed. “What matters is that I have you walking next to me at the end of it all.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she looked up at him, eyes shining. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

“Only because I mean it,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers trail down to her hand again. “Tonight… it’s ours. Not patrols, not exams, not anyone else.”

Hermione’s lips curved into a smile that made his heart skip. “Then let’s make sure it stays ours.”

With that, Harry leaned in and kissed her softly, lingering longer than he normally would in a hallway, letting the quiet intimacy of the moment sink in. It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed after patrols, but there was something about Valentine’s Eve that made it feel electric, like every glance, every touch carried a little extra meaning.

They resumed their walk, hands still entwined, sharing small whispers and quiet laughter, the castle around them peaceful, as if conspiring to give them this rare, uninterrupted moment together.

Chapter 18: Last months at Hogwarts

Summary:

Harry and his friends are revising for their last exams - Hermione has an idea on how to keep Harry’s concentration. He talks with the DADA teacher about his career choice. Their graduation ceremony and his surprise to her.
TW: Panic attacks

Notes:

The last chapter at Hogwarts is here and we are nearing the end of this fanfiction. Since I’m putting a lot of events in one chapter, it will be a longer one. I really enjoyed writing this and bringing you along for the ride.

Hermione had summoned them in the Room of Requirement one Saturday morning after breakfast. Them being their unlikely group made up of him, her, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Dean, Draco and Theo. The Room was made up to look like a Muggle University library she had seen pictures of : two large tables with cushioned seats, lamps and bookshelves lining the walls. 

She stood in front of the group, in a cream jumper and a pair of jeans. Her face was stern, her best McGonagall impression. In her hands, she had eight parchments identified to their names. 

“Thank you all for meeting here so early.” She told them. 

Draco chuckled, “It’s not like we had any choice in the matter, Hermione. Your message was almost like a Wizengamot summon.”

“Malfoy.” She narrowed her eyes at her former nemesis, before motioning them to take a seat. “NEWT’s are fast approaching as well as the end of our 8th Year. I’ve made study groups and schedules for each of us, with the help of the classes you have. You will find them in these parchments.” The bundles zoomed to each person. Their friends unfolded their parchments and scanned the schedules. 

Harry looked at his: Her cursive handwriting had scheduled every day with their classes, the study groups, patrols and his Head duties. All accounted for, even the gaps where she knew he’d try to sneak off. He glanced up at her, standing there with her hands clasped, earnest and expectant. 

She caught his look and smiled, and something warm spread through his chest. Leave it to Hermione to turn the last stretch of school into a campaign and leave it to him to be willing to march into battle if she was the one leading.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Merlin, Granger, you’ve practically mapped out when I should breathe.”

“Consider yourself lucky, Nott,” Dean muttered. “She’s got me revising Charms with Luna. No offence, but-”

Luna smiled serenely. “None taken. You’ll be surprised how well memory charms stick when you sing them to yourself.”

Draco groaned. “This is barbaric, I didn’t survive the war to spend my weekends chained to a desk.” Neville looked relieved and smiled at Hermione. “Honestly, I’m glad someone’s organized it. I never know what to prioritize.”

As the others were scanning their own schedules, Draco broke the silence again. “So what happens if we don’t follow the almighty Granger schedule? Are we exiled? Hexed?” Worse, expelled, Harry’s mind provided. 

Hermione’s lips twitched. “No, Draco, but you’ll fail your NEWTs and I’ll know.”

Theo leaned toward Draco, muttering just loud enough for the table to hear, “I’m not sure which is worse.”

Even Harry chuckled at that, before dipping his quill into ink. “All right then. Where do we start?”. The brunette glanced at Harry and smiled briefly. 

“Since we share some classes, I thought we could start with DADA and practice some of the spells we need for the exams,” Hermione said, her eyes sweeping the group. “Although… I’m not sure if I’m the right person to lead this particular session. Perhaps Harry could do it.”

Harry flushed scarlet as eight pairs of eyes turned toward him, half expectant. “Er, what?”

“You’re better at practical Defence than any of us,” she insisted. “It makes sense. You’ve done this before, remember?”

Luna tilted her head dreamily. “Yes, the DA was wonderful. I always liked when Harry demonstrated the Patronus Charm. He looked very heroic.” He flushed yet again, feeling uneasy with the attention he was receiving from his friends. Hermione shot him a reassuring smile. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered under his breath, but he stood up all the same.

The Room of Requirement responded instantly, reshaping itself: the tables slid to the sides, lamps dimmed, and practice dummies appeared along one wall. Cushions were littering the floor to aid their fall. The air felt charged, expectant.

“All right,” Harry began awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Er, let’s start with some of the basics you’ll definitely see on the exam. Stunning Spells, Shield Charms, maybe a bit of counter-curses. We’ll build from there.”

Draco folded his arms. “Are we meant to duel the mannequins, or each other?”

“Depends on how much you want to walk into the exam with singed eyebrows,” Harry shot back before he could stop himself. Ginny laughed, and even Theo smirked.

“Fine,” Draco muttered, drawing his wand.

Harry raised his voice. “Neville, you’re with Dean. Luna with Theo. Ginny and Malfoy try not to kill each other. Hermione, you’re with me.”

Hermione arched her brow. “Stacking the deck already?”

“Just making sure you don’t run yourself ragged correcting everyone,” Harry said with a grin.

They began with Stupefy. Harry demonstrated the stance, crisp and controlled, and the spell shot cleanly across the room to knock out a dummy back into the wall with a satisfying thud. He walked through wand positioning, movement, and the importance of focus.

“Half of the spellwork's in your head,” he told them. “If you don’t believe it’ll work, it won’t.”

Within minutes, the room was alive with spells. Red jets of light crisscrossed the air, shields flared, dummies toppled. Dean whooped when he managed to blast his target off its feet. Neville’s first attempt was too timid, but Harry’s steady coaching drew out stronger results. “Good one, Neville. See? You’ve got it.”

Across the room, Ginny cackled as her Bat-Boogy hex sent Draco staggering backwards. He scowled but recovered quickly, countering with a Protego spell that shimmered brilliantly.

“Very flashy, Draco,” Theo called dryly. “Shall we get you a stage?”

Even Hermione looked impressed as she deflected Harry’s Stupefy with a neat flick of her wand. “Not bad,” she said smugly.

“Not bad?” Harry echoed. “That was textbook perfect.”

By the time Hermione called for a pause, the room was buzzing with energy and laughter. Harry found himself grinning, flushed and exhilarated. For once, the nerves of teaching had melted away into something else: it felt right. Everyone lowered their wands, panting and flushed. Even Draco looked less like he wanted to sneer and more like he wanted a drink of water.

“Lunch,” Hermione announced, conjuring a clock in mid-air. “We’ll take an hour, then come back for theory.”

The Room shifted obligingly again: the dummies vanished, a long table appeared, laden with platters of sandwiches, scones, pastries, fruit, pumpkin juice, and steaming mugs of tea.

Ginny flopped into a chair with a dramatic sigh. “Granger, you’re running this like Auror training.”

Hermione sniffed, though her lips twitched. “You’ll thank me when you get Outstanding on your NEWTs.”

Theo piled sandwiches onto his plate. “If I survive them.”

“Stop whining,” Draco muttered, grabbing a glass of juice. “At least you weren’t paired with Weasley.”

Ginny smirked, leaning across the table. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. Admit it, you had fun.”

His eyes narrowed. “I did not .” Dean laughed. “Sure, mate. Looked to me like you enjoyed blasting her across the room.”

Luna, serenely buttering a scone, added, “You two make excellent duelling partners. Your auras clash nicely. Very complementary.” That shut them both up, though Ginny was still grinning as she tucked into her sandwich.

Neville looked at Harry as he sat down. “You’re a good teacher, you know. You make it easy to follow.” Harry blinked, then shrugged, embarrassed. “Thanks. You did all right yourself.”

His eyes slid almost immediately back to Hermione, who was fussing with the parchment schedules again, reorganising quills into perfect alignment. Her cream jumper was slightly rumpled, curls loose around her shoulders from the duelling. She looked so utterly at home, in charge and glowing, that he forgot entirely about the food in front of him.

“Harry.” Ginny’s voice jolted him back. She was waving a sandwich under his nose. “Eat. You’re staring holes in her.”

He coughed, ears red, and snatched the sandwich with muttered thanks. Hermione glanced up, curious, but he ducked his head.

“Don’t worry,” Theo said lazily, sipping his tea. “He’ll be useless this afternoon. Hermione will have to invent some kind of motivation system to keep him focused.”

Draco smirked. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

Hermione shot them both a look but didn’t rise to it, yet. She finally sat down close to Harry with her own mug of tea and sandwich.

During their break, each member of the Study Alliance- the name Hermione coined for their group had brought their books to the Room. Neville searched his satchel for a moment, before running back to the Gryffindor Tower for more parchment and his book, which he had forgotten.

Each of the duo sat down next to each other and revised the theory behind the spells they had practiced. Harry’s quill had been hovering uselessly above the parchment for five full minutes, his green eyes glazed over the same passage on defensive spells. Beside him, Hermione sighed.

“Harry,” she said quietly, “you’ve read that sentence five times.”

He blinked. “Have I?.”

Theo leaned back in his chair. “If Granger gave me private lessons, I’d lose focus too.”

Ginny threw a balled-up bit of parchment at him. “Shut it, Nott.”

Hermione, ignoring them all, leaned close to Harry, her curls brushing his shoulder. “Half an hour,” she whispered. “Concentrate properly for half an hour, and I’ll… reward you.”

Harry’s attention snapped into sharp focus. “What kind of reward?”

“That depends on how well you do.” She teased, her hand on his forearm. 

Luna hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps she means a kiss if you answer all the questions right. Or maybe she’ll let you nap on her lap. Both seem very motivating.”

Dean burst out laughing, and even Neville chuckled. Harry blushed crimson, his thoughts went to something else that Hermione would do privately and she caught his look as his quill finally began to move. Time passed by and Hermione gave him a light peck on the cheek. The rest of them asked each other questions, taking turns in explaining which spell could counter another. 

Near the end of the day, around the time it was supper, the group started yawning more and their eyes were droopier. Hermione stood tiredly and told the group. “I think we've done plenty for today. We’ve made progress. The evening is yours or at least for some of us.”

Their friends smiled gratefully, packing up their ink wells, quill, parchment and books. “Thanks Mia.” Ginny said, hugging her. Draco nodded at her and murmured “Thanks, Hermione.” 

Harry stayed behind with her. “I know where that mind of yours went, Harry James. Don’t even try to hide it.” She said, her fingers poking his chest. 

Harry caught her hand before she could pull it back, grinning sheepishly. “You’re getting too good at reading me.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t exactly subtle, darling. Your ears were bright red for half the afternoon.”

He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Well, you shouldn’t go making promises about rewards if you don’t want me distracted.”

Her lips curved, and though she tried to look stern, her eyes betrayed her amusement. “I said you had to earn them, Harry.”

“And?” He tilted his head, green eyes gleaming. “Did I?”

She pretended to think, tapping her chin with her free hand. “Hmm. You did manage to write more than three sentences this afternoon, which is an improvement.”

“Hermione—” She laughed softly, cutting him off with a quick kiss, gentle but lingering. “Yes, you earned it, but in our dorm.”

Harry’s chest warmed, the weariness of the long day fading instantly. He kissed her back, his hands settling at her waist. Hermione drew away before things could deepen, her cheeks flushed. “Don’t get ideas. You still have Transfiguration to revise tomorrow.”

He groaned, but the smile on his face was unstoppable. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re incorrigible.” She gathered her parchment into her bag, her hand into his as they walked back through the castle, their friends long since vanished toward their own dormitories. By the time they reached the portrait guarding the Head dorms, Harry’s mind was whirring far faster than it ever had during their revision session.

Inside, the common room was warm, the fire still burning low. Hermione set her bag down on the sofa with a sigh of relief, rolling her shoulders. “I swear, if I have to look at one more counter-curse chart tonight…”

Harry stepped up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. “Then don’t,” he murmured into her curls.

She froze for half a second, then leaned back against him, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re relentless, Harry James Potter.”

“You promised me a reward.” He turned her gently in his arms, eyes searching hers. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

Hermione’s fingers traced down the front of his shirt, hooking lightly into the fabric. “You were supposed to be thinking about Shield Charms.”

“It's hard to concentrate with you sitting there, looking like you belong at the front of the class instead of me.”

She laughed softly, then reached up and kissed him. It started slow, sweet, then deepened as he pulled her closer, his hands threading into her hair. She made a small sound against his lips, answering his urgency with her own.

When they broke apart, breathless, Hermione’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “I did say it depended on how well you did.”

Harry pressed his forehead to hers. “So? Was I good enough?”

Hermione pressed against him, lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft at first, then deepened with a slow, deliberate urgency. Her hands traced his shoulders and chest, pulling him closer, while Harry’s fingers were around her waist.

“I’ve been teasing you all day,” she murmured against his lips, breathing warm and quick. “Time for your reward.”

He grinned, lowering his mouth to her neck, eliciting a soft gasp. Her hands roamed freely now, exploring, guiding, testing boundaries. Every kiss, every touch was electric, their breaths mingling, hearts hammering in the quiet dorm.

When they finally pulled back, flushed and tangled together on the sofa, Hermione rested her forehead against his chest, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“I think you earned it,” she whispered.

Harry pressed a lingering kiss to her curls. “And I’m not done yet.”

*-*

The next day, Hermione woke up bright and early, lacing up her trainers for a run. It was something that cleared her mind and gave her stamina for the long days of revision ahead. When Harry woke, her bed was already made, the rest of the room tidied as if she’d never been there.

He sat on the couch, rubbing his eyes, wondering where his beautiful girlfriend could have gone so early.

Twenty minutes later, the portrait door creaked open, and Hermione slipped inside, cheeks flushed and breathless, tugging her ponytail loose.

“Hi, darling,” she greeted with a smile, crossing to him. “Went for a run.”

Harry leaned forward for a kiss, though she drew back slightly, laughing. “I’m all sweaty. I need a shower.”

His lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Need some help in there? You know… to be efficient?” 

Her eyes sparkled, and she gave him a playful shove before disappearing into her room to fetch clean clothes.

When she returned, hair damp and skin fresh from the shower, they curled up together in the common room, both in their comfiest lounge wear. Parchments and books sprawled across the low table, they settled into Transfiguration, quizzing each other in turns.

“Animagus transformations,” Hermione prompted, tapping her quill against her notes.

Harry groaned, flopping back on the sofa. “I’ll get this wrong just to see what reward you come up with this time.”

She rolled her eyes fondly, but a blush tinged her cheeks all the same. “Less cheek, Potter, more concentration.”

They laughed, leaning shoulder to shoulder as they worked through the tricky theory, their study breaks peppered with kisses and teasing remarks that made the hours pass more easily than either expected. The sun had dipped by the time Hermione closed her books. “Patrol tonight.” She sighed and stood up to dress in her robes, while Harry did the same.
Their patrol was uneventful and they returned to their dorms. 

“I’m going to give my letter to McGonagall now with our reports for the last month.” Harry told her, when they arrived at their dorms. She kissed him on the cheek. He retrieved the letter and the parchment from his room and went to her office.

“Mr. Potter, I was not expecting a visit tonight.” She told him, as her orange eyes were looking at the bundles of parchment in his hands.
“I have the reports for the last month and the letter withdrawing me from the Auror path. I want to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Harry said, his voice trembling slightly as he handed her the letter and the report.
For a moment, the Headministress was silent and then she smiled brightly at him. “I’m proud of you, Mr. Potter. This decision must have been hard to make. I’ll speak with your Head of House, Professor Amaranth. Perhaps he’ll want to tutor you or have you as his assistant.” 

Harry gave a small smile and bid her goodbye. He walked back to the dorms and found Hermione on the couch with a blanket on her legs.
“How did it go?” She asked.
“Really well, actually. She says she’ll speak with Professor Amaranth.” He answered, sighing softly. “I’m knackered, come to bed?”
She nodded softly and they slept in Harry’s room, curled in the sheets, with his arms around her middle.

The next morning, they went to their double Potions lesson with Professor Slughorn shuffling their tables; Harry was paired with Neville, while Hermione was paired with Draco. He was taken aback at how well the two worked and felt a pang of jealousy, at the bottom of his stomach. His glance caught hers and she smiled at him, all reassurance. He concentrated on the potion he and Neville were to brew. Then, a hiss from one cauldron in the far corner of the room: it was Ginny’s and Theo’s. 
“Don’t put that in yet, you’ll make the whole thing explode.” Ginny bit between her teeth.

The lunch went by fast, with Hermione running to the library to return a book.

Then came their Defense Against the Dark Arts period. Professor Amaranth stood at the front of the class and taught them more advanced spells, which to no one’s surprise he and Hermione were the only ones who could cast them perfectly.

“Impressive, Miss Granger and Mister Potter.” He told them both, before excusing the class early. “Mister Potter, a moment of your time.” He whispered beside him. 

“Headmistress McGonagall talked to me this morning.” the professor started, tilting their head.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life chasing dark wizards. I’ve had enough of war.”

There was a silence, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“What do you want, then?”

Harry hesitated, then smiled faintly. “When we ran the D.A… I actually liked it. Watching people grow confident, teaching them things that might save their lives… it felt right. Maybe I could teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. I know it won’t be easy,” he said. “But it feels right. More right than hunting down dark wizards ever could.”

The wizard regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. “You’d be good at it. Not because you’re famous, but because you care. You’ve seen what happens when people don’t know how to defend themselves. You’d never let that happen again.”

For the first time in months, Harry felt certain. He knew. Professor Amaranth offered him books that he could look at and gave him a small tap on his shoulder. 

A couple of weeks into the schedules made by Hermione, the Study Alliance found themselves in the Room of Requirement again for Neville’s turn at Herbology. This time, it was set up like a greenhouse. The warm glow of magical lamps lit trays of soil and potted plants, and the air smelled of earth and herbs.

Neville, looking both nervous and proud, held up a small pot. “This is Gurdyroot. Does anyone know its properties?”

To everyone’s surprise, Draco answered with a clipped response about potion use, earning a smirk from Theo. Luna was already humming to the flutterby bushes, while Dean eagerly rolled up his sleeves to help.

As they quizzed one another and jotted notes, Neville’s nerves faded. By the end, he was smiling.

“You’re a natural at this,” Hermione told him warmly.

“Thanks,” Neville said, cheeks pink. “Feels like… maybe I could teach someday.”

Harry grinned. “You’d be brilliant at it.”

He brought them a new plant and Hermione eagerly identified it as Dittany. They studied for another hour before each of them paired up in groups for other classes. Draco, Theo and Hermione studied for Ancient Runes, while Harry, Luna, Dean and Neville were studying for Charms.  

*-* 

The first days of March carried a biting chill, and inside the Heads’ dormitory Hermione felt it in her bones. She sat surrounded by parchment, textbooks stacked like towers around her, ink blotched across her fingers. Her quill raced across the page, but her eyes blurred over the words until they no longer made sense.

It isn’t enough. I haven’t done enough. We’ll fall behind. I’ll forget everything. I’ll fail, and everyone will know I failed them.

Her throat tightened; she couldn’t swallow. Her chest rose and fell too fast, each breath jagged. Her hands shook violently, the quill clattering to the desk. She pressed her palms to her temples as tears pricked hotly at her eyes. “No, no, no…” she whispered, rocking forward in her chair. “I can’t, Merlin, I can’t do this.”

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice was a lifeline, but it only made her break. She tried to answer and found nothing but a sob tearing its way out. Her chest burned, and she clawed at the parchment like it was drowning her. “It’s too much, Harry. I can’t… I can’t breathe”

He was beside her in an instant, gently pulling her hands away from the papers and clasping them in his. “Hey, love, I’m here. Look at me.”

She shook her head desperately, curls flying. Her vision swam, tears streaking down her face. “I’m failing all of you.”

“No,” he said firmly, steadying her trembling hands against his chest, against the steady beat of his heart. “You’ve carried us all year. You’ve held us together. You are not failing anyone.”

Her breath hitched, sharp and shallow, but he pressed his forehead to hers, speaking low and steady. “Breathe with me. In… and out. You can do it. Just with me.”

At first she couldn’t catch it, couldn’t make her lungs obey, but his voice wove through the panic, grounding her, tethering her. Slowly, painfully slowly—her gasps steadied into shaky inhales and quivering exhales.

Hermione sagged forward, collapsing against his chest, sobbing into his shirt. “I hate this, feeling so weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Harry whispered fiercely, wrapping his arms tight around her as though to shield her from her own thoughts. “You’re the strongest person I know. And you don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

She clutched at him, fingers fisting into his jumper like he was the only thing keeping her upright. For the first time in hours, the crushing weight eased just a little, and she let herself break, knowing he would hold her until she found her footing again.

Harry held her until her sobs quieted into hiccups and shaky breaths. He shifted only to guide her toward the bed, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“Come on, love. You need rest.”

Hermione shook her head faintly. “No, I can’t, if I stop now, I’ll fall behind—”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, brushing damp curls from her face. “One night’s rest won’t undo all the work you’ve done. Pushing yourself like this might. Remember at the beginning of the year?”

She didn’t argue when he coaxed her under the covers, exhaustion tugging at her even as she tried to cling to her parchment. Harry slid the books aside and sat at the edge of the bed, threading his fingers through hers.

Her eyes fluttered open once more, vulnerable. “What if I fail?”

“You won’t,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “But even if you did, Hermione… it wouldn’t change how brilliant you are. Or how much you mean to me and how much I love you.”

Something in her chest eased at that. She finally let her eyes close, her breathing evening out as sleep claimed her.

Harry stayed where he was, watching her, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. He didn’t even think of leaving. Whatever came with NEWTs, he’d be right here. Always.

March slipped into April with the Study Alliance buried under books and parchment. They survived on multiple cups of coffee and tea. Once, Draco tried to brew the two beverages together, which kept them up for a night. The Room of Requirement became their second home, shifting each week to match whoever was leading revision.

Harry noticed the change in Hermione after that night. While she still pushed herself, she let herself lean on him more, sometimes dozing against his shoulder instead of forcing herself to read one more chapter. When she faltered, the others stepped in: Neville patiently explaining wand-wood properties, Luna offering odd but memorable mnemonics, Ginny snapping them all back into focus with a sharp word. Even Draco surprised them, his dry wit breaking through tension when they were too tired to laugh.

By May, their nerves were strung tight as bowstrings. On the eve of their first exam, parchment littered the floor, half-finished essays abandoned in favor of flashcards and whispered questions.

“Counter-curse for Oppugno ?” Theo asked dully, rubbing his eyes.

“ Protego Maxima, if you’re quick enough,” Dean muttered, barely looking up.

“Correct,” Hermione said, though her voice carried none of its usual crispness. She leaned heavily against Harry, exhaustion in every line of her body.

Harry squeezed her hand. “We’re ready. You’ve made sure of it.”

The next morning, they filed into the Great Hall, transformed into rows of desks and watchful examiners. Wands and quills in hand, hearts pounding, they sat. The hall was utterly silent, save for the rustle of parchment and the scratching of quills.

For once, Hermione wasn’t panicking, not when Harry caught her eye across the room and gave the smallest of smiles.

They were ready.

*-*

The Great Hall glowed with floating lanterns and garlands of House colours, banners shimmering above the tables. Every seat was filled, the air thrumming with anticipation.

Headmistress McGonagall stood at the podium, her face stern but her eyes shining with pride. She wore her best robes, a tartan hat on her head.

“You are a class like no other,” she began. “You have seen darkness few generations have ever endured, and you chose, again and again, to meet it with courage, loyalty, and hope. Tonight, we do not only celebrate your graduation. We celebrate your survival, your resilience, and your future. You are the ones who will rebuild our world.”

Applause thundered, echoing through the enchanted ceiling, as names were called and diplomas handed out.

Neville blushed scarlet as the hall roared for him. Luna waved dreamily to the crowd. Draco and Theo, stiff at first, softened when polite applause greeted them. Hermione’s NEWT’s results were the best of her year and surpassed everyone. Harry rose to his feet to cheer for her loudly. When “Harry James Potter” was called, the sound was deafening.

Hermione squeezed his hand under the table, and Harry felt that roar not as pressure, but as a promise.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, streaking the Black Lake with pink and gold. The grounds were nearly empty, the soft lapping of the water the only sound besides their footsteps. Harry had asked Hermione to walk with him, insisting on one last quiet moment before joining the celebrations.

His palms were clammy, heart hammering in a way that felt worse than facing Voldemort. Merlin, I’ve faced death with steadier hands. And now I’m terrified because I’m asking her to be my life, my everything.

Hermione walked beside him, fingers brushing his, her curls catching the fading light. She looked calm, confident, held together like she always did. He envied her for it, even now.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

Harry swallowed hard. She already knows I’m not going to be an Auror. That’s not what’s hard. It’s this, the thought of asking her to build a life with me, of giving her the choice to say yes or no.

“Hermione… you already know I’m not going to be an Auror. You’ve known for a while,” he said, voice low.

She nodded, eyes reflecting the lake’s glow. “Yes. Because you want to build, not destroy. You’d be brilliant as a teacher.”

He stepped closer, gripping her hands. I’ve fought so many battles, but none of them compare to this. Not if she says no. “None of it matters if you’re not there with me. You’ve been there the whole time. You’re my anchor, Hermione. My home, my reason to live some days. I can’t… I can’t imagine any of it without you.”

Hermione’s chest pressed against his. He’s always been brave… and now he’s showing me every fear, every hope, and trusting me with it.

Before she could answer, he dropped to one knee, fumbling with the small velvet box, the same one he hid from her since finding it in his vaults, in his robes. His hands shook, not from nerves alone, but from the weight of what he was about to ask. She’s my home. She’s the one person who’s made me feel like this life, this world, is worth everything.

“Hermione Granger,” he said, voice trembling, every word raw with emotion. “I’ve faced things I never thought I’d survive, and I’ve learned that nothing matters more than the people you love. Will you… will you marry me?”

Hermione gasped, hands flying to her mouth, laughter mingling with tears. “Yes! Yes, Harry! Of course I will!”

Harry’s chest ached with relief and joy as he slid the ring onto her finger. She said yes. She’s choosing me. She’s choosing us.

He pulled her up into a fierce, trembling kiss, holding her like he’d never let go. I’ve fought battles thinking I was scared, but this… this is everything. My heart is hers. Always.

The castle seemed to glow behind them, the lake rippling with color as if the world itself were celebrating. Harry pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Hermione. I’ve loved you for longer than I can say.”

“I love you too, Harry,” she breathed. “Forever.”

By the time they returned, hand in hand, the common room erupted in cheers. They had decided to celebrate in the Gryffindor dorms and invited Theo, Luna and Draco to join them. All of them were talking with each other, drinking from cups. 

Ginny squealed, throwing herself at them. “Finally! I thought we’d have to hex you, Harry!”

Neville’s grin stretched impossibly wide. “You two deserve all the happiness in the world. Congratulations!”

Dean whistled. “Never doubted you’d do it eventually, mate. Glad it’s today.”

Theo smirked. “Potter, you’re disgustingly sentimental.”

Draco sniffed, pretending indifference. “About time. At least Granger won’t let you bumble through it alone.”

Luna tilted her head serenely. “I knew it would happen today. The nargles have been quiet all week, it was a very good sign.”

Hermione laughed through fresh tears, and Harry held her tighter, feeling the weight of the past finally lift. I did it. We did it. And somehow… everything feels right for the first time.

Chapter 19: The wedding of the year and important conversations

Summary:

Harry and Hermione announce their engagement to her parents, Andromeda and the Weasley's. Preparations abound for the wedding and important conversations happen.

Notes:

It’s time for the wedding of our favourite couple and the penultimate chapter of this story. Enjoy the chaos!

The sunlight stabbed through his eyelids like a curse. Perfect, really, his last morning at Hogwarts, and he was waking up with a hangover, not a heroic speech. Beside him, Hermione’s side of the bed was cold, the air tinged with the smell of coffee and pastries.

Hermione’s side of the bed was already cold. The faint scent of coffee and pastries hung in the air, and his stomach gave an eager lurch.

Never let Theo or Draco near the drinks again, he thought grimly as he fumbled for his glasses. Who would have believed first-year Harry if he’d told him he’d one day be drinking with Malfoy, friends, no less, and engaged to Hermione Granger, his best friend turned fiancée?

Pushing himself upright, he downed a vial of Hangover Potion in one go, scowling at the bitterness, and dragged his feet toward the common room.

There she was, perched on the sofa with her legs curled beneath her, a steaming mug in hand and parchments spread over the table. Quill in motion, her curls tumbling forward, she looked as calm and focused as if this were any other morning.

He bent down and kissed the crown of her head. “Oh good, you’re up,” she said, glancing at him over the rim of her mug. “I thought I might have to wake you more forcefully.”

Harry frowned. “Wake me for what?”

“You forgot?” Her brows lifted. “We’re supposed to meet the new Heads today. McGonagall told them in advance because she thought we could provide them some guidance.”

Fuck. Right. That. “Honestly, Mi… it completely slipped my mind.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Good thing one of us is prepared.” She nudged a plate of croissants toward him. “I had the elves send up breakfast, and I brewed extra-strong coffee. Help yourself.”

He stole a kiss on her cheek before sitting down beside her. “Is this the treatment I can expect every morning once we’re married?”

Hermione pretended to consider, lips curving. “Some mornings, yes. Other mornings… I might wake you with something far more enjoyable.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Or, depending on how you behave, I’ll simply blast you with cold water.”

Harry grinned despite his aching head. Merlin, hangover or not, he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to wake up anywhere else. Harry tore into a pumpkin pastry, flakes scattering down his front. “When are we meeting them again? Do I have time for a quick shower?” he asked, mouth full.

Hermione shot him a look over her coffee. “Honestly, Harry. I thought you had better manners than Ron, but you’re just as bad.” She sighed, but her eyes were fond. “We’re meeting them at ten. It’s only half past eight.”

Harry nodded, polishing off another pastry before sipping his coffee. His eyes lingered on Hermione, dressed neatly in her robes already, the quill he enchanted in hand. A smirk tugged at his lips.

“I can be ready really fast.” he said, leaning back lazily. “Which means we have time before we meet them.”

Hermione arched a brow, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “You really think I’m going to let you wrinkle my robes before an official meeting?”

Harry’s grin widened. “Depends how persuasive I am.” He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her closer until she gave in with a soft laugh and kissed him.

"You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured against his mouth, smoothing the unruly strands of his hair before giving him a gentle shove toward the bathroom. “Go on. Shower. I’ll be right here waiting, love.”

Harry took the fastest shower of his life, wanting nothing more than to snog his lovely fiancée. Brushing his hair, he puts on his Hogwarts robes one last time and sits down next to her. “Here I am.” 

She gave him a once-over, eyes sparkling. “Not bad. You almost look respectable.”

“Almost?” He caught her hand before she could reach for her quill, tugging her gently into his lap.

Hermione squeaked in protest, but the sound melted into laughter as his lips found hers. The kiss started slow, sweet, but quickly deepened, his hands curling at her waist as if he couldn’t get her close enough.

She broke away just long enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against his. “Harry…”

“Mm?” he murmured, angling for another kiss.

Her lips curved in that knowing smile he could never resist. “Not now. Tonight.”

He groaned dramatically. “You’re torturing me, you know that?”

Hermione brushed her thumb across his cheek, eyes warm. “Consider it an incentive. And besides…” she smoothed her already-perfect robes with mock severity “I told you, I’m not turning up to this meeting looking thoroughly kissed.”

Harry chuckled, stealing one more quick peck before letting her slide off his lap. “Fine. But fair warning, Granger, tonight, you’ll wish you hadn’t made me wait.”

Her cheeks pinked, though she smirked as she reclaimed her quill. “We’ll see about that.” 

By ten o’clock sharp, they were standing in the Head’s office, side by side. Sunlight spilled across the ancient oak desk, where two nervous-looking students waited. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Hermione had put a Notice-Me Charm over his ring. 

Thomas Avery, a tall, sandy-haired Ravenclaw 6th Year, fidgeted with his robes, while Sophia Jenson, a petite redhead Ravenclaw 6th Year clutched a leather notebook tightly to her chest. Both were disciplined Prefects and he could see why the Headministress chose them. 

Hermione’s expression softened immediately. “Congratulations on being chosen. It’s a real honor”, she said warmly, extending her hand to them both. 

Thomas managed a smile. “Thank you, Miss Granger. It’s… a bit intimidating, if I’m honest.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder, grinning easily. “I know the feeling. I thought I’d never survive patrols without tripping over my own feet. You’ll be fine.”

Sophia’s gaze darted between them. “It’s strange, meeting you both. Everyone says you were… well, legends here.”

Hermione flushed faintly, shaking her head. “Hardly legends. Just students who did our best.”

Harry smirked. “She’s being modest. Truth is, you’ll figure out your own way of leading. Don’t let the badge weigh more than it should. And never be afraid to ask for help.”

Sophia nodded firmly, flipping open her notebook. “I’ve already drafted patrol schedules.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Excellent. Organization will save you more times than you can count.”

Thomas groaned under his breath. “Schedules. I suppose that means less sleep for us.”

Harry leaned in conspiratorially. “Get used to it, mate. Prefects never stop whining about curfew.”

Hermione elbowed him lightly, though her lips twitched. “Ignore him. It’s important to set an example, if students respect you, half your work is already done.”

The four of them talked through duties, patrols, and common room issues until the tension eased. As the new Heads left, looking far more confident than they had when they arrived, Harry caught Hermione’s eye.

She arched her brow, as though to say See? That wasn’t so bad.

As Thomas and Sophia left, Hermione gathered the parchments into a neat stack, tucking her quill away. The charm was no longer on her hand, showing the ring in his fullness. Harry stretched, ready to follow her, when the door creaked open again.

“Still here, Potter? Granger?”

Headmistress McGonagall stood in the doorway, sharp as ever in her tartan robes. Her cat eyes saw the glint of the ring, but didn’t comment on it. Her expression softened.

“Headmistress,” Hermione said warmly, straightening. Almost unconsciously, her fingers brushed the engagement ring on her hand, turning it once, then twice, as if she were still reminding herself it was real.

McGonagall’s gaze didn’t miss the movement. Her brows lifted. “Well, well.”

Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand. “We wanted to tell you ourselves. Hermione and I, we’re engaged.”

For a heartbeat, the Headmistress’s face was unreadable. Then her stern features broke into the rarest of smiles, pride softening her eyes. “Engaged,” she echoed. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Congratulations, both of you.”

Hermione’s cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Headministress.”

McGonagall’s lips twitched. “If you haven’t chosen a venue yet, do know that Hogwarts has always opened its doors to its own. The Great Hall has seen countless feasts and battles, perhaps it’s due for a wedding.”

Harry blinked. “You’d really allow that?”

“I’d be honored to,” McGonagall replied briskly, though her voice was gentle. “I suppose I should remind you both that you’ve graduated now. No need for ‘Headmistress.’ Call me Minerva.”

Hermione’s throat tightened, and she nodded quickly, her hand tightening around Harry’s. “Thank you, Minerva.”

The Headmistress inclined her head, tartan robes swishing as she turned for the door. “Enjoy your last day. The castle won’t be the same without you.”

When the door shut behind her, Harry let out a low whistle. “Did that really just happen?”

Hermione gave a watery laugh, fiddling with her ring again. “It did. And I think we should… think about it. A Hogwarts wedding.”

Harry grinned. “If it means we’d always get to come back here, I don’t hate the idea.”

Later, after their duties were finished and they had packed their trunks, they wandered through the castle together. They both glanced at a broom closet, before Hermione shook her head, wordlessly telling Harry that they would get to it tonight. Every corridor seemed different, tinged with memories, good and bad. They paused at the Gryffindor common room portrait, at the Great Hall doors, and finally drifted down toward the Black Lake where Harry had proposed last night. 

The sun glinted across the rippling water, and the castle loomed behind them, golden in the late morning light. Hermione leaned into Harry, her fingers absently twisting the ring on her hand again.

“Feels strange,” she said softly. “Like the castle’s letting us go.”

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’ll always be home, though.”

“Home,” Hermione echoed, her voice full. She looked up at him with a smile that was both nervous and certain. “Now we get to build our own.”

Harry kissed her temple, holding her close as the breeze rustled the trees around the lake. For once, it was just the two of them, standing on the edge of everything new.

*-*

The Great Hall had been transformed for the Leaving Feast: floating candles flickered overhead, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the clear night sky, and long tables groaned under the weight of golden platters and crystal goblets. Students, ghosts, and teachers alike filled the hall, laughter and chatter echoing warmly.

Harry caught sight of some of their old classmates, sharing last-minute jokes and teasing each other about who had grown taller, or taller in ego, since September. Hermione nudged him gently, and he squeezed her hand. She wandlessly casted the Notice-Me charm again over her ring, wanting to bask in the privacy of it all. 

“Don’t get distracted,” she whispered, smirking. “We’re leaving Hogwarts behind in just a few hours.”

“I know,” he said softly, leaning closer.

They sat down with their Gryffindor housemates, sharing plates of food and smiles. Hermione kept sneaking glances at Harry’s face, and he returned them with grins, playful touches and subtle kisses on the cheek.  

By the time the Feast wound down, the sun had set completely, leaving the castle bathed in soft torchlight. Their trunks were ready, and students began filing out to the platforms. They made their way to Hogsmeade in the same boats they took when they arrived. Hermione sniffed gently as she took in the lake one last time and Harry drew her closer to him, kissing her head softly. 

The Hogwarts Express was waiting, steam curling like smoke over a perfect sunset. The familiar red carriages gleamed in the light of the evening, suspending the rest of the world with it. Inside, they found a compartment for just the two of them. Hermione sat by the window, still fidgeting with her ring, and Harry joined her, sliding his arm around her shoulders.

“Think we’ll ever get used to leaving this place?” he asked, voice low.

Hermione rested her head against his shoulder. “Maybe. But I don’t want to forget it. Hogwarts will always be part of us.”

“Part of us,” Harry echoed, leaning down to kiss her temple. “Now… it’s time for the next chapter, love.”

For the next few minutes, they settled into a comfortable silence, just the two of them, the warmth of each other’s presence, and the steady sway of the train. Every now and then, Harry would steal a soft kiss from her temple or hand, and Hermione would respond with a teasing glance or a quiet hum of contentment.

“You’re making me impatient, love,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Just wait a little longer,” she whispered back, her lips curling into that same mischievous, knowing smile that had held him captive since they were kids. “Tonight will be worth it.”

Harry’s grin softened, his head tipping toward hers as he captured her hand in his. “I suppose I can manage that… for now.”

The train finally screeched into its quiet, near-empty station, the night air crisp against the windows. Harry and Hermione gathered their bags and trunks, still close, fingers entwined as they stepped onto the platform. They apparated to Grimmauld Place. The faint scent of dust and old magic welcomed them, and the faint hum of protective enchantments reminded Harry of all the years the house had held them.

“Still a bit gloomy,” Hermione observed, shrugging off her cloak. “But it’s ours now. And quiet.”

Harry grinned, setting down their bags. “Mmm and private. Perfect for… later,” he teased, catching her wrist lightly.

Hermione’s lips curved knowingly, though she rolled her eyes. “You’re shameless.”

“Only for you,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

Hermione kept glancing down at her ring, twisting it absentmindedly between her fingers. Harry noticed, and it made his chest tighten with affection and something a little more impatient.

“I’m going to make tea,” Hermione said finally, breaking the quiet. “Unless you want to sneak in a quick snog first?”

Harry laughed, leaning closer. “I might be persuaded.”

She smirked, brushing a hand along his chest as she walked past him toward the kettle. “Not too long, Potter. Patience. Tonight is still ours.”

He followed, lingering behind her, their shoulders brushing, exchanging small, electric touches that promised what was to come. The house was quiet except for the hiss of boiling water and the faint creak of floorboards under their feet.

Sitting together on the couch, tea steaming before them, they held hands that were occupied by mugs. Harry leaned over, brushing a quick kiss against her lips, soft and teasing. “Do we have to wait a bit longer?” he murmured.

Hermione smiled, her thumb tracing the back of his hand. She drank the last of her tea and stood up. “I’m going to get ready for bed.” Her voice was soft, but playful. “Harry… come up when you’re done here.” She stole one last lingering kiss. 

Harry grinned, watching her sway away, the faint sparkle of her engagement ring catching the firelight. “Yes, ma’am,” he called, voice teasing.

A moment later, he followed, lingering a little too long by the sofa before heading toward the stairs. Half-distracted by thoughts of Hermione, he almost tripped on the bottom step, flailing comically for balance.

“Potter!” Hermione’s laugh echoed from above. “Careful! You’re going to hurt yourself before bedtime!”

Harry straightened, cheeks warming, and waved sheepishly. “I’m fine!”

“Mm-hmm,” she called, her voice teasing as she disappeared into the bedroom. “Hurry up before I start without you.”

Harry grinned to himself as he took the stairs more carefully this time. 

Hermione leaned against the door, hair tousled, and gave him a slow, teasing smile. “Finally,” she murmured, brushing past him to close the door behind them.

Harry’s breath hitched as he took her in. She was wearing nothing but one of his Quidditch jerseys, long enough to barely cover her hips. The oversized jersey clung to her curves in a way that made his heart hammer.

“You’ve been waiting for me,” he murmured, voice low and husky, stepping closer.

“Just about.” she corrected, eyes glittering with mischief. She reached out, fingers curling along his jawline, tugging him down for a slow, heated kiss. His hands roamed freely over her, tracing the curve of her back, her sides, the hem of the jersey brushing against her thighs.

Hermione responded in kind, pressing herself against him, teeth grazing his lower lip as she deepened the kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and for the first time all night, letting go completely. She could feel herself wet already, wanting him, craving him.  

They sank onto the bed together, limbs entwined, the firelight casting shadows over their heated forms. Hermione tugged the jersey just enough to tease him further, rolling onto her side, smirking as she captured his lips again. He took off his shirt and his jersey in haste, his pants were next on the floor, the bulge tented in his boxers. Harry kissed her neck, the way she loved. 

Harry's fingers teased her slit, discovering to his surprise that she didn’t wear any underwear. Hermione gasped as he finally slipped a finger in, feeling her slickness. He groaned, the sound low and primal, as his thumb joined the other finger and found her clit, circling it in slow, deliberate strokes, making her writhe beneath him. Hermione arched against him, her breath hitching, her body already trembling with need.

Hermione's hand tightened around Harry's length which was now free, her strokes firm and demanding, her eyes locked on his. "I want you," she said, her voice low and commanding, "Now."

"Merlin, Mi, if I knew you would be this horny, I would have taken you right there in the train," he growled, his voice thick with desire, as he leaned down to capture her lips in a fierce kiss. His thumb still teased her clit. His body already ached with need, as he positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock teasing her wet folds. Hermione's hips lifted, urging him on, her hands gripping his ass, pulling him closer.

"Fuck me, Harry," she ordered, her voice a breathy whisper, her eyes dark with desire. "I need you inside me."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He thrust into her, a low groan escaping his lips as he filled her completely. Hermione gasped, her nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper, faster. His thrusts were slow at first, far too slow for her. 

"Harder, Harry," she begged, as she met his thrusts with her own, their bodies moving in perfect sync. "Please."

Harry complied, his hips moving faster, his thrusts deeper, his body slamming into hers, the bed creaking beneath them and the headboard slapping the wall. Her nails were scrapping his back as her wanton moans filled the room, her body trembling with each thrust, urging him on. He kept this pace up, slowing down to cup her breasts and pinch her already hard nipples. 

"Merlin, Harry," she gasped, her voice a breathy whisper, her body tightening around him, "I'm close, so fucking close."

Harry groaned, as he looked at his witch. His body already on the edge, as he reached between them, his thumb finding her clit, circling it in fast, firm strokes, pushing her over the edge. Hermione cried out, her body convulsing around him, her inner walls clenching him tightly, milking him for all he was worth. Harry followed soon after, his body shuddering with release, his seed spilling into her, filling her completely. He collapsed on top of her, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, her body still trembling with aftershocks, a soft, satisfied smile on her lips. "That was... incredible, fiancé" she murmured, her voice a breathy whisper, her eyes closed, her body sated and content. He kissed her forehead and did the contraception charm over her, before curling with her and sleeping. 

*-*
The next morning, Harry woke up tangled with Hermione, her curls tickling his nose. He didn’t care— this was where he wanted to be forever. After last night’s vigorous love-making, she had happily abandoned her usual morning run.

“Morning, darling,” she murmured, reaching for her wand. “Pass it here?” He handed it over, watching her cast a breath-freshening charm on them both before kissing him softly.

“Morning, love,” he whispered back. “So, what’s first on the list for two freshly graduated adults?”

Hermione sighed. “We really ought to tell my parents, Andromeda, Ron and possibly the Weasleys, too… unless Ginny’s already spilled everything.”

Harry chuckled. “Then you’ll need the best breakfast. French toast sounds good?”

“Mm. Your French toast? Always.”

“Kreacher!” Harry called.The elf appeared with a scowl. “Young Master had better not summon me to witness more coupling.”

Hermione’s face turned crimson. She clutched the covers to her body as Harry grinned. “Not this time. Just brioche, eggs, milk, and maybe orange juice?”

With a pop, Kreacher disappeared and reappeared. “All in the kitchen. If you insist on preparing it yourself, kindly put on clothes. No one wants to see wizard bits at this hour.”

Hermione groaned into the pillow. “I thought he was fond of me.”

Harry bent to kiss her temple. “Don’t worry, this is his version of affection. I’ll bring breakfast. You just stay right here.”

Before she could even argue with him, he was gone, with his boxers and glasses on. 

In his absence, Hermione had slipped the Quidditch jersey she wore last night. Harry came back upstairs balancing a tray piled with French toast, a pot of coffee, and a little vase with one of the garden roses Kreacher must’ve snipped. 

She looked up at him with a sleepy smile that made his chest ache, “You’re spoiling me,” she teased as he set the tray across their laps.

“Future husband privileges,” he said smugly, stealing a kiss before passing her a fork. “Besides, you look far too good in my jersey to be allowed out of bed.”

She flushed, batting at him with her fork, though her grin gave her away. “Eat, Harry, before this gets cold.”

They shared the food in companionable silence, occasionally feeding each other bites, Harry licking a trace of syrup from her thumb until she laughed and called him ridiculous.

When they’d finished, Hermione set the tray aside and pulled her mobile from the nightstand. “I suppose it’s time.”

Harry caught her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’ll be right here.”

With a deep breath, she dialed her parents. The phone rang twice before her mum picked up, and soon both her parents were on the line. She put the phone on speaker phone as she sat crossed-legged on the bed, absently twisting the ring on her finger while Harry leaned against the headboard beside her, his arm snug around her waist.

Her throat tightened at first, it felt momentous, saying the words aloud. Once she did, relief and joy came rushing in: Her parents’ voices crackled with excitement, her dad teased Harry about finally finding his courage, her mum insisted that she send photos of the proposal spot and of the ring.  Harry chuckled sheepishly every time they teased him, which only made Hermione laugh harder.

When her mum asked about plans, Hermione faltered, they hadn’t let themself think that far ahead yet. Her dad chimed in, “Well, you’ll need someone to walk you down the aisle, won’t you? You just tell us when to book our flights.”

Her breath caught. “Really, you’ll come?”

“Of course we will. We wouldn’t miss our only daughter’s wedding. I’ll even be right there to choose your dress. I wouldn’t want you to drown in lace and tulle”, her mum said warmly.

By the time the call ended, Hermione was teary-eyed, flushed and grinned so wide it made her cheeks ache. She dropped the phone onto the covers and leaned into Harry’s shoulder with a little sigh.

“They’re coming,” she whispered, almost reverent. “They’ll be here for everything.”

Harry pressed a kiss into her curls, his voice low and certain. “I know. It’s good you deserve that after all that you have done for them.”

She stood up and made her way to the shower, weak in the knees. Harry chuckled as he made his way with her to their en suite bathroom. They showered, basking in the hot water, while he pulled the shower head on her legs to relieve some of the soreness. 

They both dressed comfortably: a short sleeved summer dress for Hermione and some khakis and a shirt for Harry. “Shouldn’t we Floo call Ron to see if he’s at the Burrow?” Hermione asked. 

“He’ll be there. Where else would he be?” Harry said, as they stepped into the Floo and called for the Burrow. The Burrow smelled of toast and bacon. They dusted soot from their clothes and she glanced at Harry with a nervous smile. He reached for her hand, squeezing gently before leading her into the kitchen.

Molly sat at the table with a steaming cup of tea, Arthur reading the Daily Prophet at her side. Ginny was picking idly at toast, while Ron was already piling bacon onto his plate.

“Oh, Harry! Hermione!” Molly’s face lit up as they entered. “What a lovely surprise. Sit, sit, there’s plenty to eat.”

They slid into chairs side by side, and Hermione’s hand trembled just slightly in Harry’s. He gave her an encouraging nod before she cleared her throat. “There’s something we’d like to tell you.”

Ron froze mid-bite, eyes flicking between them. Ginny arched her brow knowingly, since Hermione had told her after their graduation. Arthur lowered his paper.

Hermione lifted her hand, the morning light catching on the ring. “Harry and I… we’re engaged.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then Molly let out a shriek of delight, slopping tea onto her saucer as she clapped both hands over her mouth.

“Oh my goodness! Engaged! Arthur, Arthur, did you hear?”

Arthur smiled warmly, rising to kiss Hermione’s cheek and shake Harry’s hand. “Congratulations, both of you.”

Ron blinked, his bacon forgotten. “Wait. Engaged? As in getting married?”

“Yes, Ronald,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes, though her cheeks were pink. 

Ginny smirked into her toast. Her mother glanced at her. “Ginerva Weasley, did you know already?”

“Of course, I was there when they came back to the common room. It wasn’t my responsibility to tell.” 

Then, Molly was bustling around, alternating between dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and pulling them into bone-crushing hugs. “Oh, my dears, I’m so happy for you! You’ll let me help with the planning, won’t you? And the dress, we must find the perfect dress, oh, and the flowers!”

“Mum,” Ron groaned, but Molly ignored him entirely.

Harry laughed, slipping his arm protectively around Hermione’s shoulders as she beamed, a little overwhelmed but glowing nonetheless.

They stayed at the Weasley’s for a cup of tea and then went to Andromeda's telling her the news too. She was elated and hugged them both fiercely. They came back to Grimmauld Place for lunch with too many wizarding wedding magazines. Hermione threw herself on the couch as Harry took his place next to her. 

Later that night, curled together on the same couch at Grimmauld Place, Hermione absentmindedly traced circles on Harry’s chest as they talked through the bigger questions.

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry said softly, “about when we should do it. I like the idea of autumn, cooler weather, with all the colors changing.”

Hermione’s fingers stilled. “You mean… October?”

“Maybe even Halloween,” Harry admitted, his voice hesitant. “It’s… always been a hard day for me. But with you… maybe it could be something else. Something better.”

Her heart ached at his honesty. She shifted so she could look at him properly, cupping his cheek. “Let’s do that. We’ll make it yours again. Ours.” He kissed her palm, relief and love shining in his eyes. It gave them 5 months for preparations, which they hoped would suffice. 

“As for where…” Hermione hesitated, a smile tugging at her lips. “I know that Minerva suggested Hogwarts, but what do you think of the Forest of Dean? It’s not conventional, but it’s where we survived, where we… found each other, really.”

Harry’s breath caught, and he kissed her fiercely, the decision made without another word.

As they both came up for air, Harry nuzzled his nose to hers. "So Hermione Potter or Hermione Granger-Potter?" He asked her. 

"Granger-Potter, love. I think I should keep a part of my parents with me." He nodded, perfectly happy with the idea. 

*-*

The next morning, he found her in her pajamas: an old Gryffindor shirt and the shorts she used to wear when they were on the run. She sat curled in the Black Library, quill scratching furiously over parchment, her brow furrowed in thought. The sight warmed him, tugging him back to evenings at Hogwarts when she always looked like this — focused, unstoppable, brilliant.

“Morning, Mi. What are you doing up so early?” he asked softly from behind her.

Hermione jumped, then relaxed at the sound of his voice. “Morning, love. I couldn’t sleep — my mind was racing with all the things we still need to do for the wedding.” She gave him a tired smile, but he could see the weight pressing on her shoulders.

Harry rested his hand there, thumb brushing along her collarbone. “Why don’t we have breakfast and then do it together? I don’t want you to do it all by yourself.” He bent to kiss the crown of her head.

Her sigh was heavy but relieved. “Alright.”

They ate breakfast together, skimming The Daily Prophet. The news of their engagement was still their secret, one they meant to protect for as long as they could.

Later, they settled together on the library loveseat, parchment in her lap. Hermione wrote a neat list: dress and suit shopping, bridesmaids and groomsmen, cake tasting, flowers, food they would serve, invitations, colour palette and the parties organised for both of them. She hesitated, then scribbled down Muggle wedding? , in a column with her precise handwriting. 

“Do you think we can keep it to just family and closest friends? Maybe Kingsley or Minerva could officiate the bond ceremony,” Harry suggested.

She nodded, already turning ideas over. “We’ll add portkeys to the invitations and ward the site so only invited guests can enter. No journalists will be able to sniff it out.”

He grinned and leaned closer. “Did I tell you lately how brilliant you are, my witch?”

Her lips curved. “Mm, I love when you remind me.” Their mouths met, the parchment crinkling between them as the kiss deepened. “We deserve a break, don’t we?”

Harry plucked the quill and parchment from her hand, setting it aside before pressing his lips to the soft skin beneath her ear. His lust and desire surged, stronger than before, overwhelming in their simplicity: he wanted her , mind and body, every day. Hermione’s moan vibrated against his mouth as her fingers fisted in his shirt.

“Harry…”

With a flick of his wand, the door clicked shut and the room fell silent. Books bore witness as they tumbled together in a blur of limbs and laughter, urgency unraveling into heat as they tugged at each other’s clothes, needing to be impossibly closer.

Harry’s lips traced a path down her neck, lingering where her pulse fluttered wildly. She tipped her head back against the cushions, breathless already, fingers sliding into his messy hair.

“Merlin, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough with need. He had seen her in various emotions, but like this, flushed and needy, completely undid him.

Her hands tugged at his shirt until it was gone, her palms roaming over the warm skin of his chest. He caught her mouth again, the kiss desperate and all consuming. 

Harry eased her back against the loveseat, his hands worshipping every curve, every line of her as if memorizing her anew. She arched into his touch, soft sounds spilling from her lips that made his resolve falter.

Their clothes vanished piece by piece, until there was nothing left between them but heat and the surety that they belonged to each other. The library’s stillness wrapped around them, broken only by their mingled breaths and the creak of old leather beneath them. He kissed her neck and licked the column of her throat. His hands roamed her breasts as he cupped them and kissed them. He made his way to the floor, his face between her thighs and ate her out slowly, entering his thumb to tease her clit. The noises she made surged him and made him harder than ever before. 

When he finally entered her, it was not with haste but with reverence. Her hands clutched at him, drawing him closer, grounding him even as he felt himself soaring. Every movement, every kiss, every whispered word was a vow in itself.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips, the words spilling out like a promise he’d never stop making.

Hermione’s eyes met his, bright with tears and desire. “Always, Harry.”

They moved together as though the rest of the world had fallen away, their passion building and breaking over them like waves, until nothing remained but the fierce, unshakable certainty that they were each other’s home.

Afterward, tangled in the blanket Harry had summoned with a lazy flick of his wand, they lay entwined, the morning light slanting across shelves of ancient books. Her head rested on his chest, his fingers stroking absently through her hair.

“Planning can wait,” she murmured sleepily. He smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Forever, if it means I get this.”

Hermione leaned back against him, her eyes on the bookshelves. She clutched the index of books.“You know, between these shelves, there’s probably a trove of knowledge about… well, being together.”

Harry froze for a second, the thought catching him off guard. He thought of Sirius, who had never had the chance to marry, never had the life with James and Lily he’d once dreamed of and had still taken the time to leave advice.

“You’re right,” he said suddenly, already swinging his legs off the loveseat. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“Harry?” Hermione called after him, puzzled.

He was already taking the steps two at a time, running up to their room. He dug through the drawer where he kept the letters, worn soft at the folds from being read too many times, and clutched them tightly before racing back down.

Hermione waited, curled into the blanket with an expression that softened as soon as she saw what he carried.“You want to read them?” she asked gently.

He nodded, swallowing hard as he sat back beside her. “Feels like… like he should be here for this. For us. This is the next best thing.”

She pressed her hand over his, steadying him as he unfolded the first parchment. Sirius’s handwriting sprawled across the page, irreverent and warm.

“Oi, Harry. If you’re reading this, you’ve finally found someone who sees past your stubborn streak and ridiculous hair.

Don’t mess it up, prongslet. Love her, laugh with her, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t let her plan everything on her own, she’ll kill you with lists.”

Hermione’s laugh broke through her tears. “He knew me too well.”

Harry smiled, voice thick. “Yeah. He really did.”

They went on, reading together. Some letters were funny: Sirius teasing about pranking during honeymoon travel, while others carried quiet wisdom. 

“A true bond isn’t about the magic or the rituals. It’s about choosing each other, over and over, even when it’s bloody hard.”

By the end, Hermione was tucked into Harry’s side, her head resting against his shoulder. “He’d be so proud of you, Harry,” she whispered. “Of us.”

Harry kissed the top of her hair, closing his eyes against the sting of tears. “Then we’ll make sure to do this right. For him. For us.”

The forgotten parchment of wedding plans still lay on the desk, but for the moment, they had everything they needed, each other, and the words of a man who had loved them both in his own way.

Harry unfolded another letter, Sirius’s scrawl looping wildly across the page.

“Harry, if you’ve finally found your witch, listen carefully.

Women are smarter than us nine times out of ten, so pay attention when she talks.
Don’t you dare take her for granted. As for the rest…”

Harry cleared his throat as he read aloud, ears burning.

If you’ve finally found your witch, listen carefully.
Women are smarter than us nine times out of ten, so pay attention when she talks.
Don’t you dare take her for granted. 

As for the rest… pleasure isn’t just about magic, it’s about focus. 

Learn what makes her gasp, what makes her melt. Slow down. Tease. Make her laugh, too, nothing’s better than hearing her laugh when she’s in your arms and inside her. Trust me, I knew a thing or two about witches.

Harry’s face went scarlet, and Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing, her cheeks pink as well. “Oh, Sirius…”

But then Harry’s eyes snagged on the next lines, and his breath caught.

“And if it’s Hermione you’re reading this with. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.
From the moment she marched into your life, I knew she’d be the one who saw you, really saw you.
Don’t waste time wondering if you deserve her, you do, prongslet, because you’ll spend your life proving it.
Hermione, if you’re reading this: I couldn’t have chosen better for him myself.
There are some books that will both interest you in the Black Library, whether it is about bonds, elf magic or sex magic and rituals.”

The room went quiet except for the thud of Harry’s heart. Hermione flushed and blinked rapidly, her laughter softening into tears. She touched the edge of the parchment with trembling fingers. “He… he knew.”

Harry kissed her temple, voice low and rough. “Yeah. He knew.”

In the margin, scrawled almost as an afterthought, was one last line:

“And Harry, if you’re blushing while reading this, good. Means you were paying attention. Now go snog her senseless and thank me later.”

Hermione let out a watery laugh, pressing her face into Harry’s shoulder. “That is so him.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, wrapping her tighter in his arms, smiling through the ache in his chest. “So him.”

*-*

Two days later, Harry and Hermione found themselves seated at a small bakery table in Diagon Alley, plates of cake samples spread out before them. They had made the baker sworn to secrecy, as the news of the engagement wasn’t public yet. Ron had tried tagging along, declaring he couldn’t possibly miss free cake, but Hermione had quickly banished him.

“Honestly,” she muttered, spearing a forkful of lemon cake and holding it up for Harry to taste, “he’d have us serve treacle tart, steak-and-kidney pie, and nothing else.”

Harry chuckled, leaning forward to let her feed him the bite. “I wouldn’t complain about the treacle tart,” he said with his mouth full, earning an exasperated look from her. “But this lemon’s good. Not too sweet.”

Hermione tried a bite herself and hummed in agreement. “This one’s a contender. What do you think of the raspberry?”

They went on like that, swapping forkfuls, laughing when Harry dropped a crumb on his robes, arguing lightly about fruit fillings versus traditional sponge. By the time the baker returned with tea, they’d narrowed it down to two flavors: lemon-vanilla and raspberry-chocolate. Hermione conceded to having small treacle tarts. 

They also visited Harry’s vaults at Gringotts, explaining to Asmard that they were to be wed and that Hermione would need access to his vaults, which was granted without a fight.

They came back exhausted from their day, opting for soup and bread, baked from Kreacher. The elf had been urged by Harry to spend more time at Hogwarts. 

The next few days, they sent out an owl to Ginny and Ron: They were respectively maid of honour and best man. Luna, Hannah and Padma were her bridesmaids, while Neville, Draco and Theo were his groomsmen. They all accepted and met with the couple.
“When are we shopping for your dress?” Ginny asked, drawing a parchment of shops in Diagon Alley, including the one where they shopped for her Ball dress.
“We’re waiting for my parents to arrive, on the 28th. They’ll be there for Harry’s birthday and Mum wants to come with.” Hermione answered, her hand in Harry’s.
“I’ll plan the best bachelor night you can imagine, Harry.” Ron had said. “No strippers, Ron, please.” His best friend pleaded. The redhead flushed and laughed. “I’ll need the boys to help me plan it then.”
“Mia’s hen night should be easy to plan. Any ideas where you will go for your honeymoon?” Ginny asked.
“It’s a surprise.” Harry said. His plan was to bring her to visit a few bookstores to shop to her heart’s content and to visit the private island the Potters' had. Nothing was too much for his witch. 
“Nothing too much, love.” Hermione murmured in his ear, flushing beat red.

*-*

The first shops in London had left Hermione unimpressed. Every gown she tried seemed either far too modest or far too fussy, and none of them felt quite right. At last, she slipped into one final dress before they would head toward Diagon Alley: a pale gown, long with a fitted bodice that shimmered faintly under the lights. When she stepped out, the room drew in a collective breath.

“This is pretty, Mi. Imagine your hair down, with curls,” Ginny said, eyes wide. The other bridesmaids nodded, a chorus of soft gasps following her.

Mrs. Weasley dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. “Oh, you look just perfect for a princess.”

Hermione turned toward the mirror, smoothing the skirts as she studied her reflection. The gown did make her look elegant, almost regal, but there was something missing. She could see the princess Ginny and Molly saw, but not herself. She glanced at her mother, who had stayed quiet.

“Mum. Be honest. Do you think I should get it?” Emma tilted her head, her eyes warm and thoughtful. “Darling, you look beautiful, of course you do. The question is, darling, when you look at yourself, do you see Hermione, the woman Harry fell in love with?”

Hermione’s chest tightened. She looked back at her reflection, and in that moment, she knew. It was a lovely dress, but it wasn’t hers. The gown shimmered prettily under the shop lights, but Hermione only shook her head, lips pressed thin. “It’s beautiful,” she admitted softly. “But it’s not me.”

Emma gave her a small, proud smile, while Molly reached to squeeze her hand. “Then we’ll keep looking, dear. The right one will speak to you.”

With that, they Flooed to Diagon Alley, their final destination: Twilights & Taffeta. The bell chimed as they stepped into the elegant little shop, the air faintly scented with lavender and fabric starch. Madam Velours, tall and impeccably dressed in velvet robes, looked up from her counter and smiled knowingly.

“Miss Granger,” she greeted warmly. “I had a feeling you’d be by. As promised, your visit remains between us. I'm the only one in the shop today. I'm sure you will find something here for you and your bridesmaids”

Hermione exhaled, relieved. She nodded politely before her bridesmaids and mothers fanned out among the racks. Most gowns gleamed with enchantments: silks that shifted color in candlelight, bodices that shimmered like starlight. Lovely, but still not right. Then, at the far end of the shop, almost waiting for her, Hermione saw it. The gown was unlike the others, soft ivory fabric that fell in graceful folds, a modest neckline that framed without revealing, sheer gauzy sleeves brushing just to her elbows, embroidered with the faintest silver thread that caught the light like dew. It was elegant without being ostentatious. Her breath caught.

“Try it, Hermione,” Ginny urged, eyes wide with excitement.

In the fitting room, Hermione slipped it on, fingers trembling as she tied the final ribbon around her waist. When she stepped out, the room went still. The gown fit her as though it had been waiting for her.

Emma’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, darling…”

Molly sniffled again, pressing her handkerchief to her lips. “Harry won’t know what’s hit him.”

Hermione turned to the mirror, and for the first time, she didn’t see a princess or a stranger, she finally saw herself. Herself as she was now, and as she would be: a woman about to marry the man she loved. The dress didn’t dazzle with spells or shine with jewels. It was hers , simple and true. Her lips curved in a soft smile. “This is the one.”

As the others fussed and admired, Emma stepped closer, her hand brushing Hermione’s arm. “You know,” she murmured so only her daughter could hear, “when you were little, you used to slip into my scarves and say you were off to marry a prince. But this… this is so much better. Because it’s real. And because you found someone who loves all of you.”

Hermione’s throat tightened, her eyes misting. She leaned into her mother’s touch, whispering, “Thank you, Mum.”

For once, Emma didn’t offer advice, she just held her daughter’s gaze, proud and tearful, while Hermione stood in the gown that finally felt like home.

*-* 

The weeks passed in a blur of planning, enchantments, and quiet moments stolen together, and soon the pre-wedding celebrations arrived. Ron had taken it upon himself to organize a Quidditch match at the Burrow, followed by a night in a private room at the Two Broomsticks to celebrate with the bridesmaids, knowing how intertwined their friends were, promising “fun, alcohol, chaos, and maybe a few confessions.”

The groomsmen arrived at the pitch from the Burrow first, and Harry’s eyes nearly went wide. Each of them wore a t-shirt,enchanted to be plain for others nearby, but emblazoned with phrases when they were alone. “I stole his broomstick”, Draco wore a shirt that said "I used to hate him, but now I'm friends with him.", “Married to Ginny’s best friend (still single!)”, “Team Harry: Handle with Care”

Ron, grinning from ear to ear, wore one that read: “Warning: Best Man may cause minor chaos.” Harry groaned, but couldn’t stop laughing. “I can’t believe you talked them all into this.”

Ron shrugged, grinning, clearly proud of his handiwork. “What? It’s tradition. Makes you feel loved. Plus, it’s the last chance to publicly embarrass you before the wedding!” 

The lads laughed, clapped him on the back, and took their positions on the pitch, ready for a match that was sure to involve as much laughter as it did skill, or lack thereof.

That morning for the bridesmaid began at Grimmauld Place, where Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Padma and a few of their other female friends gathered. Gifts were piled high on a small table, shimmering faintly in the sunlight that streamed through the tall windows.

Hermione tore the first package open, a delicate hand-stitched book cover for her collection. “Oh, this is lovely,” she murmured, hugging Luna, who nodded proudly.

“Glad you like it,” Luna said with a serene smile. “I also brought something else,” she added, handing Hermione a smaller, oddly-shaped package. Hermione blinked.

Inside was a thin, leather-bound book titled Enchanted Bonds: Spells for Passionate Partners . Hermione’s cheeks turned pink immediately.

“Luna!” she whispered, stifling a laugh. “I… I don’t know if—”

“Don’t worry,” Luna said lightly. “It’s purely educational. Though you might find a few spells… enlightening.”

Hermione carefully set it aside, still giggling, before opening Ginny’s gift. She lifted the tissue and froze. Inside was a delicate almost see-through negligee, a pair of lacy knickers, garter belt and stockings. It was soft and lacy, but something Hermione would never wear. It had a note that said To wear on your honeymoon!  

Ginny’s grin was devilish. “I thought you’d appreciate something to make Harry… very happy.”

Hermione’s face flamed crimson. “Ginny! That’s… I mean, oh Merlin!” She buried her face in her hands, peeking through her fingers at the mischievous smirk on Ginny’s face.

The other girls snickered, Luna tilting her head as if nothing were amiss. “Very happy indeed,” she said serenely.

Hermione shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are impossible. But thank you… really.”

Emma, Hermione’s mother, watching the scene, could only chuckle and shake her head. “Well, at least the girls are keeping the day lively!”

The gifts had done more than surprise Hermione, they had lightened the mood, and as she looked around at her friends and family, she felt an infectious warmth: this was exactly the kind of joy and laughter she wanted surrounding her on her wedding day.

Later that evening, the group Flooed to the pub Ron had chosen. The warm hum of conversation, the smell of roasted meats, and the faint clink of glasses greeted them. The boys were already there, lounging in their ridiculous t-shirts, each one more absurd than the last.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a laugh as Ron’s t-shirt read, “Warning: Best Man may cause minor chaos.”

Ginny led Hermione and Luna to a table, while Luna’s wide eyes scanned the room. “Ah,” she said softly, as if discovering something profound. “Ron Weasley.”

Ron, who had been waving at them from the bar, froze mid-laugh. “Uh… hi?”

Luna’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “I do believe those Quidditch skills of yours are even more impressive after a few drinks. Perhaps you’d show me a few tricks?”

Ron sputtered, turning a deep shade of crimson. “L-Luna! You—uh… I mean…” He stumbled over his words, gesturing helplessly at her.

Hermione snorted into her drink, while Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. Even the other groomsmen were chuckling at Ron’s discomfort.

Luna, utterly unbothered, tilted her head innocently. “I’m just curious, you know. Observing strategy in action.”

Ron groaned, muttering under his breath, “I swear she’s trying to kill me with charm…”

Meanwhile, Hermione tried to focus on her own drink, still blushing faintly from Ginny’s earlier gift and Luna’s bizarre antics. “Honestly,” she muttered to Ginny, “this is ridiculous.”

Ginny grinned. “Exactly. That’s why it’s perfect. Relax, Mi. Tonight’s about fun.” Harry was sitting between Dracon and Theo who were in the middle of explaining a manoeuvre of Quidditch or another. 

Ron finally recovered enough to mutter something about “hilarious witches,” while Luna winked at him and pretended to scribble notes on an invisible parchment. The laughter from the group echoed through the pub, filling the room with warmth, mischief, and the certainty that this would be a night none of them would forget.

By the end of the night, the pub was buzzing with laughter, spilled drinks, and the occasional cheer from the groomsmen and bridesmaids daring each other into ridiculous challenges. Ron had survived Luna’s teasing,  mostly, though he still flinched every time she fixed him with her serene, wide-eyed stare.

As the night wound down, Hermione and Ginny were sitting on a couch, whispering quietly, while Luna sidled up to Ron with an air of deliberate mischief.

“You know,” she murmured softly, leaning closer than usual, “I do admire your courage. It’s quite… compelling.”

Ron blinked, utterly frozen. “Uh… thanks?”

Luna smiled, tilting her head. “Bravery deserves… recognition.”

Before Ron could protest, Luna pressed her lips to his in a long, bold kiss. He froze completely, eyes wide as saucers, hands hovering awkwardly in mid-air, utterly incapable of reaction.

Hermione stifled a laugh, elbowing Ginny, who snorted into her drink. Even the other groomsmen couldn’t hide their grins.

Finally, Ron managed to stumble backward, wiping his mouth and sputtering. “L-Luna! What in Merlin’s saggy balls is that?”

Luna, serene as ever, gave him a faint shrug. “Consider it… research for strategy and courage.” She winked, and then, with the grace only Luna Lovegood could manage, drifted back to Hermione and Ginny, leaving a red-faced Ron in her wake.

Hermione shook her head, laughing softly. “Honestly, she’s impossible.”

Ginny grinned, sipping her drink. “That’s why we love her.”

The night ended with laughter echoing through the pub, the girls teasing the boys, the boys teasing each other, and everyone aware that the wedding countdown had officially become a series of unforgettable, chaotic memories.

*-*

 A few weeks later, the wedding tents were buzzing with activity. Bridesmaids and groomsmen bustled about, arranging flowers and making sure the guest could sit down for the ceremony in the Forest of the Dean. 

Hermione was making a final sweep of the tent in a dressing down, when she rounded a corner and froze. There were Luna and Ron, utterly oblivious to the world. Luna had her hands on Ron’s shoulders, pulling him down into a shameless, lingering snog. Ron tried to participate, but could not keep up with her attention. 

Hermione bit back a laugh before she made her way to her end of the tent to get ready. She recounted the event to Ginny. “Well… that’s one way to test bravery before the wedding.”

Ginny shook her head. “I think she just wanted to see if he’d actually pass out under pressure.”

Luna finally pulled back, appearing on their side and serenely said “I was merely… congratulating him on his courage.”

The group of bridesmaids erupted in laughter, and even Ron couldn’t help but let out a half-hearted groan on the other side of the flap, as he muttered, “I’m doomed…”

*-* 

October light filtered through the golden leaves of the Forest of Dean, the crisp autumn air carrying the scent of pine and fallen leaves. Small enchanted lanterns hovered along the clearing, casting a gentle glow over the wooden arch where Harry and Hermione would stand.

Her father wore a lily to his suit and walked her to the altar, to Harry’s awe. 

Holding Hermione’s hands, Harry whispered, “You look perfect. Like you.”

“And you’ve been my anchor, Harry,” she said softly.

Minerva gestured for them to begin. Harry spoke first, his voice steady. “Hermione, you’ve been my compass, my heart, and my home. I vow to protect you, listen to you, and be your partner every day of our lives.”

Hermione smiled through tears. “Harry, you’ve shown me love can be fearless and strong. I vow to support you, laugh with you, and face the world by your side.”

They whispered quiet spells over their joined hands, golden spark from Harry, a silver shimmer from Hermione, binding their promises with magic only they could feel. They exchanged the rings from Harry’s vault, kissed and the forest seemed to glow in celebration.

The Burrow welcomed them for their reception with warmth, chaos, and magic. Enchanted lanterns floated above crooked tables, casks of pumpkin juice fizzed, and magical pastries occasionally jumped into eager hands. Molly fussed, insisting everyone ate and danced. The groomsmen tested the sparkling punch made by George, while Ron flinched at every spark from Luna, who leaned in, whispering teasing compliments and pressing bold kisses to his cheek.

Ginny, spotting Neville, grinned and leaned close. “Careful with that punch,” she teased. “It tends to make things… interesting.” He laughed, clearly charmed, and Ginny’s mischievous smile only grew.

Harry and Hermione danced together, hands intertwined, moving through the lively, chaotic crowd. Then Harry and Hermione noticed a familiar burst of chaos: Ron and Luna were at it again.

“You’re quite skilled on a broomstick,” Luna said, tilting her head, teasing. “Perhaps you’d give me a private demonstration sometime?”

Ron froze, red-faced. “I—I… uh…”

Before he could finish, Luna pressed a quick, bold kiss to his lips, then pulled back with serene satisfaction. Harry chuckled, nudging Hermione.

“I think they’re trying to outdo themselves tonight,” he said.

Hermione laughed softly. “Impossible, but somehow, they manage it.”

As the night went on, the Burrow was alive with laughter, magic, and love. Harry pressed a kiss to Hermione’s temple. “Home,” he murmured.

Hermione leaned against him. “Anywhere with you is home.”

Chapter 20: Epilogue

Summary:

Snippets of events for our favourite couple, including: their honeymoon, moments with Teddy, finishing school and starting work in their respective careers and their first kid. A fair bit of smut.

Notes:

This is it! Our last chapter for this story. I hope that you will enjoy this one. Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment if you haven't.
It's been a pleasure to write this.

My next series Secrets Behind Closed Doors will continue. If you are interested it's Harry and Hermione working at the Ministry of Magic and juggling with their secret relationship and their careers.

Right after their wedding, they owled Andromeda to visit her and Teddy. The grandmother was at the reception, but she had to leave early because she had to put little Teddy to bed.

The next morning, the pair went to Andromeda’s cottage. The witch welcomed them with warm hugs, congratulations, pastries and tea. 

“Now tell me, Harry, your letter seemed to be very serious.” She said, peering from her tea mug.

Before
Harry and Hermione snuggled in bed late one night, after a day of wedding preparations. They were exhausted from planning the event and wanted nothing more than cuddling; sex was definitely not on the agenda that night, for our horny couple. 

In the lull of the conversation, his arms around her shoulder, he looked deep in her eyes. “We should have Teddy over here. It would be nice for Andromeda to relax.”
“It’s going to be a good practice for when we have kids of our own.” She told him, with a wide smile and flushed. “Not that… not that, I am ready for that now, you know I want to study Muggle and Magical Law, work at the Ministry for a bit, before that.”
“I know love and there is nothing more for me than imagining you carrying our child.” He murmured against her ear. It was indeed a fantasy of his to fill her with his seed and for her to become pregnant. He could already imagine her hips getting wider, her breasts fuller.
The young couple kissed each other softly before sleeping intertwined.

“We were thinking about having Teddy over at our place. It could be a nice break for you, Andromeda and we would love to have him over.” Harry said, his hands in Hermione’s.
The witch’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh Harry. You are both so young to think of such a thing. I can take care of Teddy well for now.” She changed the subject, before the pair could argue with her further. “Now, you are leaving for the honeymoon soon, I expect?”
“We are and Harry won’t tell me where we are going. I don’t even know what to bring.” Hermione said. She loved being prepared and not knowing something wasn’t her strong suit.
“I want it to be a surprise, but I’ll help you pack and tell you that you will need both warm and light clothes.” Harry told her sweetly, his thumb tracing circle on her. She sighed and resigned, before kissing his cheek. The raven-haired wizard blushed, still unused to affection.
“I’m sure you will love whatever this young man planned for it.” Andromeda told Hermione. 

They sipped their tea, ate the pastries and played with Teddy’s and his new werewolf plushy. Hermione looked at Harry as he was holding the young Metamorphagus and smiled: he looked happy with him, playing with him and it warmed her heart. 

*-*

Harry had planned the honeymoon. It was a dream woven by his thoughtful plans and Hermione’s joy in simple pleasures. He clutched the broken watch that was their Portkey for their first destinations: He wanted to give her a chance to indulge her love of books, so they began their adventure visiting a series of quaint bookstores in a charming seaside town. Hermione's eyes sparkled with excitement as she rummaged through stacks of old tomes, hunting for rare editions and cherished classics. Harry watched her with pride, happy to see her so lively, brushing her hair behind her ear as her arms were laden with 5 heavy books, including a leather-bound copy of Hogwarts: A History she’d long wished to own.The books were sent to Grimmauld Place to not burden their suitcases.

Returning to the cottage they stayed at, Hermione ran to her husband, almost tackling him with the force of her hug. "Thank you. Thank you." She said between pecks on his lips. "I think I might have an idea on how to repay you, love. Make yourself comfortable, lay on the bed, close your eyes and wait for me." He only nodded going on the bed. 

Hermione bent down to take the box containing Ginny's gift and walked to the bathroom. She opened the box that held the delicate lingerie set Ginny had given her at her bachelorette party, the same one that had made her blush furiously when she'd first seen it. Carefully lifting the tissue paper, she revealed the almost see-through negligee, soft and lacy, with tiny embroidered details. Beside it lay the matching pair of lacy knickers, the dainty garter belt, and stockings. The ensemble was beautiful, crafted with exquisite care, yet entirely unlike anything Hermione would normally wear. Even now, her cheeks grew warm as she held it. The note was still tucked inside: To wear on your honeymoon!

Hermione paused, then chuckled softly, her cheeks still tinged. Ginny might have been presumptuous at the time, but now she felt a wave of affection for her gesture. Perhaps this was exactly the right moment to finally wear it, a perfect surprise for Harry on their honeymoon.

She shed her summer dress and practical underwear and put the ensemble on, noting that the garment adjusted to the shape of her breasts, making them perkier and showed her already hard nipples. The preceding days before the honeymoon, she had used a spell to shave her nether region, leaving only a slip on her slit. Her legs were done as well, since her dress had a small slit on the side. Harry didn’t seem to mind the full bush, but the lace material of the thong would show everything. Pulling the garter belt and the stockings, she took a glance at her reflection. Merlin, I’m really doing this. She breathed in and stepped out of the bathroom. 

Harry lay on the bed, with only his boxers on with his eyes closed. “You can open your eyes now, darling.” Hermione said. Her husband blinked once, then twice.
“Merlin, Mi. You are going to kill me.” He said huskily.
“Not exactly what I have in mind for tonight.” Hermione teased him. Straddling him, she kissed him hungrily on the mouth, their tongues finding each other. His hands roamed against the fabric, before his wife tutted him.
“I am going to worship you tonight first. Lay back and relax, while I take care of you.”
Her hands traced his chest, kissing her way down to his tented boxers.

She took a minute to lick his nipples, receiving groans from him. “Mi.” Humming, she took his underwear off, revealing his thick member, hard and with a small bead of pre-cum on the tip. She smiled wickedly, before taking him in her mouth, sucking and licking the shaft with ease. Her hands alternated between playing with his ball sack and his base. “Please, Mi,” he whispered. 

Hermione continued to suck Harry’s cock, taking him deeper and deeper into her throat. “Sweet Circe, I love your cock, Harry,” she whispered before taking him once more. She could feel him getting close, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he moaned her name. With a final thrust, Harry came hard in Hermione’s mouth, filling her throat with his hot seed. She swallowed every last drop, savoring the taste of him.

Harry pulled Hermione up onto the bed and glanced hungrily at her body in the lingerie. “It should be illegal to wear this, Mi. Straight to Azkaban, really.” Then, he began to undress her slowly, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he went. He paid special attention to her breasts, sucking and nibbling on her nipples until they were hard and sensitive. Hermione gasped softly under his ministrations.

He kissed all the way down to her stomach and inhaled her scent, before lowering the knickers. “Fuck, Hermione”, his voice was strained as he took in her almost bare pussy. He moved down between her legs, spreading them wide as he began to lick and suck at her cunt. Hermione moaned with pleasure as Harry used his tongue to tease her clit, flicking it back and forth in a way that drove her wild.

Suddenly, Harry began to speak in Parseltongue with her. The words sent shivers down Hermione’s spine as she felt his tongue moving inside her, exploring every inch of her most intimate places.

As Harry continued to pleasure Hermione with his mouth and tongue, she could feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm. Finally, with a loud cry of ecstasy, she came hard against his face.

Afterwards, they kissed each other passionately, tasting each other on their lips. Harry had become hard and she began to straddle him.
Hermione rode Harry hard, her hips grinding against his as they moved together in perfect harmony. Her breasts bounced as he thrusted into her. 

“You like that, don’t you?” she whispered in his ear.
Harry groaned with pleasure. “I love it when you take control,” he replied. They continued to talk dirty to each other as they fucked, trying out different positions and exploring each other’s bodies in new ways. Hermione loved the feeling of Harry’s cock deep inside her, filling her up completely. Finally, with a cry of ecstasy, Harry came hard inside Hermione, filling her with his hot seed. They collapsed together on the bed. The raven-haired wizard took his wand and did the contraception charm on her. 

The next morning, they woke up, tangled in the sheets. Hermione laughed at the state of their combined hair. “I think I need a shower before we do anything with our day.”
“I’ll come with you if you want.” They stepped into the shower together, letting the warm water cascade over their bodies. Hermione reached for the showerhead to run it over Harry’s body, teasing him with the sensation of it on his skin. Harry’s eyes  darkened with desire. “My gorgeous wife, think you can handle more of me?”
Hermione grinned at Harry’s suggestion. “I think I can manage that,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she got down to her knees to take him in her mouth as he leaned back against the wall. .
“Your mouth, Mi.” He moaned with pleasure, as she continued working her magic, using her  tongue and lips to bring him closer and closer to orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum down your throat if you don’t stop.” He took her away from his member and used the showerhead on its massage setting on her quim.
Hermione gasped. “Fuck.”
“That is indeed what we will do, wife. Can you be a good girl and take my cock?”

She nodded eagerly and Harry positioned himself inside her, holding her leg up between them. His thrusts were slow at first, but he picked up in intensity.
“Harry!” She cried. The wizard changed positions carrying her, while his hands were under her ass.
“Don’t stop, I love it, my husband.” She whispered in his ear. He held her tightly while praising her for taking him so well.
Their combined orgasms came a few minutes later. They washed their fluids from each other and Harry murmured against her lips, before kissing her. “I love you.”
“And I love you.” Hermione responded in kind. 

*-*
The next phase of their honeymoon was the tender quiet of their island retreat. They explored their private paradise, an idyllic island with soft white sand beaches, lush greenery, and turquoise waters. Mornings were spent swimming, snorkeling among colorful fish, and exploring hidden coves, while evenings were filled with sunset walks and quiet conversations under a canopy of stars. They’d share meals on the deck, laughter echoing into the night, feeling more connected than ever. Their love had grown into a deep, unshakable bond, full of passion, trust, and endless possibility.

The days following their return from the honeymoon marked a new chapter. Hermione, determined and ambitious, had her head full of ideas for her careers at the Ministry: She wanted to work for the betterment of non-wizarding populations, but she also loved the domain of law.
While Ginny was at their place, she sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I love both and I think I could do it at the same time.”
Ginny took a minute to look her over, before she took a sip of pumpkin juice. “Follow your heart, Mi. I am sure it will tell you the right decision.”
“Gin, no offence, but that is not helping me.” Hermione tersely said. Her monthlies had arrived right after their return, making her snippy with everyone, except Kreacher.
Her redhead friend laughed and smiled widely. “I’ll distract your mind for a second to tell you that I’m selected to play Quidditch with the Holyhead Harpies.”
The brunette was happy for her and hugged her. “Oh Gin, I’m so happy for you. You’ll be amazing”.
“No one expects you to know what you want to do after Hogwarts, Mi. Take some time and enjoy time spent with Harry.” Her friend told her softly, as she finished embracing her. “I can’t stay longer, I have to shop for some equipment”. 

Ginny kissed her cheek and hugged her once more, before leaving with the Floo to Diagon Alley.
Hermione hugged her knees to herself and took out the notebook Harry had given her with the enchanted quill and made a list of pro-and-cons to both works. She didn’t reach a decision, but it cleared her head. Harry arrived in the late afternoon with books for his Defence Against the Dark Arts mastery program with Professor Amaranth.
“Hi love. Had fun with Ginny?” He asked, setting down the bags. Hermione nodded before she put her head on his shoulder.
“Everyone’s expecting me to do great things, but why can’t I decide for myself?” She asked back.
Harry took a moment to think, before answering. “Love, you are the most intelligent witch I know. If anyone can do something, it’s you. Whatever you will put your beautiful mind to, you will achieve it.”
Hermione sighed. “I guess. I made a list and I had some internships at the Ministry. I could owl the DMLE and see if I could start in November.” 

“That’s my wife. What would you like for supper? Does that chicken dish we saw on the telly sound nice?” Hermione nodded, as Harry stood up to the kitchen. She helped him, chopping the peppers in strips for their stir fry. He added broccoli and cooked some rice.
They both ate in comfortable company and drank tea. Hermione wrote to the DMLE and received an affirmative answer, asking her to come to the office the next day. She interviewed with the Deputy Head of the department who was looking for an intern to review parchments of legislations and thought Hermione would be perfect for the job, despite not being versed in law. Hermione’s new boss even offered her mentoring and classes that the witch could take on her own.

Hermione worked tirelessly as an intern and in April was promoted to a junior role, with more responsibilities. Her sharp mind and compassionate heart guiding her through long hours and difficult cases.

Harry continued his mastery before he would teach at Hogwarts in September. His studies with Professor Amaranth fulfilled him and his mentor pushed him to be the very best. His passion for teaching and protecting their world fueled his days. He cherished evening conversations with Hermione about her cases, their dreams of building a future together, and watching Teddy grow more curious and lively by the day.

They balanced their careers with love and laughter, often sharing dinners and quiet evenings at home. 

*-*

Right after the holidays, Andromeda asked to bring Teddy over to them to have an evening for herself. Harry took in her tired eyes in the Floo and nodded. The toddler had grown since he last saw him. Harry loved hearing Teddy’s stories about his day, talking about his friends, his adventures, and the simple joys of childhood. Hermione adored those moments, feeling grateful for the family they had created. Harry and Hermione had decorated Hermione's old room for him, enchanting the walls with a forest and twinkling stars. He came more and more often and stayed for longer periods. The couple cherished these moments, seeing him grow. 

A year later in their roles, Hermione looked at Harry one morning in bed as they both stirred. “Love, I think I have no more potion for the month.”
Her husband blinked. “Does this mean I know what it means?”

His wife smiled before saying, “Ready to fill me with your cum, Harry?”

He kissed her, already hard and ready for action. “You have no idea what that does for me, love. Let me fill you up and give you a child.”
They made love sweetly, tenderly and Harry came inside her, without any protection.
A couple of weeks later, they had sex on the couch another time. Their sex life had been always very active from the start and it showed no signs of stopping. Quietly one month, Hermione didn’t have her monthlies and felt her breasts sore.

“I think I should do the pregnancy spell, Harry.” She whispered against his chest.
“Let me.” He said, as he took his wand from the bedside table. She took in a breath and he said the spell. The orb glowed gold and showed that she was indeed with a child. “Oh Harry.” Hermione said with tears in her eyes. He cried softly as he held her tenderly.

They went to St. Mungos for a private appointment every month, while juggling with their careers. The pregnancy was simple, with minimal nausea, albeit a little bit of dizziness if she forgot to eat. Her husband reminded her at every lunch, bringing her something to eat every time he was nearby. 

Their greatest joy arrived with the birth of their first child, a sweet, tiny bundle wrapped in soft blankets. Harry was overcome with wonder as he held James, his son for the first time, tears of happiness streaming down his face. Hermione’s heart swelled with love as they gazed at him, tiny fingers clutching their hands, little breaths that seemed to whisper of a new beginning.

Life was no longer just about their love, but about guiding their little family into a future full of hope and promise. Harry often looked at his family, thinking how far they’d come, from the boy who faced Voldemort to the man who cherished every moment with his wife and child.

One quiet evening, as they sat together watching Teddy sleep, Harry reached for Hermione’s hand. “We’ve been so lucky,” he whispered.

Hermione leaned into him, her eyes shining. “We’ve built a life worth fighting for, Harry. Together.”

And as they nestled closer, wrapped in each other’s love, their hearts knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them as they always had, with courage, laughter, and an unbreakable bond.

Notes:

Thank you for reading this labour of love (what can I say, I am from Quebec, so we write some words like the British).

A new chapter of Secrets Behind Closed Doors will probably come tonight or tomorrow.