Chapter Text
“Love?”
“…Perhaps,” Hermione huffed, pouting a bit as she dragged a mascara brush through her lashes. The trio were currently readying for the ball—Cho was sliding into her dress, while Marietta and Hermione had already dressed and were trying out different makeup looks.
And, of course, no pre-dance preparation routine was complete without a good gossip session.
“As in capital-L?” Cho gushed as her dress slid into place. “The real-deal sort of love with a ring and children and – “
“Cho!” a red-faced Hermione huffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Are you going to tell him?” Marietta asked, her voice sounding ghoulish as she stretched her mouth out to apply some lip gloss.
“Are you mad?” Hermione asked. “The boy’s fourteen, he’d faint on the spot.”
“She’s right,” Cho said with a sage nod. “A fourteen-year-old boy can barely handle double likes. Hermione’s doing exactly what she should, taking it slow.”
“As opposed to you, who spent the night with Cedric in an empty classroom,” Marietta said, her newly-glossed lips quirking in a knowing smirk, and Cho huffed.
“That was not anything so scandalous!” she insisted hotly. “We were researching more spells and just dozed off. The worst I got was a sore neck.”
“Marietta, didn’t I hear you got caught out after curfew with Zacharias Smith the other night?” Hermione asked, smirking when she heard Cho’s quite massive intake of breath.
“Mari!” she shrieked accusingly. In the mirror over her vanity table, Hermione saw Marietta shooting her a dirty look, and she only grinned back.
“I thought prefects were supposed to keep that sort of thing confidential!” Marietta blustered.
“Not when you’re harassing Cho about her nighttime antics,” Hermione said loftily. “Besides, now it’s all out there. I was out with Harry, Cho was out with Ced, you were out with – “
“It was completely—innocent,” Marietta insisted, her face falling as she realized she was now spouting Cho’s exact same defense. Apparently aware of the same thing, Cho fixed her with a triumphant little look. “Alright, I was perhaps a small bit out of line.”
“Perhaps,” Cho said, making her way over with a hair tie in hand. “You can make it up to me by helping me with this braid. You do them so much better.”
“Oh, turn around, you silly thing,” Marietta said with a fond smile, and Hermione watched as she twisted her fingers into Cho’s hair, pulling it into an elegant braid. Marietta was a bit much sometimes, but Hermione couldn’t deny there was certainly good under it all.
After well over two hours of getting ready (Cho simply couldn’t decide how to style her eyeliner, it seemed), the three girls made their way down to the common room. The normally rather loosely packed space was now quite crowded with students from the upper three years, mingling and babbling and seeking last minute styling advice. Hermione saw Terry Boot valiantly attempting a Tie-Tying Charm, only to succeed in nearly strangling himself before Lisa (apparently his date for the evening) set him to rights with a warm smile and a tap of his nose.
“Oh, isn’t that just adorable?” Cho whispered in Hermione’s ear.
“Young love is so beautiful,” Hermione said with a small laugh.
“Hermione!” Padma’s voice shouted above the din of voices, and she joined them on the way to the portrait hole clad in quite a gorgeous saree. “Oh my goodness, you look amazing! Periwinkle suits you.”
Hermione did a spin, showing off her own periwinkle blue dress, which hugged her torso and flowed down her arms before flaring out into a long ruffled skirt around her legs. She had opted for a fancy bun piled atop her head, using perhaps a bit more Sleekeazy’s than usual in the name of taming her curls.
“Is Harry on his way to get you?” Padma asked.
“I believe so,” Hermione said, inclining her head toward Cho. “And Cho’s waiting for Cedric.”
“Parvati’s set me up with some Gryffindor boy,” Padma said. “Ron Weasley.”
“Oh, I know of him,” Hermione said. “Harry says he’s one of two possible keepers for the quidditch team next year.”
“All Parvati would tell me is he’s handsome but not long on brains,” Padma said.
“Who’s she going with?” Hermione asked.
“Cormac McLaggen,” Padma said with a vaguely distasteful look. “I don’t much care for him, but he’s apparently handsome and so charming.”
“Harry seems to think he’s a bit cocky, full of himself,” Hermione said, and Padma let an amused sound.
“Well, that’s likely his appeal to Parvati, then,” she said in wry tones. “I think she likes being talked down to sometimes.”
“How did you two turn out so very differently?” Hermione asked. Padma rolled her eyes, speaking in patient tones that implied the same question had been worn out on her long ago.
“Because we have the same face but very different minds,” she said. “I take after Dad—bookish, some might even call me swotty.”
“No,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “Say it isn’t so.”
Padma gave her a gentle slap on the shoulder. “Parvati’s Mum’s clone some days. We both look just like her, but Parvati is…a romantic, I suppose. Fanciful.”
“To put it politely?” Hermione asked, and Padma winked.
“She is my sister, after all,” she said. “I can’t stand her some days, but I love the mad dear.”
“Hermione! Padma!” Marcus Turner called from near the entrance. “Your dates are here!”
A chorus of whoops and catcalls went up as Hermione and Padma made their way arm-in-arm to the door, and Hermione felt her face heat up when Cho shouted over the din, “Go get ‘im, girl!”
Out in the corridor, Hermione’s eyes scanned around before landing on her boyfriend.
And he looked good.
Standing there with his hands stuffed into his pockets and looking for all the world like a model for a teen clothing catalog, Harry had seemingly elected for a more modern take on dress robes, something akin to a muggle four-piece suit with a long jacket. It was an all-black getup, save for the undershirt and tie, which were both a bottle green that really did wonders to bring out his eyes. It was cut amazingly, Hermione had to marvel, fitting well to his long legs and accentuating his broadening shoulders in a way that had Hermione staring for a short moment.
Harry, she was pleased to see, seemed to be mirroring her expression, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of her.
“You look amazing,” he said. “That color really suits you.”
“Likewise,” Hermione said, taking a breath to control her hammering heart as she drew closer to him. “I love that color green on you.”
“Well, don’t get too used to it,” Harry said ruefully. “I’ve already caught some flack from Fred and George for flying enemy colors, as it were.”
“Oh, you quidditch jocks,” Hermione said with a smirk. “It really brings out your eyes.”
“That’s what Mum said when she picked them out,” he said. “And Daisy. And Sirius. And Remus. And Mafalda, recently.”
“And everyone else?” Hermione asked.
“Honestly, sometimes I’d like to get a shirt that says ‘Yes, I DO have green eyes, thank you for noticing’ to save a bit of small-talk,” Harry sighed. “I think your eyes are quite a bit more interesting.”
“Boring old brown?” Hermione asked, looping her arms around one of his as he led her along. Ahead, Ron Weasley was similarly escorting Padma Patil, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at his foul-looking dress robes. They looked like they’d gone out of fashion centuries ago and crossed over into antique territory.
Poor Padma.
“Brown eyes are the superior eye color,” Harry said, drawing her attention back to him. “When they catch the sun just right and turn all pretty and honey-colored…”
“My eyes do that?” Hermione asked, feeling her face heat up again, and Harry nodded.
“Sometimes I try to…engineer situations where it will, but then I feel bad because it involves the sun being in your eyes,” he admitted, and Hermione let a quiet giggle.
“Well, I appreciate you looking out for my eyesight, at least,” she said. “Staring into the sunlight is frightfully bad for the vision.”
“I just care so much, after all,” Harry said in longsuffering tones, and Hermione snorted, squeezing onto his arm.
They reached the Entrance Hall, where they milled about with the rest of the guests, a hundred conversations mingling together into a dull roar. A few shouts went up as dates were found, friend groups were convened, and the occasional comment (kind or otherwise) was made toward someone’s outfit for the evening. At one point, Harry’s teammates strode by, the girls smiling at the pair as they complimented Hermione’s dress. Hermione watched Fred Weasley whisper something in Harry’s ear before Harry went red-faced and slugged him in the shoulder. Cackling, the twins allowed the chasers to drag them off.
“You kids have fun!”
In short order, the doors the Great Hall were thrown open, and the crowd slowly filtered in. Still on Harry’s arm, Hermione followed him in to find that the four house tables and staff table had been cleared out in favor of dozens of smaller dining tables, reminding Hermione of the time she had been brought along to one of Mum and Dad’s fancy award banquets in order to watch Dad receive some dental hygienist award.
That had been an interesting night.
“There’s Marietta” Harry spoke in Hermione’s ear, and she shivered at the closeness, sinking into his side. “Did you want to sit with her?”
“I’m perfectly fine witting wherever,” she said. “As long as I’m next to you.”
“Oh, you,” Harry said with a chuckle, though Hermione was gratified to see a small but pleased grin on his face, which seemed a bit redder as he led Hermione toward a table where Marietta sat with—Zacharias Smith!
“You two – “
“Are attending as friends and nothing more,” Marietta said firmly. She’d gone for a strapless number in a lovely seafoam green that really let her eyes pop. Hermione thought she looked quite nice, in fact. “It was sort of a last-minute thing; we actually ran into each other on the way down, and neither of us had a date, so…”
“What d’you suppose they’re serving?” Harry asked, pulling Hermione’s seat out for her before taking his own and scooping up a menu. The usual Hogwarts tableware awaited them, though Hermione noticed that it had been pristinely polished. A neatly folded napkin sat atop her plate, and she moved it aside before taking her own menu.
“Looks like a bit of each of the schools’ fare,” Marietta said, reading off her own menu. “Baklava and bouillabaisse, moussaka and magret de canard…”
“Oh, Harry, you must try that,” Hermione said. “It’s duck, it’s actually really tender.”
“Duck?” Harry repeated, a bemused look on his face. “I don’t think I’ve had duck before.”
“First time for everything, isn’t there?” Hermione asked him. “Call it a warmup for your upcoming France trip.”
“Fair point,” Harry said with a grin.
“Oh, you’re going to France?” Marietta asked. “That sounds like fun. Hermione, you’ve been to France, haven’t you?”
“That’s what actually inspired the trip,” Harry said. “She wouldn’t stop selling the place to my sister, and now Mum’s onboard with a whole summer holiday.”
“You should bring Hermione along as a little tour guide,” Marietta said. “You speak the language, don’t you, Hermione?”
“I do,” Hermione said with a small pout at Marietta, who had an impish grin on her face.
“Actually, Sirius is fluent,” Harry said, smirking at Hermione. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a personal tour guide. We could get you a jaunty little beret and a scarf.”
“Zhis way, monsieur, pleez follow moi,” Hermione said in a French accent, and Harry quirked an eyebrow at her, his face going a bit pink.
“Well now I’m definitely bringing you,” he said, leaning down to smooch her on the cheek.
Food was apparently ordered by simply telling the plate in front of you what you wished to eat, upon which it appeared in much the same way as Hogwarts meals normally did. On any other day, Hermione might have fretted over how much extra work this was creating for the elves, but a glance over at Harry showed him taking an experimental bite of duck with the most adorable look on his face.
“How’s your duck?” she asked him, watching him chew his bite before grinning at her.
“Quite tasty, actually,” he said. “Excellent choice. Best tour guide ever.”
Hermione felt a warmth in her chest at that, at him, at how sweet he was being. Of course, he was always sweet, but being at his side while he squired her about an evening banquet was…something most girls could only dream of from a boy. Indeed, Zacharias had barely paid Marietta any sort of attention, focused as he was on his food. While Marietta claimed this to only be a friendly sort of outing, Hermione knew the jealous look her friend was throwing her way to mean she had been hoping for things to perhaps develop beyond that.
“So, Zacharias,” Hermione spoke as they ate. “Did you have a lovely Christmas this year?”
“Hm?” Zacharias looked up with a mouthful of potatoes, swallowing and grabbing at a goblet of butterbeer to rinse. “Oh, yeah, well enough. Mum sent me the Charmer’s Compendium, been wanting that for a while.”
“Oooh, I’ve heard about that,” Hermione said. “That’s seven volumes, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s a doorstopper, it is,” Zacharias snickered. “Even tells you on the outside to use a Levitation Charm to move it around.”
“I’ve been wanting to have a look at the Charmer’s Compendium for months,” Marietta said wistfully. Next to Hermione, she saw Harry’s leg give a small twitch, and Zacharias jolted a bit in his seat before meeting Harry’s eyes. Seconds later, he peered over at Marietta with a slight flush creeping over his cheeks.
“Er…d’you want to…meet up sometime and have a read of it?” he asked. “Could use a big Ravenclaw brain like yours to make some sense of the denser bits, you know.”
“That would be nice,” Marietta said, her own face going a bit pink. Hermione shot Harry a triumphant look, seeing him grinning back at her, and they shared a low-five under the table.
“Masterfully done, Miss Granger,” he said in a low voice.
“Back at you, Mr. Potter,” she whispered.
Soon, their plates were cleared, and dessert was ordered in a similar fashion from small menus that appeared on their plates before them. Harry and Hermione both sampled from the French selection (it was a bit of a task talking him out of ordering his old standby—treacle tart), Hermione enjoying the cherry clafoutis while Harry absolutely devoured a decadent chocolate bûche de Noël. Of course, they sampled a few bites from each other’s plates as well, Harry even being so bold as to feed a red-faced Hermione a bite off his fork.
Hermione was certain she heard a wolf-whistle from one of the twins at that.
Once dessert had been enjoyed, the plates were whisked clean once more, and the lights in the room went down very slightly, leaving them all at the mercy of the candle centerpieces at their tables. At the head of the room—where the staff table usually sat—bright lights sprang up to reveal that the raised platform had been converted into a stage of sorts. A set of drums, a few guitars, a keyboard, and a microphone all awaited, and as they watched, what had to be a band took the stage. They looked like any young rock group, with tight-fitting clothes (perfectly ripped and distressed, of course), thick eyeliner, and a well-practiced look that flawlessly mingled apathy with discontent.
“Oh, they got the Weird Sisters?” Harry muttered. “Dumbledore’s really trying to show off.”
“Are they a popular band?” Hermione asked.
“Think Blur with a bit of Red-Hot Chili Peppers thrown in,” Harry said, and Hermione hummed thoughtfully at that; she was far from music illiterate, but Harry was on a completely different level. Lily Potter was evidently a massive audiophile—a trait Harry had most certainly inherited. In fact, he’d been introducing her to some of his favorite music, from fairly popular groups like the Red-Hot Chili Peppers to underground bands with homemade EP albums sold out of car boots.
Hermione enjoyed the music, to be sure—but her favorite part of the whole thing was listening to Harry go on and on so passionately about the different genres and the different sounds there were, how clean guitar was different from dirty guitar but both were perfectly valid, how the right song could capture emotion in ways simple words were never able to.
According to Daisy, he had actually dabbled in guitar for a while in his third year and had come out of puberty with a lovely singing voice. Hermione was still waiting for the right moment to broach that topic.
Her musings were interrupted by a quiet nudge from Harry as the band started playing.
“His guitar wasn’t hand-tuned, you can tell,” he muttered as the lead guitarist of the Weird Sisters settled into a twangy sort of riff. “Too clean.”
“I thought clean could be okay?” Hermione asked, and Harry shook his head.
“Not that sort of clean,” he said. “It’s sanitized. Not real music.”
“Snob,” she teased him, and he stuck his tongue out at her.
In front of the stage, the three champions had taken to the floor in the opening dance. Viktor Krum was escorting a tiny Durmstrang girl with stiff and overly practiced movements, while Fleur Delacour was being led through a passable two-step by the Ravenclaw quidditch captain, Roger Davies. The stars of the show, however (in Hermione’s personal opinion) were Cedric and Cho, who had eyes only for each other as a grinning Cho beamed up at her boyfriend.
Soon, the first song ended, officially opening the dance floor to the rest of the guests. A few couples began to filter out (most of them enthusiastic girls leading boys who were less so), and next to Hermione, Harry visibly braced himself before standing and holding a hand out to Hermione.
“Miss Granger, may I have this dance?” he asked with a rehearsed sort of formality. Hermione found herself grinning up at him.
“I’d be honored,” she said, taking his hand and following him to the floor. She passed by a few familiar faces, sharing an excited grin with Padma and rolling her eyes as Parvati and Lavender shot her matching murderous looks.
And then, the pair were mingling among the couples, and Harry’s arm circled around her waist at a tasteful height as he took her hand. Marveling a bit at his control of the situation, she felt him take the lead as they began to circle slowly around the floor.
“You continue to impress me, Mr. Potter,” she said quietly, and Harry grinned at her.
“I promise, this is the result of a lot of practice,” he said. “I may be a natural at quidditch, but I’m absolutely a technician when it comes to dancing.”
“Who did you practice—did you practice with Daisy?” Hermione asked, snickering a bit as he offered a bashful nod. “That is adorable, aw.”
“Thankfully she’s hit a growth spurt recently, so the difference in height isn’t throwing me off too much,” Harry said.
“Why didn’t you ask me?” Hermione asked, fighting the urge to pout at him. “I would have helped.”
“I…guess I wanted to impress you,” he said. “I didn’t want to make you work for a proper date—I wanted to show up ready for it.”
“You can’t keep being this sweet, Harry Potter,” Hermione playfully chided him. “I can only handle so much of it.”
“I’m sorry I’m so effortlessly charming,” Harry said in grave tones, and she pursed her lips in a pout, leaning in to press a smooch to his lips.
“Stop iiit,” she said. Nestling into his neck as they spun about the dance floor, she sighed against his skin, enjoying the way his breath hitched when she did so. “I love this. I’m having such a wonderful time.”
“Well…glad to hear it,” Harry said, his voice rumbling in his chest as her ear pressed against him. “Maybe send a letter along to Mum telling her that as well.”
Hermione giggled, sliding her hand down his arm so both were gently wrapped around his back. His hands settled gently onto her waist, and they spun like that while the Weird Sisters strummed out a slow and cozy-sounding tune. Shutting her eyes, Hermione wished this moment could stretch out forever, the blissful perfection of Harry’s arms, of his scent, of the gentle thud of his heart.
Bugger, she was well and truly falling in love with this boy.
Eventually, the band began a song with a quicker beat that neither of them were feeling brave enough to attempt to dance along to, so they slipped through the increasingly rowdy crowd and toward the refreshments. Harry grabbed them both a serving of punch, which was pleasantly fruity and charmed to be perfectly cool.
“Having a nice time?” he asked as they quietly tapped their glasses together in a muted toast before drinking.
“It’s lovely,” Hermione said. “I always thought my first school dance experience would be frightful, but here I am with my boyfriend and punch and…”
“I know what you mean,” Harry said. “When I was in primary school, toward the end, all the boys were starting to realize that girls weren’t gross and that we wanted to do all these scandalous things like hold their hands and kiss them.”
“How dreadful,” Hermione said with put-upon severity.
“Despicable, I know,” Harry nodded. “When I found out, I remember being so petrified of the prospect. Imagine going up to a girl and telling her you think she’s pretty. It was a daunting thing to think about.”
“Well, you’ve turned out to be rather good at it, at least,” Hermione pointed out, and Harry grinned at her.
“Well I had Uncle Sirius to educate me,” he said. “And Mum and Uncle Remus to rein in some of the more extreme lessons.”
“Goodness, you ought to be the Hogwarts ladies’ man, then, shouldn’t you?” Hermione asked him, sliding her hand into his and leading the way toward the Entrance Hall. Harry let a quiet and dusky sort of laugh behind her, the sound sending a strange thrill up her spine.
“Luckily, I have the perfect combination of my father’s social ineptitude and Mum’s unfailing consideration towards others,” Harry said. “I know I can’t have a conversation to save my life, so I don’t burden others by trying.”
“Unless you need someone’s help to charm a girl you fancy,” Hermione corrected him, and Harry let a quiet snicker.
“Touché,” he said. “But that all worked out for the best, in rather a roundabout fashion.”
“You certainly won’t hear me complaining,” Hermione told him softly, clutching to his arm.
They passed through the Entrance Hall, where a number of couples and ball-goers were escaping the bustle of what was building into quite a party in the Great Hall. Dim lighting and a low burble of conversation provided a quaint sort of atmosphere, and the front doors had been thrown open to provide a stunning view of a garden that had been constructed outside. Amongst flowering shrubs and ornately-shaped topiaries, glimmering lights flitted and blinked, casting the whole affair in a soft yellow glow.
“Looks quite nice,” Harry said, already leading her toward the doors. “Care for a moonlit stroll?”
“That sounds lovely,” Hermione said.
The evening was cool, but there was no doubt a warming charm in the air to keep the worst of the Scottish winter at bay. Pressed in against Harry, Hermione strode amidst flitting and floating lights that she was delighted to discover were actual fairies, leaving glittering trails in their wake as they swarmed around the garden-goers.
“Wonder where they got these fairies,” Harry asked idly as they walked.
“I know there’s colonies of them in the Forbidden Forest,” Hermione pointed out. “These look rather young as well—the older ones tend to avoid humans. I wouldn’t be surprised if they simply stuck a bunch of eggs in the bushes and timed it so they would hatch tonight.”
“Will they be okay out of their natural habitat like that?” Harry asked, and Hermione smiled up at him, pleased at his concern.
“Fairies have a sort of imprinting instinct, a bit like sea turtles,” she said. “Egg-laden fairy mums often go great distances to find a good bush or tree to lay their eggs in, and when the eggs hatch, the fairy young flitter about a bit before going home.”
“So this lot will eventually find their way back to the Forbidden Forest?” Harry asked.
“Exactly,” Hermione said. “Probably with a story to tell all the other fairies about hormonal humans snogging in the bushes.”
“Disgraceful,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “Humans and their bizarre courtship rituals.”
“D’you suppose we should tell them to look away?” Hermione asked, tugging him to a stop and turning to gaze up at him. Grinning down at her, Harry reached up and dragged his fingers along the side of her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a gesture that sent a long-familiar shiver up her spine again. Letting a shaky breath, her eyes fluttered shut, and well…
The fairies around them were surely blushing as much as the two once they’d emerged from the gardens for another round of dancing.
Cho and Cedric found them as they returned to Entrance Hall, Cho wearing the most smug and knowing expression at the state of Hermione’s bun, which she only just noticed was beginning to collapse around her face.
“Honestly, woman, have some decorum,” she said with a wink, whipping her wand at Hermione’s hair and setting it back to rights. “Hermione Granger, rumpled and mussed after a snog in the bushes, what a scandal.”
“It was not a snog in the bushes,” Hermione insisted, feeling her face heat up as they made for the Great Hall once more. “It was under a lovely ivy trellis in the moonlight.”
“Oh, classy,” Cho said with an approving nod. “Goes from torrid teenagers in the bushes to a blossoming young couple framed in the moonlight.”
“That’s the cover of a romance novel right there,” Hermione nodded, and Cho giggled.
Inside the Great Hall, the music had slowed again, and while the night didn’t feel yet like it was winding down, there was a sense of release to the room—the energy of the crowd had certainly peaked, and it was now time to simply enjoy each other’s company.
“The Weird Sisters do know how to work a crowd, I’ll give ‘em that,” Harry admitted.
“Harry,” Cho said, latching onto Harry’s other arm. “Would you dance with me?”
“Er…” Harry glanced over at Hermione, who suddenly felt Cedric’s hand on her back, between her shoulders where no ill intent could be inferred.
“I’ll see to it she’s not neglected,” Cedric said, and Hermione looked up to see him with a genteel smile on his face. “If you don’t mind a dance?”
“I’d be honored,” Hermione said.
“Don’t make me look bad by comparison,” Harry said. Chuckling, Cedric shot him a wink as the two pairs took to the dance floor. Cho pulled Harry to a stop not terribly far from the edge of the dance floor, and Cedric led Hermione nearby.
“I hope you don’t mind this,” he said with a rueful smile, leading her in a tasteful two-step. “Cho insists on grilling Harry now that it looks like things are going to be getting rather serious between you two.”
“Grilling him?” Hermione sighed. “Oh, Cho…”
“She means well,” Cedric said with a laugh. “I doubt she’s going to attempt to wedge you two apart, at least. But it seems you mentioned the L-word.”
“Ugh,” Hermione groaned, and Cedric chuckled. “I’ll murder that girl. She’s not going to tell – “
“Of course she’s not,” Cedric insisted in placating tones. “You know, Cho’s told me that she considers you her very best friend. She really admires you, in fact.”
“She—she does?” Hermione asked.
“Why wouldn’t she?” Cedric asked. “She has you to thank for a lot. Her grades, her quidditch skills—she doesn’t get into her head nearly as often as she used to.”
“You’re going to make me cry, stop it,” Hermione said with a little laugh, prompting another chuckle from the boy.
“Well, it’s all leading to…thank you for being such a good friend to her,” Cedric said. “Even I know she can be a bit…much at times.”
“I’m telling her you said that,” Hermione muttered, and Cedric rolled his eyes.
“You two are melding into one,” he said in amusement.
Hermione felt strangely proud of that.
They spent the rest of their dance in comfortable silence, Hermione only taking a moment to make sure Cedric had been working on deciphering the clue contained in the egg he’d gotten in the First Task. After extracting two promises from him that he would seek them out if he needed any help, they finally parted as the song drew to a close. Rejoining Harry, Hermione was amused to see a grin on his face as they left the floor once more.
“Good chat?” she asked.
“Oh, she got all weepy on me, thanked me for helping Cedric and being such a lovely boyfriend to you,” Harry said. “It was adorable. In a platonic…best-friendly way – “
“She is pretty adorable,” Hermione cut him off, leaning in to plant a kiss to his lips. She was well past any feelings of inadequacy or jealousy in light of how close all four of them had become. “I can see why you liked her.”
“I like you quite a bit more,” Harry insisted, and she smiled.
“I like you quite a bit as well,” she said.
And that, to Hermione, was enough for the moment.
000
Some time later…
A wet chill greeted Hermione when the carriage door opened, and as Harry climbed out in front of her, he let a disgruntled sound before casting a quick umbrella charm to keep at bay a slushy sleet that was doing its best to pelt the Hogsmeade visitors.
“Some romantic atmosphere for Valentine’s Day,” Hermione grumbled, and Harry let a quiet laugh as he helped her from the carriage, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her to him under his improvised umbrella. “Oh! Well…alright, sarcasm rescinded.”
“Thought so,” he said. “You just need the right mindset. It’s ideal weather for a cozy cuddle.”
“How silly of me,” Hermione said. “I’m not embodying the Valentine’s Day spirit.”
“Not to worry, I’ve enough for both of us,” he said.
Ahead of them, the row of carriages stretched onward, a mob of students disembarking in varying states of romantic embrace such as them. Through the crowd, Hermione spotted Cho and Cedric, Cedric wearing a bit of a pained smile as Cho led him enthusiastically toward Madame Puddifoot’s teashop. Nearby, Marietta was sporting a profoundly pleased expression as she and Zacharias Smith made their way toward Honeydukes hand-in-hand.
It seemed everyone was pairing up these days.
“Where to?” Hermione asked as Harry guided her along. Recognizing the direction they were headed, she fixed him with a curious look. “The Three Broomsticks? Won’t it be crowded?”
“Not if you have a room reserved,” Harry told her with a wink. “I’ve got connections, you know.”
“Why d’you think I’m dating you?” Hermione asked.
“Because you’re hopelessly infatuated with me, same as I am to you,” Harry replied, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
“So?”
The Three Broomsticks was, as Hermione had predicted, quite packed. Madame Rosmerta always went all-out for Valentine’s Day and had bedecked the tables in red, white, and pink runners with heart-shaped candles as centerpieces. Still, the atmosphere was raucous and loud and seemed more to favor large friend groups that were bonding over their shared lack of a valentine to celebrate with.
Madame Rosmerta herself had accrued quite a number of flowers and other gifts from aforesaid lonely hearts, which she accepted with a rueful smile and a good-natured laugh.
Still guiding Hermione along, Harry passed by the barmaid, who shot him a wave.
“Room 5, m’dear,” she called out.
“Thanks, Rosmerta,” Harry said with a little salute back to her.
“A private room all to ourselves?” Hermione asked, and Harry smiled sidelong at her as they reached the room.
“Not quite,” he admitted, reaching to open the door. Inside, a small and cozy sort of parlor greeted them, no larger than Hermione’s dining room back home. The walls were hung with simple scenic paintings, and a small window allowed muted white light through translucent curtains.
Hermione caught only a glimpse of this before a familiar voice spoke up, one that was jarringly unexpected to hear in the Three Broomsticks.
“Surprise, dear!” Mum cried with joy, hopping to her feet and nearly upending a chair as she sped toward Hermione and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you!”
“Mum!?” Hermione squeaked. She gathered herself enough to hug her mother back, inhaling the achingly familiar scent of her perfume mingling with her favored laundry detergent. It smelled like home, and Hermione felt herself swallowing past a lump as Dad’s deep rumble came from over her shoulder.
“Surprise,” he echoed in a small chuckle, extricating Hermione from Mum’s arms only to sweep her up as well. Squeezing him back, Hermione was dismayed to feel tears in her eyes as Dad pulled away from a much briefer hug, grinning down at her.
It was often said that Hermione greatly resembled her father. Both had brown eyes and curly brown hair, though Dad kept his short enough that a bulk of the bushiness was kept at bay—he made up for it with a respectable beard, however. From Mum, Hermione had (thankfully) inherited her somewhat petite size and (arguably less thankfully) prominent teeth. Mum’s hair was enviably manageable, straight and sandy blonde.
“What…on Earth are you two doing here?” Hermione asked thickly. “How did you even – “
“Oh, that would be my handiwork,” a woman said, and Hermione only then noticed that her parents hadn’t been the only ones in the room. Rounding, she took in the sight of Harry’s mum.
Lily Potter looked much the same as she had in the Christmas card she’d sent, with gorgeous red hair, vibrant green eyes, and a smile bordering on impish. Hermione knew she was only in her mid-thirties, but she looked even younger in person; she would have believed the woman standing in front of her to be Harry’s older sister rather than his mother.
“Hello, Hermione!” Lily gushed, moving to wrap Hermione in a squeezing hug that Hermione feebly returned, but that wasn’t enough, it seemed. “Go on, you can do better than that! Hug like you mean it!”
Giggling a bit, Hermione squeezed with all her might, and Lily finally released her with a satisfied nod. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you! My goodness, but you are adorable!”
Hermione glanced about to see Harry exchanging a firm handshake with her father while Mum enthusiastically chatted at him. “You brought my parents here?”
“Well, it was actually Harry’s idea,” Lily said. “That boy, just when I think he’s done surprising me, more of his father shines through. He wrote me saying you hadn’t been able to have your parents visit because no one magical could accompany them and asked if I might be up to the task.”
“He did that for me?” Already emotional, Hermione felt a tear finally slip free and glide down her cheek. With a quiet laugh, Lily withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and passed it to her (she still wore her wedding ring, Hermione noticed), giving her a moment to dab at her face. “But…he never asked for an address or anything.”
“Oh, I played a little of the detective, actually,” Lily said proudly, leading Hermione to a chair and sitting with her. “I got out the phone book and looked for dentists named Granger, and wouldn’t you know it, there they were. I even called them up and scheduled an appointment to go and see them.”
“She had far too much fun with the whole thing,” Harry said flatly, and Lily grinned at him.
“I got in there, we started chatting, and I told them I was Harry’s mother, and we all talked about what a rotten boy he is and how you have your work cut out for – “
“Muuum!” Harry groaned while Hermione snorted.
“We actually discussed how Lily has taken to the wizarding world as a muggle-born and what sort of future you have with them,” Mum said. “We’ve always been a bit worried about it, given what you’ve told us of the prejudice those…purebloods have.”
“And I told your parents that while there is a lot of systemic prejudice in place, it’s still worth it to at least get a basic education at Hogwarts and then consider your options,” Lily said. “I had two little ones to take care of, and I don’t regret it one bit,” she looked significantly at Harry, who rolled his eyes in a familiar way, “but the two of you have so many more options at hand these days. You can study in France, Italy, over in America or in Australia. Or all of the above, make a proper world tour of it.”
“It’s actually customary after Hogwarts to spend a year travelling around and putting what you’ve learned to use, learning more, and getting accustomed to the world,” Hermione said. “I’d love to do that.”
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Dad said with a nod. “It’s just refreshing to have more of an idea what’s actually happening to you while you’re away.”
“And to see you,” Mum said with a fervent look at Hermione. “Oh, love, you look wonderful! I saw pictures of you at that Yule Ball of yours, and it reminded me so much of your father and I on our wedding day – “
“Helen,” Dad said with a rueful chuckle, and Hermione saw that Harry’s face had gone quite red at that last remark.
“Winston,” Mum shot back with an impish look to match Lily’s. Hermione thought she saw a slightly wistful look from Harry’s mum as she watched the pair, but then the door opened, and Madame Rosmerta entered to take their drink orders, and the moment was gone.
Drinks were ordered, and the parents chatted amiably before gently grilling the students on how school was going, their friends, their classes, their upcoming exams, and any minute detail they could extract from the pair. Hermione was delighted to see that Harry got along rather well with her parents; it had been a secret worry of hers that any boy she dated from school (however remote the possibility had once seemed) would flounder when introduced to a couple of muggles and find himself unable to relate to them. Harry coming from a muggle-born mother and growing up familiar with the muggle world meant that he was perfectly able to chat with Mum and Dad with minimal awkwardness. He even bonded with Dad over a mutual love of football, and they spent a fair amount of time chatting about the sport. Dad was a fan of the Premier League, while Harry preferred to stay abreast of the various National Leagues.
By the time they were due to return to the school, Harry had promised to write Dad after the next England National game.
“That was actually quite painless,” Harry said once they had said their goodbyes and were making their way along the ice-slickened road toward the carriages. Hermione clung tightly to Harry’s arm, both to keep herself from losing her footing but also because she simply wanted to.
“You know, once we get back to the carriage, you’re getting a proper snog,” she told him, enjoying the little smile that quirked his lips when she did, the slight flush to his neck and cheeks.
“Am I?” he asked. “To what do I owe such a lovely time?”
“Being the absolute best boyfriend in all of history,” she said. “The worst part about Hogwarts is not seeing my parents for months on end, and you go and just—bring them here! That’s the most thoughtful thing ever, Harry.”
“Well…it wasn’t entirely my idea,” Harry said. “I was telling Daisy I wished there was a way to just bring them here, and she looked at me like I was daft and said I could just write Mum and ask her to do it.”
“What a little problem-solver,” Hermione giggled. “I’ll have to be sure to thank her.”
“She’s happy just to help,” Harry said. “She’s rather taken with you, it turns out.”
“I seem to have that effect on Potters in general,” Hermione said, and Harry winked at her.
“Hard to deny that,” he said.
Her heart gave another little flutter, and Hermione sighed in utter contentment as they strode along. How was she not supposed to absolutely fall head over heels for this boy? What point was there in resisting or denying or pretending that she wasn’t caught up in some adolescent fantasy, that she wouldn’t march down the aisle with this boy tomorrow if the mere mention of such a thing wasn’t liable to send him into a panic?
Hermione Granger was categorically and completely in love with Harry Potter, and she was ready to embrace it.
And him, which she did readily once they had secreted themselves away into a warm and cozy carriage—after all, she had promised a snog, and she intended to deliver.