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“Aaaaaaargh, cheap bloody fabric—ughhhhh.”
Harry Potter knows one thing for certain: when Hermione Granger’s frustrated voice carries through the entirety of Grimmauld Place, it’s best to turn the other direction and pretend to have heard nothing.
But, Harry’s never been very good at self preservation.
He strolls into the large, wallpapered den with a genial sort of smile and chipper tone. “Hello, Hermione. Sounds like you’re having a grand old time!”
Dark brown eyes flash in his direction. If possible, the frown on her face deepens further. “Oh yes, I’m having a fantastic time here, thanks.”
Covering a laugh with the sound of clearing his throat, Harry moves to stand next to her and scans the array of fabrics, paints, and other craft paraphernalia cluttering up the large dining table. It’s like Molly Weasley’s living room exploded and apparated itself in front of Hermione.
He’s about to be cheeky, but then he notices the shine of unshed tears in her eyes. “How can I help?”
Huffing, Hermione detangles herself from black yarn that seems to be taking on the characteristics of Devil’s Snare. “Rose wants to be a vampire for Halloween, and Hugo wants to be—” she rolls her eyes, “a house elf.”
Harry sucks his lips between his teeth, but is still unable to control the chuckle that escapes like a snort. “That explains why Hugo’s been following Kreacher around this week.”
“He’s quite determined.” Her lips twitch. “Regardless how much I explain that it’s inappropriate, he just loves Kreacher so much. I even caught him snuggled into Kreacher’s nest yesterday. Honestly I’m glad Molly has the kids tonight.”
“Please tell me you bathed him immediately.”
“Twice.” They share a laugh for a moment, and then Hermione sighs. “Molly used to make their costumes, but since Ron and I aren’t on speaking terms, I didn’t want to ask. They’ve begged for them to be homemade, but I just… I’m not this type of mum, you know?”
He understands; he’s never felt as good a dad as Arthur is to his kids. But, his kids are all he’s got with Ginny off winning Quidditch cups, and so he does the best he can. Still, he’s watched Hermione trying to do it all as a single mom—and he’s always amazed at the ways in which she can argue for creature rights all day, write articles for the Prophet championing reform in the Ministry, and still make it home in time to put dinner on the table and tuck her children in at night.
“You’re exactly the type of mum you’re meant to be, and a bloody good one at that.” He wraps a hand over her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Come on, get up and let me have a peek.”
“Harry, there’s no saving this. The fabric is a mess and I’ve almost gone through all the thread.”
Even as she speaks, she moves out of the way to let Harry have a look. He’s puzzled. There’s enough fabric to cover both Hagrid and Madame Maxime, but only enough thread to make a really crap necklace. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and pulls his wand from its holster.
“You may not recall this… due to all the stress.” Smirking because he just can’t help himself, Harry prods his wand at the fabric and then the thread. The fabric shrinks and the thread elongates. “But, you’re a witch. With magic. And Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration—”
Hermione sighs. “I know what Gamp’s Law says.”
“Right, so. Did you not consider using magic for this?”
“I…” Harry glances up and finds Hermione’s lip tugged between her teeth. “Of course not. Molly used to sew the dress robes and costumes and—”
“With magic .” Harry stands and places his hands on Hermione’s shoulders. “Even Molly’s broom used to sweep itself through the Burrow.”
“You’re right.” Hermione fidgets with her hands, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s just that my mum used to make my costumes, too. Sometimes she’d just bring home scrubs and a headlamp. I’d be a dentist. The years I didn’t go as a dentist though, those were my favorite, and I just wanted to share that piece of her with the kids.”
Pulling Hermione against his chest, Harry hugs her tight. Her wild hair tickles his nose, and he blows it out of the way. “Vernon and Petunia always bought Dudley the most expensive costumes—because those were the ones he wanted most. And they’d tell me I could make something out of the old curtains.”
“Oh Harry!” Hermione pulls back, frowning. “Listen to me nattering on about a perfectly lovely childhood, when you had… that.”
Not keen on letting her go, Harry releases her from the embrace, but grabs at her hand and winds their fingers together. “It’s alright. I’ve had a chance with James, Albus, and Lily to do things differently. And, if you’ll let me, I’d like to be there for Rose and Hugo, too.”
It’s the closest he’s come to admitting his feelings to Hermione. The divorce is still raw. She’s been staying at Grimmauld for only a few months until she can find a place of her own, but in that time, the dormant spark he used to feel whenever she was close suddenly ignited again. He’s kept quiet, been the good mate she needs, but it’s getting harder to temper his feelings.
Hermione surprises him by tangling their fingers together. The smile on her face nearly stops his heart. But what comes next almost brings him to his knees.
“I’d like that,” she says, coyer than he’s used to hearing from her. “For you to be there for Rose and Hugo.”
When did she get so close? His breath blows a few rogue strands of her hair away from her forehead. Did she always have that small, silvery scar on her cheek?
“I’d like that, too,” he says rather uselessly, mentally smacking himself for sounding like a redundant twat.
Hermione chuckles, a breathy sound that flushes her cheeks. “So you said.”
He’s such a numpty around her. Always has been. Harry squeezes their fingers and fidgets nervously. All his words come out in a single breath. “Want to grab takeaway with me tonight?”
For a brief moment, her smile disappears.
“I’m sorry, I’d really love to, but I’ve got to get the kids’ costumes done before the fancy dress party.”
Harry only hears one thing: she didn’t say no.
“I’ll help finish up the costumes,” he offers hastily. “Then we eat. What do you think?”
As Hermione’s grin lights up her face, the fire in Harry’s belly is rekindled.
After all the costumes are sorted, Hermione apparates quickly to the little curry spot they love so much. She brings back too much food, and he loves her for it. He’s grown into his appetite over the years, something Hermione loves to tease him about.
Since the kitchenette is still overrun with fabrics, sewing needles, and glitter, Harry and Hermione sit on the kitchen floor with their backs to the wall. Side by side. Harry’s long legs pressed right up beside hers. Every once in a while, Hermione steals a piece of naan off his plate, and he nabs bits of chicken off hers. They laugh, talk about the little things going on at the Ministry and finally settle into comfortable silence.
Harry knows he loves her, just because she’s the only person he can sit in complete silence with and not feel the urge to fill it.
He takes the time to really watch Hermione. The small quirk of her lip just before she says something cheeky, and the way her curly hair grows wild the more stressed out she becomes. And the breathy sound she makes when she laughs from the belly.
It makes him smile, just watching her. When she catches him, she blushes, and chuckles into her fist while she tries to swallow down the last of her food.
“Thank you for helping me tonight,” she says eventually, turning her body towards him. Taking his plate, she uses her wand to float them to the bin, and then takes his hand in hers. There’s a mild shake to her fingers, and so he closes his other hand overtop of hers to steady them. “For everything you’ve done after the divorce, actually.”
Compliments still make him feel awkward, so Harry shrugs it off and squeezes her hand between his. “You’re my best friend, Hermione. I’d do anything for you.”
“It’s the same for me, you know?” She squishes in closer, legs practically underneath his. “I don’t have a lot to offer now, but—”
“Hermione.” Harry drags her hand up to his heart and holds it there. “This—you and I—has never been transactional. I didn’t help you with Rose and Hugo’s costumes because I expected something of you in the future. I did it because…”
Well, it’s now or never, he decides. She hasn’t stolen her hand away and she hasn’t tried to stop him from spilling his guts like a besotted idiot. He gulps down a breath and spews it out in one.
“Because I love you. I love your kids. And I wanted you to see that I can be here for them, too. That I want to be here for them, too.”
There’s silence between them, but she holds his gaze. There are flecks of light brown near the pupil of her eyes; he’s never noticed that before, either. So many things still left to discover about Hermione Granger, all these years later.
Hermione tugs her hands from his, but they don’t leave him for long. They’re on his face, either side of his cheeks, and then her lips are on his. Softly. Briefly. But no less powerful.
As she pulls away—not far—he huffs relief or happiness or some combination of the two.
“I love you,” she whispers, and though it’s something he knows, has always known, it still sends tingles skating through his veins. “You’ve always been here for me, Rose, and Hugo. Through everything.”
Unable to contain his elation, Harry cracks a grin. “We’re not going to consider this our first date, though, right?”
She smacks him playfully on the chest. “Of course not. I expect to be properly wooed. Without thread in my hair and glitter in places it shouldn’t ever be.”
“Too soon to ask to see those places?” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it, but he’s not sorry he’s said it. String and glitter aside, she’s practically sitting on his lap. Even the taste of curry on her lips can’t stop the stirring he feels in his pants.
“Fifteen years of foreplay, I don’t think it’s too soon.”
Before she can say more, Harry kisses her again. This time, he doesn’t hold back. He’s going for it—tongue and lips and a moan when she fists his shirt in her hand and pulls him closer. Moments pass slowly as they lose layers of clothes and ignore the fact there are several perfectly good bedrooms upstairs.
And though the floor is hard and he’s not as spry as he used to be, Harry’s also really bloody happy the kids are staying with the Weasleys tonight.
He’s not letting a moment go to waste.