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In the very first week of Hermione’s bookshop being open, Dudley Dursley walks through the door.
He’s grown up a bit from the last time she saw him in the aftermath of the war, and he’s lost the hulking, disdainful expression she still associates with Harry’s relatives.
Instead, he stands in the doorway of The Gilded Quill with wide, curious eyes, and looks over shelves and tables lovingly curated with her favourite editions. Hermione is still a new shop owner, and doesn’t want to be rude, so she rounds the corner to greet him like she would any other customer.
“Welcome in. How may I help you?” she asks the tall, broad blond man in front of her. She tries to keep the frostiness out of her tone, but from the way Dudley shifts and scratches at his neck, she knows she’s failed.
“I was looking for a book, and Harry…uh…might have told me about this place,” he says, with a stammer, hands still fidgeting at his sides as he mentions her best friend.
She’s surprised that Harry has been around Dudley enough to recommend this store, but a (mostly) Muggle bookshop near the University isn’t the strangest place for him to stop by. The cousins have tried to form a friendly relationship as adults, so she’ll be welcoming, if only for Harry’s sake. She forces a smile at the man, a tiny, tight lifting of her mouth, and sidesteps the landmine that is his rekindled friendship with Harry by asking a question. “And what is it that you’re looking for?”
“A book on carpentry,” he answers and then adds, “I like working with my hands.”
She steps over to her computer and punches in a couple of keywords, searching to find the correct titles. She resolutely ignores the way his blue eyes follow her every move, but she supposes Harry has mentioned her enough times to make Dudley mildly curious.
He’s not the only one.
She turns to face him after scribbling a couple of options on a card and hands it over to him. “This is what I have in stock; they’re in that section right over there.” She points to the row of how-to and self-help books, eager to have him make his selection and ease the awkwardness between them.
He doesn't move. Instead, he stares for a few long seconds, in awkward silence. Then, he shifts from side to side in front of her, a slight blush creeping up his cheekbones. “I'm sorry, you know—” She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head in confusion, but the man continues, “—umm… you've been better family to Harry over the years than we have, I reckon, but I'm trying… not to be like them.”
She can see the sincerity in his eyes as he stumbles over the words, and she can tell by his tone that this is important to him. She knows then that he didn't just wander in here on a whim. She supposes people can change if they try hard enough, and the man in front of her is obviously making an effort. They should aim for a fresh start. She smiles, genuine and broad this time, and extends her hand. “I'm Hermione Granger; nice to meet you.”
He takes her hand gently, his digits large and robust compared to hers, and she can't help but notice the relief and surprise in his expression. “Dudley Dursley, and the pleasure is all mine.”
“Well, Dudley, the books you are looking for are over here. Would you like me to show you?” Dudley finally smiles at her, and she can't help the passing thought that he’s grown into a relatively attractive man from the bratty teenager he once was.
“Please, lead the way.”
She falls into step beside him, her love of books overriding any lingering tension as she explains the selections on the card. “I've tried to have a wide variety of subjects for hobbies and things of the like….”
~~**~~
Hermione doesn't expect to see Dudley again after he spends an hour in the store selecting a book, but the next week, he’s back, asking for another.
Then the next week, and the next. And the one after that too.
He doesn’t ever seem to be in a rush when he stops in, so Hermione talks a bit here and there with him. They start with safer topics, at first, and then some of the trickier bits. He’s much different than she expected—patient, attentive and interested.
He’s also one of her most frequent customers.
By the sixth visit, she’s run out of books on carpentry and woodworking and has to special order more. She doesn't hesitate to select several additional titles to the ones Dudley requested, just to have something for the next time.
As the weeks go by, he even exhausts the extra selections she has stocked just for him, and she finds herself coming up empty-handed.
“I'm sorry, we don't have anything else on hand,” she frowns as they stand next to the counter chatting while the shop isn't crowded. “I suppose this trip was a bit of a waste.”
Dudley shrugs across the wooden till. “I don't think coming here could ever be a waste.”
Hermione doesn't know how to respond, so she grabs a pile of books to be reshelved and finds something to do with her nervous energy. To her surprise, Dudley grabs the rest of the stack and wanders around with her, asking questions and letting her ramble on about the displays and organisation system. He painstakingly follows her direction until all the books have found their homes.
It’s only the chime of the clock in the corner that alerts her to the time, and she’s shocked that he’s stuck around long enough for it to be past closing. “It feels weird to leave without a book in hand,” Dudley laughs slightly, straightforward and open, then continues, “So, recommend one. Pick out a book that you love and think I’d like.”
“Oh, sure,” the tone of surprise in her voice causes it to rise an octave or two, but this is what she does —recommends books to people wanting to get lost in fictional worlds—so she jumps into action. “I have just the thing.” She hooks a slender hand around his rather large forearm and drags him deep into the rows with a bright smile, chattering the entire way.
He leaves an hour later with The Hobbit tucked under his arm and a promise to return soon.
By now, Hermione looks forward to it.
~**~
The visits from Dudley continue, though now he seems to purposely stop by later in the day. She’s even added a sofa and some comfy reading chairs in a corner nook, just for him. It’s become routine, him staying past the closing bell. Often, they curl up beside each other in those chairs and talk about anything and everything.
Being surrounded by magic for so long, she’s forgotten how nice it is to have a friend in the Muggle world. They talk about their childhoods; she with wistfulness and he with shame. But, they find the good things that connect them as well. The words flow easily between them, and he listens to her intently, not for her ability to find solutions and dole out knowledge, but because he enjoys her company.
Of course, he asks about magic after a bit, and she’s even grown comfortable enough to pull out her wand in front of him and give a bit of a demonstration.
“That’s a brilliant trick,” Dudley exclaims as the otter Patronus swims in the air between them. “If I had realised magic was cool and not scary as a kid, then maybe….”
Hermione leans forward and squeezes his knee from where she’s sat beside him. “You’ve realised it now, and that counts for something.”
His face shifts from regret to joy as he beams at her, scooting just a bit closer. Her stomach swoops, and her palms are clammy as he leans into her space.
Of course, it's at that moment the floo in her storeroom activates, and Harry stumbles out into the shop proper. “You ready, Mione? We have to be at Theo’s in about twenty—” He trails off at seeing Dudley and Hermione together, their knees touching on the brown leather. “—minutes.”
“Oh! Sorry, lost track of time,” Hermione responds as she jumps up and starts putting the few necessary things away, busying herself instead of facing her best friend and his curiosity.
“Hey, Harry,” Dudley greets with an easy wave as he walks over to his cousin like all this is perfectly normal. Maybe it is, maybe Hermione is worrying for no reason.
“Hey, Dud,” Harry greets, but his green eyes crease just a fraction as he looks in her direction.
Dudley either ignores the look or doesn’t pick up on Harry’s penetrating gaze because he clasps the man on the shoulder with a quick, “Well, I best be off. You guys have a good night.”
“Bye, Dud,” Harry responds, but the man is already making his way to her. She leans in to give him a parting hug, as usual, but this time he dips in further and plants a chaste but steady kiss on her cheek. She breathes in the smell of him, bold and spicy, and tries to cover her blush.
She tries to act like this is nothing special.
“Have a fun time with your friends,” Dudley whispers into the scant space between them, and then he’s off. He shoots Harry a jaunty wave, and the bells of the shop tinkle with his departure before Hermione can even move from the spot. Or hide the telltale blush staining her cheeks.
“Well, that was certainly a surprise,” Harry’s voice breaks her out of her fog as she’s suddenly hit with the fact that somehow over these few months, she’s come to truly like Dudley Dursley. Both as a friend and something potentially more.
She spins to meet his sparkling green eyes and ignores the questioning tone. Instead, she grabs her trusty beaded bag and shoves him back toward the floo. “Not a word, Harry; I don’t want to hear a single word from you.”
He laughs as they enter the fire, and Hermione can’t help but bring one hand to her cheek before they are swept away.
~**~
Dudley shows back up a few days later, and Hermione’s heart skips a beat at the sight of him casually leaning against the bookshelves. He’s staring at her again, listening intently as she reads a passage out loud, and she nearly falters for just a moment at the heat and intensity of his stare.
But she’s in the middle of her weekly reading circle, so she focuses on the gazes of the dozen youngsters surrounding her and resolutely ignores the blue eyes of the man in the corner.
When she’s done, and the snacks and crafts are put away, Hermione makes her way over to where he sits in the brown leather armchair— the one she’s begun to think of as his.
She wants to ask about Harry, wants to ask what’s happening between them, but all her thoughts are paused as Dudley offers up a steaming paper cup. She takes the beverage with a smile and brings it to her nose, the scent of honey and milk hitting her nostrils. “I asked Harry how you take your tea— I hope he got it right.”
Hermione takes a small sip, and it’s expertly made and just the right temperature. “It’s perfect.”
She sinks into the chair opposite him after quickly gesturing to her new shop assistant, cradling the warm cup in her palms. She thinks about the conversation that obviously happened between the cousins, and figures the tea counts as Harry’s blessing. Whatever that means.
“I didn’t know you did a story-time.”
Hermione laughs slightly, “it’s something new I just started, but it seems to be a hit.” There are still kids and parents milling about the shop, proving her point.
“You have a lovely voice. I kinda caught myself listening in.”
“Oh, usually people try and get me to stop talking, not want to listen to more.” She shrugs with a mild snort. She’s been called a know-it-all or swot enough times in her life for it to be a sore spot still, but Dudley leans over and runs gentle fingers under her chin, tipping her honey eyes to meet his ocean blue.
“Well, people are idiots sometimes.“ She laughs outright at that to hide the butterflies, but Dudley saves her from coming up with a response. “This is a great program, though— I hated books when I was younger, thought I was too cool for them or something.”
“Never would have guessed that,” she jokes.
“But, I think I would have loved someone reading fairy tales to me when I was little, especially if they sounded like you.”
“Oh!” Hermiones’s exclaim of surprise is small, but Dudley’s fingers are still warm against her throat.
“Hermione, I know this is probably just wishful—“
The crash from a nearby display cuts off anything else Dudley is about to say, the moment broken as Hermione rushes to make sure everyone is safe and inspect the damage. She gets caught up in the commotion for almost half an hour, not even able to think if Dudley stayed behind after their conversation.
It’s Saturday, and he probably has other places to be.
But after the table is righted and everything is calm, she spots him, still in her shop, still watching her and smiling.
He leans against the counter again, “you know I’d be happy to come in and make a new table for the kiddo's storytime.” Dudley looks balefully at the rickety piece that was the story centre before. It’s nothing but rubbish now.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he bats away her protest. “I want to put all those woodworking books to good use, though.”
“Oh, well—“
“How about tomorrow night? After the store closes?
“It’s a date,” she says offhandedly before the words register in her brain, and her heart stutters to a stop.
Dudley mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “god, I hope so”, but then smiles and kisses her on the cheek without hesitation. “See you tomorrow night.”
~**~
Hermione is a bundle of nerves when she finally ushers the last customer out the following day.
She flooed Harry the night before, but the arse wouldn’t give her any helpful information. He just laughed and crinkled those damnable green eyes before patting her on the head and sending her back through the fire with a smile and a shout of “good luck.”
The knock on the door startles her, but she calms the moment she sees Dudley’s large frame through her window. He’s dressed in utility pants and carrying a toolbox, and suddenly her mouth is dry, and her face is flushed. He looks like the hero of a smutty romance novel with his flannel open over a tight t-shirt and a tool belt riding low on his waist. He’s thick and manly, and though not conventionally handsome, something about him draws her in.
Then he smiles at her as she opens the door and gazes at her with open affection, and she realises that it’s the way he makes her feel that’s so extraordinary. He looks at her like she’s something special, and not for her intellect or because she helped defeat a madman. But for all of the little ways she’s stitched herself together after the war. The things everyone else sees as chinks in her armour; he sees something more.
“Hey Hermione,” he greets, lips upon her cheek like a brand as she leans into his touch. “Ready to get started?”
“Absolutely,” she grins, delighting in how he rakes his eyes over her denim-clad legs and tries to hide the fact that he’s checking out the hints of cleavage in her scoop neck tank.
He takes one last lingering look, swallows and goes to grab his tools.
Once they start the project, two things become abundantly clear. One, Hermione has a thing for strong, muscled arms. And two, Dudley Dursley absolutely did not need a single one of the dozen of how-to books that he’s systematically purchased from her shop.
His craftsmanship is exquisite, and even though magic can make any number of things out of thin air, it can't replace the quality of something carved by hand from wood and stone. Dudley is clearly a master at his craft as he easily moulds a masterpiece from simple wood.
They make small talk as always, and Dudley forgets that he’s supposed to be merely a beginner. He explains each step and process, why he makes each cut and groove, and it’s mesmerising. She understands exactly how he felt when he watched her read. He’s in his element, completely baring his soul to her, and she wants more.
She wants everything.
It’s nearing midnight when they finish, having stopped only for a quick bite and easy conversation. Dudley putters around gathering his things, and Hermione stares in awe at the beautiful piece of furniture.
“Dudley, this is gorgeous,” Hermione explains, running her hand over the wooden surface. She imagines the different books and series that will be lovingly housed within its frame.
“It was nothing. I’m happy to help.” He wipes a speck of dust from his brow and fights the spot of colour appearing on his face. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Thank you,” Hermione says with sincerity as she steps close into his space. She means to hug him and return the friendly kiss to his cheek in a show of appreciation, but Dudley has other ideas.
His strong hands drag her close, and before she registers it, his lips are on her. His kiss is soft and tender, but quickly turns desperate as she parts her mouth in a gasp. His tongue darts out to tease her, and Hermione whimpers against him, winding her fingers into his short blond hair.
He kisses her like she is his treasure, warm and solid and just a bit needy. When they can no longer breathe, he pulls away to nip at her jaw and mouth at the crease of her neck.
“Hermione,” he rumbles against the column of her throat, “please tell me this is real.”
“It is,” she whispers, and the second the words leave her mouth, he hooks both hands under the swell of her bum and lifts her. He doesn’t break the kiss as he walks them backwards and practically falls into the leather sofa with her on top of him.
They kiss like that for minutes or hours; Hermione can’t be sure. By unspoken agreement, they don’t take it much further, wanting to go slow and savour the moment. But still, every nerve ending in her body is lit up by the thought of his hands on her skin.
She doesn’t even have to ask to know that this is the start of something new and real between them.
Later, when she’s content and warm, snuggled into his side, she glances back over at the new custom furniture and snorts as she raps him lightly on the chest. “Dudley Dursley, you tricked me! You definitely didn’t need those books.”
His chest vibrates beneath her hand with the force of his laughter. “I only meant to buy the first one. I thought it would be an easy way to get along with you, for Harry’s sake.”
“Then why did you keep buying more?”
“I think you know the reason for that.” He gives her a pointed stare and pecks her lips gently.
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
He pulls her closer. “Me too.”