Chapter Text
Magic and hormones: a fun combination, they do not make.
In hindsight, perhaps spelling charmed canaries to pelt that infernal Ronald Weasley was an extreme reaction. It wasn’t as if Hermione made obvious overtures about her feelings. Really, she should have known that it would take her to practically scream out that she was interested for it to make it through his thick head. Making a throw-away comment about wanting him to go to the Christmas Party with her was far too subtle. Though if he expected her to lay it on thick like the girls mooning after Harry, he would be waiting a while.
For him to have the audacity to snog Lavender in front of the common room? She didn’t know if she could ever forgive him for that. She wasn’t entirely sure what terrible crime he’d committed, just that it hurt. The pain felt too familiar, like Dolohov’s curse was ripping through her again. She didn’t know why it hurt so much, just that she didn’t like it and knew that hormones were responsible. Ron had made his choice and it wasn’t her.
As she stalwartly ignored Ron and Lavender’s existence, she noticed Harry acting as if he was stepping on eggshells around her. He stoically endured her blistering rants about how she really wasn’t that bothered about Ron. He even made the choice to sit with her in the library, though she knew she was his second preferred choice. He did mention that sitting with Ron and Lavender was like experiencing their impression of a toilet plunger. Unfortunately for Harry, her hormones needed a vent and he was their next victim. Her ire was so readily available under the surface… and he then had the audacity to paw obsessively over that book in front of her.
It took one admission from Harry to blow the hot air from under her sails. She let out a scathing comment about the book, criticising Harry for cheating when she knew he was perfectly capable of following the actual instructions. She’d managed to sneak a blow under his armour as his face suddenly went slack. He closed the book and started to clear his place at their table at the library. Hermione flustered at once, aware that she’d actually hurt him. He coolly looked at her before leaving, hesitating before he then spoke.
“It makes me feel closer to my mum, alright?”
Hermione didn’t know how she managed to push Ron away into Lavender’s arms. She’d tried to analyse what she’d said to him to make him disregard her, but there had been nothing standing out. She didn’t have to analyse her behaviour to know how she pushed Harry away. Her irritation over the book, and her own hurt pride, had sent him away. Hindsight was a bother again as she faced the cold, hard fact that it wasn’t really that important. So a former student had been a potions mastermind? So what? She should be proud of Harry for having a talent instead of nagging him for showing off.
She should have noticed how Harry glowed at the praises Slughorn gave him, how he smiled to himself as he was compared to his mum. How had she missed that precious connection? She should have realised how much it meant to him… and she made him feel bad for it.
It wasn’t hard for her to find Harry. By some luck, he hadn’t rushed off to Ron and Lavender instead. He’d gone instead up to his dormitory and it was only due to the urgency of her need to speak to him that made her forgo his possible desire to be alone. Somehow, being responsible for upsetting Harry tore at something vital inside her. She didn’t feel half as bad when she attacked Ron… probably because Ron actually deserved it.
She felt awful upon finding Harry sitting alone on his bed. He sighed heavily at her arrival, but he didn’t yell at her to get out.
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
He closed the book he’d been reading with a final snap. Hermione didn’t approach, waiting for him to give her a sign that he’d heard and understood. She glanced down at what he was reading, a little surprised that she didn’t see the cover of Advanced Potion Making. Her heart then wrenched painfully as she recognised the red leather cover of his private photo album. The contents were so private, neither she nor Ron had seen the pictures of his parents inside. Harry turned his face away from her and let out a small chuckle.
“You can’t just barge in here now, Hermione. It’s not like we’re kids anymore.”
He then shook his head, putting the album down on the bed next to him. Hermione flushed at the comment. In any other situation, she would be the one reprimanding someone out of bounds in the boys’ dormitory. He was right… annoyingly.
“I… just needed to tell you that I’m-.”
“Sorry, yeah. I heard.” Harry cut over her, sighing out his frustrations. He then rubbed his eye under his glasses. “Well, you’re lucky it’s just me in here.”
He peered at her and she noticed how tired he looked. He then waved at her to join him on his bed, a small sheepish smile pulling at his lips. She perched on the corner of his bed, being careful to not crowd his space. Observing how guarded Harry looked, how wary, it brought on a quiet devastation. Had they really been pulling apart without her noticing?
“It feels like forever since we’ve talked properly,” she said quietly. “I know that it’s my fault.”
Harry shrugged. “We have a lot on.”
“It’s not an excuse. If we can’t talk to each other, who can we talk to? I’m… supposed to be your friend. I’m meant to support you, not criticise you all the time. I don’t even know why I do it half the time.”
Harry fidgeted with his hands as she talked. When she trailed off, he looked up at her in a strange, contemplative way that she hadn’t seen him use before.
“You don’t criticise me all the time, to be fair,” he said, “but… I would appreciate it if you get off my back. I’ve got pressure on all sides and it would be nice to not have it coming from you too.”
She winced at the directness of his remark. He didn’t snap at her or berate her, keeping his voice level and mellow on purpose. She bit on her lip, emotion painfully surging up from her breast to her throat. Her eyes stung warningly. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been awful to you. I just… don’t feel very in control at the moment.”
Harry then laughed, startling her. He quickly put a hand to his mouth, but she could see his grin. He then shifted towards her, the bed springs creaking.
“Well, I’ve at least escaped having birds launched at my head so that must count for something.”
He then sobered, tilting his head to the side as he surveyed Hermione again in that strange contemplative way. He pushed the photo album to the side and shuffled up to her. Hermione blinked, a little surprised as the mattress dipped next to her, making her leg press against his.
“If we are clearing the air, I’m sorry too. I should have said something to Ron… I still can. Casting you aside like that… and all because he felt left out.”
“What?” Hermione leaned closer, staring intently at Harry. “Left out of what?”
Harry sighed, shaking his head a little.
“He was jealous that we’d all snogged someone. It really is that dumb,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Ron found out that you kissed Krum when he and Ginny had an argument. I had my whatever it was with Cho, so that left him out. That’s why he was being such a git… and then I guess when Lavender threw herself at him, he snapped up the chance.”
Hermione stared at him, the shock first whining through her thoughts, swiftly turning into incredulity at how immature it all really was. Ron had rejected her because he wanted an easy snog? That was it? The reason she’d been so dejected and hurt was just so Ron could be back on a level with her and Harry?
“That’s more important to Ron? That he hadn’t been kissed? He… completely looked over me for that?”
Harry dropped his head down, swiping his glasses off so he could rub at his eyes. She reached across for his wrist, his hand holding his glasses where he’d been about to put them back on. He looked across at her and she was struck with his full gaze without his glasses. He sighed and nodded.
“Yeah… and I should have told him what a prat he’s being. There are so many things more important than a snog, but anyway… it wasn’t just that. He was jealous of Krum… for kissing you.”
“But that was ages ago?” Hermione half-wheezed out.
“I know.”
“And… and, honestly, it was so awkward. I may have, you know, over-romantised it when I told Ginny, but I didn’t really like it.”
Hermione had no idea why she said as much to Harry, but he gave her a soft, concerned look.
“Yeah. I get it. I didn’t much like kissing Cho either. Well, you saw what I was like afterwards. I didn’t know what to think. She pretty much cornered me, you know? I didn’t want to upset her anymore than she already was so… so yeah.”
Hermione shifted her hand so she wasn’t pinning Harry’s wrist down, but he didn’t move, looking down.
“I felt the same with Viktor. I didn’t feel like I could… say no. Because he was older and I felt amazed that he’d even noticed me, so maybe part of me felt like I had to give him something in return. Afterwards, when I told my mum about it, she was pretty upset… she told me that he took advantage of me. I tried to say that it wasn’t like that, but maybe it was… and maybe Cho took advantage of you too.”
Harry’s brows furrowed a little before he looked back up at her.
“You never told me any of this before.”
“No, I know…”
“I’m glad he’s not about right now ‘cause I’d sure like to punch him right in that big stupid nose.”
Hermione giggled at once, warmed and amused at how protective Harry went at the drop of a hat. He didn’t look amused, though. He frowned, his eyes flickering where he looked at her intently again.
“You don’t have to punch him, Harry.”
“I want to.”
Hermione squeezed his wrist, “It’s over. I told him that it would be friendly only and that’s that. I’m fairly certain he has a girlfriend now anyway.”
But then what Harry admitted about Cho played on her mind. Perhaps their first romantic encounters weren’t so dissimilar. Harry had been manipulated into reciprocating as well. Hot anger seared through her. It didn’t matter that Cho had been struggling herself. It didn’t excuse her playing Harry for his attention.
“For what it’s worth, it wasn’t fair what Cho did,” she said tightly.
Harry then laughed, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well, it sounds like Ron’s jealous over nothing. Neither of us enjoyed it anyway.”
He then looked right at her again, his smile soft and warm. Being his sole focus suddenly made it hard to breathe. Hermione had heard far too many girls sighing about Harry Potter’s eyes, and other parts of his anatomy, but she’d always remained stoutly unfazed by the attractiveness of her friend. Though, of course, she had noticed. She wasn’t blind. Sitting so close to him, on his bed, his weight pressing against her and with his beautiful eyes staring deeply into her eyes… she didn’t have much of a defence.
She could feel the beat of his heart pulsing against her hold where she held his wrist.
Her fingers released his wrist and she sucked in a breath, recovering from the strange spell that just seized her. Harry frowned at his wrist, confusion muddling his gaze before he looked up at her. Hermione’s heart skittered.
“So, um, look, if it upsets you so much, I don’t have to use the book in Potions,” Harry changed the subject, appearing a little… disappointed. “I can use the one I bought. I think I kept it…”
She shook her head ardently.
“No, that’s not fair on you. You haven’t really been doing anything wrong, just following a different set of instructions. I should be paying more attention to the fact that the original book is wrong rather than criticising whoever this Half-Blood Prince is. I have my misgivings about them… but I can’t deny that they know their Potions.”
Harry’s mouth was hanging open, his shock making her feel worse. She sighed, reaching for his hand again.
“Maybe if there’s something that I think is unsafe, I’ll say. I just worry about you. I know how reckless you are.”
His mouth snapped shut and he let out a sheepish laugh. “I guess… and yeah, I know it’s because you care.”
Warmed to the core, Hermione threaded her fingers through his. Harry didn’t pull away, just smiling at her.
“So, we’re good?” He asked as if there was any doubt. Hermione smiled back, though something inside her felt a little touch of longing. Ignoring the strange stirring, she nodded.
“Of course, we’re good. And… we should talk more.”
Harry’s nod in response felt like a private victory.
Lo and behold, talking appeared to be the cure-all. Hermione felt as if some sort of blockage inside her had been jostled loose because all of a sudden, everything felt easier. The maelstrom of emotions that came with being a teenager no longer were strangling her, but instead ran their course. She could sit through Potions without almost blowing up a flask with her ire as Harry shmoozed Slughorn. She even saw the funny side of how Ron was stuck with a girlfriend who, as Harry pointed out, did a good impression of a human plunger. When Christmas approached, it made perfect sense for her to go to Slughorn’s party with Harry instead of Ron… as a friend. She earned herself lots of glares from Romilda Vane and her cohorts, but she didn’t care.
Things seemed to be approaching some semblance of normal – or as normal as things could be at Hogwarts. When leaving for Christmas to spend time with her parents, she made sure to give Harry a huge hug… and made sure that Ron was there to witness it. Harry rubbed her back, a small addition that he’d started to do. It felt nice… even right.
It was only during Christmas that Hermione discovered a problem. Bonding with Harry made their friendship the strongest it had ever been. She always missed Hogwarts and her friends when she went home for the holidays, but that homesickness soon went away, the love for her family soothing that longing away. When she found herself sitting at her bedroom window, staring at the sky as she waited for a snowy owl to appear, she realised that she wasn’t just missing a friend. She was specifically missing Harry. She didn’t feel the same loss after Ron flounced off with Lavender. She didn’t even miss him all that much… just hurting at his betrayal. Yet even though Harry had never even stepped foot in her childhood home, she could feel his absence.
There was no need to read too much into it, she reasoned. Of course she missed Harry. He was her best friend. She was just concerned for him, needing to hear that he was okay and having a good enough Christmas with the Weasleys despite the awkwardness that existed there. She assured herself that he’d be fine… after all, he was perfectly friendly with the rest of the Weasleys. It wasn’t like he was invited to stay there because he was friends with Ron.
No, Harry would have said something if he felt awkward or uncomfortable.
And if he was awkward and uncomfortable, it would be Hermione’s fault for being the cause of the rift between the three of them… or at least, the rift between them and Ron.
Why had they not figured out a way to communicate without relying on poor Hedwig? Was it really that hard for them to hook up a phone line at the Burrow? What with all the things Mr Weasley kept in his shed, a phone couldn’t be that impossible. Once she had resigned herself to the fact that staring out the window wasn’t going to summon Hedwig, she returned to spend time with her parents.
Hedwig showed up at Boxing Day with a letter from Harry, giving his thanks for his present. Even though there wasn’t anything in the letter out of the ordinary, Hermione couldn’t help but feel disappointed. It wasn’t as if she expected Harry to become a sudden passionate letter-writer out of the blue, but even so, she immediately wondered if there was a reason behind the brevity of his letter. He’d always been short and to-the-point, but she hoped…
She didn’t know what she hoped.
Really, it was unfair to expect him to write an essay. If anyone had a risk of having his letters intercepted, it was Harry. They had been intercepted last year so he had a reason to be paranoid.
To make a point, she made sure to write back a letter that spanned over two sides of parchment. That she was eager to speak to Harry was an understatement.
When they reunited in January, her enthusiasm to catch-up was met with a stumped surprise and not just from Harry. She practically seized him the moment she caught him on the way to the Common Room and whisked him into the nearest empty classroom. All thoughts of who watched the scene and who would read far too much into it had been very, very absent until she heard the snickers and the mutters the following morning as she passed girls in the corridors. Hardly anything went unnoticed at Hogwarts and Harry was a beacon for attention. No wonder half the school believed that they were a couple.
And half the teachers.
What surprised her was Harry’s reaction when they were together and could overhear very unsubtle whispering about how they were dating. He just shrugged it off, said that it’s not the first time… which was true. He also said that he had enough to worry about… also true. He’d received a task from Dumbledore to somehow swindle Slughorn into divulging a compromising memory. He’d also grown noticeably more paranoid about Malfoy and, as much as she wanted to dismiss his gut instinct, the slimy git had been acting shifty. It was after their first Apparation lesson when he tried to bring Malfoy up with her again that she noticed how ardently he was trying to convince her. So she listened.
She soon found that listening was just as valuable as talking. She let Harry vent before stifling his tirade before it could erupt, but he didn’t erupt into a shouting fit. He just… talked.
“I think you’re right.”
They were alone in the disused room they picked out away from prying ears. She said those valuable words once Harry set his case and fell silent. When he smiled at her, she saw the tears in his eyes. It meant that much to him.
“You’re just saying that,” Harry muttered.
“No, I’m not,” Hermione said quickly before Harry’s doubts took over, grabbing his hands to make him pay attention. “When we thought Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin, we had barely any evidence, just that he was racist. Yet we still went ahead with the Polyjuice Potion – which would have gotten us all expelled.”
Harry laughed softly, flexing his hands in her grip. “We were twelve though.”
“I was thirteen,” Hermione corrected, though the point still stood. They had been young. “You have a lot more evidence to suggest that Draco is a Death Eater. We have more evidence… and we can’t afford for any more people to get hurt. Harry, if Dumbledore isn’t willing to do anything, then maybe…”
His eyes widened as he caught what she was implying and he shook his head.
“The Ministry will flub this up even worse.”
Harry then sighed, pulling his hands from her as he then slid off the desk he was perching on. He paced over to the window, resting his elbow on the arch. The sunlight lit his face in such a way, his eyes glowed.
Not that Hermione noticed.
“Then what do we do?” She asked, unsure where he was going. He glanced at her.
“We confront Malfoy ourselves.”
“What?” The squawk escaped her rather unwillingly. “Harry, he’ll just hex us… and what do you think you’ll say? Accuse him and expect him to confess?”
“It’s obvious that he’s up to something and he knows I’m on to him,” Harry said steadily. “If I offer an olive branch, maybe he’ll take it. Dumbledore’s not doing anything so… may as well do as I’ve always done.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but she couldn’t begrudge him. What she could do was envelope him in a sudden hug. As she did, she could smell the faint scent of honey and something like fresh cut grass. His cheek then pushed against hers and he huffed in her ear. His arms squeezed her a bit before he released her completely. Harry’s face was very flushed as he straightened his robes.
“We should… um… go back.” He said haltingly.
“Can’t have any more rumours about us,” Hermione supplied awkwardly as she tried to not notice how much she wanted him to stay.
Harry looked at her, then went to grab his bag.
“I don’t mind the rumours,” he said as he did, then looked at her, “I’m just waiting until you don’t.”