Chapter Text
You found
Someone to put your arms around
Playing the waiting game
But it all adds up to nothing
You try
And you always justify
Playing the waiting game
When it all adds up to nothing
Playing the waiting game
"The Waiting Game"---Harry Styles
Harry Potter had spent the better part of the afternoon filling out paperwork for an Auror raid he hadn't even been present for. That, he thought, was the most accurate summary of his career these days.
His quill hovered over yet another report as he reread the same sentence for what had to be the fourth time. After a while, the bureaucratic jargon all blurred together into a dull headache.
Across the Auror Office, someone laughed far louder than he was sure the joke deserved. Another owl swooped overhead, dropping a fresh bundle of reports directly onto Harry's desk. He set his quill down, staring at the parchment with a look of dry, quiet malice. He felt irritable, like every noise challenged his concentration. It was nearly the end of his shift too and he was starving; his usual lunch partner Hermione Granger, had opted out and he had skipped a meal altogether.
There had been a time when being an Auror felt vital. Back when every owl meant a chance to make the world safer, a call to action. But the war had ended little over a decade ago, and Harry was slowly realizing that he had spent his entire youth fighting for a future without ever stopping to ask himself what he actually wanted once it arrived. He was twenty-nine, he was tired, and aimless. The only part of his week he genuinely looked forward to anymore was Friday night.
"Calling it early, Potter?" a Junior Auror called out as Harry put away his items into his drawer.
"Yes, crime fighting can rest for the rest of the day. " Harry muttered, grabbing his jacket.
Friday evenings belonged to him and Hermione. They had never actually agreed on the arrangement; it had simply... happened. It was a law written into the very foundation of Grimmauld Place. Whoever escaped work first collected takeaway. Hermione typically chose the film they would watch; Harry complained bitterly about whatever romance she'd selected before secretly getting emotionally invested in the plot halfway through.
Ron Weasley usually vanished to help his brother George close the joke shop, or spent the evening getting rowdy with Seamus, Neville, and Dean at whatever pub was popular at the time. They had long since given up dragging Harry along with them. He much preferred having a drink at home, far from the prying eyes of the public, in the quiet, familiar company of his best friend.
Today, Harry decided on Thai for dinner. Hermione hadn't stopped talking about the little Muggle restaurant down the road since she'd discovered their green curry, and he knew her order by heart.
After he collected the food, he used his foot to kick open the front door of Grimmauld Place, after a well-placed ‘Aloha Mora’ Charm and carried the brown paper bags inside. The old house was quiet, but it no longer felt haunted. It felt lived-in, warm and , it finally felt like theirs.
After placing a warming charm on the food to keep warm, Harry went up to his room and changed into his comfortable loungewear. Twenty minutes slipped by in comfortable silence before the front door slammed hard enough to rattle the foundations.
Harry, who had stopped back into the drawing room, looked up immediately to the source of the noise. Hermione stepped inside, carrying her leather briefcase case that was uncharacteristically in disarray. Her hair, usually confined to a neat bun for work, had entirely surrendered. Loose curls framed her face in a chaotic, manic halo. She looked utterly frazzled.
"Well, you’re out early," Harry said. "You alright?"
Instead of answering, she looked toward the kitchen. "Did you happen to get dinner?"
"Thai," he nodded.
For the first time since she'd walked in, she managed the smallest smile.
"Perfect."
"Go change. I'll get plates," he grunted, pushing himself into the kitchen.
By the time he returned, she had disappeared upstairs and come back down wearing one of his old, oversized Quidditch jumpers—the knitted scarlet one with gold tripes that she’d stolen from his wardrobe three years ago and never returned. It swallowed her petite frame, the sleeves bunched at her wrists. She had paired it with loose lounge trousers, her curls gathered into an untidy knot. She threw herself onto the opposite end of the sofa and, without a word or a glance, stretched her legs across his lap.
Harry didn't react. He shifted enough to make room, and then passed her plate, resting his forearm lightly across her ankles while balancing his takeaway container on one knee. It was as natural as breathing. Friday nights were like that: comfortable, quiet, safe. It was home.
"Your choice, like always." Harry said, passing her the remote.
Hermione flipped through the channels. "I was thinking about that romantic comedy Parvati recommended."
Harry groaned dramatically, leaning his head back against the cushions.
"Hermione, I swear to Merlin, if you pick another movie where the main characters just need to have one proper conversation to solve their entire lives, I'm reporting you to the Ministry."
"They no longer employ me," she replied, keeping her eyes fixed entirely on the screen.
Harry let out a short, sarcastic bark of a laugh.
"Right. Good one. The Golden Girl, the future Minister for Magic, getting sacked. What did you do, misplace a file?"
"I didn't get sacked!" she corrected him. Her voice dropped into a quiet, heavy register that instantly halted his amusement. She finally turned her head, her brown eyes wide and remarkably bright in the dim lamplight.
"I quit."
The smirk vanished from his face. He slowly set his takeaway down on the coffee table.
"Hermione..." He searched her expression for the punchline, but found only a profound, crushing exhaustion. "You've spent years building that department."
"I know," she mumbled, looking down at her food.
"You loved that job."
"I loved what I thought the job would be," she corrected quietly. "But it's just the same meetings, the same cycle of prejudice, the same people talking over me until a man repeats exactly what I just said and gets a movement passed. I'm tired, Harry. I've spent my whole existence like an assignment I need to get an 'Outstanding' on. I keep thinking if I just work harder... I'll finally be happy. But I'm not."
Harry sat forward, his hands tightening reassuringly around her ankles. "You've changed loads of laws, Hermione. You forced them to listen."
"Not enough."
"They've passed legislation because of you," he reminded her.
"They've delayed twice as much," she countered.
Harry couldn't argue with that. She wasn't wrong. Hermione had spent years dragging the Ministry toward progress while centuries of prejudice dug in their heels behind her. He wasn't surprised she'd become frustrated. He was just surprised to see her give up. It was so unlike her to be this disillusioned.
"So..." He leaned back against the sofa. "What happens now?"
"I think," she said slowly, "I’m going to take things as they come. I’ve got no plans. No structure. I just… want to exist for a bit. I'm tired of always thinking ahead, trying to solve everything...it’s sort of like…I want to put my thoughts on hold for once and live. "
"I’m sorry, but I'm not following. This isn't like you at all, Hermione."
"Well, that’s exactly it. From now on it will be a new me. For starters, I have enough saved to cover my share of the expenses while I figure things out," she said, shifting on the cushions.
"Hermione, you know you don’t need to pay. This house was inherited, and I have more than enough money."
"Not having it, Harry," Hermione said, brushing him off with a firm wave of her hand.
Harry sighed. There it was. The Hermione he knew and loved. Stubborn as ever.
"...Alright."
A comfortable silence settled between them before Harry admitted, "Well, I think this might actually be good for you. It would be nice to see you let loose for a change. Pick up some hobbies, go travel, let your hair down—"
"I think I'm finally going to start dating again." she blurted breathlessly.
Harry nodded automatically.
"That’s good," he said genuinely. “I think it’s been enough time since—
"Casually." she added.
He looked back in confusion. "...Casually?"
"Yes."
"Hermione, what’s your definition of casual? Casual as in… waiting three dates vs five before you interrogate him about his life goals and aspirations? Or… shagging without properly getting to know him? There's a massive grey area there I want to understand."
"Well, maybe all of the above," she smirked.
"What?" Harry stared at her. "You've never done anything casually in your life."
She set her container aside.
“Maybe that’s the issue. I need to just jump into things without putting so much energy into weighing the pros and cons," She spoke carefully, almost as though she were convincing herself. "I mean, people normally explore things in their twenties and I didn’t. Maybe that’s the shake -up that I need. I am tired of being boring and predictable. "
Harry studied her. There was a look in his eye that he couldn’t place. She looked like she was genuinely trying to convince not only him but herself that this was a much-needed change she had to implement. Still, something in her eyes also gave him the feeling she was masking what was really going on inside her head.
"What?" she asked, observing his face.
"It’s just—"
"It’s just what?" she frowned.
"Hermione, that isn't you. You want to live out the romance movies you force me into watching every Friday night. You tell me yourself how frustrated you are with Ron's sexual escapades and now you want to do the same?”
"The movies I watch, while entertaining and tender as they are…that isn't real, Harry," she argued.
"How do you know?"
"Harry, let's face it, real life is messy. Those movies are great, but they are a distraction—a false illusion of what the real world actually is."
He leaned back, folding his arms. "This could be catastrophic," he warned.
"Why? Do you think I'm incapable of change?"
"No, I just don’t see what's wrong with who you are." he answered honestly.
She laughed despite herself.
“Harry, you’re the sweetest but you are my best friend; you are biased.”
"Hermione..."
"What?"
"What brought this on?" he asked genuinely.
The amusement faded from her face. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping both arms around them. For several seconds she stared at the television.
"Well, I'm almost thirty." She started slowly.
Harry frowned. "So?"
"So..." she whispered. "I looked at my life. I've spent years fighting. Studying. Working. Fixing a broken world.”
"And then," she continued quietly,
“What?” Harry urged her.
“I know it probably sounds silly but…I miss having someone to share things with, a partner. It's been two years now since Spencer; what if the way I approach things is the reason why everything is just so…” she dropped off the rest of the sentence, avoiding his gaze. “They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. Being me hasn't really helped me the last few years so maybe it’s time I try something new?”
She stared down at her hands.
"I keep wondering if maybe..." She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "...maybe I need to change if I want my life to change too."
"No," Harry said. His tone was suddenly fierce, entirely devoid of sarcasm. "No. Hermione, look at me."
She looked up, her eyelashes wet.
"You're brilliant," he said, holding her gaze. "You're beautiful. You're funny. You care more than anyone I've ever met in my life. You are not the reason those relationships ended. Gavin was a narcissistic idiot, and that bloke from the Department of Mysteries had the personality of a dried flobberworm and Spencer was a tosser that didn’t deserve you."
A bright, sudden blush crept into her cheeks. "You... you really thought that about Spencer?"
"I thought he was a colossal waste of your time," Harry said flatly. “You can find so much better than that idiot.”
Color crept into her cheeks. She blinked rapidly. "You really think that?"
"I know that."
She looked away, embarrassed. "Thank you."
“Anytime.” Harry smiled. “Now, are you sure, this is really what you want to do? Step into the modern world of casual dating and leave your romance novels and movies behind?”
"Because if you're going to do this..." He pointed a finger at her. "...we're doing it properly."
She laughed.
"We?"
"Yes we. I'll be your dating consultant."
"My dating consultant?" she asked.
Harry nodded smugly.
"And what exactly qualifies you?"
"I'm a bloke." he said matter-of-factly. "I know how blokes think and I feel like that would save you time from trying to read into things”.
Hermione settled further into the sofa, angling toward him.
“Men aren’t that complicated, Harry.”
“They are when you’re not doing your usual routine,” he countered. “You’re stepping into unfamiliar territory. Dangerous territory.”
She studied him for a moment, then sighed, though there was a smile tugging at her lips.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll accept your help.”
“Since when do you know anything about casual shagging?”
Harry hesitated for just a fraction. Then, carefully shared:
“I don’t tell you everything, Hermione.”
Her eyes lit up immediately.
“Harry—have you—?”
“It was one time,” he said quickly. “About a year ago. There was alcohol involved, and Ron was entirely to blame.”
“Did you even know her name?”
“…No.”
“Harry!”
“She was a Muggle,” he added, as if that explained anything. “Didn’t know who I was. Didn’t care. It was…” He shrugged. “ It was nice. Pure fun, no feelings, no attachments…when you’ve been in a long relationship, sometimes it’s nice to have a pure carnal moment with someone you will never see again.”
Hermione’s expression softened slightly.
“I honestly never pictured you would be the type to do that.” Hermione grimaced. “Don’t know how I feel about that. I always pictured you as a gentleman.”
“This is a judgment-free zone.” Harry said defensively. “ I can be a gentleman and caring when the situation calls for it. But we are talking about casual sex. If you are truly serious about this Hermione, you are going to need to learn how to turn that version of you on and off like a switch.”
“So, the first rule: No overthinking. You see a guy you are attracted to and you attack. No planning your five-year future after one drink. It should be purely sexual. So no going for your usual type."
"Why not?"
"Because your type is 'pompous intellectual who challenges you,' and they always turn out to be
insecure gits anyway. From now on, you bypass that entirely."
Hermione lifted her chin, a spark of her usual stubborn fire returning. "Fine. Casual. No attachments… Maybe I'll even sleep with someone without knowing their last name."
Harry choked on his own saliva. "Alright, let's pump the brakes on the casual shagging talk. I am your best friend and roommate; there are mental boundaries I require for my own survival—"
Hermione laughed at Harry’s shame. He could never stomach her talking about her sex life. It was the one topic that was taboo among them.
"And as for the last rule."
She waited.
"You remember that you're the prize."
Hermione's expression softened completely. "You really believe that?"
Harry didn't hesitate. "Yes."
For a long moment, she looked at him. Then, she smiled. "I'll try."
Their nice conversation was promptly disrupted by the sound of the front door slamming open.
“Is everyone just angry at the doors today?” Harry mused.
"I'm home!"
Ron kicked the door to the drawing room shut behind him, shrugging off his heavy jacket.
"Merlin, George had me counting Extendable Ears for—" He stopped. His eyes flicked between Harry and Hermione, taking in the intense atmosphere. "...Why do I feel like I've just interrupted a counseling session?"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I quit my job." she shared.
Ron blinked. "...You what?"
"I resigned."
He stared at her, then looked at Harry, completely in disbelief.
Harry nodded. "She's serious."
Ron looked back at Hermione. "...Why?"
"I was miserable."
Ron frowned, a look of genuine hurt crossing his features. "...Why didn't you say something?"
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know."
Ron studied her for another second, searching her face, then nodded once. "A bit of odd news but…okay, I guess?"
Harry looked over in surprise. "That's it? You're not going to ask what’s going on?"
"Oh, I'm getting there." Ron dropped heavily into the armchair and clasped his hands together.
"So. What's the plan?"
"There isn't one."
Ron blinked. "...Excuse me?"
"I'm taking life as it comes."
Silence stretched over the room. Then, Ron burst into roaring laughter.
"Hermione Granger..." He pointed dramatically at her. "...is going to live spontaneously?"
"I am!"
"Yeah right, Hermione, you even scheduled our arguments while you were studying for your NEWTS remember?!"
"Yes, because I had a point to make but I wasn’t about to lose precious study time to argue with you. "
“You TIMED it!” Ron reminded her.
Harry was openly laughing now. Hermione threw a sofa cushion straight at Ron's head, which he caught effortlessly.
"I’m glad you think this is funny!’ Hermione glared.
“Okay, I will stop! Don't hex me! " Ron said as he wiped his laughter and tears away. “I think it’s great. You NEED a break; maybe you will calm down a bit.”
“Also, I decided to start dating again as well.” she announced, lifting her chin proudly.
”That's great! Been telling you to get back out there. Go all out. ” Ron nodded.
"Yes but I will be trying a different approach. " she continued. “I am only going to be dating casually for the time being. Nothing serious.”
The grin instantly vanished from Ron's face. "...Absolutely not."
"Oh, honestly—"
"Hermione, no. You'll ask a bloke about his childhood before the starters even arrive."
Harry choked on his own laugh.
"I will not!" Hermione protested.
"You'll fall in love by dessert," Ron countered.
"I hate both of you."
Ron laughed, but then the room quieted and the expression on Hermione’s face sobered Ron up. "Wait...You're serious?"
"I am."
He leaned back slowly, the humor fading slightly.
"...Well. This is either going to be the best thing you've ever done..." He looked toward Harry. "...or the biggest disaster of your life."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm hoping for the first."
"I'm betting on the second," Ron replied softly.
Hermione stood up. "I suddenly remember why I avoid asking either of you for emotional support or telling you anything."
"Hermione—"
"No," she smiled tiredly. "I'm not just going to sit here and get mocked. Goodnight."
Neither one of them attempted to stop her before her bedroom door clicked shut upstairs. After years of living together, they figured it was a smarter move to let her cool off on her own.
A heavy silence settled over Grimmauld Place. Ron exhaled, his shoulders dropping.
"...She's really not alright, is she?"
Harry never took his eyes off the hallway where she had vanished. "No."
Ron glanced sideways at him. "You noticed it too?"
Harry nodded. "She's been unhappy for months."
"You think this is just about the job?"
"No," Harry frowned, staring at the space on the sofa Hermione had just vacated. "I think the job is just a symptom."
Ron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So what's the problem?"
Harry was quiet for a long time, listening to the old house settle around them. Finally, he spoke.
"...It feels like she thinks she's running out of time."
Ron frowned. "She's twenty-nine and a witch. She's got bloody ages."
"I know. But I don't think that's how she feels." Harry rubbed the back of his neck, a sudden, sharp pang of protectiveness tightening in his chest. "And this 'casual dating' thing... it's going to be a disaster."
"Too right," Ron agreed, shaking his head. "She's going to end up bringing home some absolute toerag just to prove a point."
"Yeah," Harry muttered. His jaw tightened, a sudden, venomous flash of irritation spiking through him. He pictured some random wizard sitting in his spot on the sofa, eating her leftover curry, or worse.
"Anyway, I'm heading to bed." Ron said, standing up and stretching. "Let me know if she tries to schedule a casual fling. I'll bring the popcorn."
After Ron left, Harry didn't go to bed. He stayed on the couch, the silence of Grimmauld Place pressing in around him. He thought about her ex-boyfriend, Spencer, and the sheer, petty triumph he had felt when they split. He'd told himself he just hated the fact he had broken Hermione’s trust and how much that had hurt her.
Harry had been enjoying her hiatus from dating; he hadn't had to grimace at the thought of some random bloke potentially hurting his best friends like the previous ones had before. Now here she was, willingly stepping back into the mess. They had been doing it for years—protecting their little two-person universe from outsiders under the guise of 'looking out for each other,' completely blind to the walls they were building around themselves.
But 'casual' meant no strings. It meant potentially a revolving door of men in her life.
Upstairs, he heard the faint sound of her bedroom door opening, followed by her quiet footsteps pad down the hallway toward the bathroom. He knew her routine by heart. Three minutes to brush her teeth. Two minutes to wash her face.
Somehow over time her life had become so tightly intertwined with his that he didn't even realize how far back it went.
He rubbed a hand over his face, a dry, sarcastic laugh escaping his chest. I'm her consultant, ‘ he thought grimly. If only his ex Caroline Meadow would see him now. Would a guy really be helping his best friend hook up with a random dude if they were not platonic? He hadn't had the heart to tell Hermione the real reason his last serious relationship had ended. He knew she already beat herself up on the daily about it; he didn't need to make her feel worse. He would always be vague whenever the topic came up. After that last attempt, he realised he was tired of defending his bond with Hermione. Instead, he would focus all that attention on making his best friend happy; after all, if at least his friends were happy, then that in turn made him happy too.
Hermione was undoubtedly going through something deeper than she was letting on, and he promised himself that he would be there for her in the same way she had always been there for him