Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Us? Dating? Not a chance," Hermione Granger laughed, a spark of amusement flickering in her eyes as she dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. Her friends grinned, clearly unconvinced by her casual denial, but they let her remark linger in the air, watching her with raised brows and mischievous smiles.

Settling into her favorite armchair near the fireplace, Hermione took a generous sip from her glass of rich red wine, savoring it as it slid down her throat. The fire crackled nearby, casting a soft amber glow over her face and making her curls shimmer like a dark halo. The cozy sitting room at Grimmauld Place looked as lively as ever. Thanks to some well-placed expansion charms and Hermione’s relentless touch of organization, the space now felt open, inviting, and warm—a place meant for laughter and memories rather than the gloom it once held. Harry had been adamant she invite her friends for a little get-together to celebrate the newly charmed rooms, claiming that Grimmauld Place deserved to host something brighter than war meetings and ghostly memories.

"So, just roommates, huh?" Ginny Weasley said, hiding a smirk as she sank into the plush couch opposite Hermione.

"We just live together because it’s convenient,” Hermione explained, her tone light but firm, as though she had recited this line a thousand times. She relaxed into her chair, swirling her wine as she continued, “It's easier for us to share the space while the team Harry hired tracks my parents in Australia. Merlin knows I’d never have managed without him…” She trailed off thoughtfully, her expression momentarily distant before she refocused on her friends. "Besides, Harry’s got his hands full with all the businesses Sirius left him, so it’s not as though he really needs to work."

At this, Ginny, Luna, Susan, Lavender, Hannah, and Daphne exchanged skeptical glances, their amusement not lost on Hermione. Each of them was cradling their own glass of wine, settling into the afternoon with contented sighs. Laughter bubbled up among them as they settled deeper into the plush seats, letting the warmth of the fire and their drinks sink in. Somewhere in the background, the rich, savory aroma of something delicious wafted in from the kitchen, where Harry had been happily busy for the past hour.

Just as Ginny opened her mouth to respond, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Harry emerged, carrying a platter brimming with food, his green eyes dancing with pride and amusement as he set the tray down on the low table in front of the women. “Here you go, girls,” he announced, giving them all a playful grin. “Hope you like it. I know Hermione certainly does—goes through a whole plate by herself when we’re drinking.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, and she shot him a glare, though her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Harry!” she scolded, eyes narrowing as she pretended to scold him.

He laughed, the sound easy and genuine, lighting up the room as he waved off her reaction. “Just kidding,” he said, smirking as he retreated to the kitchen, a cheeky wink thrown over his shoulder as he left them to their feasting.

Hermione took a sip of her wine to hide her smile as her friends erupted into laughter. The dim light of the room played over their faces, each one casting a quick glance at the others, clearly amused by the unspoken tension between her and Harry. Lavender leaned toward Hannah, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, though she was clearly loud enough for Hermione to overhear, “Not dating, my ass.”

Daphne and Hannah stifled their laughter with bites of fruit slices, their eyes twinkling as they exchanged knowing looks, giggling to themselves even as Hermione shot them a mock-glare from across the table.

xxxxx

Ginny was midway through a particularly animated story, recounting the scandalous tale of two Holyhead Harpies players caught sneaking around in the shower area, her voice dipping to a whisper at the juiciest parts. The other girls leaned in, eyes wide with delight, and stifled laughter filled the cozy sitting room. The warmth of the fire cast a soft glow over everyone, making the scene feel intimate and alive with shared secrets.

Just as Ginny was about to reach the climax of her story, footsteps sounded from the staircase. The women turned, some already grinning, expecting another funny interruption. But as Harry stepped into the room, their laughter paused, and a hush settled over the group. He was dressed in a crisp shirt with the top buttons casually undone, revealing a hint of his collarbone and just enough of his chest to be teasingly appealing. He looked dashing, effortlessly charming without even trying. A low, appreciative whistle escaped Daphne, unable to keep the smirk off her face.

Luna, sitting beside her, shook her head, rolling her eyes in mock reprimand, and swatted Daphne’s arm. Harry noticed and laughed, the sound warm and easy, his green eyes twinkling. “I appreciate being objectified,” he teased, “but maybe not so obviously, please.” With a cheeky grin, he reached for Hermione’s wine glass, taking a quick sip as if it were his own, leaving her blinking in surprise.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Hannah Abbott asked, her brows raised as she noted his attire.

He sighed, looking momentarily exasperated, though a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Just need to pick up a few books on accounting. I’ve realized I have absolutely no idea what some of the people I’m talking business with are even going on about.” He placed the wine glass back in Hermione’s hand, his fingers brushing hers briefly, causing her to frown at him in playful annoyance as he continued, “So, I figured I should at least know what they’re saying.”

The women chuckled, and Hermione rolled her eyes. But there was a softness to her expression, a look of amusement tempered by affection. Harry turned his attention to the group, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, enjoy yourselves, ladies. I’ll be back in time to cook dinner, so don’t run off too early.”

They waved back, each giving him a friendly smile or an encouraging nod, as he turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he leaned down, his hand coming up to cup Hermione’s face gently. Her eyes widened in surprise as he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, the warmth of his palm lingering against her skin. “Send a Patronus if you want anything from outside, alright?”

Hermione, momentarily caught off guard, nodded, her cheeks faintly flushed, a small smile tugging at her lips as he straightened. She raised her hand in a casual wave, though her eyes were still sparkling from the unexpected touch.

Harry gave the group one last wave and disappeared through the front door, leaving the room filled with silence for a few seconds as the women processed what they had just witnessed.

Finally, Ginny broke the silence, her voice filled with disbelief and something close to a triumphant grin. “What the bloody hell was that?!”

xxxxx

“Okay, this party just changed themes,” Daphne squealed, her eyes wide with excitement. “What the hell was that, Hermione? You said you weren’t dating, and Harry just casually kissed you right in front of us!”

Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes as she sank deeper into her armchair. “It was just a kiss on the cheek! Nothing more. We do that all the time! Honestly, I’ve even kissed Ron on the cheek from time to time.”

Ginny, sitting cross-legged on the rug, immediately cringed, holding up her hands in a plea for mercy. “Can we please leave my brother out of this conversation?”

Susan Bones laughed, her cheeks flushed as she leaned forward, mischief in her eyes. “And my boyfriend, please? But come on, Hermione, this was different! I swear, I’d hex you into next week if I ever saw Ron try to kiss you like that.”

Hermione scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Different? How could it be different? It was just a kiss on the cheek!”

Luna, who had been observing the whole scene with her signature dreamy smile, leaned in, her expression as innocent as ever but her eyes twinkling with something more. “Well,” she began, her voice soft yet playful, “let’s put it this way, Hermione: if Harry kissed me on the cheek the way he kissed you just now, I’d melt right into a puddle.”

A chorus of giggles and howls erupted from the group at Luna’s remark. Hermione’s blush deepened, her resolve weakening as her friends laughed and nudged each other knowingly. She tried to maintain her casual stance, but the pink flush in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Luna!” Hermione protested, her tone caught between embarrassment and exasperation. “Don’t read so much into it! It was just a kiss, nothing else,” she muttered, though the rosy hue creeping across her face was unmistakable.

Lavender leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Alright, alright, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Clearly, Hermione needs a distraction.” She clapped her hands together, eyes glinting with excitement. “How about a game? I picked this one up at Witch Weekly, and trust me, it’s a scandalous bit of fun. Have any of you heard of the Muggle game ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

“Oh, I know it,” Hermione answered, laughing as she pushed herself up from her seat. “Tell them the rules while I pop to the loo.”

As Hermione made her way down the hall, the sound of her friends’ laughter followed her, each voice mingling with the others, creating a warm, lively hum. She couldn’t help but feel the energy radiating from the room, and a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Reaching the bathroom, she closed the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. Her heart was pounding slightly—though she refused to admit why.

Hermione glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes widening as she took in her flushed cheeks. “Goodness,” she whispered, staring at her reddened face, “I look like I’ve been caught doing something forbidden.” She shook her head, attempting to clear her mind. It was just a simple kiss! she reasoned. Harry does it all the time...

And he did. Every morning when he found her already in the kitchen with a mug of tea, or whenever he was heading out and she was buried in her studies. He’d ruffle her hair or press a quick kiss to her cheek as he passed, and she’d barely look up from her potions notes. It was normal—just part of their daily routine. Just the sort of thing best friends did.

But now, with her friends’ teasing laughter ringing in her ears, Hermione found herself wondering if she’d somehow overlooked something. She sighed, leaning closer to the mirror and splashing cool water on her face, attempting to wipe away her tell-tale blush.

She shook her head once more, standing up straighter. 'Nothing to worry about. It’s just Harry. We’re just... us.' She whispered the thought aloud, trying to convince herself as much as the reflection staring back at her.

With a last look in the mirror and a determined smile, Hermione composed herself and turned to rejoin her friends, steeling herself for whatever Lavender had planned next.

xxxxx

Hermione returned to the lively gathering just in time to notice that someone—likely Daphne—had popped open a fresh bottle of wine. The rich, ruby liquid sparkled in each glass as the girls settled back into their seats, casting curious and mischievous glances at each other.

“Alright, are we clear on the rules?” Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing slightly but with a smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes!” the group chimed in, laughing together as they clinked their glasses in mock solemnity.

Hermione hesitated, glancing at the level of wine in each glass and realizing with a pang of regret just how quickly they were emptying them. “Maybe we should calm down with the drinks,” she groaned, half to herself. “It’s still the middle of the afternoon. I don’t think Harry would appreciate coming home to find us all… well, absolutely smashed.”

The girls burst into laughter again, the carefree mood contagious. Hermione sighed, knowing that her own enthusiasm had started all this; she’d been so excited to host the girls that she had opened the first bottle before anyone even had a chance to settle in.

“Alright, alright,” Daphne said, an impish smile lighting up her face as she held her glass close. “I’ll go first. We’re going clockwise, and remember—if you’ve done it, you drink.”

They all leaned forward, bracing themselves as Daphne scanned the group, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She bit her lip before finally smirking. “Never have I ever… had sex.”

Gasps echoed around the room. Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she blinked, feeling her cheeks heat up in shock. 'Sex!' That was a bold start, even for Daphne! Hermione quickly put a hand to her face, scandalized.

But Luna simply shrugged and took a casual sip from her glass. The group froze, staring in open disbelief.

“Luna?!” Ginny choked, staring wide-eyed as Luna calmly placed her glass back down. “Wait—you—did you get the rules wrong?”

Luna tilted her head, a look of mild confusion passing over her serene face. “What do you mean?” she asked innocently. “The rules say if I’ve done what was said, I drink, right?”

“Yeah!” Lavender confirmed, her voice rising with excitement.

“So I drank,” Luna said with a little shrug. “I did it. I don’t see the big deal.” Her expression remained calm, though she clearly didn’t understand the fuss she was causing.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged looks, each of their expressions reflecting their complete surprise. “Y-You’ve… had sex?” Hermione managed, her voice a near whisper, eyes wide with shock.

“Oh, tons of times,” Luna replied nonchalantly, tracing the edge of her glass with her finger as if they were discussing something as casual as the weather.

The room collectively gasped. Ginny’s mouth fell open while Hannah and Susan burst into giggles, each taking a sip from their glasses. Being in long-term relationships, it wasn’t surprising for them to drink, but Luna’s confession seemed to have taken the spotlight.

“Luna, who?” Hermione pressed, both her hands covering her mouth in scandalized intrigue.

But Luna just giggled, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “That’s not the game, Hermione. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wonder.” She clinked her glass lightly with Hermione’s, a hint of mischief in her smile.

Daphne, still in shock, let out a squeal. “And what kind of question was that, anyway?” Hermione huffed, though her lips curled in a reluctant smile.

“I just wanted to start with a bang!” Daphne grinned, barely containing her laughter. “I thought I knew who the virgins in this group were, but apparently, Miss Lovegood has some ‘tons’ of experience I wasn’t expecting!”

Laughter filled the room as Hermione tried to play it off, shaking her head at Daphne’s theatrics. She took a calming breath, cheeks still flushed. “Alright, moving on then!”

Hannah Abbott, her eyes bright with amusement, took her turn next, holding her glass delicately as she glanced around the circle. “Alright, I’ve got one: Never have I ever… purposely tried to make someone jealous just to see if they’d get possessive.”

A hush fell over the room as everyone exchanged knowing looks. Slowly, one by one, each girl raised her glass, even Hermione, who hesitated but eventually joined them with a sheepish smile.

It was silent for a heartbeat before they all burst into giggles again, the clinking of glasses ringing in the cozy warmth of Grimmauld Place.

xxxxx

FLASHBACK SCENE - Buying Furniture

The afternoon light filtered softly through the high shop windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the showroom floor. Rows of plush sofas, elegant cabinets, and sleek dining tables filled the space, each piece gleaming with a polish that seemed to invite a closer look. Hermione glanced around, taking in the selection with a quiet satisfaction; Grimmauld Place had come a long way, and with a few more finishing touches, it could feel more like a real home than it ever had before.

Harry was beside her, arms crossed, his jaw set in that brooding way she’d come to recognize over the years. It was one of those rare days when his mood had turned inward and dark, a remnant of his old battle-worn self that still surfaced now and again. She’d joined him for this little shopping trip partly out of necessity and partly to pull him from whatever gloomy thought loop he’d gotten himself tangled in.

“We’ll just be quick and head home, alright?” she murmured, gently rubbing a soothing circle on his back. She knew that prodding him to explain his mood would only push him further into silence. Harry had his own way of working through things, and she’d learned to be patient. Instead, she turned her attention to the plush, comfortable-looking sofas set up in a nearby display. “Now, come on, Harry, what do you think? Green or maroon?”

Harry stared at the two choices with furrowed brows, clearly contemplating more than just colors. “I like the maroon because it reminds me of Gryffindor,” he admitted, with a faint shrug. “But green... the green looks better with the rest of the room.”

Hermione smirked to herself. She’d thought the same thing; the rich emerald green would complement the room’s atmosphere, blending with the dark woods and antique charm of Grimmauld Place. But she kept quiet, allowing him to feel like it was his decision, even if she agreed with him entirely.

Just as they were reaching a decision, a salesman—a wiry, over-eager fellow with slicked-back hair and a broad, eager smile—appeared beside Hermione with a little too much enthusiasm. “Good afternoon, Ma’am!” he greeted her warmly, giving Harry only the briefest of glances before turning his attention fully on her. “Are you and your husband looking to get a few more pieces to finish off your lovely new home?”

Hermione chuckled and shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, no, we’re not a couple. Just picking out a few things for my friend’s home, actually.” She flashed a friendly smile, but the man only seemed to see encouragement.

“Ah, I see,” he replied, his eyes twinkling in a way that suggested he hadn’t fully absorbed her words. “Well, let me personally show you some of our best selections. I can even throw in a complimentary vanity mirror, just for you.” He flashed what he likely thought was a charming grin, but Hermione couldn’t help but sigh internally. Of course, he assumed it was all for her. She’d encountered more than her fair share of men like this—men who had little interest in actually listening to her words.

Hermione cast a glance back at Harry, who was now eyeing the green sofa with something akin to grim determination. Realizing he was in deep contemplation, she let the salesman lead her to another display area, all the while keeping her mental checklist running. She wouldn’t mind a vanity mirror, actually, as long as it didn’t start talking to her with unsolicited opinions.

For the next hour, the salesman attempted to woo Hermione into all sorts of purchases, pausing only to throw Harry the occasional nervous glance. Harry’s sharp green eyes tracked the man like a hawk, his presence radiating a quiet possessiveness that Hermione pretended not to notice, even as it sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. She loved her independence, but there was something thrilling about the way Harry seemed to hover just behind her, his protective instincts on high alert.

Eventually, Harry approached, pointing at the green couch they’d considered earlier. “I’m getting the green one,” he said firmly, his gaze briefly sliding toward the salesman, as if daring him to argue.

Hermione beamed. “Perfect choice,” she said, though she knew he’d probably already guessed her preference. The salesman, not catching on, piped up, “Well, I’m sure the lady would actually prefer the maroon—”

Harry’s expression darkened, and he fixed the salesman with a cold stare. “I think,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “the lady would prefer a couch that doesn’t look like dried blood.”

The salesman stammered an apology, his confident facade crumbling under the weight of Harry’s glare. Harry held the gaze for a moment longer before turning back to Hermione, his expression softening in an instant. “Anything else catch your eye?”

Hermione leaned in and whispered, a smirk playing at her lips, “Well, he did promise me a vanity mirror. Think we can hold him to that?”

Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Did he now?” He looked over at the salesman, who gave a nervous laugh and nodded hastily.

“Yes, yes, of course,” the man stammered. “I’ll, uh, I’ll throw it in with the couch—no problem at all.”

With a satisfied smile, Hermione turned back to Harry, who was watching her with that rare, intense look she’d come to cherish. For all the times she attracted unwanted attention, it was moments like these that made it all worth it—the way Harry’s quiet, fierce protectiveness flared whenever anyone tried to overstep.

They continued to wander through the store, Hermione taking note of a few more items that might fit well in Grimmauld Place, though truthfully, her mind wasn’t entirely on the furniture anymore. She could feel Harry’s hand hovering just at her lower back, an almost absentminded gesture, but one that filled her with warmth. There was a subtle thrill in knowing he was always there, ready to step in whenever her independence attracted a bit too much attention.

As they reached the final aisle, Hermione looked up at him with a playful smirk. “You’re not too tired from all this shopping, are you, Lord Potter?”

Harry gave a low chuckle, his eyes brightening with a spark she hadn’t seen all day. “Tired? Not at all. But I am ready to head home and put my feet up on that nice new green couch. With or without the free vanity mirror.”

Hermione laughed, nudging him as they made their way to the register, feeling a quiet joy settle over her. In some ways, she knew that the sense of home they were creating here wasn’t just for Harry—it was for both of them. And, as strange as it might seem to the outside world, there was nowhere she’d rather be than here, with him, sharing all these small moments together, even if it meant dealing with the occasional clueless salesman.

It was these little things that made Grimmauld Place feel more like home every day.

xxxxx

Hermione sat back, letting the memory wash over her. She could feel her cheeks flush, the color creeping up her neck as she realized just how unfair this game was for her. When it came to past relationships, the options were painfully limited. Viktor Krum, a short-lived relationship that had been more about distance and differences than anything meaningful. Ron Weasley—well, that was a disaster by anyone’s standards, full of confusion and unspoken feelings. And then there was Harry, the one she’d never quite dated, yet whose presence in her life was undeniable.

Honestly, she was worse off than Luna in this regard. Luna, with her free spirit and confidence, had no qualms about her romantic experiences. Hermione, on the other hand, felt like a wallflower, standing in the shadows of others’ stories, never quite getting her own spotlight. Her mind wandered to those times—those moments with Harry that had never materialized into anything real, not in the way she had secretly wanted them to.

The next round of questions came, shifting the atmosphere slightly. No longer were they dwelling on relationships and regrets. Now it was all about fantasies, imaginings, and what-ifs. The perfect opportunity for Hermione to let go, to laugh without restraint, to join in the fun. She allowed herself to relax, leaning into the warmth of the moment. The wine, flowing freely now, only fueled the giggles that danced through the room, the familiar faces of her friends dissolving all the tension.

It was liberating, really, hearing confessions, secrets she hadn’t thought possible. Stories from their school days, things they had never dared to admit before—like the time Ginny had stolen a kiss in the broom closet with Harry, or Lavender’s crush on Neville Longbottom. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of them all—how young they were, how different things felt back then. Now, sitting here, with all of them grown and so much more open, it felt like the time had finally come to let their pasts collide in one reckless, glorious evening.

Still, as the wine flowed and the laughter continued, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a certain wistfulness. She had missed out on so much growing up—so many opportunities to be reckless, to be free. Not that she regretted any of it, but if she could go back and relive those years at Hogwarts, she’d surely take more risks. After all, what’s the harm in a little fun?

"Okay, okay, me next!" Susan squealed, the tips of her fingers practically vibrating with excitement. "Never have I ever kissed... Harry Potter!"

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, before the entire group burst into laughter. Of course, Ginny was the first to react. She took a quick, guilty sip of her wine, her eyes averted as the others roared with disbelief. Hermione stifled a chuckle as she remembered walking in on Harry and Ginny once, a few years ago, snogging in the library during her rounds as a prefect. She hadn’t expected it, but the sight of them had left her feeling oddly uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that Harry had always been the one constant in her life, and seeing him so intimately involved with someone else had stung more than she cared to admit.

“No! You bitch!” Lavender shrieked dramatically, turning to Daphne and Luna, who were both trying to avoid the gaze of their friends, their eyes trained firmly on the floor. Hermione blinked in surprise, noticing the slight blush creeping up Luna’s neck, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“What?!” Hermione gasped, now fully intrigued. She turned to look at both Daphne and Luna, each avoiding her gaze like the plague. Ginny, eyes wide and mouth agape, looked utterly flabbergasted.

"Okay, I need the full story on this," Susan laughed, her tone a mix of disbelief and genuine curiosity. "I know about Daphne. You two kissed on a dare at Draco and Astoria's wedding afterparty, right?"

"Oh, that’s right!" Hermione chimed in, smiling as she recalled the story. "How could I forget? That kiss made headlines for weeks!" She rolled her eyes playfully. "Honestly, Harry went to such lengths to keep us out of the press. He’d even make excuses not to go home just to avoid reporters."

Ginny snorted, half-amused, half-bewildered. "Wait, wait—Luna? Are you telling me—?"

Hannah, sitting beside her, gasped loudly, eyes widening in realization. "If you kissed Harry... does that mean... he's the one that...?"

The room fell into an expectant hush, all eyes on Luna now. Except for Hermione, who raised an eyebrow, already having an inkling about where this was headed.

“Did what?” Hermione asked, her voice laced with curiosity but also a growing sense of dread. She could already feel the weight of what was coming next.

Ginny leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Sex," she said in a near hush, looking straight at Luna with an almost accusatory glint in her eyes.

Hermione’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in utter shock. "No!" she exclaimed, her voice louder than she intended. Her gaze snapped to Luna, who, to her surprise, was blushing faintly. Hermione's voice became almost a whisper as she tried to grasp what she was hearing. "Luna, did you? Really? With Harry?"

Luna, ever the enigmatic soul, simply hummed softly, looking at her hands for a moment before offering the faintest nod. The room exploded with gasps, shrieks, and shrills as all the girls erupted into chaos, the sudden revelation shaking them all.

Hermione, her mind spinning, couldn't take it anymore. She needed something to calm her nerves, and so, without hesitation, she flicked her wand and summoned another bottle of wine.

A second later, she poured herself a glass, quickly downing it in one go, hoping the warmth would settle her mind. She couldn’t keep up with the madness of it all, and she wasn’t sure she ever would.

xxxxx

Luna’s story had swept over the room like a storm, stirring laughter, scandal, and not-so-subtle blushing as the girls sat on the luxurious Persian rug in the cozy parlor of Grimmauld Place. The crackling fire flickered warmly, casting shadows that danced across their wide-eyed faces. They leaned in as Luna, with her characteristic serene confidence, recounted her unexpected nights with Harry, weaving a tale none of them had ever dared to imagine.

It had started innocently enough: Harry had returned to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year, still haunted by remnants of the war and the darkness that had lingered around him. He’d often roamed the castle late at night, sleepless and restless. One evening, Luna had crossed his path. She’d always been a quiet anchor in the turbulence of his life, and that night was no different. What started as a series of quiet conversations under the stars in the Astronomy Tower eventually led them to steal away to the Room of Requirement. And somewhere in those long, quiet nights, Luna had kissed him, tentative but daring. To her surprise, Harry had kissed her back.

“Oh, it was… intense,” Luna recounted, her gaze distant yet shimmering with amusement as she sipped her wine. “Harry was… well, very good. A bit overwhelming, honestly. I felt as if I could drown in him. He’s so… passionate, in his own way.” Her words were lilting, dreamy, leaving each of the girls hanging on every syllable.

Hermione felt a flush creeping up her cheeks. She quickly took a gulp of her own wine, but the heat of her embarrassment only seemed to deepen. She and the other girls exchanged glances, stifling nervous giggles. Harry had always been the mystery among them when it came to relationships. He’d had a brief romance with Ginny, yes, but beyond that, Harry was always the stoic, steady friend, rarely offering much insight into his love life. To hear Luna’s revelations was like glimpsing a hidden side of him she’d never imagined.

“He’d kiss me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered,” Luna continued, her lips curving in a smile. “It was… possessive, almost desperate. And his stamina—” she chuckled. “Let’s just say, I’m not sure I could keep up even if I tried.”

Ginny groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I gave up on him too soon!” she moaned, prompting laughter from everyone else. Hermione felt her heart race at the thought. She couldn’t help it. Harry was… Harry. Her best friend, the steady presence in her life. To hear he had this side to him, so intense, so relentless… She barely suppressed a shiver.

As Luna continued, Hermione listened, her mind drifting. She felt a strange, aching pang, an inexplicable restlessness. It was ridiculous, of course—she was Harry’s friend, his confidante. They’d practically grown up together, and now they even shared a house. But still, some traitorous part of her couldn’t help but wonder, just for a moment, what it might be like to be on the receiving end of that same intensity. She shook herself, feeling the blush creeping higher.

And then Luna dropped another revelation, leaning in conspiratorially. “The Parseltongue was... something else,” she murmured, her face turning an adorable shade of pink. “One night, he said he wanted to try something with it... while he was—”

“Doing what?” Hermione asked, despite herself, breathless with morbid curiosity.

“Oh, you know…” Luna's gaze flicked up, her lips curling as she finished with a low voice, “He was… speaking Parseltongue, of course. And... well, it had quite an effect, I assure you.”

The reaction was immediate. Lavender and Susan burst into squeals, Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, and Hermione’s mind spun, equal parts scandalized and… intrigued. The room seemed to fill with a collective, electrified silence as the implications sank in. Hermione felt as though she might faint. Harry, her best friend, with his Parseltongue skills and undeniable intensity… She desperately fanned herself, casting a cooling charm before she overheated entirely. They were all still in stunned silence when—

The door suddenly swung open. A familiar figure stood silhouetted against the hall’s dim light, looking bemused and a little suspicious. “Hey, girls! Thought I heard a bit of a ruckus in here…” Harry’s voice cut into the silence, his eyes flicking between the flushed faces, the overturned bowl of pretzels, and the unmistakable guilty expressions each woman wore.

An instant flurry of chaos erupted. Daphne shot up, knocking her drink off her lap; Susan scrambled to fix the bowl of spilled pretzels, and Lavender’s cheeks turned an alarming shade of red. The room fell into a guilty hush as Harry surveyed the scene, brow raised, taking in the wine glasses, the scattered laughter, the lingering blushes.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked, crossing his arms, his lips quirking in amusement as his gaze lingered on their guilty faces. “You look like a pack of Nifflers who’ve just been caught in the Gringotts vaults.”

Silence. Absolute, mortified silence. Each of the women was too busy pretending not to look at him, their eyes darting away from his face as if the mere sight of him might be too much to handle. Harry seemed amused, if puzzled, by their reaction, and as he cast a casual spell to repair the broken wine glasses, Hermione caught herself staring at his mouth. Her cheeks flamed again as she realized the other girls were doing the same.

Luna was the first to recover, her serene smile never faltering. She looked over at Hermione and the others, then turned back to Harry with a wide-eyed innocence that bordered on saintly. “Oh, we were just… having a friendly little chat,” she said, her tone light as air.

“Friendly, huh?” Harry’s skeptical expression grew as he looked around, his piercing gaze lingering on each of them just a little longer than usual. “Why does it feel like I walked into the middle of some… secret ritual or something?”

Ginny cleared her throat awkwardly, and Daphne shifted uncomfortably, both trying to stifle their laughter. Hermione could hardly stand the intensity in the room, her head spinning with a mixture of embarrassment, wine, and the lingering aftershock of Luna’s story. She looked at Harry, who was still frowning, bewildered yet amused.

“It’s nothing, Harry,” Hermione said, attempting to sound casual but failing spectacularly, her voice coming out much higher than she’d intended. She could feel his curious gaze on her, questioning, searching, but she simply gave him a strained smile. “Just… girl talk.”

“Well,” he chuckled, finally letting the tension crack, “glad I wasn’t the topic of conversation, then.” He turned to leave, but Hermione caught the tiniest flicker of a smirk on his lips as he strode back into the hall. “I'll just change clothes and I'll prepare dinner, ladies.”

The door closed behind him, and silence hung heavy in the room. For a moment, no one moved. Then, in a single, simultaneous release, they all erupted into shrieks of laughter, dissolving back into giggles and whispers.

“Oh my God!” Susan breathed, pressing a hand to her heart. “That was close!”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at him the same way again,” Lavender said, trying to suppress her grin.

Hermione’s heart was still racing. She cast a glance at Luna, who looked wholly unbothered, still floating in her own little world as though nothing unusual had happened. As for Hermione, she knew one thing for certain: she was going to need a lot more than a cooling charm to make it through the night.

xxxxx

The dining room was dimly lit, with soft shadows cast by the flickering candles still dotting the table, a lazy reminder of the warmth shared among friends. Dinner had been simple yet satisfying—juicy, perfectly cooked steaks prepared by Harry himself. As the girls laughed and reminisced about school days and new adventures, Harry watched them with an amused gaze, noticing the faint flush of wine on their cheeks, their light laughter filling the room. He didn’t miss how they were all a little too eager to avoid his eye now, almost as if caught in some secret. Only Luna held his gaze, though her eyes sparkled with a giddy mystery, possibly due to the drinks.

Eventually, the evening began to wind down. One by one, his friends promised to do it again soon, bidding him and Hermione goodnight before heading out. As the door finally closed, Grimmauld Place fell into a peaceful silence, with only the gentle ticking of the clock filling the empty spaces. Hermione immediately set to work, gathering dishes and heading for the kitchen. She began cleaning, her fingers tracing the curves of each plate almost absently, as if lost in thought. Harry, for his part, tidied up the dining room, stowing away the leftovers and restoring order to the space, a quiet hum of contentment settling over him.

Once finished, he poured himself a glass of wine, the deep red gleaming softly in the light. He took a slow sip, then moved toward the kitchen, pausing at the doorway to watch Hermione’s back as she scrubbed at the sink. Her movements were precise, yet he noticed a bit of nervousness, an unusual quickness in her gestures.

He cleared his throat, catching her attention. “You’re too quiet,” he commented, his voice smooth but laced with curiosity. “What are you hiding?”

Hermione flinched, her shoulders stiffening as she gripped a plate tightly, almost like she was bracing herself. “I’m not hiding anything,” she squeaked, her voice uncharacteristically high.

Harry’s lips quirked into a grin. “So, it’s about me then,” he teased lightly.

She sighed, keeping her eyes fixed on the sink. “N-No,” she whispered, the slight tremor in her voice betraying her.

Silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged, with Harry’s curiosity deepening. He took a step closer, his footsteps silent against the floor, until he was standing directly behind her, watching her fidget under his gaze. When he finally spoke again, his tone was soft, but his words landed with an effect she couldn’t quite ignore.

“Do I want to know about it?”

Hermione’s breath caught, a shiver racing down her spine as if he’d whispered the words directly against her neck. She bit down on her lip, barely holding back a nervous, fluttery sound.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry,” she mumbled, hoping the slight redness of her cheeks wasn’t too obvious, though her longer hair now conveniently framed her face.

Harry chuckled, the sound low and rich, sending another involuntary spark through her. “Alright, I won’t pry.” He stepped back and leaned against the kitchen table, sipping his wine with a casual air as if he’d let it go—but his gaze still lingered, sharp and watchful.

Hermione finished the dishes, drying her hands before walking over to him. She stole his glass of wine, taking a long sip and letting the warmth spread through her before setting it back down. “You okay?” Harry asked, noting her slightly flushed cheeks and the tired smile tugging at her lips.

Hermione nodded, leaning into him with a sigh, her forehead resting against his neck. “Too much wine, I think. My social battery’s drained,” she admitted, her voice muffled against him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her securely as his hand traced soothing circles along her back. “That’s what happens when you have so many friends, Hermione,” he said with a soft laugh. “I already set up the bath for you upstairs. Thought you might want to relax.”

She looked up, eyes narrowing playfully. “Did you also tell Andromeda I’ll be skipping my lesson tomorrow?”

“Yes, and I won’t hear a word of protest about it,” he answered, his mock-stern tone matched by a smirk. “You’ve been running yourself ragged.”

She glared up at him, but there was no real anger there, only a warmth that seemed to glow brighter when she finally let her head fall back to his shoulder, sighing with contentment. “I hate you,” she mumbled, though the soft smile on her lips told a different story.

“No, you don’t.” He chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly against her back. “Now, come on, my little princess. Bath time.”

Before she could even register his words, he bent down and scooped her up into his arms, lifting her effortlessly. Hermione let out a startled yelp, swatting at his shoulder, though her half-hearted struggles quickly gave way to giggles. “Harry, put me down!” she protested, but her laughter only grew as he held her firmly, carrying her toward the stairs.

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully, clearly enjoying her exasperated attempts to wriggle free. She was all too aware of the strength in his hold, the warmth of his arms cradling her as he effortlessly climbed the staircase. Eventually, she stopped resisting, melting into his embrace with a soft sigh as her exhaustion finally caught up to her.

A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes as he met her gaze, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “Get comfortable, Hermione. I’ve got you.”

And with that, he carried her the rest of the way, Hermione letting herself relax in the safe cocoon of his arms, secretly grateful for the strong presence of the one person who’d never left her side. The faint scent of his cologne wrapped around her, lulling her with a sense of ease she only ever found with him.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger woke up to the cozy aroma of breakfast wafting through Grimmauld Place, tempting her out of bed. She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut against the pounding headache that throbbed behind her eyes. Memories of last night floated back: Harry catching her in the bathtub with her third glass of wine, insisting she’d had enough, and practically hexing the glass out of her hand with an amused smirk. Maybe she did have a problem—but that was a thought for another day.

Turning her head, she noticed a row of neatly placed potions on the bedside table. She chuckled, a smile tugging at her lips. Harry knew her well; he’d anticipated her morning state perfectly. Grateful for the hangover remedies, Hermione downed them all, savoring the warm ease that gradually dulled her headache, then padded off to the bathroom to freshen up before making her way downstairs.

The bright kitchen greeted her warmly, with Harry bustling around in his apron, the picture of domestic ease. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty finally joins us!” he teased, glancing over his shoulder as she entered. His grin was both affectionate and teasing, his green eyes alight. Before she could respond, he stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “Good morning, Hermione. Did you take your potions?”

“Yeah, thanks to you.” Hermione sighed contentedly, giving him a grateful look. “You should’ve woken me up so I could make breakfast, though. It’s not fair that you’re always the one cooking.”

“Oh, please,” Harry smirked, clearly amused at the thought. “You deserve a bit of pampering once in a while.” He tilted his head, pretending to look thoughtful. “Besides, it’s my house too. Hosting our friends yesterday was the least I could do.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “But you did so much—cooking lunch and dinner. You’re going to spoil me if you keep this up.”

Harry grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Consider it payback for keeping me alive all those years. Now sit, eat, and relax. It’s your day off, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t help but smile, sinking into a chair as he set a plate in front of her. Bacon, eggs, toast—the spread looked like something from one of her mother’s old cookbooks. “Thank you, Harry,” she murmured, appreciating his effort. But his words lingered. Pampering her—was that what this was? Or was there something more?

He slid into the seat beside her, and she felt her cheeks warm as he absentmindedly reached over to straighten her hair, his touch lingering just a beat too long. “So,” he said, picking up a section of the newspaper, “I’ll be heading out later today.”

“Heading out?” Hermione asked, surprised. “Do you have plans?”

“Yeah, Luna invited me for coffee. She said there’s something she wanted to talk about. She’s been working on a project—setting up a new school newspaper at Hogwarts, can you believe it?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I told her I’d invest in it, help give those students a real news source. The Quibbler will even take over the printing for it.”

Hermione froze mid-bite. Luna invited him? For coffee? Today? She frowned slightly, feeling a strange prick of annoyance. She knew they were close friends—she had no right to feel this way. And yet... why hadn’t Luna mentioned it yesterday when she was here? She forced herself to shrug it off, but the thought simmered in the back of her mind.

“Really?” she managed to say, hoping her tone sounded casual. “I didn’t know about that.”

Harry seemed to sense something off, and his brows knitted in mild concern, but he didn’t press. Instead, he refocused on his breakfast, while Hermione glanced over at him, her thoughts churning. Why was she feeling this way? Of course it was normal for friends to meet up. But Luna’s playful comments from yesterday lingered: her tales of past adventures with Harry, the subtle way she’d hinted at experiences Hermione couldn’t quite picture. The stories might have been innocent, but the way Luna had looked at her, eyes twinkling mischievously, left Hermione feeling oddly… unsettled.

As Harry moved to clear the plates, humming to himself, Hermione felt an inexplicable urge rise up within her. The thought of him spending time alone with Luna after yesterday’s stories made her stomach twist. She bit her lip, forcing herself to look casual, before finally giving in.

“Harry?” Her voice was quieter than she intended, and he glanced back at her, curious. She tried to sound nonchalant, but her tone betrayed her eagerness. “Do you think I could… come along with you today?”

Harry blinked, surprised but smiling, and shrugged. “Sure, why not? You feeling up for it?”

Hermione exhaled, relieved. “Yeah, just need some coffee to perk me up,” she replied with a bright smile, hoping she seemed relaxed.

“Perfect. We’ll head out after lunch,” Harry grinned, standing up and stretching. “In the meantime, I think I’ll catch up on some reading. I picked up a few new books yesterday—want to join me in the library?”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled at the invitation, all traces of her earlier annoyance fading. “Do you even have to ask?” She laughed, falling into step beside him, feeling lighter already. They headed toward the library, but her mind was still on the morning. She couldn’t help but smile at how easily Harry lifted her spirits—and, despite herself, how easily he made her want to spend the whole day by his side.

xxxxx

In a cozy Muggle coffee shop on a crisp autumn afternoon, Hermione Granger sat beside Harry Potter, both nursing steaming cups as they waited for Luna Lovegood to join them. Harry had ordered drinks and slipped away to the restroom, leaving Hermione with a rare quiet moment to herself—until Luna, with her usual unassuming grace, slid into the seat across from her. The soft hum of chatter around them blended with the gentle clinks of mugs and the hiss of the coffee machine, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere in the small café.

Luna studied Hermione thoughtfully, her eyes twinkling with that familiar knowing look that somehow made Hermione feel like an open book. Hermione stiffened, sensing an impending comment she might not be ready to hear.

"I'm not taking Harry away from you, Hermione," Luna whispered, a gentle smile spreading across her face.

Hermione felt the warmth of a blush rise immediately to her cheeks and shook her head too vigorously. "W-What are you talking about, Luna? That’s—absolutely ridiculous," she stammered, sounding unconvincing even to herself.

Luna only laughed softly, her gaze serene yet piercing. "I know my story last night might’ve been a bit much," she said in her usual dreamy tone. “But all of that—well, it’s in the past now. I think you should know, it was just business that brought me here to talk with Harry." She chuckled to herself. "Besides, we didn’t have much time yesterday, what with all our stories and drinks taking up the evening…”

Hermione relaxed, almost visibly, the tension draining from her shoulders as she let out a subtle sigh of relief. She wasn’t even sure why she felt relieved. After all, she and Harry were nothing more than friends and roommates, bound by a long-standing, unspoken understanding. Yet, the idea of Harry and Luna rekindling something—even a memory—seemed to leave an uncomfortable tightness in her chest.

As Hermione sat lost in thought, Harry returned, sliding back into his seat with the ease of someone blissfully unaware of the exchange he’d just interrupted. His amused eyes darted between the two of them, settling on Hermione with a hint of suspicion.

"Are you talking about me again?" he teased, an eyebrow raised and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Hermione quickly glanced at Luna, who was now gazing out the window with a serene expression, completely unbothered, her fingers lightly drumming on her cup as if she hadn’t just spun Hermione’s thoughts into a flustered mess.

Trying to compose herself, Hermione cleared her throat and looked at Harry, her heart pounding just a little too fast. "N-No," she squeaked, wishing her voice didn’t sound so unsteady.

Harry leaned back, his smirk growing. "Really?" he drawled, clearly enjoying this. "Then what were you two talking about?”

Hermione’s mind raced, scrambling for any explanation that wouldn’t give away her frazzled nerves. She opened her mouth, glanced at Luna, and then blurted out, “N-Nargles.”

The word just slipped out, and she instantly regretted it. Harry’s eyebrows shot up, and Luna’s gaze shifted from the window back to Hermione with a subtle, amused smile playing on her lips. It was as if she’d known exactly how Hermione would answer all along.

“Oh, Nargles, huh?” Harry said, leaning in as if he found this sudden interest in magical creatures absolutely fascinating. His teasing gaze softened slightly as he added, "Well, I’m sure you two would have a lot to say about Nargles.” He chuckled, clearly seeing through her flustered response.

Hermione tried to gather her wits, still feeling the warmth in her cheeks. She sipped her coffee in an attempt to regain her composure, letting the warm drink soothe her just a bit. It was ridiculous, she told herself—just a perfectly ordinary afternoon, and here she was acting like a schoolgirl.

Harry continued chatting with Luna, who went on about her plans for a new project, something whimsical and daring as always, while Hermione found herself simply watching him out of the corner of her eye. She noted the relaxed lines of his face, his hair as wild as ever, his smile effortlessly charming even when he wasn’t trying. There was something disarming about him in these quieter, unguarded moments, something that made her heart do a strange little flip in her chest.

Luna finished explaining her idea to Harry, who listened intently, nodding along and clearly entertained by the whimsical details. She could see why he’d agreed to meet her—there was a certain magic in Luna’s perspective on things, a way she had of bringing a touch of the extraordinary to even the simplest ideas. As Luna’s gaze wandered back out the window, Hermione realized, for a moment, she wasn’t the only one who appreciated these softer, quieter parts of Harry.

In the brief silence that followed, Harry turned back to Hermione, his green eyes alight with that usual curiosity. "So," he said, leaning his elbows on the table, "tell me more about these Nargles. I think I’d like to know what you and Luna find so fascinating about them."

For once, Hermione was at a complete loss for words.

xxxxx

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching Hermione as she moved through the racks of dresses, her fingers brushing thoughtfully over different fabrics. The boutique was softly lit, casting a warm glow over everything, and he couldn't help but notice how comfortable she seemed, immersed in her search. It was rare for the two of them to have a quiet day together like this, and he found himself savoring the relaxed pace.

Luna had already left, having dashed off with a smile after collecting the necessary signatures from him. She had an ambitious plan to establish a Hogwarts printing press and wanted to consult Headmistress McGonagall about it. With Harry’s funding behind her, she was filled with newfound confidence, and Harry admired her honesty about her intentions. He liked supporting his friends' dreams, especially when he had more money than he knew what to do with.

"Harry!" Hermione’s voice called out from the dressing room, pulling him from his thoughts.

He stood, approaching the small dressing area. "What’s wrong?" he asked, leaning in just a little, not wanting to intrude but curious all the same.

There was a pause, then Hermione’s voice, laced with mischief. “Can you help zip me up?”

She had her back to the door, hiding a small, triumphant smirk. Lately, she'd felt unfairly flustered around Harry; it seemed she was the only one ever caught off guard. She was determined to change that. If anyone was going to be embarrassed today, it would be Harry.

Inwardly, she cursed her friends. Their teasing had stirred up feelings she’d buried long ago, feelings that had only resurfaced in little, unguarded moments, like the way Harry’s arm brushed against hers or the sound of his laughter as they relaxed in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. Somewhere in her heart, she’d always held a place for him—a space she'd tried to ignore for the sake of their friendship.

Did she like her best friend? Yes, painfully so. Did she love him? She sighed inwardly, admitting the truth she'd always known: she’d loved him since their school days. Even in moments when she'd kissed Viktor or Ron, she’d caught herself wishing it had been Harry. But she’d told herself to grow up, to settle for friendship, afraid that anything more might ruin what they had if things didn't go as planned.

Harry stepped forward, pulling the zipper carefully. His fingers brushed her back lightly, and he couldn't help but marvel at how right this felt, how effortlessly they moved in sync with each other. As he zipped her dress, he noticed how the golden-yellow fabric complemented her, accentuating the warmth in her skin and the soft curls of her hair. He hadn’t expected to be so struck by it.

“There you go,” he murmured as he finished, taking a step back. Hermione turned to face him, and he took in her reflection in the mirror, admiring the way the dress suited her. “This looks… really nice. Yellow suits you.”

“Do you think?” Hermione replied, glancing at herself in the mirror, trying to appear casual, even as her cheeks warmed under his gaze. Her eyes flicked to his reflection, noticing how he seemed to linger, his gaze trailing over her in a way that made her heart race. She quickly looked away, but not before a soft blush rose to her cheeks.

"Yeah," he said, his voice warm. "You look stunning, actually." His tone was sincere, his expression softened by a slight, admiring smile. “You should get it. If you don’t, I will.”

Hermione huffed, but her lips quirked into a smile. “I can buy my own clothes, thank you very much,” she replied, rolling her eyes. But she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at his words. He wasn’t only being polite; he meant it.

Harry chuckled, and the rich sound filled the small space. “Alright, alright. Just don’t say I didn’t try to spoil you,” he teased, his smile widening as she playfully shoved him out of the dressing room.

“Get out!” she laughed, trying to hide her own flustered smile as she closed the door. Her heart still pounded, a subtle reminder of all the little moments they’d shared, each one feeling a bit more like more than friendship. She took a deep breath, gazing at her reflection and wondering if it was finally time to let herself want more.

xxxxx

It was a few weeks before the girls gathered again at Grimmauld Place, and this time, Hermione seized the opportunity to host them alone. Harry was off at the Burrow helping George with some rune work for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and she knew he wouldn’t return until tomorrow. The moment she informed the girls, they eagerly committed to bringing food—and, as it turned out, a whole lot of wine.

They arrived with their arms full of parcels and clinking bottles, making enough noise to rattle the cobwebs from the corners of Grimmauld Place’s old walls. When they settled in, Hermione took one look at the bottles lined up on the kitchen table and let out a helpless laugh.

“This is way too much alcohol!” she shouted over the excited chatter.

“No such thing!” Daphne grinned as she plunked down yet another bottle. “We were cut off before, and with Harry not around to walk in on our conversation, I say we go all in.”

“Cheers!” Ginny crowed, lifting a bottle and filling everyone’s glasses generously. “Let the game begin!”

It wasn’t long before the food dwindled and the girls’ cheeks grew rosy. They sipped, laughed, and leaned closer as the hours passed, immersed in stories and clinking glasses. Hermione hadn’t laughed this much in ages—especially with the hint of mischief and unguarded confessions that each sip inspired. As the evening deepened, she realized just how rare it was to unwind with friends, without the weight of expectations or responsibilities that usually hung over them.

“Alright, who’s next?” Susan asked, twirling her glass with a sly look.

“I’ll do it,” Hermione volunteered, though inwardly, she felt a flicker of nerves. “Never have I ever… taken intimate photos.”

Her attempt at casualness didn’t last as her friends let out a chorus of “Ooooh!” and leaned in, their eyes twinkling with intrigue.

They glanced around the room, hoping to catch a blush or a sly grin, but to her surprise, no one took a drink. Hermione gaped at the group, eyes wide.

“Really? Not one of you?” she cried, incredulous.

“We’re not all that kinky, Granger!” Lavender teased, laughing so hard she had to hold her glass steady. “But what possessed you to ask that?”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. “I was curious! But seriously—no one?”

Susan hesitated, finally lifting her hand halfway. “I did try,” she admitted, her cheeks turning crimson, “but I got so self-conscious that I ended up burning all the photos before I could give them to Ron. I ended up just… dressing up for him on our anniversary.”

Ginny groaned and covered her ears. “Ugh, I did not need that visual! I’m traumatized enough by the idea of you dating my brother!”

Susan merely laughed, shrugging. “Just be grateful it’s me and not… well, let’s just say, Fleur and Angelina have told me things that’d make all of us blush for a week.”

“I believe that,” Hermione muttered, a shiver running down her spine. She could only imagine the stories Fleur would share after a few glasses of wine. She’d already seen a hint of that wild side at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and it was nothing she’d care to relive.

With Susan’s confession safely tucked away, the game continued until Luna perked up with an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eye. “Alright,” she said, catching Hermione’s gaze. “Never have I ever… tagged along on a friend’s coffee date out of jealousy.”

The girls went silent, eyebrows arching, and one by one, their eyes turned toward Hermione, who felt her stomach twist. She bit her lip as Luna’s knowing smile held her gaze, the memory replaying vividly in her mind.

Hermione blushed, lifting her glass reluctantly. She took a sip as the room erupted in gasps and scandalized laughs.

“What?” Daphne’s jaw dropped, leaning forward. “Hermione Granger, I had no idea you were the jealous type! When did this happen?”

“It was… right after our last get-together,” Luna explained, smirking. “I asked Harry to help with my new publication, Hogwarts Weekly. I invited him for coffee, and Hermione came along. She looked like she was ready to hex me if I tried anything funny.”

“I was not!” Hermione protested, mortified.

“Oh, you totally were,” Lavender teased, giving Hermione a wink. “I'm just imagining it—she wouldn’t even let Luna get a word in before she started interrogating her!”

“I wasn’t interrogating anyone,” Hermione mumbled, her cheeks a furious shade of pink. She felt the wine warm her cheeks even more, and she tried her best to look nonchalant. “I just thought it was odd that Luna hadn’t asked him when she was here at Grimmauld Place…”

Susan snorted. “Come on, Hermione, if you’re so innocent, why are you still drinking?”

Hermione spluttered, setting her glass down. “I’m only drinking because you’re all forcing me to!”

Luna leaned in, her voice lower, challenging. “So if I invited Harry over, just the two of us, to my flat, and we didn’t talk about business at all—you wouldn’t mind?”

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she felt the knot of tension in her chest twist tighter, her hand going instinctively to her glass. She took a deep gulp, feeling the laughter and teasing settle heavily around her.

The others burst into laughter, clinking glasses as they reveled in her embarrassment.

“Alright, fine!” Hermione said, the warmth of the wine relaxing her, despite herself. “Who’s next?” She reached for the bottle, pouring herself another drink.

As she looked around the table, watching her friends giggling, laughing, and throwing each other teasing glances, Hermione couldn’t help but feel her heart swell. The wine, the confessions, the laughter—it was all so free and uninhibited, so different from the tension that had filled their lives during the war. And for once, she could laugh, blush, and bask in the company of people who cared for her without reservation.

Tonight, with Harry gone, they had Grimmauld Place entirely to themselves, and she could already tell that the night would be one to remember. The teasing continued, the stories flowed, and as they laughed until their sides hurt, Hermione knew one thing for sure: this was only the beginning.

xxxxx

The laughter grew louder, echoing against the dark-paneled walls of Grimmauld Place as the evening wore on, fueled by a seemingly endless supply of wine and, admittedly, a fair bit of courage coaxed by its warmth. Hermione could barely remember the last time she’d seen her friends so carefree, and she herself was loosening up far more than she would have expected. Perhaps it was the absence of Harry’s quiet but ever-watchful presence—or maybe it was simply the sheer giddiness of letting loose in the midst of her closest friends. Either way, the evening was theirs, free from obligations and watchful eyes.

The wine flowed, and with each glass, the questions grew bolder. They sat sprawled across the plush sofas in the dimly lit sitting room, their cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming with the conspiratorial mischief that only came from shared secrets. It was Ginny who, with a wicked gleam, threw out the latest challenge: “Never have I ever… had a spontaneous sexual encounter while traveling.”

Luna’s hand shot up, and she took a gleeful sip of her wine, to no one’s surprise. A round of giggles rippled through the group, and the girls leaned in closer, eager for the next admission. Hermione had initially tried to keep her sips minimal, hoping to skate through the evening without spilling too much of herself. But as the wine took hold, her cheeks grew warm, and her laughter grew freer, as did her occasional sips whenever a question hit a little too close to home.

“Never have I ever… been caught in the act by someone.”

Hermione nearly choked on her wine at the reactions to this one. Ginny turned crimson, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes, and they all erupted into laughter when she muttered something about getting caught by her own mother. The horrified yet amused look on her face only fueled the laughter. By now, all of them were in varying degrees of tipsy delight, giggling with ease, as though every embarrassment was a shared experience, every mortification softened by camaraderie.

With each question, Hermione found herself unable to avoid the familiar tug of a certain name that seemed to bubble up among her friends' comments. Every sly glance, every wry smirk was peppered with his name. Daphne, ever bold and unfiltered, seemed particularly keen to needle her tonight.

“Never have I ever… imagined someone else while I was with another partner,” Daphne challenged with a raised eyebrow, casting a pointed look Hermione’s way.

Hermione’s cheeks flamed under her friends’ watchful gazes, and despite herself, she lifted her glass. She took a delicate sip, feeling her heart skip as her friends practically cackled.

Ginny’s eyes gleamed with triumphant mischief. “So you imagined kissing Harry while you were with my brother?”

Hermione swallowed, laughing through the awkwardness. “That wasn’t the question!” she protested, feeling the heat creep from her cheeks down to her neck. A small part of her felt exposed, but another part—the part affected by the wine and the glow of their laughter—felt a certain thrill in admitting even this much.

The questions rolled on, daring and silly and delightfully ridiculous, and each answer seemed to add another layer to the carefree atmosphere. Somewhere between “Never have I ever… watched an intimate scene in a movie and wished I was in it” and “Never have I ever… felt secretly turned on during an argument with someone,” Hermione found herself drinking again, even when she wished she didn’t have to. But it wasn’t as though she could deny what her friends seemed to already know.

“Harry always did have that brooding look,” Daphne teased, her eyes glinting with mischief as she nudged Hermione. “I mean, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never shivered a bit when he’s gone all ‘Lord Potter’ on you.”

Hermione glared, but the flush in her cheeks betrayed her. “You all assume it’s always about Harry!” she protested, though her protest felt weak even to her own ears.

“You do live with him,” Luna murmured with a gentle, knowing smile, as though it explained everything. And perhaps it did.

The wine had made her bold, but now she wished it had also made her invisible, even if she couldn’t deny the thrill that came with their laughter and nudges. Hermione sipped from her glass again, marveling at just how much she had already admitted—things she’d never planned to, truths she kept neatly hidden beneath layers of logic and reason.

Eventually, the questions seemed to circle back, prodding at a subject Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted to answer but found herself drawn to anyway. She’d felt something stirring, something that lingered with every brush of Harry’s hand against hers, with every glance that lasted a fraction too long.

As the night wore on, she glanced around at her friends, each of them still laughing and pressing her with questions about Harry, as though they could see through every mask she wore. Their teasing felt like a mirror held to her own heart, and perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was simply the relief of honesty, but for a moment, Hermione allowed herself to imagine a different reality.

The thoughts spun in her mind, filling her with a mix of amusement and frustration. Was it truly so strange that she thought of Harry more often than anyone else? And was it really such a terrible thing, she wondered, to find comfort in the one person who had been by her side through every battle, every hardship?

But tonight wasn’t about answers; it was about laughter, and for now, she let herself laugh along, ignoring the knowing looks, the sly smiles. Letting herself be one of the girls, if only for one night. She was sure they’d remember this night long after the laughter had faded and they’d all returned to their lives. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she made a promise to herself: she’d go on those dates, make those memories. But tonight, here with her friends, here in the only place that truly felt like home, she could indulge in a bit of playful mystery, even if her mind always seemed to circle back to him.

And as she filled her glass one last time, listening to her friends’ laughter, she couldn’t help but wonder—if her heart kept circling back, maybe it was time to stop running from what it had known all along.

xxxxx

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, her head pounding with a dull ache as she blinked into the unfamiliar surroundings. A rich, dark canopy hung above her, casting a dim shadow over the room’s details, yet there was no mistaking the ornate silver crest embroidered on the bedspread. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized where she was—Harry's room in Grimmauld Place.

She sat up abruptly, her tousled hair falling over her shoulders as she took in the room’s heavy curtains, the dark mahogany furniture, and the faint smell of him—sandalwood and cedar. Heat rose to her cheeks. Why was she here? The memories of last night remained a blur, and she was still fully clothed, which was reassuring, but it did little to ease her bewilderment. Why hadn’t she woken up in her own room?

The sound of a door creaking open made her freeze. She turned, her breath catching as Harry strolled out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to his skin, tracing lines down his toned chest and stomach. Hermione’s eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. He had certainly changed since Hogwarts. His regular training, coupled with whatever potions he’d been using for recovery, had filled out his frame in ways she hadn’t expected, and she could feel her cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Good morning,” Harry’s voice broke through her haze, his mouth curving into a crooked smile as he took in her startled expression. He rubbed a towel over his damp, unruly hair, leaving it messier than ever, and strolled toward her with an easy confidence that only made her blush deepen. “Glad to see you’re finally up.”

“G-Good morning,” Hermione stammered, barely able to tear her gaze away. She felt as though she’d been caught doing something wildly inappropriate, yet she hadn’t even done anything—well, except stare. She swallowed, trying to steady herself. “Um… I don’t know how I ended up here.”

Harry chuckled, and she felt the soft warmth of his hand cupping her cheek as he leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss to her cheek. The casual familiarity of it left her momentarily stunned, her heart beating erratically. “You were fast asleep in the library last night, surrounded by books and papers everywhere,” he said, amused. “Tried taking you to your room, but… well, seems like Luna, Ginny, and Daphne decided to make it their own.”

“Wait, they slept in my room?” Hermione echoed, her mind struggling to catch up with this new bit of information.

“Mm-hm.” Harry smirked, moving back to his wardrobe, still clad in nothing but the towel. “I’d call it a case of spontaneous bad planning. They must’ve gotten as carried away as you did. When I woke up, the house was in complete disarray, bottles and books scattered everywhere.” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up as if reliving the mess. “It was almost as if a rogue party swept through here.”

“Ugh, my head’s killing me, and I can’t remember half of it,” Hermione groaned, holding her head. She winced as she took in the echoing throb, a consequence of last night’s overindulgence, no doubt.

Harry handed her a small vial, its contents a rich greenish-blue. “Here, drink this. It’s one of Ron’s stash of hangover potions. Had to pinch a few when I went over to the Burrow earlier. Susan was in quite a state herself.”

Hermione gratefully downed the potion, feeling the cool liquid settle in her stomach as the pain in her head began to subside. “Thank Merlin for Ron,” she sighed, relieved. “I’m guessing we all had a bit too much?”

Harry’s grin was nothing short of mischievous. “A bit? That’s an understatement,” he teased. “After you lot polished off the wine, you decided it was a brilliant idea to move on to my collection of firewhiskey. It’s a wonder you’re up at all.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione groaned, her cheeks heating up again. “Did we really?”

Harry’s laughter was warm, but it held a note of indulgence, as though he found her embarrassment endearing. “Yes, really. Let’s just say the library hasn’t seen that much action since… well, ever.”

Hermione grimaced, imagining the disaster they must have made. She clutched the sheets, her mind whirling as fragments of last night slowly returned. She had a vague recollection of laughter, Ginny’s mischievous dares, Daphne egging them on, and Luna’s endless giggling. A game, they’d been playing some sort of game…

“I’ll, uh… I’ll go take a shower,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but at him, hoping to escape before she embarrassed herself any further.

Harry tilted his head, still smirking, and pointed to the bathroom. “Already set up for you. I left some clothes for you there, too.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, feeling strangely touched by his thoughtfulness. He really had looked after her last night, hadn’t he?

Harry walked her to the door, keeping a steady hand on her back as though to make sure she didn’t stumble, and as they reached the threshold, he leaned in close, his warm breath skimming her ear. “Anytime, Hermione. Feel free to go wild in Grimmauld Place whenever you like. Merlin knows it could use a little chaos.”

She looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat as she caught the glint of mischief in his gaze. He was clearly enjoying her flustered state, and for a brief moment, she felt an urge to smack that smirk off his face—if only to save herself from the fluttering feeling in her stomach. But instead, she managed a small, embarrassed nod before stepping away and closing the door behind her, desperately hoping the cool water would clear her head.

As she slipped into the shower, the warm spray cascading over her, she could still hear Harry’s laughter in her mind, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was certain she’d never felt more alive, or more flustered, in all her life.

xxxxx

Lunch at Grimmauld Place was chaotic at best. The lingering signs of last night’s celebration — the abandoned glasses, empty bottles, and scattered cushions — were reminders of the fun and perhaps a little too much indulgence. Ginny and Daphne had made quick escapes as soon as Harry roused them, both making a beeline for the door before any questions could be asked. Meanwhile, Luna, ever unruffled, accepted Harry’s offer of a bath, and soon the three friends were at the table, attempting to gather themselves over strong coffee and cold leftovers.

Hermione found herself too weary to even be embarrassed about wearing Harry’s old Quidditch uniform, which she had thrown on in a hurry. The oversized “POTTER” stretched across her back, making her feel like some odd sort of housemate in the Potter residence, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The thought of last night’s antics was foggy, especially with her slight hangover, and Luna didn’t seem any more enlightened. Despite her usual sharp memory, Luna shrugged it off with a lazy smile, blissfully enjoying her coffee and toast. After finishing, Luna bid a quick goodbye, giving Hermione an enigmatic wink before Flooing out.

With Luna gone, silence settled over the room, the clinking of silverware and the occasional rustle of the newspaper Harry held the only sounds. Hermione poked at her cold food, feeling a blush finally creeping up her cheeks. She could hardly recall what had happened last night, but whatever it was, it had led to a rather unceremonious wake-up in Harry’s bed and the current disheveled state of his home.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her plate as she nudged at a piece of toast. “About last night. I… I’m pretty sure I made a mess of things. And with the girls staying here…”

Harry barely looked up, though she noticed the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “About what?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.

“I don’t know… about everything, really. I was the one who dragged them all here and… well, I didn’t plan for it to get so out of hand.” She glanced at him, hoping for some hint that he wasn’t too annoyed.

But Harry just chuckled, setting his paper down and looking over at her with that easy grin. “Hermione, I honestly don’t mind. If I’m being truthful, I was sort of expecting it. Last time you all had a get-together here, I felt like everyone was holding back because I was around. So, I figured I’d make myself scarce this time — and I might have left a little extra firewhisky out, just to see what would happen.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You… left it out on purpose?”

He nodded, looking slightly sheepish but more amused than anything else. “You’ve been cooped up for so long with your Potions Mastery work. I figured you could use a real break, and what better way than with friends, here, where you feel comfortable? Besides, you’ve been so focused on work lately, I thought it might be a good chance to blow off steam.”

She couldn’t argue. Studying under Andromeda Tonks had been both a privilege and a challenge, and her schedule was grueling. She hadn’t even considered how little she’d been going out or seeing friends without Harry around.

Hermione nodded, feeling a small smile tug at her lips as she watched him. “Maybe I do need a little more time for… for fun.”

Harry raised his mug in mock toast, a grin lighting his face. “Absolutely. And you don’t have to apologize for having a good time, Hermione. Frankly, I like seeing you having fun.”

The warmth in his words made her blush deepen, and she took a hasty sip of water, fidgeting slightly. “Maybe… maybe I’ll take you up on that. Make a point of having a little more fun, without relying on you to be my partner in crime.”

Harry’s gaze was unwavering as he took another sip of his coffee, his smile playful. “Sounds like a plan.”

She was quiet for a moment before setting her fork down and taking a slow, thoughtful breath. “Maybe I’ll even go on a few dates,” she announced, nonchalantly.

Harry’s reaction was instant and hilariously uncharacteristic. He choked on his coffee, sputtering as he tried to clear his throat. His usual composed manner was replaced by frantic coughing and an uncharacteristic look of alarm. Hermione watched in concern and barely veiled amusement, handing him a glass of water.

“Merlin, that coffee was hot,” he muttered, still clearing his throat, his expression attempting to return to normalcy but failing.

“Are you alright?” she asked, hiding her smile behind her hand.

“Yeah, fine,” he said a little too quickly, giving a half-hearted laugh that did nothing to hide his sudden nervousness. “Completely fine, just… a bit surprised, that’s all.”

He avoided her gaze, and Hermione suppressed a smirk, noting how the tips of his ears had turned pink. She shrugged and took another bite of her toast, pretending not to notice his reaction, but the air between them had shifted just a little. It was a subtle change, like a hidden spark between them she had only now noticed.

Harry returned to his coffee, still not looking at her directly, and Hermione continued her breakfast, her eyes occasionally glancing his way with growing curiosity, noting the way he avoided her gaze, the small frown on his lips as though wrestling with some unseen thought.

In the quiet of Grimmauld Place, with the breakfast dishes gradually emptied, Hermione’s mind drifted back to their little exchange. Though they hadn’t said much, something about Harry’s reaction lingered in her thoughts, the way his expression had flickered from calm to flustered in seconds, and how a simple remark about dates could make him so visibly uneasy. For the first time in ages, Hermione felt a slight thrill as she wondered what else lay beneath Harry’s cool exterior, something she now realized she very much wanted to explore.

xxxxx

The morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, casting a warm, golden glow over the shop floor cluttered with enchanted merchandise. The shop was buzzing with quiet activity as the Weasleys prepared for the day. Harry leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his face set in a frustrated scowl that deepened each time he glanced over at Ron and George. Both were far too amused by his current predicament.

“You’re stupid,” Ron remarked, a wide grin spreading across his face as he lazily stirred his tea, letting the teasing words hang in the air. His tone was playful, but the glint in his eye showed he was thoroughly enjoying Harry’s discomfort.

George chuckled from across the room, his arms folded and a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Definitely stupid,” he echoed. “You deserve that remark.”

Harry let out a groan, pushing a hand through his hair in frustration. “What did I do wrong this time?”

Ron took a slow sip of tea, clearly savoring the moment. “I’d say it’s less about what you’ve done and more about what you haven’t done,” he replied with a shrug.

Harry’s shoulders slumped as he thought back over the past few days. Hermione had been distant, disappearing from Grimmauld Place every other night and returning late with the vague excuse of “going on a date.” Each time he’d tried to pry a little further, she would flash him that brilliant, mysterious smile and evade his questions, leaving him in a fog of irritation and curiosity that he couldn’t seem to shake.

“What am I supposed to do?” Harry muttered, frustration coloring his voice. “She’s been going out all week, coming back late... and when I ask her where she’s been, she just says she’s been on a date!”

Ron raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. “Why don’t you follow her? Complete the look of a jealous bloke, yeah? It’d be fitting with how you’re acting.”

George stifled a laugh, reaching over to swat Ron on the back of the head. “Ignore him,” he said, a smirk still playing on his lips. “Just ask Hermione, mate. You’re practically her other half; there’s no need for secrets between you two.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. And what if I ask and it turns out she really is with some... some genius Potions bloke who can impress her with all sorts of exotic ingredients? I don’t want to ruin things with some awkward question.”

George rolled his eyes, tossing a joke product onto a display shelf with a shrug. “Look, Harry, if Hermione’s coming back to Grimmauld Place every night, it’s hardly the perfect date, is it?” He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. “If things were going splendidly, I’d wager she’d be out longer than just a few hours.”

Harry’s jaw tightened as he stared down at the counter, his mind racing through the possible implications of her returning home each night. Was George right? Was she coming back because things weren’t going well? Or was it just because, well... Grimmauld Place had become her home? The thought comforted him, though it didn’t quell the underlying anxiety eating away at him.

George grinned, clapping a hand on Harry’s back, sensing his internal struggle. “If you’re that worked up about it, maybe it’s time to take a chance. Ask her out, see what happens. Otherwise, you’re just sitting here, stewing while she goes off on more dates.”

Harry shot George a look of exasperation. “You know I can’t do that. I don’t want to mess things up. It’s perfect how it is. She’s... she’s happy. I think.”

Ron exchanged a knowing glance with George, a smirk spreading across his face. They both knew exactly how much Harry had poured into making Grimmauld Place a home for Hermione. Last time they visited, they’d been stunned at how much the once-dark, foreboding house had transformed. With Hermione’s touch—and Harry’s eager help—it had become something warm, filled with light and even a bit of whimsy. Every room reflected her tastes, from the cozy sitting room lined with bookshelves to the expansive new library Harry had renovated just for her, a place where she could study, unwind, and explore her passions.

The house, in so many ways, had become a shared space, a sanctuary for the two of them alone. Even Ron had to admit it sometimes felt a bit like they were playing house.

George gave Harry’s shoulder a gentle, but firm, squeeze, his tone softening slightly. “Look, mate, you’ve gone to all this trouble to make her happy at Grimmauld Place. You practically treat her like... well, let’s just say, like she’s more than a friend. What’s stopping you from seeing if she feels the same?”

Harry glanced away, a faint color creeping up his neck. “It’s just... it’s complicated.”

Ron and George shared another glance, the unspoken understanding between them thick in the air. They both knew Harry’s tendency to bottle up his feelings, the reluctance he had to risk losing someone as important as Hermione. But at the same time, they could see how much it pained him to watch her go out, night after night, while he stayed behind, wondering who might be capturing her attention.

George clapped him on the back once more, breaking the silence. “Well, all I can say is this: hope for the best, Harry. And, for your sake, let’s hope that none of her dates go well.” He winked, giving him a good-natured grin.

Ron chuckled, crossing his arms as he nodded in agreement. 

xxxxx

Another week passed, and Harry found himself pacing the dimly lit living room of Grimmauld Place, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his thigh. He kept glancing toward the doorway, waiting. It was late, and he knew Hermione was probably still in the library, tackling yet another stack of papers. When she finally emerged, hair slightly tousled and eyes hazy with exhaustion, she sighed and collapsed beside him, resting her head on his shoulder in a way that was so natural it made him smile.

“Rough night?” Harry asked, his voice light but his gaze warm as he took in her tired expression.

“A little,” Hermione murmured, closing her eyes briefly. “It’s not even the work, honestly—it's just... I need a break, something to shake up the routine. But the girls are all so busy with their own lives that I haven’t been able to arrange another get-together.”

Harry chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I get it. Even Ron and George have been all tied up with that overseas expansion. There just isn’t enough time these days.”

Hermione sighed again, a little wistfully, and Harry could sense her yearning for some fun. It had been a while since he’d seen her let loose, and the thought of her always working, always wrapped up in responsibilities, didn’t sit well with him. He wanted to help—wanted to see her smile, really smile, like she did when she was truly relaxed.

An idea popped into his head. "You know," he said, trying to sound casual, “Luna was telling me about those drinking games you girls play together. She said they were... interesting.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, her cheeks immediately flushing pink. “She told you about those?” she stammered, glancing away for a moment. “They’re just silly games... for fun.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re more than just ‘fun,’” Harry replied, an amused glint in his eye. “In fact, I was thinking we could play one tonight. You’re off tomorrow, right? And I don’t really have anything important on my schedule.”

Hermione froze, her fingers twisting in her lap as she processed what he’d suggested. Harry, sitting here in the cozy shadows of Grimmauld Place, wanted to play that game? With her? She glanced sideways at him, the faintest trace of mischief in his eyes making her pulse quicken.

“I-I mean, only if you want to,” Harry added, stretching his arms with a shrug, as if trying to downplay the whole idea. “I just thought you might enjoy doing something different. But if it’s too much, we can totally do something else.”

“No!” Hermione said quickly, her voice a little higher than she intended. She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. “I mean... I don’t mind. It sounds fun. Just... unexpected.” She got up, her movements a little jerky, and went to fetch a couple of shot glasses and a sleek bottle of vodka—a gift from Daphne that had sat untouched for months. She held up the bottle, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

“Vodka? Not wine?” he asked, grinning.

Hermione smirked as she poured two shots. “Wine’s lovely, but I think we both could use something a little stronger tonight.” She set the glass in front of him, her fingers brushing his as she did. “The point of the game is to get a bit tipsy and loosen up. And if we end up having to answer some embarrassing questions, well... at least we have an excuse.”

Harry lifted his shot glass, his grin widening. “To the first shot of the night,” he declared.

They clinked glasses, and Hermione, without hesitating, tipped her head back and downed the drink in one go. The vodka burned, spreading warmth through her chest, and she could already feel her cheeks tingling from the combination of the drink and Harry’s gaze on her.

Chapter Text

The game began, the atmosphere charged with a playful tension that Hermione could feel prickling up her spine. She bit her lip, eyeing Harry as he looked back at her expectantly, his gaze both teasing and curious. She took a deep breath, considering her first move, then leaned forward with a hint of mischief.

"Never have I ever... kissed a stranger," she murmured, testing the waters with an innocent challenge.

Harry raised an eyebrow, letting his hand drift toward a shot glass, his fingers hovering as if about to pick it up. Hermione gasped, her eyes widening, and then Harry broke into a grin, chuckling as he pulled his hand away.

“Just kidding. I've never done that before,” he admitted, flashing her an amused smile.

Hermione exhaled, rolling her eyes with a smirk. "Well, that was something! For a second there, I was like, 'Who the hell are you and what have you done with my Harry?'"

Harry’s booming laugh echoed in the dim, cozy room, rich with the scent of lingering candles and the faint traces of Hermione’s perfume. The firelight flickered over his face, casting shadows that made his eyes look darker, more intense. They settled back, and Hermione felt the pull of the game as they both leaned into the moment, the rest of the world forgotten.

"My turn?" he asked, tilting his head, eyes dancing.

Hermione nodded, reaching for a handful of crisps, trying to steady herself under his gaze. The anticipation was getting to her, as she wondered what he'd come up with.

“Never have I ever… hooked up with someone on the first date.” Harry shrugged casually, but there was a gleam in his eye.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, and she shook her head quickly. “I’ve never done t-that!” she managed to stammer, feeling the warmth rising in her face.

Harry’s small sigh of relief didn’t go unnoticed, and she smirked. He seemed equally unprepared for the level of honesty this game demanded.

“This isn’t working out,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair, clearly feeling the heat himself. “We need to actually start drinking, or we’re going to spend the whole night getting shy and avoiding anything real.”

Hermione giggled, feeling a heady thrill of courage seep into her bones. “Alright, alright,” she said, brushing back a strand of hair. “How about this: Never have I ever… had sex.”

Harry froze, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before a deep blush crept up his neck, painting his cheeks crimson. Hermione watched him, a mixture of surprise and excitement filling her, and then she gasped when he reached for the shot, lifting it to his lips with a half-apologetic, half-defiant smirk. He threw back the drink, setting the glass down with a definitive clink.

“Oh… my God,” she murmured, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were. She knew the about it, of course; she’d listened to Luna talk about it. But seeing him admit it, seeing it right in front of her, made it all feel startlingly real.

“It was… just something that happened,” he said, brushing it off with a casual wave. “After the war, I wanted to—well, you know, to feel alive again. Just a quick thing with… someone.” His gaze dropped for a second, and he ran his thumb along the rim of the glass, as if recalling a bittersweet memory. “Let’s just say I was trying to explore a bit, to move on.”

Hermione’s heart beat faster. “Do I know who it is?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing spectacularly as her voice wavered. Her fingers twirled a strand of her hair as she cast him a curious look, wondering just how far he’d let her pry.

Harry gave her a sly smile. “Nice try,” he teased, his eyebrow arching in challenge. “This isn’t that kind of game.” But his expression softened as he noticed her genuine intrigue. “Besides… you’re saying you’ve never, not even once, not even with R—?”

“Move on to your question, Potter!” Hermione shrieked, tossing a pillow at him to cover her embarrassment, her face burning.

They both laughed, and the game continued, questions flying back and forth, each one peeling back another layer of their guarded lives. It was surprisingly comfortable yet thrilling, as though they were uncovering each other’s secrets while knowing they were safe in each other’s hands. They found themselves drifting into safer territory, backtracking to light-hearted questions about first dates and the funny missteps they’d both taken along the way.

To Hermione’s surprise, she learned that Harry had been on more dates than she expected—though most had ended within minutes, the girls almost always revealing themselves to be rabid fans of the Boy-Who-Lived rather than interested in Harry himself. One had asked him to sign her shoe “just in case they had kids one day.”

“You’re joking!” Hermione laughed, nearly spilling her drink. The image of Harry on an awkward date, surrounded by adoring fans, was too much to handle.

“Nope. She even pulled out a quill right there,” he groaned, laughing despite himself.

Hermione could feel her shoulders relaxing as she laughed with him, realizing how rare it was for them both to have a moment like this, uninterrupted and carefree. And Harry, for all his casual charm, seemed genuinely invested in these moments too, grinning every time she giggled at his misadventures or rolled her eyes at his daring questions. She could sense the weight lifting off his shoulders, see his gaze soften when she’d look at him.

They were both tipsier now, the vodka casting a pleasant, warm haze over the room, and there was a softness in Harry’s gaze that Hermione had rarely seen. She found herself stealing glances, feeling strangely emboldened, laughing as they each set each other up with questions neither of them could resist but to drink to.

With each sip, they became more animated, their words punctuated by laughter, their gestures freer and more open. In the dim, warm glow of the living room, with the fire crackling softly, the air between them grew thick with something unspoken, something that neither of them could deny but both chose not to acknowledge.

As the game stretched on, Hermione caught herself wondering if they’d ever stop—or if they even wanted to. And, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t mind.

xxxxx

The second bottle of vodka had definitely been a mistake.

It was one of Sirius’s prized bottles—left tucked away in a dusty cabinet and known to be potent enough to fell even the hardiest of wizards. But they’d already made their way through the first bottle, and the game had become too enticing to abandon now. Harry and Hermione were sprawled comfortably on the sofas in the living room of Grimmauld Place, leaning into each other as the alcohol and their laughter broke down the last remnants of any formalities between them. The dim glow of the lamp by Harry’s side cast warm shadows, wrapping them in an intimate, cozy light that felt almost timeless.

“Whose turn is it now?” Harry’s voice was soft, laced with amusement, his eyes lingering on Hermione as he waited for her next move.

Hermione sidled closer, her giggles breaking through any attempt at seriousness. “My turn!” she declared, eyes glittering with mischief. She tilted her head, considering her question, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks as she murmured, “Never have I ever… left a hickey on someone.”

Harry gave a dramatic sigh before reaching for his glass, and Hermione gasped, swatting him playfully. “No! You didn’t!”

“Afraid I did,” he replied, grinning. “I didn’t even know I’d done it until afterward! One minute, I’m kissing someone; the next, she’s glaring at me because of the marks on her neck.”

“M-Marks?” Hermione spluttered, eyes wide with shock. “As in, more than one?”

Harry let out a hearty laugh, his grin widening at her reaction. “What can I say? It was a… spirited moment.”

“Oh, Merlin, you’re terrible!” Hermione laughed, feigning horror as she shook her head. She quickly regained her composure, then leaned in close, her voice playful as she said, “Fine, then, your turn.”

“Never have I ever… received a hickey.” Harry smirked

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gave him a disbelieving look. “Hang on, you’ve never gotten one? What’s the fun in that?”

“I suppose I never fancied having evidence left behind for the world to see,” Harry admitted, chuckling softly.

Hermione sighed, finally taking her shot as she lifted the glass to her lips, savoring his shocked expression as she drank. She set the glass down, eyes sparkling. “Finally, something that surprises you, Potter.”

Harry’s expression morphed into something mischievous. “Let me guess,” he said with a grin, “it was Krum, wasn’t it?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, nodding. “Yes, and to be honest, it wasn’t that great. He left a mark that looked more like a giant bruise than anything else. I had to cover it up with half my cosmetic potions just to look presentable.”

Harry winced, laughing, and shook his head. “Merlin, he was doing it wrong. Girls love it when I—”

“Oh, please!” Hermione interrupted, swatting him again. “That must be part of the Chosen One allure, then?”

"Shut up," Harry chuckled, nudging her with his shoulder. “Your turn, Granger.”

She took a moment to think, her fingers idly tapping her glass as she considered her next move. “Never have I ever… imagined a friend naked,” she finally whispered, stifling a laugh.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He met her gaze, unwavering, and without breaking eye contact, took his shot, his eyes twinkling with a challenge.

The moment stretched between them, Hermione’s heart suddenly racing as a realization dawned. ‘Did he… imagine me? Surely, he doesn’t mean—’ She quickly shook off the thought, but the warmth creeping over her face didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, whose smirk only widened.

“Alright then,” Harry said, his voice a bit huskier than before. “My turn. Never have I ever… thought about sneaking into someone’s bed late at night.”

Hermione’s heart gave a traitorous flutter as she registered the question, and she blinked, thrown off balance. Her eyes flickered to Harry’s glass and then her own, and she quickly reached for hers just as he did for his.

The laughter that erupted between them was warm, filling the room as they both took their drinks, savoring the shared confessions. “Harry,” Hermione giggled, “I think you might be forgetting how this game works.”

“Oh, right,” Harry laughed, his eyes glinting as he set his glass back down. “You’re supposed to say something you haven't done yet.” He tilted his head, looking back at the bottle of vodka. “This stuff is… far too good. No wonder Sirius always had a stash of it. Now I know why he always looked so pleased with himself when he drank it.” His eyes drifted back to Hermione, his smile softening just enough to make her heart skip.

She gulped, struggling to maintain composure. “My turn, then… never have I ever… taken a shower with someone,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s grin was wicked as he took his drink without hesitation. The way he lifted the glass, so nonchalantly, left her reeling. “Alright, then,” he smirked. “Never have I ever… read smut.” He paused, watching her reach for her glass with a knowing glint in her eye. But then he leaned closer, and Hermione froze as he added, “And imagined myself in that position.”

Her breath caught as he looked at her, the room suddenly feeling warmer, and with a slow, steady hand, she lifted her glass, drinking as Harry’s gaze never left hers.

When she set her glass down, his grin was wide, his voice low. “I might have to ban you from the library, Hermione,” he whispered, his tone teasing but the heat in his gaze unmistakable. With a lazy flick of his hand, he summoned the bottle, pouring another round, his fingers brushing hers briefly as he set her refilled glass back on the table between them.

“S-Shut up,” Hermione managed, her cheeks flushed as she playfully pushed him back, laughing nervously. “Alright, alright. Never have I ever… made out with someone of the same sex.”

Harry shrugged, lifting his brows at her. “That’s one thing I haven’t done, actually.” He looked at her with exaggerated relief. “Thank Merlin you didn’t drink to that.”

Hermione burst into laughter, her heart pounding as she realized how much the game had spiraled into a minefield of hidden thoughts and unspoken confessions. And yet, she couldn’t deny how exhilarating it was. In the dim light, with the warmth of the vodka coursing through her veins and the tantalizing glint in Harry’s eyes, she felt herself relaxing into his presence in a way she hadn’t expected.

She wasn’t sure what was going to come next, but as they looked at each other, glasses in hand and the boundaries between them dissolving with every glance, she knew that whatever it was, it was going to change things. And somehow, that thought was thrilling.

xxxxx

It was Harry’s turn now, and a mischievous glint sparked in his green eyes as he leaned closer, his gaze dancing over Hermione’s flushed face. He lifted his glass and grinned. “Never have I ever… bought lingerie.”

Hermione’s cheeks flared even brighter. “That’s not fair!” she huffed, crossing her arms but unable to hold back a laugh. “Men don’t buy lingerie.”

Harry shrugged, his grin widening. “Rules are rules. Take the shot, or I’ll be gracious and let you off with three instead.”

“Fine!” she laughed, rolling her eyes. “I hate you, you know that?” She tossed back the shot with a mock glare. The warmth of the alcohol coursed through her, blending with the growing heat from Harry’s gaze. “Yes, of course I’ve bought some.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose, a playful smirk on his lips. “Really? Care to share the color?”

Without thinking, Hermione said, “It’s green,” then caught herself. Why had she told him that? It felt so innocent, yet somehow it wasn’t—not when she could see the way his expression shifted, a glimmer of something darker in his eyes.

“That’s my favorite color,” he murmured, glancing down at his own glass. His voice was soft, laced with something almost hypnotic.

She paused, realizing just how close they were—her thigh resting against his, the air between them thick with unspoken thoughts. She smirked, letting herself feel bold for once. “I know.”

For a moment, silence filled the room, punctuated only by the soft crackle of the fire. The distance between them felt like it was shrinking, the couch suddenly feeling much too small. Her heart pounded as Harry leaned in close, his voice a warm whisper against her face. “Your turn, Granger.”

She let out a small, startled yelp, feeling the rush of warmth pooling in her stomach. “N-never have I ever been… bitten on the ear,” she managed to squeak.

Harry didn’t drink. Instead, he just looked at her with a playful, yet intense gaze. “I think we can cross that one off your list…” he whispered, and without waiting, he leaned in, brushing his lips against her ear before gently nibbling, sending a shiver of electricity down her spine.

The sensation was dizzying, almost overwhelming. It was just a few seconds, but it felt like hours as every nerve in her body seemed to spark to life. She let out a shaky breath, struggling to regain composure as Harry leaned back with a knowing smile. “My turn?”

She could only nod, her voice momentarily lost.

Harry paused, studying her with an amused intensity. “Never have I ever… received a hickey.”

Hermione’s mind went blank. His words hung between them, teasing, provocative. She glanced at his neck, her eyes involuntarily drawn to the smooth skin, imagining the faint mark her lips could leave behind. “Y-you already said that before,” she managed to whisper.

“I know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost daring her.

Her heart thundered as she leaned in, a flurry of nerves making her hesitate. “Are you sure? I’ve never really… I mean, I’m not exactly confident with it.”

Harry’s hand brushed against her knee, the touch sending a fresh wave of warmth through her. “If I wanted someone to do it first, it’d have to be you,” he chuckled softly, the smile in his voice reaching his eyes.

That was all she needed. She took a breath and planted a gentle kiss on his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her lips. Tentatively, she traced a small circle with her tongue, resisting the urge to giggle at the surrealness of the moment. Steeling herself, she pulled at the collar of his shirt, revealing more of his neck, and leaned in, letting herself go.

As she began to suck gently, Harry’s sharp intake of breath made her pulse quicken. The faint sound he let out, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, sent a thrill through her, knowing she was the one causing it. His fingers wove into her hair, his grip half-possessive, half-pleading, as though he couldn’t decide whether to pull her closer or push her away. His other hand gripped her knee tighter, his thumb brushing her skin as he fought to control himself.

When she finally pulled back to admire her work, she felt a rush of pride at the faint, purplish mark she had left on his neck. She let out a delighted, somewhat breathless squeal, unable to hold back her excitement.

Harry laughed, looking both amused and dazed. “Well, that was… unexpected.”

Without another word, Hermione leaned in again, emboldened by his reaction, shifting onto his lap as she went back to kissing his neck, adding playful nips and small bites. All restraint had flown out the window; there was no thought to the outside world, no worry about consequences. It was just them, lost in each other’s warmth, letting the laughter and teasing spill into something more daring, more intense, more real. Harry’s hands roamed up her back, settling at her waist as he surrendered completely to the moment, matching her unspoken desire, meeting her fire with his own.

The space between them ceased to exist, leaving them tangled in each other, their breath mingling, their laughter quieted, and their game forgotten as they found themselves in a new game altogether—a game only they knew the rules to, one neither of them wanted to end.

xxxxx

Hermione couldn't remember when the third bottle of vodka had appeared, but she was far too content on Harry’s lap to care. The night felt blurred at the edges, softened and unbound by the usual limits of restraint as the two friends lingered close, feeling every crackle of unspoken tension between them.

She pulled back for a moment, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed and heart pounding as she felt the weight of Harry’s hands settled firmly on her waist. She didn’t bother leaving his lap, her mind buzzing too wildly to care that their friendly drinking game had strayed far from safe boundaries. She glanced down at him, watching the slow curve of a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he lifted another shot glass toward her. She took it without hesitation, their laughter mingling as she swallowed.

“Hold on,” Harry laughed, catching her eye with a glint of amusement. “I think it’s supposed to be my turn. Or… wait, I’m not sure.”

“Oh, who cares about turns at this point?” Hermione giggled, leaning in closer, her fingers instinctively tugging at the collar of his shirt as she steadied herself. She felt his laughter reverberate against her, and something about the way he was looking at her with those bright, mischievous green eyes sent a shiver down her spine. A thought sparked in her mind, and she leaned back, a playful grin spreading over her face.

“Never have I ever…” Hermione’s eyes drifted down his face to his mouth, the warmth in her gaze unmistakable, “…received a hickey from a boy with beautiful green eyes.”

Harry’s brow quirked, a smirk slowly forming. “Well, we can’t let that stand, can we?”

She let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a nervous squeak, the kind she didn’t even know she could make. Her pulse raced as he leaned in, his breath skimming her skin. It felt like the room was closing in, focusing every nerve-ending and thought to the slow, deliberate movement of his lips against her neck. She gasped softly as he pressed gentle, teasing kisses against her skin, before his mouth opened slightly, and he left a soft, lingering mark that seemed to send a buzz through her entire body.

The combination of vodka and Harry's soft, warm breath against her skin made her feel light-headed, her mind deliciously fuzzy. She bit down hard on her lower lip, fighting back the sounds that were rising in her throat as he continued his slow, relentless assault on her neck. His hands gripped her waist just tightly enough that she couldn’t have leaned back if she’d wanted to—and she absolutely didn’t want to. She tilted her head back, letting him explore, her hands instinctively finding his shoulders, fingers curling to steady herself.

“God, Harry…” she breathed, barely recognizing her own voice as he shifted to another spot, sending fresh waves of warmth through her. The sensations were too much, his mouth teasing with just the right amount of pressure. His touch felt electric, igniting every part of her.

When he finally pulled back, Hermione found herself leaning forward instinctively, eyes heavy-lidded as she met his gaze, both of them breathing hard. There was a beat of silence before he grabbed another shot and took it, his lips brushing the rim of the glass, his eyes never leaving hers. She laughed, and they clinked glasses, both of them feeling the thrill of something shared and secretive in the dim, flickering light.

“What… were we doing again?” Hermione murmured, barely able to remember where the game had left off, her mind spinning in a pleasant haze.

“I think we were playing a game,” Harry said, though his eyes were dark with something far more serious. “Your turn, I think?”

She paused, the words forming as she felt a surge of boldness rise within her. “I dare you…” she whispered, her voice tinged with a soft but undeniable urgency, “…to kiss me.”

He didn't respond with words, but his hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing gently across her skin before he closed the distance. When his lips met hers, every thought melted away. His kiss was soft yet hungry, tentative but growing bolder as she responded. Hermione felt her whole body relax into him as if it had been waiting for this, and she gave in entirely, letting his mouth guide hers.

The taste of vodka and the intoxicating feel of him were almost too much, and as she felt his hand slide up into her hair, she let herself be lost in it. Time slipped away, the world falling silent as the warmth of his touch seemed to wrap around her like a spell she never wanted to break.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the unspoken words and years of friendship shift and deepen into something new and thrilling. All she knew was that she didn’t want it to stop, and the last thing she remembered was the feeling of his lips on hers, a warmth and closeness that felt both startling and absolutely right.

The night passed in a comfortable blur, the rest left to a future she could hardly wait to discover.

xxxxx

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, and she immediately regretted it. Her head was pounding as if someone was hammering from inside her skull. She groaned, feeling the remnants of last night’s vodka-fueled haze pressing down on her as she gingerly turned over in bed, hoping for some relief. The events of the previous night were an elusive blur, slipping through her memory no matter how hard she tried to grasp them.

Finally, she managed to haul herself up, glancing over at her bedside table where, thankfully, a hangover potion waited. Harry must’ve placed it there, anticipating her state this morning. She drank it quickly, its bitter taste jolting her senses awake, and for a few blessed seconds, her headache began to fade. But as clarity returned, panic crept in. What exactly had she done last night? There was a familiar weight in her chest—a foreboding feeling that she’d crossed some line.

Pulling herself to her feet, she glanced down and realized her clothes were rumpled from last night, half on, half off, and she made a beeline for the bathroom. Stripping quickly, she stepped under the hot water, hoping the steam would help wash away the gnawing uncertainty. But when she walked back into her room and caught sight of herself in the mirror, she let out a shriek that echoed through Grimmauld Place.

'Merlin.'

There, blooming across her neck, were unmistakable marks—reddish-purple reminders that she'd been thoroughly and passionately…claimed? The scream was involuntary, but entirely justified.

xxxxx

Meanwhile, downstairs, Harry nursed his coffee at the kitchen table, hearing the distant scream from Hermione’s room and shaking his head with a knowing smirk. He had half-expected her reaction to be even more dramatic. After all, he’d had much the same response when he woke up beside her hours earlier, only to find similar marks on his own neck. He ran a hand over them with a bemused grin; it had taken a few moments to remember how things had gotten so out of hand, but he was glad they hadn’t crossed any lines they’d both regret.

The kitchen door swung open, and a flustered Hermione burst in, her face flushed as she pointed accusingly at her neck. “Harry! Look what you did!” she practically shrieked, her cheeks a fiery shade of red.

“Good morning to you too,” he said with a casual shrug, pouring her a cup of coffee as she settled into the chair beside him, muttering under her breath. “And, to be fair, you did quite a number on me too.” He tilted his head, gesturing to his own neck.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she took in the sight of him. His neck was covered in marks, some of which had the unmistakable shape of her teeth. Her heart pounded at the realization that she had left those marks—that she had, in some hazy moment last night, practically claimed him as hers.

“What do we do? We have to get rid of these before anyone sees!” she said, panicked. She imagined their friends' reactions if they walked into The Burrow like this. She could almost see Mrs. Weasley’s scandalized face.

But Harry merely shrugged, an infuriatingly casual grin playing at his lips. “Go ahead and use a concealing charm if you want, but I’m keeping mine.”

“What do you mean you’re keeping yours?” Hermione spluttered. “Are you mad?! We have dinner at The Burrow this weekend. All our friends will be there!”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his grin widening as he tilted his neck, making the marks even more visible. “I don’t care. I’m not going to hide it,” he replied, his voice filled with a mix of pride and amusement. “I’m wearing these like a medal of honor.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, and she covered her face, absolutely mortified. “Stop that!” she wailed, casting an alarmed glance around as if someone might walk in and witness her humiliation. But Harry just laughed, enjoying her embarrassment far too much.

He stood, placing his coffee mug in the sink, and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. His lips lingered just long enough to make her pulse race, and when he pulled back, his smile was utterly unrepentant. “I’ll be in the library if you need me. I made sandwiches for you; they’re in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

She watched him walk away, struggling to gather her wits. His tone, his laughter, his teasing—all of it left her flustered and trying to keep her composure. But just as he reached the doorway, he paused, glancing back with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Oh, by the way, Hermione?” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“What?” she managed, already dreading whatever was coming.

“Let’s play that game again sometime,” he winked, his grin widening as he disappeared through the doorway just in time to avoid the spoon she hurled in his direction.

Hermione sat back, her heart racing and her face still aflame. She was still replaying his words, his smug grin, the touch of his lips on her cheek. She had a feeling that this was just the beginning of a very complicated, very intriguing new chapter in their relationship.

xxxxx

True to his word, Harry hadn't bothered to cover up the marks on his neck—a decision that led to Hermione's solution of firing a quick Stunning Spell his way. It was the only way she managed to keep him still long enough to apply some much-needed concealment charms. With the Burrow visit ahead, it was better to spare themselves from questions that no one wanted to answer.

Not that they’d spoken about what happened that night. Were they dating? Together? Who knew? Hermione hadn’t wanted to bring it up, and Harry followed suit, figuring things would work themselves out as long as neither of them got weird about it. Keeping things casual—pretending, maybe—felt easier. It meant they could get through a visit to the Burrow without anyone trying to corner them with questions.

Once outside the Burrow, Harry glanced down at his clothes, blinking in mild surprise as he took in the dark green turtleneck that Hermione had clearly dressed him in while he was stunned. It was cozy and thick, just right for autumn weather. His gaze shifted over to Hermione, raising an eyebrow as he realized she was wearing nearly the same color, a long-sleeved dress that covered her neck, which told him she’d also decided to hide the marks she'd gotten.

She caught him looking and shot him a glare. “Shut up,” she muttered, eyes narrowed.

He stifled a grin, hands casually stuffed into his pockets as they walked together toward the house. The sight of the Burrow filled him with nostalgia; it looked the same from the outside—warm, a bit off-kilter but cozy. Inside, he knew, it was a different story. The Weasleys had expanded the space, modernized some of the furniture, and made sure the house could handle whatever future grandkids they’d eventually be hosting. Harry could already imagine the chaos of tiny redheaded grandchildren racing through these halls, with Molly in the background, thrilled to have the family growing.

It was the thought of Molly, perhaps, that kept his expression innocent as she opened the door and swept him and Hermione into a hug, ushering them inside to join the others. The welcoming warmth of the place, the bustle of voices—it was all comfortingly familiar, and Harry could feel the easy rhythm of the Burrow settle over him.

“Not a word, Harry,” Hermione whispered beside him, her voice a low warning.

He shot her an exaggeratedly innocent look. “What would I even say?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she replied, her tone even sharper now.

“Oh, so you mean how I’m walking around with love bites courtesy of Hermione Granger?” Harry teased, his voice quiet but just mischievous enough.

Hermione's face turned a deep shade of red, and without missing a beat, she delivered a solid smack to his arm, sputtering as she scrambled for a retort that refused to come.

Just then, Ginny strode over, eyes twinkling as she held out a glass of wine for Harry. “What’s this? Any redder, Hermione, and you’d outmatch all the Weasleys in the house. Spill it, what did Harry say this time?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” Hermione insisted, accepting a glass of wine from Susan and taking a deep, steadying sip. “How’ve you girls been?”

Ginny raised her eyebrows, obviously not convinced but willing to let it slide. Susan smirked, shrugging. “Same old. Auntie Amelia’s been hounding Ron to take on more lessons so that I can officially take over the House of Bones. She’s been getting ready for that transfer for ages.”

Harry nodded, casting a sympathetic look her way. “Rough, I know. I’m still wading through half the old Potter paperwork. Merlin, I’d rather redo all my Hogwarts exams than spend another hour studying the laws around House titles and lordships.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Draco’s actually been helping me out with it. Had to learn it himself, plus, he’s technically part of the Black family too.”

Ginny rolled her eyes playfully. “Problems of the rich. My team, on the other hand, has us trying new Muggle-inspired training techniques instead of chugging potions every time something hurts. Our coach wants us to rely less on magical fixes and more on actually recovering between training sessions.”

Hermione nodded approvingly. “Smart approach. Potions can cause dependency if you’re not careful—especially for athletes with high physical demands.”

“Says the girl who has a stash of hangover potions in our pantry,” Harry murmured into his wine, barely suppressing a grin.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and in one swift, practiced motion, she kicked him hard enough under the table to make him yelp, drawing curious looks from both Ginny and Susan as Harry rubbed his shin and scurried a few steps away, his grin only broadening.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said, voice a bit too quick. “Absolutely nothing.”

Susan gave Hermione a curious look, her gaze sharp. “Actually… something about you does seem a bit different today. Are you wearing a charm or some sort of glamour?”

Hermione’s cheeks went pink, but she forced a casual laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, just a minor one to cover up some blemishes. Didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

“Good idea,” Susan nodded. “You should chat with Daphne—she’s been rolling out some kind of makeup line for her company that’s permanent, healthier for your skin. She’s obsessed with making alternatives to charms.”

Ginny’s eyes lit up. “I’d be all over that. Practices in the sun are wrecking my skin.”

Hermione let out a breath, grateful for the diversion as the conversation shifted. Her eyes drifted over to where Harry was deep in conversation with George and Fleur, discussing the upcoming expansion of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in France. They looked to be in serious discussion, but even from across the room, Harry could sense her gaze. He glanced her way, his expression mischievous as he casually reached up and tugged down his turtleneck just enough to reveal that the concealing charm had faded, leaving one of her marks clearly visible.

Before she even realized it, she let out a surprised yelp and practically darted across the room. She launched herself at him, knocking Harry down, hands grasping desperately at his collar to tug it back into place, all while trying to keep the others from noticing.

“Er… Hermione?” George stared down at the two of them, looking utterly bemused as she struggled to keep Harry’s shirt straight. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

Harry, completely unbothered by the attention, only laughed, his amusement doubling as Hermione muttered something about “an insect” and a “bite” while trying to keep her balance. Laughing, Harry stood up, lifting her effortlessly off the floor before setting her back down beside him.

“Nothing to worry about, George. Just an insect that decided to join our little gathering,” he said smoothly, pulling his collar back up and casting Hermione a knowing look.

Hermione’s eyes went wide as she saw that the mark was gone again, no trace left behind. He’d clearly recast the charm in the few seconds it had taken her to react.

“You didn’t have to tackle him across the room,” George muttered, shaking his head, though he couldn’t hide his own grin.

“Didn’t want him to get bitten,” Hermione said quickly, her voice slightly breathless as she adjusted her dress.

Harry nodded in agreement, his smile warm but sly. “Wouldn’t want to leave a mark, after all.”

George shook his head, bemused, as he turned back to Fleur, who was watching the scene unfold with an amused glint in her eye. She exchanged a knowing look with Hermione, her gaze filled with a silent understanding as she watched the two of them bicker quietly.

Across the room, Ginny and Susan exchanged a look, both clearly curious but willing to let the moment pass. Hermione took a deep breath, her heart still racing as she realized she’d just made a spectacle in front of everyone. Harry, for his part, only looked more amused, a quiet chuckle escaping as he leaned back, taking in the full effect of her mortification.

xxxxx

By the time they returned to Grimmauld Place, Hermione was beyond exhausted. Her body felt heavy, every step slower than the last. She slumped onto the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut as the relief washed over her. Her limbs were pleasantly sore from the day, but her mind was still buzzing, replaying Harry’s antics over and over.

Harry had excused himself to the bathroom, claiming he needed a quick bath to wash off the dirt from his wild flying session with the Weasleys. He’d been all over the Burrow’s skies on Ginny’s new broom, weaving and looping, a whirlwind of energy and joy. And it wasn’t just the thrill of flying he’d enjoyed—oh, no. He’d been teasing her relentlessly, even from the air, flashing mischievous grins in her direction and shooting sly looks whenever she’d so much as glanced his way. Every time he landed, he seemed to find a reason to brush close to her, casually touching her shoulder, or even leaning in as if to say something only for his warm breath to tickle her ear before he’d disappear again. It was maddening.

What was worse was how he’d pull these little stunts with a practiced ease that left her flustered and fuming. He’d scratch his neck absently, which would’ve been innocent enough, except he made a point of brushing his hand too close, touching her arm or brushing her waist while friends were watching, none of them any the wiser. More than once, she’d caught herself turning pink at the attention, wondering if anyone had noticed her reaction.

In truth, she’d felt more alive than she had in ages. The excitement Harry stirred in her with these tiny, reckless touches was intoxicating, each brush of his skin against hers sending a thrill that settled somewhere warm and achingly persistent. But Merlin help her, it only irritated her more that she liked it. She liked how he seemed to know exactly what he was doing to her, taking silent pleasure in watching her squirm beneath his attention.

Hermione’s fingers drifted to her bag, fumbling around until they closed over the compact mirror she kept for emergencies. She glanced around, reassured by the empty room, before flipping it open. Biting her lip, she carefully lowered the collar of her dress, revealing the skin she’d hidden under careful concealment charms all evening. A series of faint marks appeared along her collarbone and neck, each one small but distinct, reminders of their latest shared secret. She giggled softly, feeling the thrill of it all over again.

The knowledge of what lay hidden under her dress—this little part of herself she’d let him claim, marked and then tucked away with only the two of them in on the secret—it made her pulse quicken. It felt forbidden, exhilarating, and there was something thrillingly mischievous about keeping it all from the friends and family who’d been bustling around them at the Burrow. It was a little piece of their private world, unseen but felt.

Just then, a voice interrupted her thoughts, low and amused.

"If you liked it that much, why cover it up?" Harry’s words broke through the silence, startling her. She looked up to find him leaning casually in the doorway, his damp hair tousled, a towel slung over his shoulder. He’d traded his clothes for a pair of dark jogger pants that rode low on his hips, his chest bare and damp from his bath. The love bites she’d left on him were clearly visible, vivid against his skin. Her charms had long since faded from him, and here he stood, unabashed, meeting her gaze with a teasing smirk.

A mix of embarrassment and exhilaration shot through her. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” she muttered, trying to sound indignant, though her voice was much softer than she’d meant it to be.

Harry’s grin only grew, his green eyes glinting in the dim light. “Of course I am,” he replied, his tone warm and unashamed. “You took my first time. And I kind of feel like you own me when I look at myself in the mirror.” His gaze was steady, playful but laced with something deeper, and he held her eyes for a moment longer, watching her reaction closely.

“S-Shut up!” Hermione stammered, her cheeks heating as she tried to pull herself together, but her words came out far weaker than she’d hoped. “You’re acting crazy!”

Harry only chuckled, taking a few steps closer, his arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing with the movement. “Am I?” he asked, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “I’m just saying if these disappear,” he said, nodding down to the marks on his neck, “I’d be more than happy to have you add a few more. Maybe… right here?” He tilted his head to one side, exposing his neck just slightly, a wicked glint in his eye as he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione could feel her heart thudding faster. She tried to will herself to stay calm, to say something—anything—that would get her out of this predicament with her dignity intact. But her mind was a muddle, half annoyed and half charmed, as she watched his smug expression. She could practically feel her resolve melting under his gaze.

“I’m going to bed!” she announced suddenly, her voice high with a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. She sprang to her feet, turning to stomp toward the stairs, only to pause midway, feeling his gaze burning into her back. There was a tug inside her, a pull that made her stop, even though she knew she should keep moving and let this go.

But when she glanced back, he was watching her with that infuriatingly familiar smirk, his eyes gleaming with both amusement and something softer, something that made her heart race. He didn’t move or say anything, just folded his arms across his chest, waiting to see if she’d crack.

She hesitated, searching his face, feeling the weight of all the words left unspoken between them. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, and she knew this moment, this tension, wouldn’t let up until she acknowledged it.

Finally, cheeks flushed and voice just loud enough for him to hear, she blurted, “I-I’ll think about it!” Then, before he could respond, she spun on her heel, practically fleeing up the stairs.

She could hear his low laugh behind her, warm and triumphant, and the sound followed her all the way up, lingering in the air even as she reached the top.

When she slipped into her room and closed the door behind her, her cheeks still felt hot, and her heart was racing. She leaned against the door, breathing out in a huff, a hand rising to her neck where she could still feel the marks he’d left, like a brand only she could feel.

The thrill of it all washed over her again, heady and undeniable, and she knew—no matter how much she might try to resist—it was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was gone for two months.

Two long, excruciating months during which the French branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had decided to hold him hostage—or at least, that’s what it felt like. George, Ron, and Fleur had conspired to bring him over for the grand opening. It was supposed to be a month-long trip, but Ron’s tendency to create chaos in his wake—this time involving misplaced documents and bungled permits—had extended Harry’s stay indefinitely.

Granted, Harry did manage to return briefly a few times to check on his businesses and, most importantly, to see Hermione. Unfortunately, they always seemed to miss each other. Her schedule as an apprentice to Andromeda Tonks was unforgiving, and Harry’s frequent detours were met with empty rooms and hurriedly scribbled notes left on the kitchen counter. The frustration only grew when George and Ron brushed off his complaints, insisting that his presence in France was far too crucial to their success.

But now, finally, he was back.

When Harry stepped into the familiar halls of Grimmauld Place, his exhaustion melted away as a wave of comfort settled over him. The faint scent of lavender—Hermione’s favorite—lingered in the air, and for the first time in weeks, he felt at home.

Before he could set his trunk down, he heard a loud gasp from the sitting room doorway.

“Harry!”

Hermione’s voice rang out, and before he could so much as blink, she launched herself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

“It’s been so long!” she exclaimed, squeezing him as if he might disappear again.

“Merlin, I know,” Harry groaned, his arms locking around her as he lifted her off the ground. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. “Remind me to kill Ron for dragging this trip out unnecessarily.”

Hermione laughed, her voice muffled as she nestled against his shoulder. “That bad?”

“Worse,” Harry muttered, still holding her as if letting go wasn’t an option. With an exaggerated sigh, he flopped onto the couch, pulling Hermione with him. She landed squarely on his lap, and neither of them seemed inclined to move.

Hermione’s eyes sparkled as she brushed a hand through his hair, noticing something different. “Wow. Did you cut your hair?”

Harry smirked, the corners of his mouth curling devilishly. “Fleur’s idea. She said I needed a ‘refined but rugged’ look or something like that. What do you think?”

She gasped softly as her fingers ran through the shorter sides and lingered on the longer top, momentarily stunned. “It’s… dreamy,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing.

Harry’s grin widened. “Dreamy, huh? Good to know Fleur’s instincts were spot on.”

Hermione let out an embarrassed giggle, trying to compose herself, but her hands betrayed her as they kept playing with his hair.

“You like it, don’t you?” Harry teased, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I love it,” Hermione said softly, unable to look away from his emerald eyes.

Their gazes locked, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Without warning, Harry leaned in, and before Hermione could think, their lips met.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with unrestrained passion. Harry’s hands gripped her waist possessively, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Their tongues clashed in a heated dance, each vying for control, until Hermione let out a small moan that sent Harry into overdrive.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, but Hermione whimpered in protest.

“No, come back,” she whispered, her voice breathless and desperate.

Harry laughed lowly, his lips curling into a smirk before he obliged, capturing her lips again with even more fervor. The kiss left Hermione dizzy, her body humming with energy as his lips trailed to her jaw, then to her neck. When he nibbled on the sensitive spot near her ear, she let out a soft gasp, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

The world seemed to blur around them, the only thing that mattered was the feel of his lips against her skin and the way his hands held her as if she were the most precious thing in existence.

But then reality intruded.

“H-Harry, wait,” Hermione whispered, her voice breathy yet firm, though her resolve was clearly crumbling under the intensity of his attention.

“No,” Harry grumbled in response, his lips moving with deliberate slowness, grazing her skin as if he were trying to memorize her every curve and contour. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer as though he feared she might slip away.

“H-Harry, I’m serious, w-wait,” Hermione groaned, a gasp escaping her lips when he trailed his tongue along the edge of her ear. The sensation sent a shiver racing down her spine, igniting sparks she could hardly control.

Harry’s lips curved into a smirk against her ear. “You don’t sound very convincing,” he teased, his voice a low rumble that made her stomach flip.

Hermione let out a frustrated groan, her cheeks flushed as she mustered what little composure she had left. Acting on sheer impulse, she reached up and smacked him on the head—not too hard, but enough to make him stop in his tracks.

Harry froze, staring at her in stunned silence, his mouth slightly ajar. “You… you just whacked me on the head,” he said, his tone equal parts disbelief and indignation.

Hermione gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth as her eyes widened in horror. “I-I had to!” she stammered, her words tumbling over themselves as she leaned in to inspect the damage. “I’m really sorry! Are you okay?”

Harry’s frown deepened as he rubbed the spot she’d hit. “You whacked me,” he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue as though he couldn’t quite believe them. “I was kissing you, and you whacked me.”

Hermione grimaced, her expression caught between mortification and a sudden, irrepressible urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “I’m really sorry,” she said again, leaning closer to press a soft, apologetic kiss to his temple. “Oh, Harry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Harry muttered, though the corners of his lips twitched upward despite himself. “Seriously, was that necessary?”

“Yes!” Hermione exclaimed, though her voice wavered as she realized how ridiculous the situation was. “I needed you to stop so I could think!”

“Think?” Harry repeated, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “You couldn’t think while we were—”

“No!” Hermione cut him off, her cheeks burning furiously. She pressed her fingers to her temples, as if trying to physically will away her embarrassment. “You were… fantastic, Harry, it’s just…”

Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at him with wide, conflicted eyes, unsure of how to articulate the swirl of emotions tumbling through her.

Harry frowned, tilting his head as he studied her. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his tone softer now, laced with genuine concern.

“No, no, not at all!” Hermione reassured him quickly, shaking her head. She bit her lip, trying to find the right words. “You were…” She paused, her voice lowering into a near-whisper. “You were incredible, Harry.”

A grin tugged at Harry’s lips, his confidence clearly restored by her words. “Then why the head-whacking?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a sharp knock at the front door. The sound reverberated through the house, shattering the intimate moment.

“Hermione! We’re here!” Ginny’s familiar voice called out from behind the door, followed by the faint murmur of other voices.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet, carefully lifting Hermione off his lap in the process. “You have a get-together planned today?!” he hissed, his voice laced with a mixture of irritation and panic.

“I’m sorry!” Hermione whispered, looking equally flustered as she stood. “I didn’t know you’d be coming back today!”

“Merlin’s beard, you should go fix your neck!” Harry muttered urgently, glancing at her with wide eyes. “I left a mark!”

Hermione’s hand flew to her neck, her fingers brushing against the telltale warmth of her skin where his lips had lingered. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh no—oh no! Okay, I’ll—” She gestured vaguely toward the staircase before dashing upstairs, her hair bouncing wildly as she went.

Harry groaned, running a hand through his freshly styled hair before conjuring a mirror to check his appearance. He adjusted his shirt, squared his shoulders, and steeled himself before heading toward the door.

He opened it to find Ginny standing there with an amused grin, Luna beside her wearing her usual dreamy expression, and a small group of other friends trailing behind. “Stop being so loud, you girls,” Harry sighed, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a weak smile.

“Hello, Harry!” Ginny chirped, pulling him into a brief hug. Luna leaned in to kiss his cheek, her airy presence a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded mere moments ago.

“Hello,” Harry greeted them, doing his best to appear nonchalant, though his mind was still racing. As the group filed into the house, he silently prayed Hermione would manage to sort herself out before anyone noticed anything… incriminating.

xxxxx

Fortunately for Harry, he'd managed to excuse himself from the girls' antics by feigning exhaustion and claiming a mountain of work to catch up on. Grimmauld Place echoed with bouts of laughter and occasional squeals from downstairs, mostly Ginny’s by the sound of it. The muffled chaos brought a smirk to Harry’s face, even as he hunkered down at his desk, combing through business documents and drafting his correspondence for the Wizengamot.

He’d offered to cook earlier, but Hermione, not expecting his return, had taken matters into her own hands—or rather, delegated them entirely. She’d instructed the girls to bring in takeout and wine, all the while ensuring she avoided the kitchen altogether. Typical Hermione: thorough, efficient, and one step ahead.

Harry stretched, his shoulders cracking after hours hunched over parchments. The papers were neatly arranged, but the work itself felt endless. His desk, though pristine, began to feel suffocating. He decided to take a break, heading across the hall to the library for another book to refresh his thoughts.

When Harry opened his study door, he nearly collided with Hermione, her hand poised mid-air to knock. Her eyes widened in surprise before her entire face broke into an uncharacteristic grin.

To his amusement, she flung herself at him, almost knocking the breath out of his lungs. The rich, sweet aroma of wine hit his senses immediately, and he realized the culprit behind her enthusiasm—she was tipsy.

“You smell good,” she murmured, her voice slightly slurred yet teasing as she buried her nose against his neck. Her warm breath tickled his skin, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“And you’re definitely drunk,” Harry chuckled, his arms instinctively circling her waist to steady her swaying form. “What are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be downstairs, enjoying yourself?” Harry asked, his tone equal parts amused and indulgent.

Hermione pouted, her gaze dropping to the floor before peeking up at him through her lashes. “I was just checking on you. You might be bored. Thought you might be lonely.”

“Lonely?” Harry scoffed, shaking his head with a grin. “I’ve got enough parchment to keep me company for weeks. I’m fine, Hermione.”

“Still, you shouldn’t work too hard.” Her giggle was a melody of mischief, and she took a step closer, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his shirt.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m handling it,” Harry assured her. He leaned back slightly, attempting to put some distance between them.

Hermione wasn’t having it. “You need someone to take care of you. I could be your secretary,” she teased, her voice taking on a sing-song lilt.

Harry threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, no. You’re far too brilliant to waste your time working for me.”

Her lips curled into a sly smile, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “I like being under you.”

Harry groaned audibly, his face flushing as the words left her mouth. He reached behind her and closed the study door with a decisive click, sealing them in the dimly lit room.

“What are you doing? I need to go back downstairs,” Hermione protested half-heartedly, leaning against the closed door. Her fingers absentmindedly twisted a loose curl of hair around her finger, an act so un-Hermione-like it made Harry raise a brow.

Instead of answering, Harry waved his hand, removing the concealment charm she’d placed on her neck earlier. His eyes immediately landed on the faint mark he’d left there earlier—a claim, a promise, a reminder.

“This looks lonely,” Harry muttered, his fingers brushing over the spot, eliciting an involuntary shiver from Hermione.

Her breath hitched, and she sobered up slightly, her eyes wide with realization. “Y-You can’t. I need to go back downstairs...”

“No,” Harry hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders, spinning her around before pressing her flush against the door. His hand found her waist, pulling her body impossibly closer to his.

Hermione let out a soft gasp, her hands bracing against the door as she instinctively arched toward him.

“W-We can’t, Harry,” she whimpered, her tone tinged with both apprehension and longing. “They’ll find out.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned into her ear. “It’s your fault,” he murmured, gathering her hair in one hand and twisting it gently to expose her nape. The vulnerable curve of her neck glowed under the soft light, and Harry couldn’t resist the temptation.

“H-Harry, we c-can’t,” Hermione stammered, one hand flying to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the moan threatening to escape.

“Say the word, and I’ll stop,” Harry whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

But Hermione remained silent, her breathing erratic as she bit down on her knuckles to keep herself quiet. The tension between them crackled like a live wire, and Harry finally gave in, leaning down to press his lips to her nape.

The soft kiss quickly turned into something more, his teeth grazing her skin before he began sucking lightly, leaving behind a mark that would be impossible to hide. Hermione’s knees buckled slightly, and she let out a strangled moan, her body trembling against his.

Harry’s free hand slid up to steady her by her neck, his touch firm yet gentle. His actions were deliberate, claiming her in a way that made her feel utterly consumed.

Hermione tried to push him away, but her strength faltered as pleasure coursed through her veins. A sudden wave of sensation overwhelmed her, leaving her gasping and grinding against him as her legs threatened to give out entirely.

Sensing her struggle, Harry immediately loosened his grip, pulling her into his arms as her body shivered uncontrollably.

“W-What just happened?” Hermione managed to ask, her voice shaky and breathless.

Harry chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I think you had a bit too much fun.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I can’t believe this.”

Harry gently cupped her face, tilting her head up so their eyes met. “By the way,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I left quite the mark on your nape.”

“You didn’t!” Hermione gasped, her hand flying to the spot.

“I did,” Harry replied smugly. “And if you dare conceal it again, I might not leave you any next time.”

“N-No, don’t say that,” Hermione stammered, her resolve crumbling under his gaze.

“Promise me,” Harry pressed, his voice soft but firm.

“I-I promise,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, planting another kiss on her forehead before releasing her.

After a few moments, Harry cast a cooling charm over her face to reduce the redness. He allowed her to conceal the more visible marks but left the one on her nape untouched. They both trusted her hair to do it's job of covering it up. As she made her way back downstairs, her steps unsteady but her heart pounding with exhilaration, Harry returned to his study.

Unbeknownst to either of them, a pair of bright blue eyes watched from the shadows of the library, a smirk tugging at the lips of the blonde witch who slipped silently down the stairs behind Hermione.

xxxxx

Grimmauld Place’s drawing room was alive with soft chatter and bursts of laughter. The cozy ambiance, enhanced by the crackling fire and the faint scent of lavender that wafted from Daphne’s enchanted candles, made it a warm haven on the cold evening. Hermione stepped inside, brushing her curls back as her cheeks flushed faintly from the wine she'd indulged in earlier.

“There you are! What took you so long?” Susan asked, her tone more playful than accusatory. She was lounging comfortably on the sofa, a plate of cookies in hand, crumbs evidence of her enthusiasm.

Hermione hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe. Before she could offer an excuse, Daphne smirked from her spot beside the fire, her wineglass held delicately between two fingers.

“Did you hook up with Harry upstairs?” Daphne teased, her voice dripping with mischief. Her question elicited a burst of laughter from Lavender and Hannah, who were seated nearby, clearly delighted by the insinuation.

“I didn’t!” Hermione protested, her voice a touch higher-pitched than she intended. Her hands waved in quick defense, as though trying to bat the accusation out of the air. “I just asked him if he was hungry, and he asked me a few things about his work!”

“That’s true,” came a familiar, serene voice from behind her.

Hermione let out an undignified yelp, spinning around to find Luna standing there, wineglass in hand, her expression dreamy yet knowing. Her unexpected appearance made Hermione’s heart skip a beat, her already flushed face turning crimson.

“I was in the library across from Harry’s study,” Luna continued casually, stepping past Hermione to settle herself on the armchair closest to the window. “I heard them talking about contracts and all.”

Hermione stood frozen, staring at Luna with wide eyes, her mind racing. She couldn’t believe it. Luna had been there? The entire time? She must’ve heard…

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath, forcing her features into what she hoped was a convincing mask of calm. She crossed the room and sank into the plush chair beside Luna, though her movements were stiff, her nerves on edge. Reaching for her own glass of wine, she took a sip, the liquid cool against her suddenly dry throat.

“H-Hey, Luna,” Hermione greeted, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to sound casual.

“Hello, Hermione,” Luna replied, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her gaze swept over Hermione with a pointed slowness that made her squirm. Luna’s eyes lingered for a fraction too long on her neck before flicking back to meet Hermione’s gaze. “Having fun?”

Hermione swallowed hard. “L-Loads,” she stammered, trying to sound breezy but failing miserably. Her fingers gripped the stem of her glass too tightly. “D-Did you…”

“I did,” Luna whispered, her tone light, almost conspiratorial.

“O-Oh,” Hermione replied, her voice barely audible as heat crept up her neck. “It’s not... We’re not…”

Luna shrugged, her expression unbothered. She reached over and patted Hermione’s hand in what should have been a comforting gesture but felt more like a silent declaration of her upper hand. “It’s okay,” she said with a small smile. “As I told you before, I did the same back then.” She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the frown threatening to form. Fun? Is that all Luna thinks this is? Her mind raced, replaying every stolen glance, every heated moment with Harry. No. Whatever was happening between her and Harry, it wasn’t the same as what Luna was implying. It couldn’t be.

“Yes,” Hermione forced herself to say, her lips curving into a weak smile. “It’s fun.”

Luna’s beam of approval only made Hermione feel worse. She leaned back in her chair, her blonde hair catching the firelight like a halo, and took another sip of her wine. “That’s great,” Luna said simply, as though the matter were settled.

Hermione’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know what she and Harry had exactly, but fun wasn’t the right word for it. There was a weight to their moments, an intensity that she didn’t think could be brushed off so easily. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, what Harry thought about all this. Did he see her the way she saw him?

The conversation around the room shifted as Lavender launched into an animated retelling of her latest escapade, complete with exaggerated gestures that had Susan nearly choking on her cookie. Hannah gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she laughed at Lavender’s unapologetic recounting of a very public flirtation gone awry.

Hermione tried to focus on the story, laughing at all the right moments, but her mind remained stubbornly elsewhere. She could still feel the ghost of Harry’s touch on her skin, the way he’d looked at her earlier, his expression as intense as always. Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic dance of hope, confusion, and longing.

Beside her, Luna seemed content, her gaze occasionally drifting to the fire, a faint smile playing on her lips as though she knew something Hermione didn’t. It was infuriating and endearing in equal measure.

As the room filled with the sound of Lavender’s laughter and the clinking of glasses, Hermione resolved to get to the bottom of whatever it was she and Harry were doing. Fun? Maybe it had started that way. But now, it felt like so much more.

xxxxx

Grimmauld Place was alive with the lingering energy of another one of the girls’ infamous get-togethers. Harry stood in the doorway to his bedroom, taking in the aftermath of the evening’s chaos with a mixture of bemusement and resignation. He hadn’t been around for their last few gatherings, and now, as he surveyed the scene, he found himself wondering how things always ended this way.

The house still bore traces of the night’s revelry. The faint smell of spiced wine and lavender candles hung in the air, mingling with the scent of the fireplace that had burned low in the parlor hours ago. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the occasional burst of drunken laughter and muffled chatter, though the festivities had mostly wound down.

It was the same routine every time. Hannah, Lavender, and Susan, predictably the loudest and most exuberant by the end of the night, were probably already gone. They would have Flooed to the Burrow or crashed at one of their apartments—either Neville’s or Lavender’s, depending on whose turn it was to host their impromptu sleepover.

Daphne? She always ended up being whisked away by Astoria before she got too drunk to Floo herself home. Harry smirked at the thought of Astoria’s exasperated but loving care for her older sister, likely dragging her out of the fireplace with a scolding that Daphne would laughingly ignore.

And then there were Ginny and Luna. They had a habit of pushing the night as far as it would go. Harry was fairly certain they were still downstairs, nursing the last of the wine or giggling over something utterly nonsensical before collapsing into one of the guest rooms—or occasionally, Hermione’s room, when they couldn’t be bothered to stumble any further.

Hermione.

Harry’s gaze softened as his eyes landed on her. The responsible one, the caretaker of the group, the one who always made sure everyone was tucked in and had enough water to stave off a hangover. Except, of course, when Harry was around.

When he was home, Hermione had a tendency to let her hair down—literally and figuratively. She trusted him, and that trust was evident in the rare, carefree way she allowed herself to enjoy these nights. Tonight was no different. She had drunk more than she usually did, and now, here she was, curled up in his bed, deeply asleep and utterly oblivious to the world around her.

Harry stepped closer, his heart twisting with something he didn’t want to name. She was sprawled across the bed in one of her oversized sweaters and a pair of leggings, her cheeks flushed from the wine. A few stray curls framed her face, and her lips were parted slightly as she breathed in the steady rhythm of sleep.

She looked peaceful. She looked...adorable.

Harry let out a soft chuckle, raking a hand through his hair as he debated what to do. Usually, he would just let her be. He’d grab a pillow and a blanket and crash in one of the guest rooms or settle on the sofa in his study for the night. It wasn’t a big deal.

But tonight felt different.

He missed her. He missed the small, comforting weight of her presence in his life, even though she lived under the same roof as him. He missed the easy companionship they shared, the way her laugh seemed to echo in his head long after she’d stopped, and the way her mere presence filled the emptiness of Grimmauld Place.

And, if he was being honest with himself, he missed holding her.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. He shook his head, trying to dispel the ridiculous thought. “No, I’m going crazy. I shouldn’t do that.”

Still, he lingered by the bedside, torn between doing what he should do and what he wanted to do. In the end, his resolve won out—barely.

With a resigned smile, Harry fetched a few potions from the cabinet in his ensuite bathroom and placed them carefully on the bedside table. He added a glass of water and one of his old t-shirts and joggers in case she needed something more comfortable to sleep in when she woke up.

Then, moving as gently as he could, he tucked the blanket more securely around her. His hands brushed against hers briefly, and he froze, marveling at how small her fingers looked against his. He pulled away quickly, shaking his head again at himself.

“Get it together, Potter,” he muttered.

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than they should have. Her skin was warm, her curls tickling his nose, and he closed his eyes, letting himself indulge in the briefest moment of closeness before pulling away.

Straightening up, he gave her one last look. She shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep, and Harry smiled despite himself.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he turned to leave the room.

The door clicked shut softly behind him, leaving Hermione to her dreams and Harry to his swirling thoughts. As he made his way to the study, he couldn’t help but laugh quietly at himself.

Maybe he was going crazy. But if it meant more moments like this, he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.

xxxxx

Hermione woke up with a groan, the sound muffled as she buried her face deeper into the soft pillow beneath her. The sunlight pouring through the cracks in the heavy curtains felt like daggers piercing her skull. Her entire body ached with the telltale signs of overindulgence, and she swore—yet again—that she was done with drinking. Her whisper, hoarse and barely audible, carried the half-hearted conviction of someone who knew full well that the next opportunity to have a drink would render her promises meaningless.

Her mentor, Andromeda Tonks, had once laughed off Hermione’s concerns about her alcohol consumption. "You'd need to drink daily, Hermione," she'd said, her voice laced with dry humor, "to truly have a problem. And honestly? After everything you've been through, you should enjoy life a little more. You deserve it." And enjoy it, Hermione did—perhaps a bit too much the previous night.

Dragging herself upright, Hermione took stock of her surroundings. She wasn’t surprised to find herself in Harry’s bed—again. At this point, it had become a recurring theme, one that she no longer questioned. Instead, she performed her usual morning ritual: downing the potions Harry always left for her hangovers, taking a long, steaming shower, and slipping into one of his oversized shirts paired with her leggings. She didn’t bother questioning the comfort she found in wearing his clothes anymore. It had become second nature.

As she descended the grand staircase of Grimmauld Place, the faint hum of conversation drew her toward the kitchen. Harry’s deep voice, warm and steady, mingled with Luna’s lilting tones.

"I was thinking of providing a few cameras for some of the students," Luna was saying, her voice dreamy yet focused in that peculiar way of hers.

Harry’s reply was thoughtful, his tone tinged with mild skepticism. "Wouldn't that be too much for the printing press? I get the need for photos, but wouldn’t it make more sense for someone like Colin to provide them?"

"Not all students were like Colin before," Luna countered, her voice light but firm. "I was actually thinking a camera per House, so they could contribute to the school newspaper."

Harry chuckled, the sound low and infectious. "Let me guess—you expect me to provide the cameras on this little project?"

"No, Harry," Luna replied with a laugh, "I’ll provide the cameras. But you’ll be buying them."

Hermione stepped into the kitchen just as Harry let out a full, rich laugh. His eyes lit up when they landed on her, and he gave her a smile that sent a sudden jolt of warmth through her chest.

"Good morning, Hermione," he greeted, crossing the room with his usual easy grace. Before she could protest, he cupped the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to her cheek. His casual affection left her momentarily stunned, heat rising to her face as fragments of last night’s events flashed through her mind.

She mumbled something resembling a greeting, avoiding his knowing gaze as she slid into the seat next to Luna. Her attention flicked to the bowl of cereal Luna was methodically working through.

"We have cereal?" Hermione asked, her voice betraying her confusion.

Harry, busy pouring her a cup of coffee, raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Isn’t that your cereal? Luna was already digging in when I came down."

"This isn’t Hermione’s cereal," Luna sing-songed, her expression serene as she spooned another bite into her mouth. "I brought it from home."

Hermione blinked. "You… went home to get cereal and then came back here to have breakfast?"

"Yes," Luna said simply, her smile wide and unbothered by Hermione’s incredulous stare.

Harry burst out laughing, shaking his head as he placed Hermione’s coffee in front of her. "Well, I’m glad you’re having breakfast with us, Luna."

The three of them fell into a comfortable rhythm, the clinking of cutlery and the occasional snort of laughter breaking the peaceful quiet. When Luna finished her cereal, she stood with an air of nonchalance, her box of cereal tucked under one arm.

"I think I’ll head home now," she announced, her dreamy gaze shifting between Harry and Hermione. "Do you have any plans for the day?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Harry beat her to it. "We do," he said smoothly. "We’re planning to clean the entire house top to bottom. Send an owl if you plan to visit over the weekend; we’re closing off the Floo and not accepting visitors."

Hermione nearly choked on her coffee. She ducked her head, the implication in Harry’s words hitting her like a freight train. Luna, ever perceptive, merely smiled knowingly before bidding them farewell and disappearing into the Floo.

Once the kitchen was clear, Hermione turned to Harry, her cheeks flushed. "I-I noticed the place is already clean," she mumbled, glancing toward the spotless living room.

Harry’s grin widened. "It is. Kreacher popped by earlier to help out. He’s back at Hogwarts now, though. Shame you missed him."

Hermione nodded absently. "So… we don’t actually need to clean, do we?"

"Nope."

"But you’re still closing up the house?"

"Yep."

Her stomach flipped. "No visitors?"

"None."

Her face felt like it was on fire. Two whole days. Just the two of them. Alone.

Before she could spiral further, Harry’s hands settled on her shoulders, his touch grounding her. "By the way," he began, his voice teasing, "did you intentionally leave this mark visible, or did you just forget about it?"

Her heart sank as he gently brushed his fingers against the mark on her neck. Her eyes widened in horror as realization dawned.

"I—No! I completely forgot!" she stammered, her hands flying up to cover the evidence. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

"I only just noticed," Harry said, his tone light and amused. "It’s just Luna, Hermione. Don’t worry too much."

"Luna was in the library last night, Harry!" Hermione groaned, her voice muffled by her hands. "She was there when we—"

Harry froze, his amusement momentarily replaced by wide-eyed realization. "Oh."

"What do we do?!" Hermione demanded, panic lacing her voice.

Harry shrugged, unbothered. "Nothing. Luna doesn’t gossip. And honestly, so what if she tells anyone?" Hermione’s eyes snapped to his, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in his gaze. "Are you… are you embarrassed by this? By us?" He asked.

The room fell silent, the weight of his question hanging between them. Finally, Hermione reached out, her hand resting atop his. "I’m not," she admitted softly. "I just… I don’t know what this is, Harry."

Harry’s smile was faint but genuine. "Neither do I," he said quietly. "But I like it. It feels… right."

"It does," Hermione agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I don’t want to rush. I don’t want to mess this up. I don't want to make a mistake and lose you, Harry."

Harry chuckled, his grin turning mischievous. "You’re stuck with me for life, Hermione, whether you like it or not. Baby steps, then?"

"O-Okay," Hermione nodded, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she shifted nervously on the spot. "What do we do now?"

Harry's grin widened, the playful glint in his eyes sending her heart into a chaotic rhythm. "Well, I did say baby steps, but you owe me a good snogging session." He stepped closer, his hand grazing hers. "And I do plan on marking your whole body as punishment for inviting a get-together on the very same day I returned from France."

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock, her brain scrambling to process his words. "W-What?!" she squeaked, her voice pitching higher than she'd intended.

Harry chuckled, reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet with an ease that left her breathless. "You heard me."

She stumbled after him, trying to catch her footing both physically and emotionally as Harry led her toward the staircase. "Wait! Where are we going?"

"In my room," he replied nonchalantly, glancing over his shoulder to flash her a mischievous smile. "In my bed."

Hermione felt her stomach drop. Her pulse quickened as she tugged against his grip, only half-heartedly protesting. "B-But Harry!"

"Yes, Hermione?" Harry asked, his voice teasing as he continued pulling her along.

She tried to steel herself, but his laughter—warm and utterly infuriating—sent her mind spiraling. "You can't just—"

"Oh, but I can," he interrupted, grinning wickedly. "And yes, I plan on touching your butt, too."

Hermione's face burned like a furnace. "No! That's not what I meant!" she yelped, her words coming out in a rush. "Harry!"

His laugh rang out, rich and unapologetic, as he stopped abruptly in the middle of the staircase. Hermione nearly crashed into him, but his hands steadied her instantly, settling on her waist in a way that made her knees weak.

"Relax," he murmured, leaning down so his forehead brushed hers. His grin softened into something far gentler, though the playful edge never quite left his eyes. "I’m just teasing. Mostly."

"Mostly?" she echoed, her voice a whisper now, caught somewhere between indignation and something far more dangerous.

Harry nodded, his thumb brushing her hip in a way that sent shivers skittering down her spine. "You’ve been running circles around my head, Hermione Granger. It’s about time I gave you a little payback, don’t you think?"

Hermione stared up at him, her lips parting as she struggled to form a coherent response. She wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to slap him, kiss him, or throw herself out the nearest window. Possibly all three.

"You’re impossible," she finally muttered, her voice weak but her heart racing.

"And yet, you’re still here," Harry quipped, his smirk returning full force.

Before she could retort, he tugged her forward again, this time with less urgency and more purpose. The intimacy of his touch left no room for argument.

When they reached his room, he pushed open the door, and Hermione was greeted by the familiar sight of the cozy yet disheveled space she’d come to know well.

"You can sit," Harry offered casually, releasing her hand to gesture toward the bed.

Hermione crossed her arms, trying to summon the sternest look she could muster. "You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"Immensely," Harry admitted without hesitation.

"You're incorrigible."

"And you’re adorable when you’re flustered."

Hermione’s retort died on her lips as Harry moved closer again, his hands finding her waist once more. This time, he didn’t pull her away. Instead, he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent her heart tumbling into freefall.

"Baby steps, Hermione. I’m not going to push you. But don’t think for a second that I’m not serious about that snogging session."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she forgot how to function altogether.

"Y-You’re insufferable," she managed weakly, her words laced with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to longing.

"And you like it," Harry countered, his grin positively wicked.

Hermione didn’t have a proper response for that—so instead, she shoved him lightly, her laughter joining his as the tension between them eased, if only slightly.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was them. And somehow, that felt just right.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger didn’t know how she’d ended up like this. One moment, she was teasing Harry in that casual, familiar way they always shared, and the next, she was on his bed, her back pressed firmly against the soft mattress. Her mind raced, yet her body betrayed her, caught up in the heat of the moment as Harry loomed over her. His hands gripped her wrists, pinning them down on either side of her head, his strength a tantalizing reminder of the power he rarely showed.

His lips trailed down her neck with deliberate intent, each kiss punctuated by sharp nips and possessive bites. Hermione gasped as his teeth grazed her skin, sending jolts of pleasure that had her arching into him. She tried to resist, at first out of habit rather than desire, but soon gave up entirely. Her head fell back against the pillows, exposing more of her neck in silent surrender.

The marks he left behind burned deliciously, a brand of ownership that she couldn’t bring herself to protest. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Harry’s weight pressed her into the bed, grounding her in a way that felt both overwhelming and intoxicating.

The room was filled with her voice—moans, gasps, and the occasional whimper of his name spilling from her lips like a prayer. She didn’t care how loud she was, didn’t care if the walls of Grimmauld Place echoed her sounds for all to hear.

“M-My hands,” Hermione whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with urgency. “L-Let go of my hands, I want to touch you too, Harry.”

Harry froze for a moment, his darkened eyes locking onto hers. The hunger in his gaze was enough to make her shiver, and when he finally groaned in response, it was a sound that vibrated deep in her chest. He released her wrists immediately, his hands moving to her hips as if he couldn’t stand to let her go entirely.

Hermione wasted no time. Her fingers tangled in his unruly hair, tugging him down into a kiss that was as wild and unrestrained as the emotions coursing through her. Their lips met with a fervor that left them both breathless, tongues clashing in a battle neither was willing to lose. She felt his hands tighten their grip on her waist, pulling her impossibly closer as if he wanted to consume her entirely.

When Harry finally pulled away, gasping for air, Hermione took her chance. With a surge of determination, she pushed against his shoulders, flipping their positions with surprising ease. She straddled him now, her hands braced on his chest as she looked down at him, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face.

“My turn,” she managed to say, her voice shaky but filled with resolve.

Harry didn’t argue. His eyes drank her in, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths as he surrendered to her control.

Hermione leaned down, her lips capturing his again, but this time her kisses were softer, teasing. She peppered his face with light kisses, brushing over his cheeks, the corner of his lips, and the bridge of his nose before trailing her way down. When she reached his jaw, she lingered, her tongue flicking out to trace the sharp line before she nipped at his ear.

The groan that tore from Harry’s throat was primal, a sound that made Hermione’s heart race with exhilaration. She felt his hand tangle in her hair, gripping tightly enough to make her scalp tingle.

She flinched slightly, the sharpness of the pull surprising her, but the thrill it sent through her body was undeniable.

“S-Sorry,” Harry said immediately, his voice rough but laced with concern. “Was that too hard?”

Hermione giggled softly, her breath warm against his ear. “N-No,” she admitted, her cheeks heating at the confession. “I like it... when you pull my hair.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, his grip loosening for only a moment before a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Wow,” he murmured, the word barely audible but filled with disbelief and delight.

Embarrassed, Hermione tried to hide her face in her hands, but Harry wasn’t having it. His hand tightened in her hair again, gently but firmly pulling her head back so he could capture her lips in another searing kiss. His other hand slid down to her thigh, gripping the soft flesh through her leggings with a possessiveness that made her toes curl.

For a brief moment, Hermione felt the tension in him shift, as if he was holding himself back. She caught the way his eyes flicked to her leggings, the raw desire written plainly across his face. She could almost feel the restraint in him, the way his fingers twitched as if he wanted to rip the fabric from her body.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, his grip softening as he muttered, “Next time.”

When he finally released her hair, Hermione was a glorious mess. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glittered with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. She looked giddy, a soft laugh bubbling from her lips as she caught her breath.

“Take off your shirt, Harry,” she demanded, her hands already tugging at the hem of his shirt with impatience.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “My shirt? Why?”

“Because,” Hermione said brightly, her grin matching his as she pulled harder, “I want to mark you on all the places I can reach.”

Harry didn’t argue. He shrugged out of his shirt with a speed that spoke to his eagerness, the fabric falling to the floor and forgotten.

Hermione’s eyes roamed over his chest, taking in the expanse of toned muscle and the faint scars that served as a testament to the battles he’d fought. She didn’t linger, though. The moment his shirt was off, she was on him again, her lips trailing down his neck and across his collarbone.

Her kisses were slow and deliberate, each one leaving behind a trail of warmth that made Harry’s head spin. When her teeth scraped against his skin, he hissed, his hands finding her hips again and holding on tightly as she continued her exploration.

For Harry, it was pure, blissful torment.

For Hermione, it was the beginning of her own claim.

xxxxx

Hermione couldn’t tell when or how they had crossed the invisible line that separated friendship from this intoxicating intimacy. All she knew was that her body was on fire, every nerve ending alive and responding to Harry’s touch. His weight pressed her into the soft mattress, and the faint scent of him—fresh and warm, with a hint of musk—clouded her senses.

Her hands, restrained above her head in Harry’s strong grip, trembled with the need to touch him. But he held her firmly, a teasing smirk curling his lips as his gaze swept over her disheveled form. His emerald eyes burned with desire, a heat so consuming it made her toes curl. The sensation of his lips and teeth grazing her neck sent shivers cascading down her spine. He wasn’t gentle—he didn’t try to be—and she didn’t want him to be. The sharp sting of his bites mixed with the soothing warmth of his tongue left her gasping, her head tilting instinctively to grant him more access.

Her legs, tangled with his, wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more—needed more—but Harry seemed content to take his time, to tease and torment her in the best possible way.

“Harry,” she whimpered, her voice breathy and broken as she squirmed beneath him. “My hands… let me touch you.”

He stilled for a moment, her plea hanging between them like a thread pulled taut. Slowly, he released her wrists, and the freedom sent a surge of exhilaration through her. Wasting no time, Hermione’s fingers dove into his unruly hair, tugging him closer as she captured his lips with hers. The kiss was wild, their tongues clashing in a battle for dominance neither truly cared to win. The taste of him was addictive, a heady mix of desire and unspoken affection.

When Harry finally broke away, gasping for air, Hermione seized the moment to flip their positions. Now straddling him, she grinned down at his wide-eyed surprise, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “My turn,” she said, her voice low and filled with mischief.

Harry didn’t protest; he simply rested his hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as though to ground himself. Hermione leaned in, her lips trailing over his jaw and down his neck, leaving a blazing path of kisses, licks, and playful nibbles. The way his breath hitched with every touch made her heart race, a thrill coursing through her veins as she explored him.

Her journey southward was slow and deliberate, her tongue tracing the lines of his toned chest, her fingers following the subtle contours of his muscles. By the time she reached the taut plane of his abdomen, Harry’s breaths had turned ragged, and his hands tangled in her hair, pulling gently but firmly enough to make her pause.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice a husky mix of amusement and warning.

Hermione met his gaze, her eyes dark with intent. “Claiming you,” she purred, her hands daring to edge lower toward his waistband.

Harry groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, but before she could go further, he flipped them once more. His body hovered over hers, his weight pinning her down as he caught her wrists again. “Baby steps,” he murmured, though his own restraint was visibly fraying. “We’re savoring this, remember?”

She scowled, her frustration evident, but Harry silenced her protest with a searing kiss that melted away any semblance of defiance. “Relax,” he whispered against her lips, his breath warm and soothing. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Hermione barely had time to respond before she felt the cool tingle of magic ripple over her skin. Her shirt vanished in an instant, leaving her bare beneath his gaze. She gasped, her arms instinctively moving to cover herself, but Harry caught her wrists again, gently pinning them to her sides.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “You’re perfect.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure, as Harry lowered his head to press soft, lingering kisses to the curve of her shoulder. His lips trailed downward, his tongue tasting the slope of her chest before finally capturing a sensitive peak between his lips. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through her as she arched beneath him, her moans filling the room.

Her hands found freedom once more, and she buried them in his hair, holding him to her as if he might disappear. When his hand joined his mouth, kneading and teasing the other breast with equal attention, Hermione let out a cry that was more a plea than a protest.

“Hermione,” Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire as he paused to look up at her. “Can I show you something?”

She blinked at him, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “W-What?” she managed to ask, though her voice was shaky.

Instead of answering, Harry’s lips curved into a wicked grin. He dipped his head back down, and then she heard it—the unmistakable hissing of Parseltongue. The sound sent a thrill through her, a strange mix of fascination and anticipation. Before she could fully process it, his mouth returned to her skin, and the sensation that followed was indescribable. The vibration of his hisses against her sensitive flesh, combined with the expert flicks of his tongue, sent her spiraling into a realm of pleasure she hadn’t known existed.

Her body arched involuntarily, her cries echoing off the walls as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. She was dimly aware of his hands holding her steady, his voice—a mix of Parseltongue and whispered encouragement—grounding her even as she soared higher. When the climax finally overwhelmed her, she clung to him, her body trembling with aftershocks as his name fell from her lips like a prayer.

Harry held her through it all, his kisses turning soft and soothing as he whispered against her skin. For a moment, the world outside his room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them tangled together, their breaths mingling as they clung to the fragile, beautiful moment they had created.

xxxxx

The aftermath of their shared moment left the room in a charged silence, the air thick with lingering heat. Hermione burrowed deeper under the blanket, her cheeks flaming as she tried to shield herself from Harry’s triumphant smirk. His laughter—rich and unapologetic—filled the room as he sprawled lazily against the headboard, clearly reveling in her flustered state.

“You’re banned from using Parseltongue ever again,” Hermione declared, her voice muffled but still carrying enough indignation to make him laugh even harder.

“Oh, come on,” Harry teased, tilting his head back with a grin that was pure mischief. His emerald eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, propping himself up on an elbow to peer at the bundle of blanket that was his best friend turned something so much more. “You enjoyed it.”

Hermione peeked out, her face glowing as red as the Gryffindor banner hanging by the window. “That’s not the point!” she huffed, clutching the blanket tighter. “It was... too much! I didn’t even realize what was happening. My body—it was trembling and fidgeting the whole time!”

Harry’s grin widened. “Sounds like you really liked it, then.”

“I did,” she admitted begrudgingly, her eyes narrowing. “But it was overwhelming! My legs are still vibrating.” Her voice dropped into a mortified whisper, the confession making her burrow back under the blanket.

Harry chuckled, his tone softening as he shifted closer, his hand gently brushing the edge of the blanket she clung to like a lifeline. “Alright, Hermione. If you really don’t want me to, I won’t do it again,” he said with mock solemnity, though his lips twitched in amusement. “I’ll seal away my tongue skills… forever.”

There was a pause. A long, pregnant silence where Harry waited, feigning patience. The corners of his mouth twitched as he watched the lump under the blanket fidget, her internal struggle almost palpable. Finally, Hermione peeked out, her brows furrowed in a scowl that lacked any real menace.

“Y-you could do it from time to time,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. Her gaze darted away from his, unable to meet the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “But you have to warn me next time.”

Harry’s grin was unstoppable now. “Of course,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “Anything for you.” He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her flushed cheek, delighting in the way she tensed for a moment before relaxing, her lips quirking into a reluctant smile.

“Care for a bath?” he murmured, his tone deceptively casual.

Hermione froze, her eyes widening as her face turned a deeper shade of crimson. “I—I think we should take separate baths!” she blurted, clutching the blanket tighter as if it were a shield.

Harry chuckled, leaning back and raising his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say we’d share one,” he said, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying his innocence. “I just meant I’d prepare it for you.”

Hermione let out a groan, retreating back into her cocoon of blankets. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, her voice muffled but laced with begrudging affection.

Harry’s laughter followed him as he stood, stretching leisurely before making his way toward the bathroom. “Relax, Hermione,” he called over his shoulder, his voice light and teasing. “I’ll make it perfect for you. Lavender or rose petals?”

“Don’t you dare,” she shot back, her voice carrying an edge of panic that only made his grin widen.

The sound of running water soon filled the room, mingling with Hermione’s muttered protests and Harry’s uncontainable laughter. Even as she buried herself under the covers, her lips curved into a small smile, her heart fluttering at the thought of his unrelenting playfulness. No matter how much he teased, there was a tenderness beneath his antics—a warmth that made her feel cherished in ways she was still learning to accept.

When Harry returned, his hair slightly damp from the steam curling out of the bathroom, he paused at the edge of the bed. “All ready,” he said, his tone softer now, tinged with affection. “Your highness’s bath awaits.”

Hermione peeked out once more, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Did you put anything ridiculous in it?”

“Just bubbles,” Harry said, his grin unapologetic. “Lots and lots of bubbles.”

Hermione groaned again, but this time, it was accompanied by a laugh—a quiet, breathy sound that made Harry’s heart squeeze. She shoved the blanket off with dramatic flair, shooting him one last exasperated look before she slipped past him toward the bathroom.

Harry watched her go, his smile lingering as he leaned back against the bedpost. The sight of her retreating figure, still wrapped in her flustered charm, was enough to make his chest swell with a quiet kind of happiness. For all the intensity they shared, it was these moments—the laughter, the teasing, the small acts of care—that rooted them in something unshakable.

And as the sound of splashing water drifted out from the bathroom, Harry couldn’t help but think that he wouldn’t trade this—their new, unpredictable, wonderfully chaotic dynamic—for anything in the world.

xxxxx

True to his word, Harry had banned all visitors from Grimmauld Place for the entire weekend. Letters piled up on the desk in the study—neatly stacked but ignored—each bearing some request for his presence or an invitation to visit. The demands of his life as Lord Potter, with his influential businesses and Wizengamot seat, would normally keep him occupied, but this weekend, none of that mattered. He had made it clear to everyone that he was unavailable.

For the whole of Saturday, Harry’s sole focus had been on Hermione. It was as if he couldn’t bear to let her out of his sight—or his arms. He spent the day shamelessly grabbing her waist, pulling her into his lap, and catching her in stolen kisses that left her breathless. Hermione had initially tried to resist his clingy behavior, retreating to her room or the library in half-hearted attempts to create some distance. But Harry always found her, his grin entirely too smug as he dragged her back to his side.

Eventually, Hermione gave up.

If this was how Harry acted in relationships, she thought, it was best to just surrender. Not that she minded, really. His attention was intoxicating, a mixture of playful teasing and fervent affection that left her tingling long after he’d kissed her. Still, their dynamic wasn’t exactly normal. They had crossed the invisible line that separated “best friends” from “something more,” but neither of them had defined what they were to each other now. They were testing the waters, navigating uncharted territory, and Hermione couldn’t decide if she was exhilarated or exasperated.

To her increasing frustration, Harry had yet to push things further than heated kisses and wandering hands. She appreciated his restraint—truly—but there was an undercurrent of tension that built with every lingering touch, every time his tongue trailed across her neck or collarbone, leaving her gasping. The way he seemed to enjoy keeping her on edge was driving her mad.

And then there was the matter of his wardrobe—or lack thereof.

Harry had spent the entire day wandering the house in nothing but a pair of low-hanging grey sweatpants. His torso, honed and scarred from years of battle, was completely bare, and Hermione found it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. She wanted to yell at him to put on a shirt, but her throat always went dry the moment she opened her mouth.

She found herself staring at him now as he stood at the stove, humming a tune she recognized but couldn’t name. His back was to her, muscles shifting with every movement as he prepared their late lunch. Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away, her fingers itching to trace the line of his spine.

They would have eaten earlier if Harry hadn’t decided to pin her against the kitchen counter when she walked in wearing his old Quidditch jersey. It was oversized, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, and she’d forgone pants entirely. She had chosen the jersey deliberately, thinking Harry would appreciate it, and she wasn’t disappointed. His reaction had been immediate—a predatory glint in his eyes and a grin that made her stomach flip.

That make-out session had been equal parts electrifying and maddening. Harry’s hands had roamed, his lips leaving trails of fire on her skin, but he had stopped just short of what she really wanted. She was still reeling from it hours later, her body thrumming with unspent energy.

“We should probably do some groceries soon,” Harry said, pulling her from her thoughts. He turned toward her, setting two plates of pasta on the table. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and the sight of it made her chest tighten with affection.

“For some reason, we only have spaghetti in the kitchen,” he added with a chuckle.

Hermione smiled as she took a seat next to him. “I like your spaghetti,” she said softly. “Thanks for lunch, Harry.”

“Anytime,” he replied, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of her head. The simple gesture made her heart flutter, but his next words sent a shiver down her spine. “Eat up,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone. “You’ll need the energy.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned as she nodded, suddenly too flustered to form a coherent response. She picked up her fork and began eating, grateful for the distraction. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Harry pour them each a glass of wine, the rich red liquid catching the light as it swirled in the glass.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

She didn’t know why she felt so nervous all of a sudden. They had been skirting the edge of this tension all weekend, and while every kiss, every touch, was incredible, she couldn’t shake the anticipation that hummed between them. Harry’s gaze lingered on her as he set her glass down, his eyes dark and smoldering in a way that made her breath catch.

It was surreal, seeing Harry like this. The boy she had once harbored a quiet, unspoken crush on had grown into a man who looked at her like she was the only thing in the world he wanted. The intensity in his gaze sent butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach, and she found herself falling harder for him with every passing moment.

Harry sat back in his chair, taking a sip of wine as he watched her. A small, knowing smile played on his lips, as if he could sense the effect he had on her. Hermione glared at him half-heartedly, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, her voice slightly sharper than she intended.

Harry chuckled, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “Immensely,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver down her spine.

Hermione huffed and took a large sip of her wine, determined not to let him see how much he was unraveling her. But as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the room, she couldn’t help but feel that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

xxxxx

Hermione woke up feeling warm and content, a faint smile playing on her lips as her eyes fluttered open. Her head rested comfortably on Harry’s arm, his bare chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. The sunlight filtering through the curtains bathed the room in a soft golden glow, illuminating the chaos of their impromptu evening together. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering traces of last night’s wine still hung in the air, and she found herself sighing deeply, her cheeks warming at the memories.

Harry had banned her from drinking too much, going so far as to lock the wine cellar after they’d each had just enough to get tipsy—but not so much that they couldn’t enjoy each other in full coherence. Fooling around had been his idea, of course, and Hermione hadn’t exactly objected.

Her eyes wandered down to Harry’s upper body, her breath hitching when she saw the evidence of their fiery night. Bite marks trailed from his collarbone down to the edge of his waistband, stark against his skin. She bit her lip as flashes of last night rushed back to her—the way his hand had firmly spanked her when she’d playfully tried to pull his sweatpants off again. That had only earned her more teasing, rough kisses, and then his wicked, spellbound hands leaving her tied to the bedposts while he worked her body over with precision.

And Merlin’s beard, that Parseltongue magic! The very thought made her shiver. She hadn’t known such pleasure was possible, her body surrendering to sensations she hadn’t thought she could feel—climaxing three times without him even so much as going down on her. How was that even possible? She wasn’t sure whether it was Harry’s natural prowess or the overwhelming love she had for him that made her body so eager to respond to his every touch.

She sat up carefully, mindful not to disturb him, the cool morning air brushing against her skin. Her knickers were the only article of clothing left on her body, the rest of her marked with vivid hickeys and faint scratches—a testament to their shared desire. Her chest flushed as she ran her fingers over one particularly dark mark near her collarbone, a mixture of embarrassment and pride swelling in her.

Leaning over, she pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek, lingering there for a moment before sliding out of bed. She tugged his discarded shirt from the floor and slipped it over her head, the oversized fabric enveloping her petite frame in a comforting cocoon. She glanced back at Harry, who remained sprawled out, sleeping peacefully, his dark hair an untamed mess that made her heart squeeze.

Leaving him to his rest, she padded down the stairs, her bare feet cool against the wooden floorboards. The house was unusually quiet, save for the faint creaks of the old Black family home settling around her.

In the kitchen, Hermione put on some music, the gentle hum of a jazz record filling the space as she began preparing breakfast. Bacon sizzled in the pan, the comforting aroma spreading through the house as she focused on not burning it. Harry had been patient when teaching her to cook, insisting she master at least a few basics after a disastrous attempt to make breakfast when she first started to live in Grimmauld Place.

She smiled to herself as she flipped the bacon, remembering Andromeda’s teasing lectures about how an aspiring Potions Master could fail so miserably at something as simple as cooking. It still boggled her mind that she could brew intricate potions with near-perfect precision but struggled to boil eggs properly. Harry, however, had been her biggest cheerleader, never scolding her for her mistakes and always encouraging her to try again until she got it right.

With a soft sigh, Hermione rested her elbows on the counter, letting her hands cradle her flushed cheeks. The weight of her emotions pressed against her chest like a warm, heavy blanket. "This is bad," she murmured under her breath. "I’m so hopelessly in love with him."

The bacon finished cooking, and she moved quickly, transferring the strips onto a plate and turning off the stove. She was about to set the table when a loud knock at the front door startled her.

"Hermione? You there? I can smell the bacon from outside! Open up!"

She froze, recognizing Ron’s voice immediately.

"Susan is with me! We have good news!"

"Hi, Hermione!" Susan called cheerfully from the other side of the door.

“Oh, crap,” Hermione whispered, eyes wide as she glanced down at herself. “Give me five minutes!”

She bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time as she rushed to find proper clothes. Tugging on a pair of jeans and glancing in the mirror, she cast quick concealment charms over the marks on her skin and threw her hair into a loose ponytail. With one last glance to ensure she looked presentable, she took a steadying breath and hurried back downstairs.

Opening the door, she was greeted by Ron’s wide grin and Susan’s warm smile.

"Good morning!" Ron exclaimed, giving her a quick hug before charging straight into the kitchen.

Susan hugged her as well, her excitement nearly palpable. "Oh, Hermione, I have some great news!"

Hermione smiled weakly as she followed them into the kitchen, where Ron was already helping himself to the bacon she’d just made. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she served herself and Susan, adding coffee to her list of immediate priorities. Whatever had them so giddy, she’d need caffeine to keep up.

“So?” she asked as she poured herself a cup. “What’s the big news?”

Ron and Susan exchanged a look before bursting out simultaneously. "Susan’s pregnant!"

Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. "Oh, my goodness! Congratulations!" She hurried over to hug Susan tightly. “Wait—oh no! Didn’t we get drunk last Friday? Isn’t that bad for the baby?”

Susan laughed, shaking her head. "I wasn’t actually drinking. I passed my drinks to Hannah when no one was looking. I had a suspicion, but I confirmed it with Aunt Amelia yesterday."

“We’re having another Weasley!” Ron announced proudly.

“No,” Susan corrected with a smirk. “We’re having a Bones.”

“Right, right. A Bones!” Ron said, laughing as he placed a hand on Susan’s stomach. “Say hello to the future Heir Bones!”

Hermione blinked through her happy tears. “Oh, that’s so wonderful! Does this mean—”

“Yep,” Ron said, grinning. “We’re getting married!”

Hermione squealed, noticing the sparkling diamond ring on Susan’s hand. Susan beamed as she added, “And of course, we want you to be part of the wedding, Hermione!”

Hermione was positively glowing with excitement as she embraced Susan again. "Oh, of course! Anything you need, I’m here. Bridesmaid duties, planning, hexing Ron if he puts a foot wrong—you name it."

"Oi!" Ron protested through a mouthful of bacon, earning a laugh from both women.

Hermione leaned back, grinning. "You know I’d do it out of love, Ron. Congratulations—both of you. A baby! And a wedding! This is just… perfect." She sighed dreamily, resting her chin on her hand. "I’m so happy for you two."

Their laughter filled the room as they talked about wedding plans and baby names. Just as Hermione retrieved a bottle of grape juice from the pantry, two strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

“Good morning,” Harry murmured, his deep voice sending a delicious shiver through her.

“Ha—” she started, but her words were stolen as Harry turned her around and captured her lips in a searing kiss. His hand tangled in her hair, while his other rested firmly on her hip. Hermione melted into him, her fingers curling into his messy hair as the world around them blurred into nothingness.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Ron’s shocked voice cut through the moment like a bludger through a window.

Hermione’s eyes flew open, and she broke away from Harry, her face flaming as she took in Ron and Susan’s wide-eyed stares. Harry froze, his hand still tangled in her hair, before slowly turning his head to face their audience.

“O-Oh. Good morning,” Harry managed, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

Hermione groaned, planting both hands on Harry’s chest and pushing him toward the stairs. “Go. Get. Dressed!”

Harry didn’t need telling twice. He practically bolted, leaving Hermione standing there, mortified. She turned back to Ron and Susan, her lips pressing together in an embarrassed smile.

“I found the grape juice,” she said weakly, holding up the bottle like a peace offering.

Chapter Text

Harry returned downstairs, moving with a confidence that was typical of him, but the moment he entered the kitchen, Hermione couldn't help but groan inwardly. He had put on a shirt, yes, but hadn’t bothered to cast any glamour or charm to hide the marks on his skin. The evidence of their heated moment—the wild, passionate snogging that they had shared—was still fresh, with prominent hickeys and the marks of scratches left on his neck. Each one was like a badge of honor, a reminder of the intimacy they'd shared only moments before. And it was clear to Hermione that Ron and Susan had zoned in on it the instant he walked in.

She couldn’t help but bite her lip, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach as she quickly flicked her wand, attempting to cast a glamour charm to hide his obvious physical display of affection. But deep down, Hermione knew it was already too late—the damage was done. There was no hiding it now.

Harry, ever the master of feigned indifference, busied himself with cooking more breakfast—eggs and bacon sizzling in the pan. He moved with exaggerated calmness, trying to project an air of normalcy. But Hermione could see the slight tremor in his hands as he turned the bacon, the edge of vulnerability beneath his cool exterior. His earlier bravado had evaporated, and though he was trying his best to play it cool, she could see that he was shaken, his mind no doubt swirling with the awareness of how thoroughly they had been caught.

When breakfast was finally served and they sat down together, an uncomfortable silence hung over the room like a thick fog. Ron was the first to break the tension, his voice loud and incredulous.

"Seriously?" he barked, eyes wide, "We're not going to talk about what the bloody hell we just witnessed?!"

Hermione flushed a deep shade of crimson, wishing she could disappear into the floor. But Ron's words had shattered whatever fragile illusion they had hoped to maintain. Susan, ever the one to soften Ron's more blunt moments, stifled a laugh and placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

"You saw it too, right?" Ron asked, looking at Susan for validation, who nodded in silent agreement.

Hermione stammered, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from the topic. "S-So Susan is pregnant," she said, a little too quickly, "and they’re planning on getting married..."

Harry's eyes widened in genuine surprise, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "W-Wow! That's great news, Ron, Susan!" He paused, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes as he added, "I'm happy for both of you!"

"Thanks, Harry," Susan smiled, her voice warm. But she wasn’t about to let the awkwardness slide. "But no, we need to talk about what we just saw. Ron is practically smoking with confusion, trying to figure out what just happened."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, the heat of the moment still lingering between them, and as if by instinct, she blurted out the first excuse she could think of. "W-We started dating," she said in one breath, barely pausing before she added, "but we don’t want everyone to know yet. We just... want to enjoy our privacy for a little while longer before we reveal it." She coughed slightly as the words rushed out, and Harry, looking concerned, gently tapped her back, offering her a glass of water.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Since when?!" His voice was full of disbelief, his eyes darting between Hermione and Harry. "We literally got back from France two days ago!"

Harry, who had been watching Hermione with a look of both amusement and affection, raised an eyebrow and glanced at her as if silently asking if she was going to back him up. When Hermione refused to meet his gaze, he took the reins. "The very same day we returned from France," Harry said, his tone casual yet definitive. "As soon as I got home, I kissed her, and we decided to start dating."

Susan gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, thank Merlin!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with relief. "I was losing hope that you two would ever realize you have something special."

Ron, still somewhat skeptical but clearly intrigued, let out a huff of laughter. "Is that why you were being such an arse in France? You were itching to get back home?"

"Yes," Harry rolled his eyes with exaggerated exasperation. He quickly forked a piece of bacon into his mouth, trying to push the subject aside. "Now, let's change the topic before you make me regret telling you anything."

Hermione, meanwhile, let her mind wander as she listened to the banter. She couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. She had never planned to announce anything about her and Harry, and now that it was out in the open, she wasn’t sure how to process it all. What had started out as something tentative, a few stolen moments of intimacy, now felt more real than ever. The weight of their decision to finally give in to their feelings was settling in, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for the consequences. Would it work out? Or would they end up hurting each other?

Fortunately, the distraction of Ron and Susan’s engagement kept the conversation from diving deeper into their relationship. After a few more minutes of awkward chatter, Ron and Susan excused themselves, eager to announce their good news to more friends. Amelia was going to help them with their wedding plans, and Ron had invited them to a dinner at the Burrow soon. Both Harry and Hermione agreed to join.

As they left, Ron couldn’t resist teasing Harry, grinning from ear to ear, making sure to shoot Harry a knowing look. Harry, not one to back down, gave Ron a solid punch on the shoulder, making Susan laugh. She turned to Hermione with a playful glint in her eye, leaning in to whisper.

"You two are far too rough with each other," she teased. "Seriously, love bites up until Harry’s torso? You naughty girl!"

Hermione could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t offer any retort to Susan's teasing. She simply smiled, brushing it off, the fluttering sensation in her chest a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Once they were finally alone, Harry pulled out his wand and set to work on the wards around Grimmauld Place. The door would be sealed for the rest of the day, ensuring that no one could disturb their privacy. Meanwhile, Hermione busied herself with cleaning up in the kitchen, but the tension that had followed them from the breakfast table clung to the air. Harry had been quiet ever since they left the dining room, his mind seemingly distant as he focused on his task.

When Hermione finally finished washing the dishes, she found him sitting quietly on the couch, the silence between them heavy.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice soft, tentative.

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He patted his lap, an invitation to come closer. Hermione hesitated, but the pull between them was too strong to ignore. Slowly, she crossed the room and sat on his lap, her heart pounding in her chest as his arms enveloped her, pulling her close. His head dipped to her neck, and she could feel his breath on her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"I’m sorry," Hermione whispered, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I was too surprised by their appearance. And when they told me the news, I completely forgot about... well, us."

"Hmm," Harry murmured, not saying anything more, but his arms tightened around her, offering a sense of reassurance she didn’t know she needed.

"I’m sorry I told them we were dating," she said, her voice small, vulnerable. "I-I panicked."

Harry pulled back slightly, his face inches from hers. His gaze softened, his expression filled with understanding. "I’m fine with that," he said simply.

"You are?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "B-But... baby steps?"

Harry chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. He gently cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

"Hermione," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity, "I’ve had a huge crush on you since the moment I saw you walk into that compartment on the Hogwarts Express. We became best friends, and I tried to keep it in check, tried to convince myself it was just infatuation. But I’ve loved you since third year, and I was too scared to say anything. You were always far too important to me, and I didn’t want to mess that up."

Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat as his words sank in. "Y-you loved me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as she looked at him, wide-eyed and astonished.

"I still do," he said softly, his voice hushed by the gravity of the moment. His words were a confession, an admission that left both their hearts exposed. "If you really want to date, then… we can. I would be the happiest bloke in the world, but..." He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "Please… promise me. If it won't work out between us, if it all falls apart… please don't leave me. Don’t end our friendship. I would rather have you stay with me as my best friend for the rest of my life, if it meant us being in a relationship would risk us losing the connection that we have."

The words hit Hermione like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, her throat constricting with the sudden rush of emotions. She blinked back the sudden welling of tears, unable to keep her voice steady as she looked up at him. His plea, so raw and vulnerable, made her heart ache. There was nothing Harry could say that could make her love him less. If anything, it only made her heart swell with a thousand emotions that she wasn’t sure how to handle.

"I can't promise anything, Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of her fear. She snuggled closer to him, her hands trembling at her sides. "I’m scared too. I’ve never loved any other person like this before. I’m bound to make mistakes. I’m too nagging, too much of a know-it-all. I’m boring… and the only thing interesting about me is my knowledge and thirst for books." She forced a laugh, but it was bittersweet, tinged with regret. "I can promise that you won’t lose me. You never will."

Her voice softened as she reached up to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing across the sharp line of his jaw. She felt the warmth of his skin, the life beneath it, and in that moment, she knew—no matter what happened between them, she could never lose him.

"I’m scared, Harry. But you have to help me make this work. I don’t want to lose our friendship either. You’re far too important to me to lose." Her breath hitched, and without thinking, she kissed his forehead gently, feeling his pulse against her lips as if to seal the promise she had just made.

Harry closed his eyes at the contact. When he opened them again, his gaze was filled with a tenderness that made her insides flutter. The intensity of it was almost too much to bear. She saw everything in his eyes—his love, his fear, his devotion—and the weight of it felt like a physical force pressing against her chest.

"You just said the best things that I love about you," Harry said with a smirk, the playful glint in his eyes momentarily distracting from the seriousness of the moment. His thumb brushed her cheek, a touch so tender it made her heart skip. "Don’t worry. We’re in on this together. We’ll meet halfway. We’ll argue, we’ll fight, but at the end of the day, I’ll make sure we’re good. Okay? Trust me." His voice lowered, his hand sliding down to her neck, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin, the words wrapping around her heart. "Please be my girlfriend."

The words she had been waiting for, the ones that made her pulse race, her heart thud loudly in her chest. Her eyes fluttered shut, her emotions spiraling, swirling in a whirlwind that threatened to consume her. She could hardly breathe for a moment, lost in the depth of what he had just said. But when she opened her eyes again, she found him waiting patiently, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, more intimate. She could feel her heart swelling, growing, filling with something so vast it almost overwhelmed her.

"I love you too, Harry Potter," she whispered, her voice low and filled with emotion. The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them, and in that moment, she knew she meant them. Every syllable. Every part of her heart.

She leaned in then, slow and deliberate, the space between them narrowing with each passing second. The world outside them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, their hearts beating in sync. As her lips brushed against his, it was as if everything fell into place. The kiss was soft at first, tender and full of promise, but then it deepened, the passion between them igniting like a fire that could never be extinguished. His hands were on her, pulling her closer, and she felt the weight of his love in every touch, every movement.

Her fingers tangled in his messy hair, pulling him closer, her body pressing against his as if they were two halves of the same whole, finally reunited. The kiss was a declaration, an unspoken vow that no words could fully capture. It was messy, it was perfect, and it was everything they had both been waiting for.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, their foreheads rested against each other, their eyes locked in an unspoken understanding. There were no more words necessary; everything they needed to say had been conveyed in that kiss, in the promises they had made to each other.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, the warmth of the room matching the heat that radiated between them. Hermione’s heart was still racing, her chest rising and falling with each breath, but she couldn’t help but smile. In that moment, she felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

xxxxx

The library at Grimmauld Place was bathed in the soft amber glow of the enchanted lamps, casting long, flickering shadows across the aged bookshelves. Hermione sat curled in an oversized armchair, one leg tucked beneath her, a worn book propped against her knee. Her fingers toyed absently with the edge of a page as she attempted to calm her restless thoughts. She had been here for over an hour, trying and failing to focus. The words on the page blurred before her eyes, her mind persistently drifting back to the man upstairs.

Harry Potter. Her Harry.

The notion still sent a thrill through her, a giddy rush that made her pinch her arm reflexively to assure herself it wasn’t a dream. The weight of it all—the years of suppressed feelings, the bittersweet longing, and now the breathtaking reality—settled heavily on her chest. She closed her book with a frustrated sigh, her cheeks flushing as snippets of last night’s passion flared in her memory. The marks she’d left on his skin, the husky groans he’d made, the way his lips had claimed hers so thoroughly—Merlin, how had she waited so long for this?

Her musings were interrupted by a soft clearing of a throat behind her. Hermione jumped with a squeak, the book tumbling from her lap to the floor. Whipping around, her eyes landed on Harry, and her breath hitched. He stood in the doorway, freshly showered, his damp hair slicked back and curling slightly at the edges. He was barefoot, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants slung low on his hips. Droplets of water glistened on his toned chest, the flickering light accentuating the lines of his muscles. The marks she’d left were plainly visible, faint reddish patterns that made her cheeks burn anew.

“Enjoying your book?” Harry asked, his voice low and teasing, though his emerald eyes held a wicked glint.

Hermione’s lips parted, but words failed her as her gaze wandered helplessly. He looked devastating, a picture of effortless masculinity, and he knew it. Without thinking, she found herself closing the distance between them, her arms snaking around his neck as she pulled him into a kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and he tasted faintly of mint, his hands settling instinctively on her waist. When they broke apart, Harry looked down at her, his expression a mixture of adoration and playful mischief.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words so sincere and tender they made her heart stutter. He leaned in for another kiss, this one slower, deeper, as though he wanted to savor every second.

Hermione giggled against his lips, a sound that made Harry grin. “What’s funny?” he asked, his forehead resting against hers.

“Nothing,” she replied, her voice breathless. “It’s just… I still can’t believe this is real.”

Harry smirked. “Well, believe it, Granger. You’re stuck with me now.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. Grabbing his hand, she led him back to the chair, pushing him gently into it before reclaiming her book. She perched herself on his lap, nestling comfortably against him as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

Harry’s arms wrapped around her, one hand toying with her curls while the other traced lazy circles along her thigh. He didn’t bother hiding the smirk that spread across his face as he felt her shudder beneath his touch. Hermione tried to focus on the words in front of her, but Harry’s presence was a distraction—one she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to resist.

“You’re not actually reading, are you?” he asked, his breath warm against her ear.

Hermione hummed noncommittally, flipping a page despite her rapidly fading concentration. Harry’s fingers danced higher up her thigh, his touch maddeningly light. Her body tensed, a flush spreading across her skin as she squirmed slightly against him. He chuckled softly, the vibration of it sending a shiver down her spine.

“You should put the book down,” Harry whispered, his voice a velvet growl.

“Why?” she asked, her own voice barely above a whisper, betraying the anticipation curling in her belly.

Harry leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Because I’d rather show you how much I love you,” he murmured.

Before she could respond, Harry stood, sweeping her into his arms with practiced ease. Hermione let out a startled laugh, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. “Harry, what are you—?”

“Taking you to bed,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. With a flick of his fingers, the library door swung open, and he carried her up the stairs, his strides purposeful. Hermione’s protests faltered as she caught sight of the heat in his gaze, her heart racing in response.

When he reached his room, Harry set her down gently on the bed, his hands framing her face as he captured her lips in a searing kiss. The world outside melted away, leaving only the two of them in this moment. Hermione’s fingers roamed over his back, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, marveling at the strength beneath her touch.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Harry leaned in, capturing Hermione's lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing against her cheeks as his mouth moved against hers. There was no hesitance, no gentleness—just raw heat and desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. His teeth grazed her lower lip, a mix of roughness and tenderness that sent shivers down her spine. When his tongue slipped past her lips to tease and claim, she melted into him, her hands fisting his shirt as if she needed to anchor herself.

He kissed her like he wanted to drown in her, and she was happy to let him. Harry’s mouth left hers only to trail down her jawline, his stubble leaving a delicious burn against her skin. Hermione gasped sharply as he reached the sensitive spot on her neck, the one he seemed to have committed to memory. His teeth grazed there, followed by the soothing touch of his tongue, sending a flood of heat straight to her core.

Her hands found their way to his back, her fingers tracing the taut muscles beneath his shirt. The way they flexed under her touch was intoxicating. When Harry’s hands moved to the hem of her shirt, she froze for the briefest moment before lifting her arms, letting him strip it off her.

“Breathtaking,” Harry murmured, his green eyes dark and focused entirely on her. The intensity in his gaze made her stomach flip, and her breath hitched as he leaned in to kiss her again, this time slower but no less passionate.

Her hands wandered lower, skimming over his sweatpants, and she couldn’t help but smirk as she felt the unmistakable hardness beneath the fabric. Tentatively, she grasped him over the material, her fingers curling around his length.

Harry groaned—a deep, guttural sound that made her feel powerful.

“You’re so big, Harry,” she breathed, the words slipping out unbidden.

Harry’s jaw clenched, and he let out a shuddering breath as her hand continued to stroke him through the thin barrier of his sweatpants. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking her touch, but just as her confidence grew, he caught her wrist and gently pushed her hand away.

“Wait,” he rasped, his voice rough with restraint.

“No,” Hermione whimpered, her brown eyes wide and pleading. “Please. I want to touch you. Harry, let me, please.”

“Not yet,” Harry said, smirking as he captured her lips in another kiss. This one was softer, teasing, as if to distract her from her protest. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, and her stomach.

When he reached the waistband of her jeans, Hermione’s breath hitched again.

“Harry!” she gasped as he began to pull her jeans and knickers down in one fluid motion.

He chuckled, the sound low and full of mischief. “Trust me?”

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before nodding. “I trust you.”

Harry didn’t break eye contact as he kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh, each kiss igniting sparks of anticipation. She heard a faint hissing sound, and her stomach fluttered in realization—his Parseltongue magic.

“Harry…” she whimpered, gripping the bedsheets as he leaned in.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, his breath hot against her most sensitive area. His voice held a mix of awe and desire that made her cheeks flush. “Ready, love?”

“N-No…” Hermione stammered, though her body betrayed her with how it trembled beneath him. "Please go slow..."

Harry’s laugh was deep and sinful, and she knew in that moment he wasn’t going to go slow. His tongue flicked over her, testing, teasing, before pressing against her with more purpose. Her hips jerked involuntarily, and a loud moan escaped her lips.

Her hand flew to his hair, tangling in the messy black strands as she pulled him closer. Harry groaned against her, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming sensations.

Then it happened—she felt the unmistakable tingle of Parseltongue magic. Harry’s tongue moved in ways that shouldn’t have been possible, the magic enhancing every movement, every flick and swirl.

“Oh, Merlin—Harry!” she cried, her legs snapping shut around his head, but he didn’t stop. Her thighs trembled as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her gasping and helpless.

“I’m coming!” Hermione whimpered, her voice almost a sob. Her back arched as her climax tore through her, and she felt a rush of something entirely new.

When she finally came down, her body limp and trembling, she opened her eyes to find Harry grinning at her. His face was flushed, his hair even messier than usual, and his lips glistened.

“Oh no!” Hermione squeaked, sitting up abruptly. She looked down at the wet sheets and back at Harry, her face flaming. “Did I—did I do that?!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You mean… when you squirted?”

Hermione’s mortification deepened. “I-I don’t usually— I mean, that’s never happened before!”

Harry’s grin widened. “First time for everything, eh?”

“Stop laughing!” she scolded, reaching for her wand to clean the mess. Her movements were frantic, her embarrassment clear.

“Careful, love, or you’ll poke me with that,” Harry teased, catching her hands and holding them still. “It’s fine, Hermione. Relax.”

“I made a mess,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“And I loved every second of it,” Harry said, his tone serious now. “You were incredible. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

Hermione sighed, letting him pull her into his arms. She was still flustered, but his warmth and steady heartbeat began to soothe her nerves.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, burying her face in his chest.

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, kissing the top of her head.

xxxxx

Harry and Hermione went back to kissing again when Hermione finally calmed down. She had decided to ignore what just happened, intent on returning back the favor. Harry for the most part was having fun, Hermione had a look of desire and focus in her face that he found really hot. He leaned in the bed while Hermione straddled her, kissing him passionately while her lips trailed all over her body.

When he finally reached his waistband, Hermione pulled it off immediately, not giving Harry the chance to resist again. When Harry's manhood finally whipped out, Hermione let out a loud gasp. Her hands held him tightly causing Harry to groan.

"Y-You're really big," Hermione squeaked, her eyes widening.

"Thanks?" Harry laughed, blushing. His breath hitched as Hermione's hand moved, still ogling at him.

"T-This is my first time, so let me know if it hurts," Hermione whispered.

"Just be careful with your teeth, don't force yourself too much," Harry instructed. "And... well, I like it if you'll enjoy it too."

Hermione blushed and nodded, her mind taking notes at Harry's instructions. She quickly analyzed Harry's manhood in front of her, and searched her mind for all the things she'd read before, on the novels she'd read. She let her tongue slowly lick Harry causing a groan from Harry. This surprised and thrilled Hermione at the same time. It was her doings that's making Harry those noises.

With her Gryffindor courage, Hermione tentatively put the tip inside her mouth, making sure not to let her teeth touch it and sucking on it, her tongue making twirls on his head.

"Yes, just like that," Harry hissed. He held Hermione's head gently pushing her deeper, his waist slowly raising up to match the rhythm of Hermione's movement. "Deeper, Hermione, please," Harry begged.

Hermione let Harry's manhood go and she gasped for air, tears in her eyes. "You're too big!"

"Sorry," Harry chuckled.

"Come here, on the edge of the bed," Hermione said, kneeling on the floor. She conjured a hair tie and started putting her hair on a ponytail. Harry followed through and sat on the edge of the bed. Hermione started licking him again, slobbering over him and started sucking again, this time positioning herself properly so she could take him completely, making gagging sounds that just made Harry's toes curl.

"Fuck, yes, just like that!" Harry groaned, holding on to Hermione's ponytail as she continued taking him deeper. "Hermione, I'm close, I'm really close."

Hermione let go and started licking him, looking at him pleadingly. "Come in my face, Harry," She purred and continued sucking again. Harry just nodded as he struggled to keep himself on the edge and when he finally couldn't help it she pulled Hermione's hair, and jerked himself off, exploding himself all over Hermione's face, her mouth open to receive some of it in her mouth.

"Fuck!" Harry groaned as he continued to orgasm. He felt Hermione's hand take over his dick as she jerked him off, and sucked him off again to make sure to catch every last drop on her mouth.

When Harry was finally done, he let out a shaky breath and looked at Hermione. She had a proud look on her face as her face was covered by Harry's release. She showed his release on her mouth and to his surprise, she took a big gulp, slightly gagging.

"Merlin, I wish I had a camera," Harry whispered, wiping her face with his hand, and smiled when Hermione started licking his hand. "You did great. You were fantastic. Absolutely perfect."

Hermione beamed a smile. "T-Thank you," She winced slightly. "Remind me to put you on a diet. It tasted salty."

"Whatever you want, love," Harry chuckled, his hand waving over Hermione to cast a cleaning charm on her face.

xxxxx

The late afternoon light had long since faded into a drizzly evening, casting Grimmauld Place in a shroud of quiet solitude. Hermione and Harry had spent an embarrassingly long time tidying the wreckage of their earlier... adventures. A trail of tossed pillows, scattered books, and hastily discarded clothes bore testament to the fervor that had overtaken them earlier in the day. Though their laughter had echoed through the house as they tidied, their cheeks had been stained a permanent shade of crimson, each stealing bashful glances at the other as memories of their shared bath came flooding back.

The bath had been anything but innocent. Harry had surprised Hermione yet again with his Parseltongue abilities, murmuring sinuous phrases that made her shiver—not from cold, but from the unrelenting heat they seemed to ignite within her. Their fooling around had taken a turn so passionate that by the time they finally emerged from the steamy bathroom, Hermione was nearly trembling from exhaustion. Harry, always the caring one despite his cheeky grin, had insisted they nap before dinner. She hadn’t argued, collapsing into his arms on the bed, both still damp-haired and breathless.

When Hermione finally awoke, the room was darker, the rain outside a steady patter against the enchanted windows. The bed was warm, the sheets rumpled from their earlier embrace, but Harry was notably absent. She stretched languidly, the ache in her muscles a not-so-gentle reminder of their earlier escapades. Pulling herself upright, she reached for the nearest clothing within arm’s reach—Harry’s oversized Weasley sweater, its familiar warmth and softness making her sigh contentedly as she slipped it on. It smelled of him: sandalwood, a faint trace of broom polish, and something uniquely Harry.

The chill in the house nudged her awake as she padded barefoot down the stairs. Rain always made Grimmauld Place colder, and she didn’t bother with pants, knowing Harry wouldn’t mind. In fact, he’d practically begged her not to bother with them when they were alone, a mischievous grin lighting up his face every time he reminded her it was “just the two of them in this ridiculously oversized house.”

The smell of takeout wafted through the air, rich and savory, pulling her toward the kitchen like an invisible thread. Her stomach growled in anticipation, but as she passed the second floor, something caught her eye: a faint glow from the crack under Harry’s study door. Curious, Hermione paused, her feet silent against the old wooden floor. Peeking inside, she spotted him sitting at his desk, his dark hair messily framing his face as he leaned over a parchment, quill scratching earnestly. His brow was furrowed, his focus so intense that he didn’t notice her slip inside.

Hermione crept closer, her curiosity piqued as she saw him hastily shuffle some parchments to the side. But she was faster. With a swift movement, she snatched one from his grasp, her eyes scanning the words before he could stop her.

Her expression shifted instantly, her cheeks flushing with both anger and disbelief. “What is this?” she demanded, her voice low and sharp as she held the parchment aloft like it was something offensive.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair as though bracing himself for a storm. “That’s... my last will and testament,” he admitted, his voice calm but weary.

Hermione’s glare could have felled a dragon. He looked like he might prefer that to facing her wrath. “Why the hell do you have a last will and testament?” she hissed, her voice rising with each word.

“Alright, calm down!” Harry said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m fine, Hermione. This is just... something Sirius told me to do. You know, before he... passed.” He sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's one of my duties as a Lord. I’ve kept the habit of updating it every quarter, just in case. This time, I updated it because... well, we’re together now.”

The words softened her anger, though the lump forming in her throat was now threatening to choke her. “Harry...” she whispered, her voice faltering as her fingers tightened around the parchment.

“Here,” he said, pulling another piece of parchment from the desk. “Read this. It’ll explain everything.”

Her eyes scanned the page, the words swimming before her as tears threatened to spill.

“I, Harry James Potter, Lord of the House of Potter and House of Black, hereby leave all my properties, vaults, businesses to Hermione Jean Granger. With the exceptions of the following people on a separate list, she is free to make use of any of my remaining estate as she sees fit. I also award her as the Lady of the House of Potter and Regent to the House of Black...”

Hermione’s voice cracked as she read the words aloud. She barely made it to the end before the tears spilled over. “Harry, this is too much,” she managed, her voice shaking. “We’re not even married, and you’re...” She trailed off, staring at him with a mixture of love and exasperation.

Harry shrugged, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “It’s what I want,” he said simply, stepping closer to her. “In fact, Teddy is listed as my Heir to the House of Black too." He took out another parchment. "There's even a vault here that I reserved as a tuition fee to all the future sons and daughters of all the Weasleys."

He grinned at Hermione. "You mean everything to me. Why wouldn’t I want to make sure you’re taken care of, no matter what?”

The dam broke, and she dissolved into tears. Harry pulled her into his arms, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back as she cried against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have told you. But I promise, Hermione, I’m fine. I’m healthy. I’m not planning to save the world again. My life is yours now.”

His words only made her sob harder. “I can’t lose you again,” she choked out. “You... you died, Harry. You were dead for minutes, and I...”

“But I came back,” he reminded her, his voice soft yet firm. He pulled back slightly, tilting her chin up so she could see the sincerity in his emerald eyes. “I’m here. Voldemort’s gone. And I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

A watery laugh escaped her lips despite her tears. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Even when you’re angry and crying and threatening to murder me for being prepared.”

Her lips quirked, and she lightly smacked his arm. “Don’t make jokes, Potter.”

“Who’s joking?” he said, pulling her closer. “Now, do me a favor and stop worrying about it, alright? It’s just a precaution. I’m not going anywhere. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “if I didn’t handle this, Draco would be next in line to take over the House of Black. And we both know Sirius would haunt me for eternity if that happened.”

Hermione groaned, exasperated but amused. “Why is the wizarding world so bloody complicated?”

Harry laughed. "We're lucky, if it weren't for Teddy being my Heir to the House of Black, I would've needed another wife to bear an Heir for me." He smirked. "Imagine that. Me having two wives... huh..."

"Don't you dare!" Hermione hissed, grabbing him between the legs. "I'll cut this off if you dare cheat on me!"

"I-I won't!" Harry groaned. "P-Please let me go, I was just making a joke."

"Don't joke about that again," Hermione growled.

"You're not scaring me, you're actually turning me on," Harry whispered.

Hermione immediately let go and pulled away. "You're crazy!" She yelled, running away from his study.

Chapter Text

After a leisurely dinner, Harry and Hermione retreated to the warmth of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place. The dim light from the crackling flames bathed the room in a golden glow, their shadows dancing on the ancient walls. Hermione leaned against Harry, her legs tucked beneath her, his arms wrapped protectively around her waist. They shared soft laughter and stolen kisses, their world shrinking to just the two of them in the cozy intimacy of the room.

Harry’s lips found the curve of her neck, trailing warm, feather-light kisses along her skin. Hermione sighed, her fingers playing idly with the fabric of his shirt, and then, to Harry’s surprise, she let out a quiet giggle.

He pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Why are you laughing?" he murmured against her skin, his breath sending a delightful shiver down her spine.

Hermione chuckled again, shaking her head as if the thought was too absurd to voice. "This is just... ridiculous," she admitted, her voice laced with amusement. "This whole thing. Us. I never expected this at all, and now look at me—sitting on your lap, practically being kissed to death by Harry Potter himself."

Harry grinned, the boyish charm in his smile making her heart skip a beat. "If we weren’t so thick-headed back then, we could’ve started this years ago," he teased. His hands slid up her back as he gazed at her, his green eyes soft but smoldering. "Speaking of thick-headed, what do you think we should do about dinner at the Burrow? Should we tell everyone about us?"

Hermione’s playful expression faltered slightly as she sighed and rested her forehead against his. "Promise you won’t get mad?" she asked softly, her voice tentative.

Harry's brow furrowed. "You want to keep it a secret?" he guessed, reading her hesitation.

Hermione nodded, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. "Y-Yes, but not because I’m embarrassed," she quickly clarified. "It’s just… with Ron and Susan’s engagement and talk of their baby, I feel like walking into the Burrow as your girlfriend is practically inviting an ambush of questions from the entire Weasley family. And all our friends," she added with a groan. "I just… I can’t deal with that right now, Harry."

To her surprise, Harry smirked. "Good news is, I feel the same," he said with a chuckle. "Honestly, I was this close to Obliviating Ron and Susan when they found out about us."

Hermione gasped, swatting his arm lightly. "Harry James Potter!"

"What? I’m kidding!" he laughed, burying his face against her neck again. "Mostly."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though a small smile played on her lips. "So… we’re agreed? We keep this to ourselves, at least for now?"

"Absolutely. I like the idea of it being just ours," Harry replied, pulling back to look at her. A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes. "Although, I’m also tempted to wait until Christmas, send out wedding invitations, and let everyone figure it out from there. Ultimate Marauder’s prank."

Hermione’s laughter rang out, rich and full of disbelief. "You’re impossible! We can’t do that, you prat!" She leaned forward, hugging him tightly as they both laughed. The vibration of his chuckle against her chest made her heart flutter. "But… maybe Christmas is a good time to tell them," she conceded. "That gives us a few months of peace."

Harry nodded, brushing a stray curl away from her face. "I like that plan," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave.

Their eyes locked, and the room seemed to grow warmer as Hermione leaned in, pressing her lips to his. The kiss started slow and tender, but it quickly deepened, the fire between them igniting like the flames in the hearth. Harry’s hands slid down to her hips, gripping her firmly and pulling her closer against him. Hermione let out a quiet moan, her body instinctively grinding against him, sending a jolt of heat through them both.

Harry groaned low in his throat, his hips lifting off the couch slightly as he sought more contact. The sound of his desire sent a thrill through Hermione, her fingers threading through his hair to hold him close. Their kisses grew more fervent, more desperate, as if the world outside ceased to exist.

Suddenly, Hermione pulled back, her breathing ragged, and looked at Harry with a curious expression.

"What?" Harry asked, his hands still firmly resting on her bum, his thumbs moving in slow, teasing circles.

"I have a question," she said, her tone light but probing.

Harry raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the slight nervousness creeping into his expression. "What is it?"

"Is it true that you and Luna... you know?" she asked, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Harry froze, his hands stilling. "H-How did you—? Damn it, Luna!" he groaned, leaning his head back against the couch.

Hermione laughed, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "Relax, she didn’t say anything," she reassured him. "We were playing Never Have I Ever once, and there was a question about who among the girls had kissed you. I think it was meant to trap me into revealing something, but at the time, we hadn’t even kissed yet. Then Luna drank… and well, the pieces kind of fell into place."

Harry let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Oh, for the love of Merlin. So the whole group knows about me and Luna?"

Hermione shrugged, feigning innocence. "Among other things. Relax, Harry. You’re not the only boy we’ve talked about! It’s what girl talk is for."

He groaned, burying his face against her chest. "It was just… a heat-of-the-moment thing," he mumbled. "Luna and I were… well, compatible in that way, I guess. We hooked up a lot during our las year at Hogwarts, but it didn’t mean more than that. At least not for her."

Hermione tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "And for you?" she asked softly.

Harry hesitated before answering. "A part of me wanted it to mean more," he admitted. "I thought… maybe we’d build something lasting. But Luna… she doesn’t want to get married or have kids. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted, Hermione. A family of my own. How could I be with someone who doesn’t want the same?"

Hermione’s heart swelled at his honesty. She kissed his forehead tenderly, her voice soft as she said, "If it makes you feel any better, I do want to get married someday. And have a family."

Harry grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Not now, though," Hermione added quickly, smirking. "Don’t get any ideas."

"I didn’t say a word!" Harry laughed, pulling her into a hug and nuzzling his face against her chest, making her shriek with laughter.

xxxxx

Harry and Hermione returned to their usual routines after that eventful weekend. The only noticeable difference was the shared, knowing glances exchanged whenever their paths crossed, a silent acknowledgment of their relationship that remained their little secret—except for Ron and Susan, who were in on it. The subtlety made the moments even sweeter, a private thrill that left Hermione flushed with warmth each time she caught Harry’s gaze.

Hermione stood in Andromeda’s lab, meticulously organizing the rows of potion ingredients. The familiar scents of crushed herbs, dried roots, and faintly acrid potion fumes filled the air, grounding her. She was methodical, her hands moving with practiced ease as she inspected the shelves, cross-checking them against her inventory list. Despite the task’s mundanity, a heat bloomed across her skin, a lingering echo of the morning’s stolen moment with Harry.

Her fingers paused briefly, absentmindedly brushing the spot near her collarbone where Harry had left his mark—a playful, possessive bite that she could still feel. It was becoming a habit of his, claiming her in ways that made her heart race and her breath hitch. He was unrelenting, leaving little marks wherever he could, as if he wanted the world to know she belonged to him.

Hermione smirked to herself, shaking her head. Of course, she loved it. She would never admit it aloud, but she adored the way his attention lingered on her, how his touch conveyed both tenderness and a fierce protectiveness. It was almost a shame that glamour charms existed—without them, she’d undoubtedly be subjected to Andromeda’s teasing, though perhaps she wasn’t entirely spared as it was.

“Hermione, dear,” Andromeda called out, interrupting her thoughts as she approached with a parchment in hand. “Could I trouble you to pick up some ingredients from Neville’s? His supplies are excellent quality, and I’m in need of the freshest stock for these batches.”

Hermione looked up with a smile, grateful for the distraction. “No trouble at all, Andi,” she said cheerfully. “Harry’s over at Neville’s anyway. Maybe we can meet up and grab dinner afterward. Do you need me to bring everything back here right away, or should I send it by owl?”

“Just bring it home with you,” Andromeda replied with an appreciative nod. “You can bring them in tomorrow morning.”

As Andromeda’s gaze lingered on her, Hermione felt a flicker of self-consciousness. Her mentor’s sharp eyes seemed to be assessing something beyond the surface, and Hermione resisted the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.

“W-What is it?” Hermione asked, her voice hitching slightly.

Andromeda’s lips curved into an amused smile. “Oh, nothing, dear,” she said with a light laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “By the way, could I ask another favor? Would you and Harry be able to watch Teddy on Saturday? I’ve got some personal matters to handle, and I know the two of you adore him.”

Hermione’s face lit up at the mention of her godson. “Of course!” she said enthusiastically. “We’d love to have him over. If you want, he can even stay the night with us, and we’ll bring him along to the Burrow for Sunday’s dinner.”

Andromeda sighed in relief, a grateful smile softening her features. “That would be perfect. Thank you, Hermione. Merlin knows how much Teddy enjoys spending time with you two.” She paused, a sly glint in her eye. “Though I should warn you—Molly is in full celebration mode, and I suspect you’ll be bombarded with questions too about your future plans. You might want to brace yourself.”

Hermione groaned dramatically. “Don’t remind me. I’m sure she’ll have half a dozen inquiries ready before I even sit down.”

Andromeda chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s hard to believe Ron is the first of the lot to have a child. He’s even ahead of Bill and Percy! Poor Molly must be beside herself with excitement.”

“Well, Percy’s practically married to his work,” Hermione quipped, stifling a laugh. “And Bill and Fleur are always moving off to one corner of the world or another. It’s no wonder Ron managed to beat them to it.”

The two women shared a laugh before Andromeda sobered slightly, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “You know, when Ted and I were married, we could hardly keep our hands off each other,” she said, almost conspiratorially. “I’m sure you understand how that feels, don’t you?”

“O-Oh, I—” Hermione’s words tangled as her cheeks flamed crimson. She stared at her feet, flustered. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” she managed to squeak out, her voice barely audible.

Andromeda’s laughter was light and teasing, the sound echoing in the lab. Despite her age, there was a youthful vitality to her that was impossible to ignore. Though she didn’t possess Narcissa Malfoy’s aristocratic elegance, Andromeda radiated a warmth and beauty that seemed untouched by time.

“I’m only teasing, dear,” she said with a wink, patting Hermione’s arm affectionately. “You’ll do just fine, I’m sure. Just be ready for Sunday—Molly’s curiosity is practically a force of nature.”

Hermione groaned again, already imagining the interrogations awaiting her. Andromeda hummed to herself as she turned to leave, but before exiting, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“Oh, Hermione, darling?”

“Yes?” Hermione replied, looking up.

“You missed a spot near your nape,” Andromeda said with a mischievous smile. “Would you like me to cast a glamour charm on that little love bite, or can you manage it yourself?”

Hermione’s mouth opened, but no sound came out as mortification took hold. Letting out an unintelligible squeak, she bolted for the bathroom, her hand flying to the nape of her neck to cover the incriminating mark.

Andromeda’s laughter followed her down the hallway, light and utterly amused.

xxxxx

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight, the rays streaming in through the slightly dusty windows. The faint scent of roasted coffee mingled with the subtle sweetness of freshly baked bread that Kreacher had left cooling on the counter earlier. Harry stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing dishes with an air of practiced ease. The clinking of porcelain and the occasional splash of water filled the otherwise quiet space.

“Honest to goodness, Hermione, I didn’t know!” Harry exclaimed, his tone equal parts exasperated and pleading. He paused mid-scrub, glancing over his shoulder toward the living room. “Why would I send you to work with a hickey so obvious you could probably see it from the moon?”

From her spot on the couch, Hermione huffed, arms crossed, her cheeks still flushed from the memory of Andromeda’s knowing smirk. She buried her frustration into the poor cushion she was now assaulting with merciless punches. “How can you not know when you’re the one who marked me?!” she shrieked, her voice sharp enough to cut through the rhythmic clinking of plates. "That's it! I'm banning you from biting me again!"

Harry winced, nearly dropping the plate in his hand. He turned fully toward her, drying his hands on a towel as his green eyes sought hers. “You’re not serious, are you?” he asked, his voice soft with a mix of guilt and disbelief. 

“Shut up,” Hermione hissed, glaring daggers at him. “I hate you right now.”

An uneasy silence fell between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Hermione’s gaze drifted to the flames, her fingers still gripping the cushion as she fumed. The memory of Andromeda’s pointed observation replayed in her mind, making her cheeks burn hotter. It had taken an embarrassing amount of effort to convince her mentor that the mark on her neck was nothing more than a bite from something harmless. Andromeda, to her credit, had laughed it off, promising not to pry, but the twinkle in her eyes had made it clear she wasn’t fooled.

Hermione sighed, rubbing at her temples. Despite her irritation, she’d somehow managed to salvage her dignity, agreeing to babysit Teddy this weekend without giving away the identity of the “mystery man” who’d left his mark on her. Not that Andromeda needed much convincing; the woman had practically pushed her out the door with a knowing smile.

Harry, now finished with the dishes, approached the couch cautiously, like a child braving a stormy sea. He sank onto the cushion beside her, his presence radiating warmth. He draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against him. She resisted at first, but her resolve melted as the familiar scent of him—citrus and pine, mingled with something uniquely Harry—enveloped her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone sincere. “I honestly didn’t know. Maybe I forgot? You know how I am in the mornings.” His lips quirked into a sheepish smile. “I’d never intentionally embarrass you, especially not in front of Andi.”

Hermione exhaled deeply, letting her head rest on his shoulder. The tension in her muscles eased as she allowed herself to relax against him. “Just be careful next time,” she said quietly. “It’s really embarrassing, Harry.”

Harry’s grin widened, mischief glinting in his eyes. “So there’s still a next time?”

The question earned him a sharp pinch to the inside of his thigh. He yelped, jerking away with a laugh. “Alright, alright!” he said, rubbing the offended spot. “No more teasing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Good. Because if you keep this up, there won’t be a next time.”

Harry chuckled, clearly unfazed by her warning. “If you want revenge, you can mark me right here.” He tapped his neck, grinning. “Then I’ll walk into the Burrow without a glamour charm.”

Hermione groaned, swatting his arm. “Oh, please. You’d wear it like a badge of honor and make sure everyone noticed.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry asked, his voice dropping to a low, playful drawl. He pressed a kiss to her temple, the heat of his lips lingering against her skin. “I’m proud that the brightest witch of her age has literally claimed me.”

She sighed, leaning further into him despite herself. His fingers threaded through her hair, combing through the soft curls with gentle precision. The motion was soothing, almost hypnotic, and she found herself sinking deeper into the warmth of the moment.

“So,” Harry began after a while, his voice light, “we’re babysitting this weekend?”

“I’m sorry I accepted on your behalf,” Hermione replied, though she didn’t sound particularly remorseful.

Harry waved off her apology with a grin. “No, it’s fine. I’ve missed Teddy. Honestly, if it were up to me, I’d have him here with us all the time.” His expression softened, a fond smile playing on his lips. “He’s a little maniac, but he’s brilliant. It’s fun to see how much of Tonks’ chaos he’s inherited. Though, I have to admit, he’s starting to look more like Remus every day.”

Hermione’s heart warmed at the thought of their mischievous godson. “Remind me to ward the whole house on Friday,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement. “Who knows what kind of shenanigans he’ll get into here?”

Harry laughed, a deep, rich sound that echoed in the cozy kitchen. “What is he now? Four?” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Merlin, seven more years and he’ll be off to Hogwarts.”

Hermione giggled, shaking her head. “You sound ancient when you say things like that.”

“Well, time does fly when we’re not being chased by dark wizards,” Harry quipped, his smirk returning. "Imagine if I had actually decided to pursue that Auror position Kingsley offered," he said with a low grunt, the mere thought making him shake his head. "Merlin, I’ve had my fill of chasing bad guys. Imagine doing it for a living for the rest of my life!"

Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, her lips curling into an amused smile. “You did look rather horrified when he mentioned it.”

She remembered that moment vividly. Kingsley Shacklebolt, ever the composed and stately Minister, had offered all the Battle of Hogwarts participants a fast track into the Auror Academy. For Harry, Ron, and herself, there had even been an invitation to bypass the standard training and take up senior roles after a brief academy stint. It had been a flattering offer, one that many would have leaped at, but Harry’s and Ron’s reactions had been nothing short of priceless.

“To be fair, it did sound mad,” Hermione added with a chuckle. “The idea that you’d willingly sign up to deal with more chaos after everything we went through? Kingsley must’ve thought you’d hit your head one too many times during the war.”

“Mad is right,” Harry muttered. “I’d just gotten through fighting for my life—fighting for everyone’s lives. The last thing I wanted was to make a career out of it.” He reached for the tea Hermione had prepared earlier and took a long sip, his expression softening. “No offense to Kingsley, but the only dark wizards I want to deal with now are the fictional ones in those novels you keep trying to get me to read.”

Hermione laughed again, this time louder. “You’re ridiculous,” she teased, though her eyes sparkled. “But you’re not wrong.”

The memory of Ron’s reaction came to mind then, and Hermione’s smile grew fonder. He had been equally flabbergasted by the idea of continuing the fight. She could still hear his incredulous voice: “After all this, they want us to go back to running headfirst into danger? No, thanks! I’ve done my bit for the world!”

Ron’s decision to stay home had surprised her at first. He had thrown himself wholeheartedly into helping his family recover after Fred’s death, taking over much of the household responsibilities and assisting George with the shop. It was a quieter life, one far removed from the adrenaline-fueled chaos of their teenage years, but it suited Ron in a way she hadn’t expected.

Hermione, on the other hand, had chosen a different path—returning to Hogwarts to finish her education. She had thought Harry wouldn’t join her, assuming he’d want to move on from school life. But to her shock and quiet delight, he had returned alongside her, and they had spent the year as Head Boy and Head Girl. Sharing the same private common room had brought them even closer, their friendship deepening into something far more profound and unshakable.

It had been Harry’s idea for her to move into Grimmauld Place once they began searching for her parents in Australia. What started as a temporary arrangement had quickly turned into a permanent one, and the house had become a haven for both of them—a place to heal, to grow, and to build something new.

Hermione’s thoughts drifted as the warm glow of the kitchen settled around them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Harry’s voice brought her back to the present.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his tone gentle but curious. He tilted his head slightly, studying her face as if trying to decipher her unspoken thoughts.

“My parents,” she admitted quietly, her gaze falling to the steaming mug in her hands. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately.”

Harry’s expression softened immediately. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face before letting his hand rest on her shoulder. “We’ll find them,” he said with quiet conviction, his emerald eyes locking onto hers. “They’re safe, Hermione. And we’ll bring them back home. I promise you that.”

Hermione’s chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. Over the years, she had learned that when Harry made a promise, he kept it. There was no wavering, no hesitation—just the steadfast determination that had carried him through every trial he’d faced.

“I know,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “It’s just… hard not knowing where they are or how they’re doing.”

“I can’t imagine how you feel,” Harry admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “But I’m with you. Every step of the way.”

She nodded, allowing herself to sink into his embrace. His arms wrapped around her with the same strength and reassurance that had seen her through so many sleepless nights. For a moment, the weight of her worries seemed to lift, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible against his chest.

Harry’s lips brushed against her temple, a soft, fleeting gesture that sent a shiver down her spine. “Always,” he said simply.

The two of them sat there in silence, the fire’s gentle crackle the only sound in the room. Outside, the world moved on, but within the walls of Grimmauld Place, time seemed to stand still. Here, in this shared space, they had carved out a sanctuary—one built on trust, love, and the unbreakable bond they had forged through the years.

xxxxx

The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Grimmauld Place, casting a soft golden glow over the well-worn furniture in the living room. Harry collapsed onto the plush carpet with a heavy groan, his arms splayed out dramatically as though he’d just fought off a rampaging troll.

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” he muttered, his emerald eyes staring up at the ceiling. “He’s turned into a menace! What happened to the sweet boy that used to sit quietly with us?”

Hermione stood a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe for support. Her hair was a chaotic mess of curls, far beyond her usual bushy state, and her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of chasing Teddy around the house. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, and she looked just as exhausted as Harry felt.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” she replied, pushing stray locks out of her face. “I mean, I knew kids could be a handful, but this? This is something else entirely.”

The house was eerily quiet now, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Teddy Lupin, their godson and certified terror for the day, had finally succumbed to an afternoon nap—one of Andromeda’s strict instructions. The boy had been running around like a tornado, his Metamorphmagus abilities in full swing, shifting through various hair colors and eye shapes with each giggle and scream.

Harry sat up, his elbows digging into the carpet as he rubbed his face with both hands. “I mean, who knew a kid could have that much energy? It’s like he’s running on perpetual adrenaline. And those eyes—Merlin, he’s been running around with my eyes all day! It’s unnerving.”

Hermione smiled despite her exhaustion. “And my hair,” she added softly. “Did you notice that? Curls just like mine, but with your hair color.”

Harry groaned again, falling back onto the floor with a dramatic thud. “It’s like he’s mocking us. Like he knows exactly what we’re thinking.”

Hermione didn’t respond right away. She couldn’t. The sight of Teddy earlier, with his green eyes so vividly like Harry’s and his hair resembling her own, had sent a jolt straight through her heart. The resemblance was uncanny, almost too perfect, and it had stirred something deep within her that she wasn’t entirely sure she could ignore.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the chair as she watched Harry. He was so good with Teddy, so naturally attuned to the boy’s needs—whether it was feeding him, playing with him, or gently redirecting him when he got too rowdy. The image of Harry doting on their godson had only made that ache inside her worse, igniting an almost unbearable longing.

The thought of Harry as a father, of them as parents, sent her pulse racing. She bit her lip, trying to will away the rush of heat that coursed through her body, but it was no use.

“You okay?” Harry’s voice broke through her reverie.

She snapped her head up, startled to find him watching her. His shirt was stained with remnants of the ice cream he’d fed Teddy earlier, and he was in the process of peeling it off. Hermione’s throat went dry as he tugged the fabric over his head, revealing the taut, sun-kissed muscles of his chest.

“I—yeah, I’m fine,” she managed to stammer, her voice a little higher-pitched than usual.

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he let it slide. He crumpled the shirt in his hands, giving it a cursory glance before tossing it over the back of a chair. “I should probably take a shower,” he said casually, turning toward the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Who knows how long he’ll stay asleep? Could be a record.”

Hermione barely heard him. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of his back as he moved, the muscles shifting beneath his skin with every step. She was fanning herself discreetly now, her face aflame as every logical thought in her head dissolved into a singular, desperate yearning.

“Usually about an hour or two,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry turned back toward her, his messy black hair falling over his forehead in the way it always did when he was too distracted to fix it. He grinned, that boyish, lopsided grin that always seemed to make her heart skip a beat. “Perfect,” he said, draping his shirt over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. “I’ll take a shower, and we can actually rest for a bit. Sound good?”

Hermione nodded, unable to trust herself to speak.

But as he passed by her, something inside her snapped. She couldn’t stop the flood of images and emotions that surged to the surface—Harry with Teddy in his arms, Harry’s laughter filling the house, the thought of their future. Her hand twitched at her side, aching to reach out and grab him, to pull him back to her and—

Harry stopped abruptly on the stairs, turning back to look at her. His expression was a mix of amusement and curiosity, his eyebrow arched. “Well?”

“Well what?” she replied, feigning innocence.

Harry’s grin widened as he shook his head. “Come on, Granger. Join me in the shower.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Hermione’s breath hitched.

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Before she could second-guess herself, she was already moving, her feet carrying her toward him with a giddy determination. Harry chuckled as she caught up to him, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he took her hand and led her up the stairs.

The sound of Teddy’s quiet snores echoed faintly from the living room as the house settled into a rare moment of stillness. Upstairs, the water from the shower began to run, and laughter soon followed, filling the space with warmth and a promise of something deeper.

xxxxx

The sound of the water echoed against the tiles, steam rising to shroud the room in a haze of heat and desire. Hermione's breath hitched, her hands braced against the slick wall of the shower as Harry's fingers worked her mercilessly, each stroke drawing her closer to the edge.

"Yes! Right there, yes, please, Harry, please!" she cried out, her voice a desperate plea that echoed over the hiss of the water. Her body trembled, and a shudder of pure ecstasy ripped through her as Harry's lips found the sensitive curve of her neck. His teeth grazed her skin, sending a spark that made her gasp, her knees threatening to give out beneath her.

Harry chuckled against her nape, a deep, low sound that rumbled through her core. His hands, calloused and strong, steadied her as he held her flush against him. His body radiated heat, even under the cascade of water, and the way his muscles tensed and shifted beneath her touch made her pulse quicken.

“Merlin, Hermione,” he groaned, his voice rough with passion, “you’re too beautiful.” His words sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her veins. The raw adoration in his voice was enough to unravel her completely.

Their movements slowed, the intensity simmering into something tender yet no less electric. Harry gently kissed the spot where her neck met her shoulder, his lips lingering as if savoring her taste. He reached for the showerhead, angling it to rinse the soap and heat from their tangled bodies. Hermione, still reeling, leaned her forehead against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek.

“I wish we could continue this,” Harry murmured, regret lacing his tone as he reached for a towel. He wrapped it around her shoulders first, his touch lingering as he dried her off with care. “But I’m afraid time’s up.”

Hermione groaned, her frustration evident as she pouted. Her skin still tingled from his touch, and the abrupt end left her yearning for more. She watched as he secured a towel around his waist, the material riding low on his hips, teasing her with the tantalizing view of his toned body. Her gaze roamed over the faint red marks she’d left on his skin—scratches down his back, love bites scattered across his chest. A fierce sense of pride swelled within her at the evidence of their passion.

‘Feral,’ she thought, blushing deeply. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. If anything, the sight of him like this—disheveled, marked, and utterly hers—only stoked the embers of desire within her.

Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward, her hands slipping around his neck as she pulled him into a searing kiss. Harry froze for a moment, startled, before melting into her touch. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer, and she could feel the sharp intake of his breath as her nails lightly grazed the back of his neck.

When she finally broke the kiss, Harry was left breathless, his green eyes dark with longing as they searched hers. “What was that for?” he rasped, his voice rough and unsteady.

Hermione’s lips curved into a sly smile, her cheeks flushed but her gaze unwavering. “I want you to fuck me,” she whispered, her voice sultry and soft, yet laced with undeniable determination. “Tomorrow, after we finish our dinner at the Burrow.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, words seemingly lost to him. His hands loosened their grip on her waist as he processed her declaration. Hermione, meanwhile, took a step back, her confidence unshaken as she turned and sauntered out of the bathroom. The sway of her hips was deliberate, and she smirked when she heard Harry let out a strangled groan behind her.

“Sweet Merlin,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face as he leaned back against the shower wall. The cool tile did little to temper the heat coursing through him.

As Hermione disappeared down the hallway, Harry stood there, utterly bewitched and completely overwhelmed. The image of her, flushed and bold, was seared into his mind. He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips, nor the anticipation that coiled in his chest at what tomorrow might bring.

xxxxx

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was warm and alive with the comforting hum of domesticity. The faint crackle of the fireplace mixed with the soft clink of dishes as Hermione straightened up after dinner. Teddy, perched precariously on the edge of a chair, clutched his toy broom with an excited gleam in his eye.

"Fly with broom?" Teddy asked, holding it out towards Hermione with both hands, his hair shifting to a determined shade of green.

Hermione smiled indulgently, crouching slightly to meet his earnest gaze. "No, Teddy, it's too dark and too late to fly a broom. Maybe tomorrow? At the Burrow?" she offered, her tone gentle yet firm.

Teddy's little face scrunched up in a pout, and he stomped his foot in protest. "No! Fly with broom now!"

Hermione’s eye twitched at the display, a sharp reminder of how much Teddy had inherited from both his parents—his mother’s fierce determination and his father’s penchant for mischief. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of Harry snickering. She shot him a withering glare over her shoulder.

"Teddy," she said with practiced patience, "don't do that, sweetheart. You'll hurt yourself. I promise we can fly tomorrow. Uncle Harry can even fly with you on his big broom."

Teddy hesitated, his small fingers gripping the broomstick tighter as he considered her words. The mention of Harry’s Firebolt seemed to work its magic. He’d ridden it before during rare moments Andromeda permitted such adventures, and the memory of those thrilling flights still lingered.

"You promise?" Teddy asked, frowning slightly, his tone full of the seriousness only a child could muster.

"Yes, I promise," Hermione assured him, patting his cheek with a fond smile. "Now, let's get you up to your room so tomorrow comes faster, and you can fly immediately, okay?"

Teddy’s hair shifted to jet-black curls, his grin wide and mischievous. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, unbidden thoughts flickering to how her and Harry’s future son might look. Shaking the thought away, she watched as Harry scooped Teddy up effortlessly, the two laughing as they talked about tomorrow’s plans.

Hermione followed them upstairs, clutching the well-loved stuffed dragon Teddy had received as a gift two years ago. Despite the charm that once made the toy levitate fading long ago, it remained one of Teddy’s most treasured belongings. His tiny arms often clutched it close during sleep, and Hermione found herself smiling softly at its worn but well-loved state.

Once inside Teddy’s room, Harry tucked the boy into bed with practiced ease, brushing his hair back and planting a kiss on his forehead. Hermione settled beside them, pulling out The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"So, my sweet little boy, what story do you want to hear today?" Hermione asked, flipping through the familiar pages.

"Babbitty Rabbitty!" Teddy squealed, his voice filled with glee.

Harry groaned softly from where he stood. "Again?" he muttered, though his lips twitched in amusement.

Hermione shot him a playful glare. "Babbitty Rabbitty it is," she declared, opening the book and beginning the tale with dramatic flair.

Her voice wove the story effortlessly, and it didn’t take long for Teddy’s eyes to droop. His breathing evened out, his small body relaxed and nestled under the covers. Harry, ever the strategist, had worn him out earlier with an intense game of tag in the backyard, leaving the little boy too exhausted to protest bedtime for long.

"I can’t understand why he likes that story so much," Harry said softly as they tiptoed out of the room.

Hermione rolled her eyes, punching him lightly on the arm. "Oh, hush. You know how kids are."

"Please, at his age, I was already cleaning dishes," Harry teased with mock indignation.

"Really? Playing that card?" Hermione shot back, smirking.

"Just kidding," Harry laughed as they made their way to their room, their steps light to avoid waking Teddy.

Once inside, Harry pulled off his shirt and trousers, tossing them haphazardly onto the nearby chair. He slid under the covers in just his boxers, sighing with satisfaction. "Ah, finally."

Hermione shook her head, amused, as she shed her own trousers, leaving her in her knickers and oversized shirt. She climbed into bed beside him, snuggling closer. The warmth of his body enveloped her, and she let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked after a few moments, his voice laced with concern.

"Nothing," Hermione replied, a small giggle escaping her. "I wanted to continue what happened in the bath earlier, but I’m just too tired to move."

Harry chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Ah, you and me both. Maybe we could levitate ourselves and—"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, cutting him off with an incredulous look. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Just suggesting," he said with a cheeky grin. "Oh, speaking of that, did you know we’ve launched some... ‘adult’ products at the WWW branch in France?"

Hermione raised a brow. "What do you mean, adult products?"

Harry’s grin widened. "Toys, potions, things you use with your partner in bed—or alone, if that’s your preference." He paused for dramatic effect. "Fleur’s Veela cousins had blueprints they’d been sitting on for years, and George was the only one bold enough to make them. I’m expecting some samples tomorrow, so... you know." He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Might be fun to try them out."

Hermione froze for a moment, her cheeks flushing crimson. "As much as I find it really sexy that you’re excited about tomorrow, we need to sleep. We’ve got a long day at the Burrow, and we still haven’t told them about us so we need to behave."

Harry smirked, his eyes darkening playfully. "I can’t promise anything. If I find you alone in a room, I’ll—"

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione gasped as he nibbled her ear, her mind momentarily blanking.

Her gasp turned into a laugh as he pulled back, his grin utterly unapologetic. She slapped his chest lightly, shaking her head. "Enough! We really need to sleep!"

"Okay, okay," Harry said, his grin softening. He leaned in, brushing a tender kiss across her cheek. "Good night, Hermione. I love you."

"I love you too, Harry," she whispered, smiling as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. With the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, she drifted off, her dreams filled with warmth, laughter, and the promise of tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the curtains of Grimmauld Place, casting a soft glow over the polished wooden floors and the faintly worn furniture. The house had changed so much since Harry had inherited it—gone were the dreary shadows and the overbearing sense of gloom. Now, it was warm, lived-in, and filled with the kind of love and laughter that seemed impossible during the war.

In the sitting room, Hermione Granger knelt before a small boy with untamable turquoise hair and an impish grin that, at the moment, was hidden behind a pointed scowl.

"Now, Teddy, we’re going via Apparition. You know what that is, right?" Hermione asked, tugging lightly at the black sweater Teddy was wearing. The outfit was simple but coordinated, the vibrant green collar of his shirt peeking out to match the green trainers on his feet.

Teddy nodded, his scowl deepening as he glanced at Harry Potter, who stood beside him, similarly dressed in a black sweater, a green shirt, and matching trainers. Both were clad in outfits that Hermione had carefully picked out.

Hermione bit back a grin, surveying her boys with satisfaction. Despite their identical expressions of sleepy indignation—courtesy of the early morning wake-up call—there was something undeniably endearing about them. She pulled a camera from her bag, her eyes glinting mischievously.

"Alright, look this way, you two," she said, raising the camera.

Their scowls darkened in unison, Teddy crossing his arms while Harry raised an eyebrow.

"If you don’t smile," Hermione warned with a mock-serious tone, "I’ll ban you both from flying on the big broom when we get to the Burrow."

That got their attention. Teddy’s mouth dropped open in outrage, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her, clearly weighing the likelihood of her following through. Finally, they exchanged a look, a silent conspiracy passing between them, and turned to face the camera with matching, exaggeratedly wide, fake smiles.

Hermione snapped the picture, laughing softly as she lowered the camera. "There we go! That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Harry scooped Teddy into his arms with practiced ease, the boy giggling as Harry muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms and fixing them with a knowing look.

"Nothing, Aunt Hermione," they chorused sweetly, their innocent expressions betrayed by the mischievous glint in their eyes.

Hermione sighed dramatically. "Cheeky brats, the both of you."

Harry leaned in, brushing a kiss against her temple before adjusting Teddy’s weight in his arms.

"Alright, Harry," Hermione said, her tone softening as she reached up to straighten his collar. "Please be careful while Apparating. I’ll see you both there, okay?"

Harry nodded, and Hermione planted a quick kiss on his cheek before pressing another to Teddy’s. The little boy giggled, his turquoise hair shifting to a cheerful yellow as he grinned.

With a faint pop, they were gone.

The house felt suddenly quiet, though not unpleasantly so. Hermione lingered for a moment, her gaze drifting to the spot where they’d been. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she placed the camera back into her beaded handbag.

She picked up the neatly wrapped gifts for Ron and Susan, her mind wandering to the day’s celebration. Susan’s pregnancy was a joyful milestone, and the upcoming wedding preparations were sure to fill the Burrow with even more of the Weasley family’s characteristic chaos.

Pausing by the mirror in the hallway, Hermione gave herself a once-over. Her reflection stared back, her hair neatly braided and her violet sweater fitting snugly over her black shirt. The matching slacks clung to her figure just enough to be flattering, though she’d already had to fend off Harry’s wandering hands more than once that morning.

Her cheeks warmed at the memory of his teasing smirk as he’d wrapped his arms around her waist while she was brushing her teeth. "You can’t wear these if you don’t want me touching," he’d murmured, his lips grazing her ear.

"Behave, Harry," she’d scolded half-heartedly, though her laughter had betrayed her lack of conviction.

Now, as she checked her reflection for any lingering signs of his earlier attention, she was relieved to find her neck and collarbone free of marks. Harry had been uncharacteristically restrained, though she suspected it had more to do with Teddy’s presence than his self-control.

She adjusted her sweater, smoothing the fabric over her hips before slipping on a pair of comfortable flats. Heels were impractical for a day at the Burrow, especially when there was Teddy to chase after and dishes to carry.

With one last glance at her reflection, she picked up the gifts and turned on the spot, the familiar tug of Apparition pulling her away from Grimmauld Place.

xxxxx

The morning sun filtered gently through the sparse clouds, bathing the Burrow in a golden light that made the slightly crooked house seem all the more homely. Hermione apparated a few good steps from the front yard, taking a moment to breathe in the crisp country air before turning toward the house. She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight that greeted her: Harry standing a few feet away with a solid grip on Teddy’s small hand. Teddy, practically vibrating with excitement, was clearly ready to run straight to the Burrow. Harry, on the other hand, was visibly trying to calm the young boy’s eagerness, though his own fond impatience was barely hidden behind a smile tugging at his lips.

“Alright, alright, we’re going,” Hermione said, slipping her hand into Teddy's free one as they began walking toward the house.

As soon as they stepped through the front door, a wave of fiery red hair and bright smiles turned toward them. Every Weasley in the living room broke into welcoming grins, and before Hermione could blink, Molly Weasley had them all swept into one of her signature engulfing hugs. The scent of fresh-baked bread and lavender from her apron was both nostalgic and comforting.

“Come in, come in!” Molly said warmly, releasing them with a final pat on Harry’s cheek. “Oh, you’re so early! Have you lot had breakfast yet?”

“I want cereals!” Teddy piped up, his small voice cutting through the morning chatter.

“Oh, Teddy,” Fleur’s familiar voice floated over as she entered the room. Her ever-thick French accent brought a touch of charm, though the family barely noticed it after so many years. She swept toward Teddy with a dazzling smile, her silvery hair catching the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows. “Come here, mon petit. We ‘ave cereals ready for you.”

Without hesitation, Teddy bolted toward Fleur, who scooped him up easily. Bill followed close behind, a mischievous grin on his face as he playfully poked Teddy’s cheek, causing the boy to giggle and squirm in Fleur’s arms.

Harry watched the scene with quiet curiosity, and Molly leaned toward him and Hermione with a knowing smile. “They’ve been trying for a while now,” she confided in a low voice, gesturing toward Bill and Fleur. “Things are finally slowing down at work for both of them.” Her expression softened, and she added, “I honestly can’t believe my Ron managed to be the first one to have a child in the family.”

Harry smirked at that. “Well, you know how Ron is, Molly.”

Hermione swatted his arm sharply, her face heating in embarrassment. “Harry!” she hissed, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

“I heard that!” Ron’s voice rang out from across the room as he made his way over. His mock scowl disappeared as he reached them, pulling Hermione into a quick hug and planting a kiss on her cheek before shoving Harry lightly on the shoulder. “You arsehole,” he muttered, though his tone was filled with affection.

“Language, Ronald!” Molly called from the kitchen, her disapproving tone carrying over the laughter that erupted from the group.

The trio chuckled as Susan Bones joined them, her auburn hair catching the light. Hermione immediately handed over the carefully wrapped gifts she’d brought, her face lighting up as Ron and Susan unwrapped them with excited curiosity.

The group migrated to the living room, where George and Ginny joined them. The space was warm and inviting, filled with mismatched furniture and an eclectic array of magical decorations that made the Burrow feel so distinctly Weasley.

“What have you got for me?” Ron asked eagerly, already tearing into his gifts.

Hermione had given him a practical yet heartfelt book titled A Beginner’s Guide to Fatherhood. The moment Ron held it up for everyone to see, Harry and George burst into laughter.

“Oh, come on, Hermione!” George teased. “You’re not even going to give him a chance to wing it?”

Ron’s ears turned red, but he managed a sheepish grin as he mumbled his thanks. When he unwrapped Harry’s gift, he was greeted with a small golden snitch replica.

“It’s a keychain?” Ron asked, raising a brow.

“Neat, isn’t it?” Harry replied, his grin growing smug.

Ron turned the tiny snitch over in his hand, visibly skeptical. “This is it?”

“Not quite,” Harry said, fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a small brass key and placed it into Ron’s free hand. “This is the real gift.”

“What’s this?” Ron asked, holding the key up as though it were cursed.

“That,” Harry said with a grin, “is the key to a two-bedroom house near Godric’s Hollow. It’s got a nice backyard—perfect for the kid to run around in. Consider it an early wedding gift and a birthday present for your little one.”

Ron stared at the key as though it had just declared itself the secret to the universe and immediately dropped it. “Harry. It’s a house! A freaking house! It’s not like a chocolate frog you can just give out!”

“Oh, calm down, Ron,” Harry said, casually leaning back in his seat. “That house has been in my family for ages, and I recently came upon it with the help of the goblins. Believe me, I really don’t have any use for it at the moment. The house is next to another house my family also owned, which I plan on moving into once it’s repaired.”

Harry smirked, clearly enjoying the gobsmacked look on Ron’s face. “We’re going to be neighbors, Ron.”

Ron spluttered incoherently for a moment before blurting out, “Neighbors?! Harry, that’s not— Hermione, tell him that’s mental!”

Hermione sighed, clearly exasperated. “Ronald, calm down. I’ve checked Harry’s inheritance from both families.” She crossed her arms and gave Ron a pointed look. “Harry has seven houses inherited from the Black family—Grimmauld Place is one of them. And then another five properties from the Potter family. Harry here wanted to basically lock down all the properties, not wanting to use them, but these two specific houses are next to one another. In one of his dad’s old letters to Lily, James wrote about wanting to give one house to Remus and another to Sirius, so they could live near their home and visit Harry anytime they wanted.”

Harry smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, it never came to fruition.” His gaze softened as he placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Ron, you’re my best friend. And I want to do the same thing my father wanted to do for his best friends. Have a place where we could always run to one another. The same thing we three usually did as kids.”

He looked up at Molly and Arthur, his voice filled with warmth. “Although, of course, Sunday dinners would always be here at the Burrow.”

Molly smiled at that, tears streaming freely down her cheeks as she clasped her hands together.

Harry placed the key back in Ron’s hands with a reassuring squeeze. “This isn’t charity, and you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But I plan on moving to the house next to it soon...” He glanced at Hermione, who was smiling warmly at him.

“And besides,” Harry added with a mischievous grin, “technically, this isn’t just a gift to you. It’s for Susan too. And my godson…” He arched a brow at Ron. “Wait, I am the godfather, right? Because if not, I’m taking this house back.”

Ron’s ears turned bright red as Susan stifled a laugh, her hand flying to her mouth. “Of course, you’re the godfather,” Ron grumbled, glaring at Harry. “You bloody git.”

Harry laughed and pulled Ron into a firm hug, clapping him on the back as the room erupted into cheers.

xxxxx

The sun filtered through the Burrow’s cheerful windows, bathing the cozy kitchen in golden light. Morning chatter had long since filled the house, but it had now settled into a pleasant buzz. The group had congregated in small clusters, their laughter punctuated by the occasional clatter of cups and dishes. Ron’s hesitance about the house had been short-lived, disappearing the moment Susan’s excited suggestion to go furniture hunting took hold.

Now, Ron was practically glowing with enthusiasm, grinning ear to ear as he talked animatedly with Harry. His gestures grew wilder with every sentence, his excitement contagious as he elaborated on ideas for their shared homes.

“We’ll have to make the backyard bigger,” Ron declared, his voice rising with each idea. “Quidditch goals here, maybe some bleachers if we’ve got space…”

Hermione and Susan had tactfully retreated when the conversation had turned to backyard remodeling. The moment the boys started conspiring about breaking down the fence to connect their properties, Susan had given Hermione a look, and the two women had slipped away to the kitchen.

“Honestly, can you believe those two?” Susan asked, shaking her head as she pulled out a chair. “As if I’d ever let Ron turn the backyard into a Quidditch pitch.”

Hermione sighed, setting down a bottle of wine and grabbing glasses. “You and me both. Harry’s been trying to pitch the same idea for the attic at Grimmauld Place. He thinks Teddy needs ‘proper practice space.’”

Susan snorted, reaching for the pumpkin juice instead. “Oh, so it’s official, then? You’re moving into the new place with Harry?”

Hermione froze, her hand hovering over her glass. A blush crept up her neck as she fumbled for an answer. “W-We talked about it,” she admitted, her voice faltering slightly. “And, well… yeah, I guess. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go. Grimmauld Place is...” She trailed off, her cheeks deepening in color. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to live there alone.”

Susan’s smile turned sly. “Practical, is it?”

Before Hermione could respond, the kitchen door swung open, and Ginny entered, followed by Luna, Daphne, Hannah, and Lavender. The room seemed to brighten instantly, the easy camaraderie between them filling the space.

“What are we talking about?” Ginny asked, her sharp eyes flicking between Hermione and Susan. “You look guilty.”

Susan hesitated, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find an answer. Before she could come up with anything, Daphne cut in smoothly, her face lighting up with excitement. “Susan, congratulations on the baby!”

The conversation shifted, everyone chiming in with their congratulations and excitement. Hermione relaxed slightly, hoping the moment had passed unnoticed.

But Ginny was nothing if not persistent. “Right, but what were you talking about?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at Hermione.

Hermione’s mind raced. “Oh! Uh—well, I was just saying that I’m planning to take my Mastery exams for Potions at the end of the year,” she blurted. “Hopefully, by next year, I’ll be certified.”

Susan blinked, her surprise barely concealed. Whether Hermione’s announcement was true or not, it was a brilliant deflection. The others immediately launched into congratulations, the conversation seamlessly shifting to Hermione’s future plans.

Lavender leaned forward eagerly. “Please tell me, Hermione, if you open an apothecary, it won’t be dark and dusty like Knockturn Alley.”

Hermione chuckled, the tension easing out of her shoulders. “I promise. Though I don’t know if opening an apothecary is in the cards just yet. It feels... ambitious. There’s so much to consider—staff, suppliers, ingredients…” She trailed off, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone.

The conversation carried on, filled with laughter and suggestions, until the kitchen door creaked open again. Harry stepped inside, his presence commanding attention without effort.

“Morning, ladies,” he greeted, his grin easy and lopsided as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Harry!” Lavender’s voice rang out cheerfully. “You look fantastic!”

Harry chuckled, glancing down at his outfit. “Thanks. Hermione dragged me to a Muggle shop the other day. Apparently, I needed an update on my wardrobe. Teddy and I are matching today—he’s pretty proud of that.”

As he approached the table, Luna rose on her toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Harry’s grin widened, and a glint of mischief sparked in his eyes.

"How are you, Harry?" Luna asked.

“Oh, I’m doing great, Lovegood,” he said, his tone playful. In one swift motion, he wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her into a gentle headlock. Luna gasped, laughing as she swatted at his arm.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled.

The other women stared in stunned silence as Harry turned to them with a casual smile. “You girls don’t mind if I borrow her for a bit, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, Luna let out a whimper as Harry practically dragged the poor girl away.

“What was that about?” Susan asked, her eyes wide as she turned to Hermione.

Hermione shrugged, though her heart was racing. “They’ve been working on something for Hogwarts,” she said, her voice carefully casual. “Luna probably did something wrong somehow.”

Daphne leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You think they’ll get back together?”

Lavender gasped dramatically. “Oh, Merlin! Could you imagine? The tension—did you see how he dragged her out?”

Ginny smirked, leaning back in her chair. “That headlock was... intense,” she said, her tone teasing.

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed, her face flaming. “Stop it!”

But the teasing only grew worse, and Hermione finally fled, their laughter ringing in her ears. She stormed up the stairs to Ginny’s room, her cheeks still burning as she threw herself onto the bed.

Her face buried in the pillow, she let out a muffled scream, her feet kicking in frustration. The memory of Harry’s easy smile and strong arms played on an endless loop in her mind.

“They’re mad,” she muttered to herself, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. But even as she tried to banish the thought, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.

'What if it were me?'

xxxxx

The warmth of the Burrow in the afternoon was a stark contrast to the tension Hermione felt tightening in her chest. The sun slanted in golden streaks across the room, illuminating the rustic wooden walls and cluttered shelves adorned with bits of Weasley family history. She knew Harry must’ve dragged Luna off to discuss their... unique relationship from their school days, and the thought set her mind racing.

Harry was notoriously protective of his privacy. He couldn’t have been thrilled that their close-knit group of friends now seemed privy to the details. Hermione sighed, brushing her hands over her skirt to smooth nonexistent wrinkles as she tried to shake the worry from her thoughts.

When she reentered the living room, her gaze immediately landed on Luna, seated beside Harry with an expression that could only be described as heartbreakingly pitiful. Her bright eyes were downcast, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her robe as if she were a scolded child. Hermione’s heart clenched; she had never seen Luna like this.

Harry, on the other hand, looked distracted. He was poring over a parchment with a deep furrow in his brow, the corners of his mouth pulled into a slight frown. At Hermione’s approach, he startled, quickly folding the parchment and tucking it into his pocket with a level of discretion that piqued her curiosity.

“There you are,” Harry said with a laugh, though it sounded a touch forced. He stood, brushing his hands on his trousers. “I was about to come find you. Care for some lunch? The others went outside for a bit. Fleur and Bill took Teddy with them to get him some toys.”

“Sure,” Hermione said, her smile faltering as her eyes flicked back to Luna, who still looked like a kicked puppy. Harry followed her gaze and rolled his eyes, a subtle but telling reaction that made Hermione’s shoulders stiffen.

“Luna, care to join us?” she asked gently, ignoring the sharp glance Harry threw her way.

Luna hesitated, her fidgeting growing more pronounced, taking a peek at Harry. Finally, he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Join us, Luna,” he said, his voice softer this time, though exasperation lingered on the edges. He turned and made his way toward the kitchen, leaving Hermione to guide a reluctant Luna to the table.

Lunch was a subdued affair. Harry’s friends chatted animatedly, but the tension between him and Luna was palpable. Luna barely touched her food, pushing it around on her plate as if the act alone required all her concentration. Hermione kept sneaking glances at her, trying to decipher what had transpired. Whatever Harry had said to her had clearly struck a nerve.

When lunch ended and Fleur and Bill returned with Teddy in tow, Harry immediately swept the young boy into his arms and carried him outside, leaving Hermione alone with Luna. Sensing her chance, Hermione nudged Luna toward Ginny’s old bedroom, the coziest spot in the house for a private chat.

“Luna, what’s wrong? Did Harry scold you? What did he say?” Hermione asked the moment the door closed behind them.

Luna sank onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumping. Her usual dreamy expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, her pale blue eyes brimmed with unshed tears she stubbornly refused to let fall.

Hermione’s chest tightened. She had seen Luna endure horrors—capture, torture, and loss—without shedding a single tear. Seeing her so close to breaking now was both shocking and deeply unsettling.

“Oh, Luna,” Hermione murmured, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I only asked Harry because I was curious—I had no idea he’d get angry with you.”

Luna stiffened in her embrace and pulled back, her voice trembling. “Harry knows I told you about us?”

“Isn’t that why he dragged you away?” Hermione asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

“No!” Luna’s voice wavered, her cheeks flushing with distress. “I made a mess at work today.” She sank her face into her hands, letting out a muffled groan. “I was supposed to order ten new Self-Inking Quills for the Hogwarts Weekly publication. And, well... I also bought eight new cameras for the students.”

Hermione tilted her head, her confusion deepening. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Luna peeked up through her fingers, her eyes filled with shame. “I made a mistake. I ordered one hundred new cameras and only eight quills.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You what?!”

“I know!” Luna wailed. “Harry found out because Gringotts sent him a letter. 2,230 Galleons were withdrawn from the vault he set up for the publication. That was supposed to cover their budget for the next three school years!”

Hermione collapsed onto the bed beside Luna, her hand pressed to her forehead. “Can’t you return them? Explain the mistake?”

Luna shook her head miserably. “Harry already sent a letter. No refunds. Professor McGonagall even had one of the classrooms filled with the cameras. There’s no undoing it now.”

Hermione groaned. “And Harry was upset?”

Luna nodded, her lip quivering. “He said he wasn’t angry, but... he was disappointed. He looked at me like I’d let him down, and it hurt, Hermione. It really hurt.”

Hermione reached out and gave Luna’s knee a reassuring squeeze. “Harry doesn’t stay disappointed for long. You know how he is—he’ll forgive you in no time.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore?” Luna whispered, her voice trembling with an uncharacteristic fragility. Her silvery eyes, usually filled with serene confidence or far-off musings, now glistened with unshed tears. “He was my first friend, Hermione. I betrayed his trust. He’ll think all that Lovegoods do is betray the people around them.”

Hermione’s heart clenched at Luna’s words. The vulnerable cadence of her voice was a stark reminder of how much Luna carried beneath her whimsical exterior. Hermione reached forward, her hands wrapping firmly around Luna’s trembling ones. “Harry doesn’t think that!” she said, her tone forceful but laced with earnest warmth. “Luna, you know it was Harry who fought tooth and nail to keep the Ministry from sentencing Xeno, don’t you? He barely slept for days trying to overturn their decision. And when he couldn’t stop it entirely, he pushed for the sentence to be reduced to just one month.”

Luna blinked rapidly, tears shimmering on the edges of her lashes. Her lips quivered, but she said nothing, so Hermione pressed on, her voice softening. “Harry was livid when they wouldn’t listen to him. You didn’t see him, Luna, but he was... devastated. He said your father did the right thing—risked everything to warn people. He respects Xeno, even after all of it. And he loves you. He’d do anything to protect his ‘little girl.’”

At Hermione’s words, a shadow passed over Luna’s delicate features. Her shoulders stiffened, and she glanced away, her eyes focusing on the worn floorboards as if searching for answers within the grain. Hermione recognized that look. It was the same one Luna wore whenever Xeno’s name was mentioned—a mixture of hurt and defiance.

Hermione exhaled softly, a pang of understanding threading through her chest. Luna had barely spoken of her father since the war’s end. Hermione knew that, despite Harry’s and her own reassurances, Luna had steadfastly refused to return home. Instead, she had thrown herself into independence, moving into a modest flat almost immediately after Hogwarts. She had taken on a patchwork of odd jobs to pay her rent before finally settling into being the person in charge with Hogwarts Weekly.

Harry, ever the protector, had quietly supported her through it all—offering her opportunities to help with Grimmauld Place’s renovations and ensuring she had a steady income. But none of their efforts seemed to soften Luna’s resolve. To her, Xeno’s actions during the war had been an unpardonable betrayal, and she wasn’t ready to rebuild those bridges.

“I just don’t want Harry to be disappointed with me,” Luna admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She fiddled with the hem of her robes, her usually graceful fingers now restless with nervous energy. “I finally found something worth doing, Hermione. Supporting the students with my knowledge of publishing and editing—it’s fulfilling in ways I never expected. And the very first time I’m responsible for Harry’s money, I mess it all up.”

Hermione’s heart ached for her friend. She reached out, pulling Luna into a firm hug. “We’ll find a way to fix this,” she promised, her voice steady and comforting. “You’re not alone in this, Luna. I’ll help you figure it out, and if it comes to it, I’ll even talk to Harry for you.”

For a moment, Luna resisted, her frame taut with guilt and uncertainty. But then she exhaled, a shaky sound that broke Hermione’s heart all over again, and melted into the embrace. Hermione ran her fingers soothingly through Luna’s pale blonde hair, brushing it away from her face. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to make mistakes, you know.”

Luna sniffed, a soft sound that seemed impossibly fragile coming from her. She stayed nestled in Hermione’s arms for a moment longer before finally pulling back, her cheeks slightly pink and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Hermione?”

“Yeah?” Hermione asked gently, still keeping one hand on Luna’s shoulder for reassurance.

“Are you and Harry in a relationship?”

Hermione stiffened, her cheeks heating.

“So you are,” Luna said, her voice light and teasing. “I’m happy for you. I hope it isn’t strange, considering Harry and I used to...”

“Oh, Merlin, no!” Hermione stammered, her face now burning. “We’ve talked about it. It doesn’t bother me. Besides, I was with Ron back then. We’ve all moved on.”

Luna smiled knowingly. “I’m glad. You make him glow, Hermione.”

Hermione blinked. “Glow?”

“Yes,” Luna said dreamily. “There’s a certain light in his eyes, a warmth to his presence when he’s... well... let’s say, happy and well cared for.”

“Luna!” Hermione squeaked, her mortification complete.

Luna simply giggled, her earlier distress forgotten. “It’s true, Hermione. You’ll see.”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands.

xxxxx

The sky above the Burrow was a brilliant, cloudless blue, the kind that begged for the freedom of flight. Harry soared effortlessly on his Firebolt, the wind tugging at his unruly black hair. Teddy sat snugly in front of him, a delighted grin stretched across his small face. The sticking charm Harry had cast ensured his godson was secure, and a safety belt connected the boy to him, just in case. Still, Teddy gripped the broom handle tightly, his small hands clutching the wood with an endearing mix of determination and trust.

“Faster, Uncle Harry!” Teddy squealed, his hair shifting to a vibrant electric blue as his excitement grew.

Harry chuckled, tightening his grip on the broom. “Hold on tight, little man!” he called over the rushing wind. He dipped into a sharp turn, his body tilting effortlessly, and Teddy shrieked with laughter. They zipped through the open air, weaving past the crooked chimneys of the Burrow, where smoke lazily drifted upward from Molly’s bustling kitchen.

Emboldened by Teddy’s enthusiasm, Harry decided to show off a bit more. He tilted the broom into a wide loop, soaring upward before flipping them upside down. Teddy threw his hands into the air as if he were on a rollercoaster. For a moment, it felt like they were suspended in time, weightless and free, until—

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!”

The shrill cry pierced the tranquility of the afternoon like a hex. Harry flinched instinctively, almost losing control of the broom, and Teddy’s blue hair turned a muted gray as he twisted around to peer nervously downward.

“Oh, crap,” Harry muttered under his breath. He cautiously guided the broom into a slow descent, his heart sinking as he caught sight of Hermione standing below with her hands on her hips. Her hair, wild and frizzed from the summer humidity, looked even more untamed in her fury. Ron and Susan stood nearby, Ron smirking in amusement while Susan covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

As Harry touched down, he positioned himself a safe distance—about six feet—from Hermione’s wrathful glare. He quickly removed the sticking charm and unfastened the safety belt, lifting Teddy into his arms as if the boy were a shield.

Teddy, sensing the tension, immediately tried to diffuse it in the only way he knew how—by changing his hair to match Hermione’s frizzy brown curls and wide, disapproving eyes. He climbed down from his godfather. 

“Think she’ll go easy on us?” Harry whispered, his lips twitching in an attempt to hold back a grin.

Teddy didn’t reply, but the slight tremor in his bottom lip was answer enough.

“In my defense,” Harry began, mustering his most charming smile, “we were both left unsupervised.”

Hermione’s wand was in her hand before he could blink, and he yelped, taking a step back. She didn’t hex him—not yet—but the glint in her eyes promised she was weighing her options.

“Teddy,” Hermione said sweetly, crouching to his level and ignoring Harry entirely, “did you have fun up there?”

“Yeah! Uncle Harry went upside down!” Teddy exclaimed, his hair flashing back to blue as his enthusiasm got the better of him. “And then we—”

“Why don’t you go tell Susan all about it?” Hermione interrupted, straightening his wind-rumpled clothes with a practiced hand. Teddy hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly at Harry, but Hermione’s gentle smile nudged him forward.

Once Teddy disappeared into the kitchen with Susan, Hermione’s expression shifted. Her warmth evaporated, replaced by the storm brewing in her eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she hissed, each word dripping with venom. Even Ron flinched, taking a half-step away from the line of fire.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought—”

“You thought?” Hermione cut him off. “You thought it would be fine to fly around like a reckless lunatic with our godson strapped to a broom? Upside down, Harry? Upside down?”

“To be fair,” Harry began, holding his broom in front of him like a makeshift shield, “I cast a sticking charm and used a safety belt—”

“Oh, brilliant!” Hermione snapped, her voice rising. “You stuck our godson on a broom—a broom!—with you, who has an uncanny ability to attract danger like a magnet. And then you decided to go upside down?”

Harry winced, sensing he was losing ground fast. “We were at the Burrow, Hermione. What’s the worst that could—”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Hermione interrupted, her voice incredulous. “You’re Harry Potter. ‘The worst’ tends to follow you everywhere you go!”

Ron, who had been watching the exchange like it was the best show he’d seen in weeks, finally decided to chime in. “Is this your idea of foreplay, or should I leave and come back when you’re done?”

“Shut it, Ron,” Hermione snapped, though her lips twitched, betraying the beginnings of a smirk.

Harry exhaled heavily, running a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “Look,” he said, his tone softening, “I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have gone upside down with Teddy. But, Hermione, you know I’d never put him in danger. I’d die before I let anything happen to that kid.”

Hermione’s gaze softened slightly, though her arms remained crossed. For a moment, they stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like electricity in the summer air.

Finally, she sighed, pocketing her wand. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and stepped closer. Before Hermione could launch into another scolding, he closed the gap between them and kissed her.

Her muffled protest was brief, and though she gave his chest a half-hearted shove, it only made him deepen the kiss. She melted into him despite herself, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Ron groaned, his face contorting in mock disgust. “Not in front of me, you two!”

They broke apart, both grinning, and laughed at Ron’s theatrical shudder.

“You two snogging in front of me is becoming a recurring theme,” Ron muttered, shaking his head. “I mean, seriously, have some decency!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk. How many times did we have to endure you and Lavender turning the common room into your personal kissing booth?”

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron snapped, his ears turning crimson as he stalked toward the kitchen.

Harry turned back to Hermione, his grin softening into something more tender. “Am I forgiven?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Hermione sighed dramatically. “No.”

“Well, then. I better work hard making it up to you later when we go home.”

xxxxx

Dinner at the Burrow had been its usual lively affair. The dining table groaned under the weight of Molly Weasley's cooking, laden with steaming bowls of stew, freshly baked bread, and platters of roasted vegetables and meat. Everyone praised Molly's culinary brilliance, and Harry was no exception, though his focus was often divided.

Beneath the table, his hand wandered to Hermione’s thigh. She gave him a sharp glance, a warning in her eyes, but he only grinned mischievously, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as if daring her to call him out in front of everyone.

Her response was swift but subtle, swatting his hand away with a prim efficiency that betrayed none of her growing frustration. 'Not here, not now.' Still, his hand would find its way back every so often, and her silent rebukes became progressively sharper until he finally relented, though the smirk on his face told her he was far from finished.

The evening unfolded as it often did at the Burrow. Teddy had long since gone home with Andromeda, leaving the adults to chat and enjoy the cooler night air outside. The group had split into smaller gatherings: George entertaining Ginny and Bill in the kitchen with one of his more outrageous stories while Harry, Hermione, Ron, Susan, Molly, and Arthur sat in mismatched chairs on the back lawn.

The garden was a soft hum of life, fireflies winking in the bushes, the occasional flutter of gnomes rustling through the hedges, and the distant croak of frogs near the pond. Overhead, the stars began to emerge, dotting the velvet sky.

“So, Hermione,” Molly began, her tone chipper as she set down her teacup, the warm porcelain clicking softly against the saucer. “Are you busy next Thursday?”

Hermione, mid-sip of her own tea, froze. The question had been delivered with all the sweetness of sugar, but she felt the trap closing before Molly had even finished. A quick glance toward Harry confirmed her suspicion. His posture stiffened, though his face remained impassive.

Molly, of course, didn’t notice—or chose not to. “Andromeda mentioned you’ve got the day off, and I thought it would be the perfect chance to introduce you to a lovely young man I know! He’s a Muggleborn, works at the Ministry, and is quite handsome!”

The tension radiating from Harry was palpable, and Hermione could almost hear the gears grinding in his head. He remained silent, though his jaw tightened imperceptibly.

“Oh, Molly, you don’t have to go through the trouble,” Hermione said, her voice light but edged with nerves. “I don’t think I’m very good at blind dates.”

“Nonsense, dear!” Molly waved a hand dismissively, her enthusiasm undeterred. “This one’s perfect for you! Tall, used to play Quidditch at Ilvermorny, and he graduated top of his class. You two would get along wonderfully!”

Hermione suppressed the urge to groan, though she couldn’t help but glance at Harry again. His lips pressed into a thin line, and though he didn’t speak, his green eyes practically burned with restrained irritation. She knew that look well—he was calculating, deciding whether it was worth intervening or letting the charade play out.

Arthur, oblivious to the tension, turned to Harry with a hearty chuckle. “Don’t worry, son! I’ve got someone in mind for you, too. A charming young lady from a good family. Works in magical research, I believe.”

Harry choked slightly on his drink, the unexpected suggestion catching him off guard. Across from him, Ron shifted uncomfortably, while Susan pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“You two spend too much time holed up work and in that house,” Molly added, looking between them fondly. “It’s not healthy! Look at Ron and Susan—they’re engaged and expecting their first child! You two should get out and meet people.”

Hermione’s grip on her teacup tightened, the porcelain suddenly feeling fragile in her hands. Beside her, Harry was equally tense, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the armrest of his chair.

But they had agreed—no one could know. Not yet.

With a steadying breath, Hermione forced a polite smile. “Of course, Molly. If you think it’s a good idea, I’d be happy to meet him.”

It was as though all the air had been sucked from Harry’s lungs. Still, he nodded curtly when Arthur looked at him expectantly. “Sure. If you think she’s a good match, I’m game.”

Molly and Arthur beamed, clearly pleased with their matchmaking efforts, and launched into descriptions of their chosen candidates. Harry and Hermione exchanged fleeting glances, their masks of polite interest firmly in place as they endured the unwelcome discussion.

Off to the side, Susan leaned toward Ron, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Why don’t they just tell them?”

Ron sighed, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement. “They like their secrets, I reckon. It’s not our business.”

“But accepting blind dates? Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Probably,” Ron admitted, shrugging. “But give it time. One of these days, they’ll get so annoyed they’ll just blurt it out.”

Susan bit her lip to keep from laughing as her gaze returned to Harry and Hermione, who were nodding along as Molly outlined the supposed virtues of their respective dates. Both looked uncomfortable, yet utterly committed to maintaining the ruse.

Across the table, Harry’s hand brushed lightly against Hermione’s beneath the cover of the tablecloth—a brief, wordless reassurance. Her fingers curled slightly, acknowledging the gesture before pulling away.

For now, the charade would continue. But as Molly and Arthur’s chatter filled the evening air, the unspoken tension between Harry and Hermione simmered just beneath the surface, a secret only they and the stars above could understand.

Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione arrived with a soft pop in the dimly lit foyer of Grimmauld Place. The oppressive silence of the ancient house wrapped around them as they both instinctively paused, standing side by side. Without exchanging a word, Harry turned toward the kitchen, his shoulders tense, and Hermione made her way upstairs, her steps measured and deliberate.

The creaking of the stairs under her feet echoed faintly, a reminder of the old house's haunting presence. Once in the sanctuary of her room, Hermione exhaled sharply, leaning momentarily against the door. Her mind was a swirling storm—anger, frustration, and that stubborn undercurrent of affection all tangled together. She yanked open her wardrobe, finding solace in the soft fabric of Harry’s old Quidditch jersey, the familiar scent of him clinging faintly to it. Pulling on a pair of worn sweatpants, she ran a hand through her hair, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts.

Half an hour later, Hermione descended back to the living room, her expression guarded. Harry was already there, standing near the coffee table. The bottle of vodka gleamed dully in the firelight, the two glasses beside it a silent invitation—or perhaps a challenge. He turned as she entered, his green eyes meeting hers, unreadable but darkened with tension. He took in her appearance, the jersey he recognized as his hanging loosely on her, and for a fleeting moment, his jaw tightened.

Hermione settled onto the couch, her movements deliberately calm, though her scowl was impossible to miss. She didn’t say a word, her silence heavier than any outburst could have been.

Harry followed her lead, his gaze flicking between her and the bottle. Finally, he broke the quiet. "Don't tell me you're angry with me, Hermione," he said, his voice low but edged with weariness.

"Oh, I’m not angry," Hermione replied coolly, her tone biting in its contradiction.

Harry’s brow furrowed, irritation sparking in his expression. "What? Is it because I’m going on that blind date? You accepted first," he snapped, his voice rising despite himself.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, her glare piercing. "Because you didn’t say anything," she retorted, her tone sharpening like a blade.

"I didn’t say anything because we both agreed not to tell anyone about our relationship yet!" Harry shot back, his frustration spilling over. His voice was louder now, reverberating in the stillness of the room. Realizing this, he closed his eyes briefly and dragged a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, though the tension remained. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be shouting at you. But you have to understand—I’m irritated too. This isn’t exactly easy for me either."

Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line as she struggled to hold back her own retort. Instead, she reached for the bottle, pouring a shot for each of them with steady hands. Without meeting his gaze, she spoke curtly. "Drink."

Harry hesitated before sinking into the space beside her, the distance between them palpable. He picked up his glass and downed the vodka in one swift motion, the burn a welcome distraction. Hermione didn’t wait for him to catch up, tossing back her own drink and promptly pouring another. She drank again before he could say a word, her movements brisk and precise.

The silence between them grew heavier with each passing second. Finally, Harry spoke, his voice breaking through the strained quiet. "So, what do we do now?" he asked, his tone resigned but edged with something deeper—something vulnerable.

"What?" Hermione shot back, her anger flaring again. "Obviously, we need to go to those stupid dates with those stupid people suggested by—"

"Okay, calm down," Harry interrupted, his exasperation clear. He reached for the bottle, pouring them both another shot. As he drank, he couldn’t help but watch her. The way her lips pursed, the fire in her eyes—it stirred something in him that he couldn’t entirely suppress. That familiar intensity was something he had always admired, even when they were children. Now, it had grown into something he couldn’t ignore, something he didn’t want to.

Hermione, oblivious to his thoughts, huffed and crossed her arms, glaring at the table as if it had personally offended her. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the argument. Harry felt a flicker of amusement, quickly followed by a rush of something far more primal. He set his glass down with a deliberate clink.

"Fuck this," he muttered, leaning forward and grabbing her by the waist, pulling her onto his lap in one swift motion.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, her indignation cut short as his lips crashed onto hers. The kiss was fierce, almost bruising, and laced with the frustration and longing that had been building all evening. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place, while his other hand caught one of her wrists mid-swing as she tried to swat at him.

"Let me go," she hissed, though the breathlessness in her voice betrayed her.

He didn’t. Instead, he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing her lower lip and drawing a soft gasp from her. Her resistance faltered, and he took full advantage, his tongue sliding against hers in a battle for dominance. When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard, their faces flushed.

Harry smirked at the sight of her swollen lips, her disheveled hair, and the way her glare had softened into something less menacing and far more tempting. "Let’s play a game," he said, his voice low and laced with challenge.

"A game?" Hermione repeated, her voice shaky but intrigued. She didn’t bother to hide the way her body had relaxed against his, her earlier anger melting into something far more dangerous.

"Yes," Harry murmured, his lips brushing against her jawline, trailing down to the sensitive skin of her neck. "We’ll decide what to do next."

Hermione’s breath hitched as his stubble scraped against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Memories of their last "game" flooded her mind, the one that had led to the start of their clandestine relationship. She knew exactly what he was doing—and she hated that it was working.

"Okay," she whispered, her resolve crumbling as his lips found the spot just beneath her ear that always made her knees weak.

Harry’s grip on her wrists tightened slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race. "Good," he said, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

For now, the vodka and the firelight would keep the world at bay.

xxxxx

Whatever this "game" was, it wasn't what Hermione had expected.

At this moment, she found herself sitting on the couch, her back pressed firmly against Harry's chest. She struggled to adjust to her position, feeling the weight of the situation settle over her. Harry’s wand had conjured a spell to lightly bind her hands behind her back, and another to keep her legs pinned against his. Despite her protests, she could feel the deliberate care he’d taken to ensure she wasn’t uncomfortable—physically, at least. Her heart raced, though whether it was from indignation or anticipation, she couldn’t quite tell.

"H-Harry," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to block out the overwhelming sensations.

"You know the rules, Hermione," Harry murmured, his voice a low growl against her ear. His breath was warm, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke, his tone laced with both mischief and frustration. "I'll do anything to make you reach your orgasm. If you finish before the five minutes are up, you go to Arthur and Molly and make sure we don't go to those fucking blind dates."

His words made her tense further, though her mind raced to process everything. She tried to focus on anything but the proximity, the heat radiating from him, and the intensity of his voice. The rules of the game were simple—frustratingly so—but the stakes were what truly unnerved her. She wanted to win, not only to avoid the humiliation of the blind dates but because the thought of Harry watching her confess to the Weasleys made her stomach twist.

The clock ticked loudly in the room, each second adding to the tension. Hermione bit her lip, trying to count the seconds in her head to distract herself, to focus her mind elsewhere. But Harry wasn’t making it easy.

"Focus, Hermione," he said softly, the edge in his voice both a challenge and a tease. "You’re supposed to be the clever one, aren’t you?"

Her jaw tightened, and she let out a frustrated huff, glaring at him over her shoulder. That smirk on his face—so confident, so infuriatingly smug—was enough to ignite a spark of determination in her. She wasn’t going to let him win this. Not this time.

Hermione didn't bother to respond. Her body was tense and locked down, ignoring the fact that Harry was blasting his fingers at her core, his other hand rubbing the most sensitive part of her body with eagerness. Harry had casted an alarm charm on his wand but Hermione tried her best to count down the seconds in her mind, to focus on something else.

"I hate you sometimes," she muttered through gritted teeth, though there was no real venom in her voice—only a mix of exasperation and something deeper, something she wasn’t ready to name.

After two minutes, Hermione practically forgot how to count. She was whimpering and crying, pleading to Harry to allow her to reach her peak.

"Please, please, Harry, I want to cum, please, can I cum?" Hermione whimpered.

Harry grinned. "Of course you can, love, but you know the rules."

Hermione hissed as Harry arched his fingers inside her. She knew damn well that it won't end up well for her if she was the one to cancel those stupid dates and tell Molly and Arthur. Not to mention, she enjoyed the fact that they were both hiding things from everyone else. It makes her feel alive. It makes her feel the rush of excitement of hiding something from everyone. It's something that she didn't get to experience as a little schoolgirl.

"I know about your list," Harry whispered.

Hermione gasped as Harry pulled away his hand and put it on her neck, grasping her lightly. At that moment, Hermione was very, very, very willing to let go and just enjoy the rest of the night being taken care of by Harry.

"H-How?!" Hermione said, starting out as a whisper and letting out a yell as Harry started sucking her nape.

"As organized as you are, you like to keep your things scattered at the library." Harry laughed. "That was a really nice and interesting list."

Hermione wanted to argue, wanted to snap at Harry but his grip on her neck tightened and Hermione felt a nice buzz going inside her body. She let out loud gasps and moans, not caring anymore  at what's going on, her hips bucking to the best of her abilities to rub herself on Harry's hand even while bound. Her head was whipped back, allowing easier access for him to hold her neck.

Harry smiled as he recognized the telltale signs of her reaching her peak. He pulled her neck closer to him and found a particular spot that he liked biting on.

"Come for me, love," Harry whispered and bit down.

Hermione let out a scream. Harry did his absolute best to keep her still on top of her despite the bindings he attached to her, her body started thrashing around on top of him as her shrieks turned to moans and gasps, with her calling out his name multiple times as he continued to suck on her and his hand continuing to rub on her bundle of nerves.

"H-Harry, s-stop! I'm done! I failed the g-game, ah!" Hermione gasped as Harry just continued with his movement, having let go of her neck and started to blast her core again. "N-No, stop! I'm still sensitive!"

"Multiple orgasms were also on your list, love," Harry smirked as he continued with what he was doing.

At this point, Hermione let out shrieks of pleasure, losing her mind.

xxxxx

The warm glow of the fire in the Grimmauld Place living room cast flickering shadows across the walls, the crackling flames the only sound breaking the serene quiet of the evening. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender and the faint trace of dinner from earlier at the Burrow. Harry sat comfortably on the large, overstuffed armchair, Hermione curled up in his lap like she belonged there. Her body trembled slightly, her breath still uneven as she rested her head against his chest, her damp curls sticking to her flushed face. She was utterly spent, yet there was an unmistakable glow about her, a contentment that Harry couldn’t help but find captivating.

Harry’s arms wrapped protectively around her, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her lower back, soothing her shivers as if he could calm the aftershocks that coursed through her. She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears—though they were not of sadness or pain. Her lips curled into the kind of smile that could light up an entire room, and for a brief moment, Harry felt a pang of guilt for pushing her so far. But the way she gazed at him, her eyes brimming with trust and joy, melted any lingering hesitation in his mind.

Hermione nuzzled her face into his chest, breathing him in like his scent was her anchor. "I know this isn’t how you imagined the night to finish," Harry murmured, his voice low and tender as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there. "But I didn’t want us to end the evening on an argument."

Hermione giggled softly, the sound like music to his ears. "That’s fine," she said, her voice light despite the exhaustion lacing her words. She let out a small, happy sigh and tilted her head back to look at him properly. "I enjoyed it anyway."

"You did?" Harry asked, his tone teasing, though his smile widened at her confession.

"Yes, Harry," she replied, her cheeks tinged pink as she nestled further into his embrace. Her fingers, though still slightly unsteady, trailed along the collar of his shirt as if she needed the reassurance of his presence. "It was great. You were great."

Her expression softened as a flicker of concern crossed her face. She bit her lip before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "You didn’t get to finish, did you? Do you want me to—?"

"What? Oh, no, Merlin, no, that’s fine," Harry chuckled, cutting her off before she could finish. He kissed her temple, his lips brushing her skin with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. "You’re still vibrating, my love. Let’s just get some rest. Maybe... wake me up with a surprise?" He added the last part with a mischievous grin, his emerald eyes glinting with playful intent.

Hermione’s blush deepened, her face turning the prettiest shade of pink as she nodded shyly. "I can do that," she whispered, her gaze dropping for a moment before flicking back up to meet his. She bit her lip, her nervousness evident, though it didn’t stop her from speaking. "How did you know about my list?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at her question, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You weren’t listening earlier?" he asked, laughter already bubbling in his voice as Hermione glared at him, her pout adorable. "Oh, right," he added with a smirk. "Well, I found it in the library when I was cleaning up. I know you love our library, but you might want to make sure your stuff isn’t all over the floor next time. I almost stepped on some of your parchments while looking for a book."

Hermione huffed, her cheeks puffing slightly in annoyance, but she nodded nonetheless. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her fingers fiddled with the hem of Harry’s shirt. "W-What did you think of the list?" she asked hesitantly, her voice barely audible.

"I’m quite surprised," Harry replied, his smirk growing wider as he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. "I didn’t know you were... that naughty."

Hermione’s face turned crimson, and she made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but Harry’s grip on her waist tightened, keeping her firmly in place. "I-I’m not!" she protested weakly, sighing in defeat as Harry’s chuckle rumbled against her. "It’s just that... when I played that ‘Never Have I Ever’ game with the girls, I realized I hadn’t done anything special when it comes to, well, the bedroom. So, I made it a goal that when I found someone, I’d do all those things with him."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something more curious. "You had someone in mind?"

"N-Not in particular at the time," Hermione stammered, her blush returning with a vengeance. "But I did find myself thinking, maybe, that I’d enjoy doing them with you..."

Harry’s grin turned positively wolfish as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "And that you did. Let's go over the list together next time?"

Hermione let out a small, breathless laugh, her nerves easing as she looked up at him with a shy smile. "O-Okay," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly but filled with determination.

"Good," Harry said, his tone firm yet playful. "But first, you need to head to the Burrow tomorrow to put an end to those blind dates and make up an excuse for the both of us."

Hermione groaned, burying her face in his chest as if to hide from the very idea. "Come with me? Please?" she pleaded, her voice muffled against him. She began trailing soft kisses along his chest, her lips brushing against the hollow of his throat before moving to his jawline. She finally reached his lips, capturing them in a slow, lingering kiss. "Please? For me?"

Harry hummed against her lips, pretending to consider her request before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "As long as I wake up to a surprise," he whispered, his voice husky as he shifted them slightly, pushing her down onto the plush cushions of the couch. He hovered over her, his lips finding hers once more in a kiss that was both tender and possessive.

Hermione smiled against his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair as she whispered, "Deal."

xxxxx

The morning sun kissed Harry’s face, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. A gentle warmth spread through his body, a pleasant sensation that was both familiar and utterly new. He stirred, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and a smile crept across his lips as he realized the source of his contentment.

Beneath the covers, a rhythmic motion was creating a symphony of soft sounds, a melody that sent shivers down his spine. He reached out a hand and pulled the blanket aside, revealing Hermione, her eyes wide with surprise, her lips wrapped around him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breath was ragged, yet her expression was one of pure pleasure.

"Good morning," Harry murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

Hermione let go of him with a startled squeak, her face turning a deeper shade of red. "Good morning," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don't mind me," Harry chuckled. "Carry on."

He settled back against the pillows, a lazy grin playing on his lips. Hermione hesitated for a moment, then returned to her task with renewed vigor. Her movements were fluid and confident now, a far cry from the hesitant fumbling of their earlier encounters.

Harry watched her, his eyes filled with admiration. She was a natural, a quick learner, and her passion for this new experience was infectious. He let out a low groan as she teased him with her tongue, her touch both gentle and intense.

"What?" Harry asked, his voice muffled. He looked at her, smiling as she nibbled on the inside of her thigh, staring at him with curious eyes.

Hermione paused, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and desire. "Nothing," she replied, her voice barely audible.

"No, there's something on your mind," Harry insisted.

She bit her lip, her gaze darting away. "I was just wondering if you really enjoy this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry chuckled. "Are you serious? Hermione, I could do this every morning."

Hermione blushed, shaking her head. "Maybe not every morning," she replied, a playful smile on her lips. "But perhaps we could experiment."

Harry grinned. He reached out and pulled her closer, his fingers tracing the curve of her neck. Hermione leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. She moved closer to him, her hand still on his, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to kiss him. But then, she changed course, her teeth sinking into his neck, leaving a mark of possession.

Harry relished in the sensation, his body arching involuntarily. This was pure bliss, a feeling that was both exhilarating and deeply satisfying.

Harry's eyes flew open as he felt a familiar weight settle on his lap. Hermione, his usually composed and collected girlfriend, was straddling him, her eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

"This wasn't the surprise I was expecting," Harry murmured, his hands moving over to waist when she hovered near him. "Are you sure about this?" 

Hermione ignored him, her gaze fixed on the task at hand. She was wearing only his Quidditch shirt, and her body was bare beneath it. A blush crept across her cheeks as she began to tease him, a slow, deliberate motion that sent shivers down his spine.

"I know," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "But I couldn't wait any longer."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen Hermione so bold, so passionate. He reached out and traced the curve of her hip, his fingers lingering on her sensitive skin.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Hermione nodded, her expression determined. "I'm very sure."

She began to move, her hips grinding against his, and Harry let out a low groan. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming. He could feel her growing wetness, her body responding to his touch.

"Maybe we should change positions," he suggested, his voice strained.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I want to do this my way. Just... be patient."

Harry nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as she slowly lowered herself onto him, her movements deliberate and controlled. A sharp cry escaped her lips as she finally settled into place.

"Fuck," she groaned, her head falling onto his shoulder. "You're too big."

Harry chuckled, his concern turning to amusement. He leaned in for a moment, his hand finding her core and rubbing her slowly to help her out, earning muffled moans from Hermione as she slowly went down again, inch by inch as she let out exaggerated breaths.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice soft.

Hermione nodded, her eyes fluttering open. "Just give me a moment."

Harry continued to pleasure her, his movements slow and deliberate. He could feel her body responding, her hips beginning to buck against his. Her moans grew louder, more intense, as she reached the peak of her pleasure.

"Go on, love, let yourself go," he urged, his voice low and seductive. "It'll feel good. Come for me, Hermione."

Hermione cried out, her body arching as she climaxed. Harry followed suit almost instantly, he grabbed Hermione's body hugging her tightly as he came undone inside her, moving her body up and down on top of him, ignoring her shrieks of pleasure as she was still not finished with her own orgasm.

As the intensity began to fade, a sense of peace washed over them. They had shared an intimate moment, a moment of pure passion and desire. And as they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, Harry knew that he had never felt more connected to Hermione.

A contented sigh escaped Hermione's lips as she snuggled closer to Harry.

"Did that feel good?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry smiled, his eyes filled with love. "You're the best," he replied. "But we should probably clean up and do it again tonight."

Hermione smiled and nodded, snuggling to his chest, ignoring the fact that he's still inside her. She kissed him lazily, trailing kisses all over his body, giggling when she felt him harden for a moment.

"Hermione, come on," Harry groaned, enjoying the feeling. "You have work. And we still haven't had breakfast yet."

Hermione giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just five more minutes," she pleaded, her voice soft and seductive.

Harry chuckled, his gaze fixed on her. "What is it? Five more minutes or another orgasm?" he teased.

Ignoring his question, Hermione began to move, her hips grinding against his. A low moan escaped her lips as she felt the growing intensity.

"Yes, yes, right there, Harry," she urged, her voice filled with desire.

Harry's breath quickened as he felt her growing closer to the edge. He began to move in sync with her, his movements deliberate and powerful.

"You naughty witch," he groaned, his voice rough as he held her bum and started to raise his hips to match her rhythm, making her moans louder. "You're going to drive me crazy."

Hermione whimpered as she felt herself starting to come undone again. Harry noticed this and started moving faster, wanting to make himself come with her.

"Yes! Yes! Harry, I'm coming! I'm coming!" Hermione shrieked, her nails digging on his back as she hang on for dear life. Hermione's body arched as she reached her peak, her cries filling the room. Harry followed suit, his body trembling as he released his tension deep inside her. For a moment, they were lost in the aftermath, their bodies intertwined, their breaths ragged.

When they finally caught their breath, Harry pulled away and rolled onto his back. "Merlin, that was incredible," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "I could get used to this every morning."

Hermione smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Me too," she replied. "Another five minutes?"

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "No, you have work, Hermione. We'll continue this when you get back. Okay? We also have to drop by the Burrow later."

Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Oh, right," she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "We should have done this over the weekend."

Harry smirked. "We have Teddy," he reminded her. "Don't worry, I'm locking out the house this weekend. Just you and me."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Really?" she asked, a hopeful smile spreading across her face.

"Really," Harry confirmed. "Now, let's get up. We have a busy day ahead of us."

As they got ready for the day, a sense of anticipation filled the air. They knew that their weekend would be filled with passion, love, and endless possibilities.

xxxxx

After quickly cleaning up and eating breakfast, Hermione made her way to the bathroom, her mind already thinking ahead to the day. The cold, early morning light filtered through the window as she stepped into the shower, the warm water soothing her tired muscles and washing away the remnants of sleep. She let the steam build, the sound of the water echoing in the small space as she relaxed, letting herself drift into the comforting haze of her thoughts. The weight of the war felt so distant now, but there were days when it still lingered in the back of her mind, like a shadow that never quite left.

Once she was done, she stood in front of the mirror, the steam slowly dissipating around her. She was proud of the fact that, aside from the faint glamour charm she’d applied to the marks on her neck, there was no trace of the wild night they’d shared. She looked at herself—at the faint flush in her cheeks, the way her skin seemed to glow even more than usual in the light of morning. She smiled to herself, running a hand through her damp hair, her thoughts turning to Harry.

A soft giggle escaped her lips as she dressed quickly in her robes, her fingers running over the green bag she had left on the counter the night before. It was something Harry had given her a while back, the charm woven into the fabric still catching the light. She felt her heart flutter as she grabbed it, heading out of the bathroom. Her feet barely made a sound on the old floorboards of Grimmauld Place as she moved toward the living room.

The moment she stepped into the room, though, the atmosphere immediately struck her as off. Harry was pacing—his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched in frustration. His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced with a rare and unmistakable edge. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, a knot tightening in her stomach. It was the kind of frustration she rarely saw from him, and it had a certain weight to it that she wasn’t sure how to place.

Luna Lovegood was sitting on the couch, her usual dreamy expression replaced by something darker—something almost pitiful. Her eyes were downcast, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. She didn’t look up when Hermione entered, as if she couldn’t bring herself to meet Harry’s gaze, or maybe Hermione’s.

"Hermione," Harry said with a sharpness in his voice as soon as he noticed her. He stopped pacing, turning toward her with a mix of relief and irritation on his face. His hand instinctively ran through his hair, a frustrated gesture that Hermione recognized all too well. "Go on, Luna," he said, his voice tight. "Tell her what you did."

Luna flinched at the sound of his voice, the glint of something like fear flashing in her pale eyes. Hermione could barely hear the soft whimper that escaped her, a noise so quiet it might’ve been lost if it weren’t for the tense silence in the room. Whatever Luna had done, it was bad. Very bad. Hermione could feel her heart sink in her chest, already bracing herself for whatever it was.

"I-I was just coming over to give Harry this," Luna said in a small, shaky voice, pointing hesitantly at a bag of coins resting on the coffee table. The bag was heavy, the weight of it undeniable. Hermione felt a strange sense of dread bubble up inside her as she looked at the 300 Galleons that lay there. "That’s 300 Galleons... I moved out from my flat and took out my deposit. This is the payment for the m-money I lost."

Hermione’s breath caught, and her heart sank. "Luna! Why did you do that?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief. The idea that Luna—kind, gentle Luna—had taken such drastic measures to pay for something she had no need to cover struck her like a slap to the face.

"I need to pay Harry," Luna said, her voice barely a whisper, the deep furrow in her brow betraying her discomfort. She still couldn’t bring herself to look either of them in the eye.

Harry’s frustration was palpable now. He threw his hands up, pacing again in an almost frantic way, his movements sharp and jagged. "And I told you, I’ll sort something out!" he snapped, his voice betraying the exhaustion he was trying so hard to keep hidden. "Luna, we literally just had this conversation last night. I told you to stay put. We’ll find something to do with those damn cameras, but I don’t want you paying me back for a single thing. You’re my business partner, and you work for me. Just because you made a mistake doesn’t mean you need to pay for it!"

Harry’s fists clenched at his sides, and his chest rose and fell with the force of his breath, the frustration getting the better of him. Hermione could see the muscle in his jaw twitch, his whole body wound up tight. She stepped forward, her hand reaching out, the desire to calm him outweighing everything else. She knew that Harry rarely let his temper get the best of him—but this was different. Luna’s actions had touched a nerve, and Harry’s protective instincts were in full force.

"Merlin, you’re driving me mad," Harry muttered, collapsing onto the couch with a weary groan. His hands rubbed over his face, like he was trying to erase the irritation, the exhaustion. "Luna, go back to your flat, and return the damn deposit. I’m not taking that money. Where are you even going to live, huh?"

Harry bit back to ask her if she planned on returning to live with her father. He was furious but not crazy enough to pull that card with her.

Luna flinched at his words, her face paling, her fingers trembling. "I-I was hoping I could crash here... just for a little while," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, the uncertainty creeping in. "I can just sleep on the couch. It’s fine. I’ll be quiet, I promise."

Harry’s eyes flicked to Hermione, his frustration momentarily dimming as their gazes locked. He looked exhausted, defeated, as if the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders this morning. He reached for his glasses and slid them on, rubbing his face in an attempt to steady his nerves. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, his tone dripping with irritation. "This is too early for this."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of Harry and Luna, the tension in the room almost palpable. She couldn’t deny the fact that she was torn—on one hand, she felt sorry for Luna, who was clearly in distress; on the other, Harry was right. He was trying to fix things, trying to be fair, but Luna wasn’t making it any easier.

"You should probably go, Hermione," Harry said, the words coming out with a sharp edge, though his gaze softened when he looked at her. "I’ll deal with this."

Hermione glanced at Harry, his irritation still evident in the lines of his face. She then turned her eyes to Luna, who had shrunk in on herself, her hands clasped together as though she were bracing for something terrible to happen. It was clear Luna didn’t understand Harry’s perspective, but Hermione could also see that Luna was upset and possibly feeling ashamed.

"Okay, I’ll leave," Hermione said, sighing deeply. Her voice softened, trying to reassure them both. "But Harry—send me a Patronus if you need me, okay? Or use the mirror." She kissed his forehead, the gesture tender and lingering, offering him a quiet sense of calm amidst the storm.

Harry smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, of course," he murmured, though there was a note of guilt in his tone. "I’m sorry about all this."

Hermione gave him a reassuring smile, the weight of the moment heavy in her chest. "Don’t be," she said softly, standing to leave. She turned to Luna, who was still staring at the floor, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "Luna, just relax, okay? Talk things over with Harry. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just... don’t do anything rash, alright?"

Luna nodded but didn’t meet her eyes, her face drawn in a frown that spoke volumes of her inner turmoil. Hermione sighed, her heart aching for her friend, but she knew she couldn’t stay to smooth things over. It wasn’t her place.

Before stepping away, Hermione leaned in close to Harry, whispering softly in his ear, "Don’t get too angry with her, alright? She’s already feeling bad."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, but he nodded once. "I know, I know. I’ll handle it."

With one last look at Harry and Luna, Hermione disappeared with a soft pop, the tension in the room lingering long after she was gone.

Chapter Text

After the war, Harry had taken deliberate steps to reclaim control over his life and emotions. One of his most significant decisions had been to seek a skilled Occlumens who could teach him the art of shielding his mind. The process had been delicate—memories of the war, of loss, and of trauma, weren’t easy to expose. Yet, he found a witch willing to help, and under the condition of an Unbreakable Oath to keep his memories secret, he had taken the plunge. Hermione had stood as his witness, her unwavering presence giving him the courage to make that choice.

Combined with therapy sessions—courtesy of a discreet Muggle therapist—and a regimen of calming potions, Harry had managed to quell the darker parts of himself that had once dominated his reactions. His brooding intensity and flashes of anger had dulled into a quiet resolve, controlled by his mastery of Occlumency. He had learned to release emotions in manageable doses, preventing the bottling up that had so often led to explosive outbursts in the past.

But today, as he stood in the Grimmauld Place living room, staring down Luna Lovegood—her wide, glassy eyes on the verge of tears—Harry could feel that old frustration bubbling up like a storm beneath the surface. Occlumency could temper his emotions, but even it had its limits.

"Luna," he began, his voice measured but already tinged with the exhaustion of this conversation. She flinched slightly at the sound of her name, and it took every ounce of his restraint not to snap. He sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his already untidy hair. "What is this? What are you doing?"

Luna’s hands wrung together in her lap, her fingers pale from the tension. "I’m doing my best to make it up to you, Harry," she said, her voice uncharacteristically weak.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and took a moment to compose himself. "No," he said, his tone sharper than intended. "You’re not. You’re doing what you think is best to make it up to me. What I want is for you to do what you want—not some guilt-driven idea of what you think I expect."

Her lower lip trembled, but she pressed on. "I made a mistake, Harry, and—"

"And I told you I’d fix it!" he interrupted, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Not even twenty-four hours have passed since we had this conversation. You made a mistake—fine, we’ll fix it. But here you are, showing up with a bag of coins like that’s going to solve everything."

The offending bag sat on the coffee table between them, a silent testament to her efforts. Harry couldn’t decide if he was more frustrated by the gesture or the stubbornness behind it. Luna didn’t respond, but her shoulders hunched further, and Harry noticed the way her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He hated it. He had seen Luna endure so much—torture, bullying, cruelty—and never shed a tear. To see her like this now was unbearable.

He turned his back to her, needing a moment to gather his thoughts. The sight of her distress only aggravated his own emotions. "How do you even plan to pay me?" he asked, his voice quieter but no less strained. "You want to crash here? Fine. But after that, where do you plan to go? You know Hogwarts Weekly is a trial run, right? We’re not being paid for it yet. I’m the one funding it. It’s my investment, my risk. And part of that risk is losing money. That’s what an investment means."

His voice cracked slightly at the end, and he paused, shaking his head as if to clear his frustration. "Merlin," he muttered under his breath. "Enough. Let’s go. We’re going back to your flat."

"But—" Luna began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry turned to face her, his green eyes sharp and unwavering. His expression wasn’t angry, but it was resolute, and the weight of his gaze made her words falter. She shrank back, her slight frame seeming even smaller under the intensity of his stare.

"We’ll talk more about this when Hermione gets home," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "But for now, we’re going."

He grabbed his coat from the arm of the chair, shrugging it on with an air of finality. Without breaking stride, he scooped up the bag of coins from the table and pocketed it. He crossed the room in two long strides and took Luna’s wrist gently but decisively. She didn’t resist, though her eyes darted to the floor, avoiding his.

With a loud crack, the two of them disapparated, leaving the room in tense silence.

xxxxx

The lab at Andromeda Tonks’ residence was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Hermione’s mind. The room was a sanctuary of precision and order: shelves lined with neatly labeled jars of rare and exotic ingredients, the faint hum of magical wards buzzing faintly against the polished stone walls, and the rhythmic bubbling of cauldrons that filled the air with a comforting warmth. Yet, none of it seemed to ease the disquiet sitting heavy on her chest.

Hermione moved automatically, her hands deftly measuring powdered asphodel and valerian root for one cauldron while carefully slicing moonstone for the other. Brewing Dreamless Sleep and Sleeping Draught potions simultaneously was a challenge that had once demanded her full attention. Now, her body worked on instinct, her mastery of the craft rendering the task almost mechanical. Her mind, however, was far from the task at hand.

Thoughts of Harry and Luna kept intruding, twisting her focus like an itch she couldn’t reach. The memory of the scene before she left for work replayed endlessly. Harry’s tone, firm but edged with frustration, echoed in her mind as he had scolded Luna for her blunder. Over the years, Harry had grown into someone who was not only comfortable with his wealth but also unapologetic about using it generously, especially for his friends. The idea of wasting resources, however, still grated on him.

That was where Luna’s mistake came in. Ordering one hundred cameras for their project without fully understanding the refund policy was just the kind of misstep that would set Harry off. Not because of the cost—he could easily absorb the loss—but because it left him with a dilemma: what on earth could they do with so many useless cameras? Luna’s solution, predictably unconventional, was to put down her flat deposit to repay the amount.

And, of course, she had decided that moving into Grimmauld Place was the best next step.

The very thought made Hermione wince as she measured precisely ten drops of sopophorous juice into one cauldron. Grimmauld Place was her sanctuary. Sharing it with Harry had been a delicate balancing act, a quiet joy they kept just for themselves. How would it work with Luna—her quirky, unpredictable nature—living there too? Hermione tried to push the thought away, but the anxiety bubbled beneath the surface like an overboiling potion.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Andromeda’s voice cut through the silence, soft yet tinged with amusement.

Hermione started slightly, catching herself before she tipped the moonstone into the wrong cauldron. She glanced at her mentor, who stood with her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in a knowing arch. Andromeda had the uncanny ability to read people with unnerving precision—something Hermione both admired and dreaded.

“I was just… thinking,” Hermione replied, setting down the knife and attempting to mask her flustered expression with a quick adjustment to the cauldron’s flame.

“Clearly,” Andromeda chuckled softly. "Hermione, if you weren’t so close to earning your Potions Mastery, I might have scolded you for letting your mind wander like that. Fortunately, your brewing instincts seem to work even when your thoughts are elsewhere. Now, what’s troubling you? A fight with your mystery man, perhaps?"

Hermione felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “No,” she said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “It’s not that. Harry and Luna… had a bit of a disagreement this morning.”

Andromeda’s expression shifted to one of curiosity, and she leaned against the counter, her presence commanding without being overbearing. “Harry and Luna? That’s not a pair I’d expect to be at odds. What happened?”

“It’s not really a fight,” Hermione admitted, her stirring slowing as she spoke. “Harry was scolding Luna. She made a mistake, and he’s trying to fix it, but she went and… well, did something impulsive to try to make up for it.”

Andromeda chuckled softly, shaking her head. “That does sound like Luna. What did she do?”

Hermione hesitated before recounting the story, her words measured as she detailed Luna’s mistake, her attempt to pay Harry back, and her decision to move out of her flat. Andromeda listened attentively, her sharp mind piecing together the nuances Hermione left unspoken.

Andromeda listened intently, shaking her head with an amused sigh. "Oh, dear. Poor Harry. I imagine he’s not upset about the money but about the chaos she’s created."

"Exactly," Hermione said, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the lingering worry. "It’s not about the cameras, really. It’s just... Luna. She acts before thinking, and now Harry’s stuck trying to clean up the mess."

"Sounds exhausting," Andromeda said. She paused, then added with a sly smile, "And probably awkward, given their history."

Hermione froze. "Their history?"

Andromeda tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled. "Didn’t you know? They dated briefly. It wasn’t serious, but Harry seemed quite fond of her at the time. I remember him mentioning it in a letter during his last year at Hogwarts."

Hermione’s chest tightened. She forced herself to keep stirring her potions, but her mind raced. Why had Andromeda known, but not her?

"I’m sorry," Andromeda said gently. "I didn’t mean to surprise you. I take it he never told you?"

"I only recently found out," Hermione said quietly. "But it’s fine. It’s not a big deal."

"Are you sure?" Andromeda asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. "It’s not uncommon to feel unsettled when learning something new about someone close to you."

Hermione shook her head. "No, really. It doesn’t matter. Harry and I—" She stopped herself abruptly, realizing she was about to say too much.

Andromeda’s smile turned knowing. "Ah, I see now. Harry is your mystery man, isn’t he?"

Hermione’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t deny it. There was no point; Andromeda’s sharp intuition had already pieced it together.

"You two make a wonderful pair," Andromeda said warmly. "I always thought so. Even during the war, Sirius and Remus would go on about how loyal and brilliant you were. Even as a background character, I assumed it was only a matter of time. They both had a bet going on that you'll both get married after school. The same way Harry's parents did."

Hermione said nothing, focusing on the swirling potion in front of her. The faint glow of the Dreamless Sleep Potion signaled it was nearly complete, but her thoughts were still tangled in the revelations of the day.

"You know," Andromeda said softly, "if you’re this worried, maybe you should just go check on them. It might set your mind at ease."

"I’m not jealous," Hermione said firmly.

Andromeda laughed, the sound light and teasing. "That’s not what I said, dear. But if you say so."

Hermione frowned, her hands tightening on the stirring rod. The potions were finished, but the unease in her chest lingered like a potion gone wrong.

xxxxx

Meanwhile, Harry Potter was having anything but a fun day. His morning had started with promising energy—a rare sense of peace that came from the occasional quiet day at Grimmauld Place. That tranquility, however, was swiftly shattered the moment Luna Lovegood walked through the Floo with her characteristic blend of otherworldly calm and earth-shaking chaos.

The flat Luna had so proudly called her own, the one she’d carefully curated with her eccentric charm, was no longer available. Harry had stood beside her as the landlord—a wiry wizard with nervous eyes and ink-stained fingers—apologized profusely, all while sneaking glances at Harry as though his fame alone might conjure a solution.

The apology wasn’t enough to soothe Luna’s disappointment or Harry’s mounting frustration. The hours that followed were a grueling slog through the less-than-sparkling corners of Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and a handful of wizarding neighborhoods further afield. Each flat they visited seemed worse than the last—dark, cramped, or located in areas that made even Harry’s hardened nerves twitch with unease.

One flat in particular had a suspicious odor that neither of them could identify, and Harry’s patience snapped when he noticed the landlord hiding the fact that one of the windows wouldn’t close properly.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Harry muttered under his breath as they exited the building, his hand briefly brushing over the wand tucked into his sleeve. He held himself back, of course, but the temptation to hex the dishonesty out of someone lingered in his mind.

By the time they had exhausted every decent option, Harry was ready to suggest trying Muggle London, even though he knew the suggestion was laughable. Luna, with her peculiarities and whimsical worldview, had only the faintest grasp of Muggle life. Harry didn’t have the energy to explain the quirks of Muggle rent agreements, electricity, or security deposits on top of everything else. The headache simmering in his temples throbbed more intensely at the thought.

With a resigned sigh, he led Luna back to the Leaky Cauldron. The air was thick with the comforting smell of firewhisky, butterbeer, and Tom’s hearty stew, but for Harry, it did little to lift his mood. He slumped into a chair across from Luna and flagged down the barkeep with a weary wave.

“You can stay at Grimmauld Place for now,” Harry said, his tone clipped but firm, as their food arrived. He speared a piece of roasted chicken with more force than necessary. “I can’t say I’m happy with how things worked out, but for the love of Merlin, Luna, don’t ever do something like this again. You liked that flat. You were proud of having that place. And you gave it up just because of one mistake?”

Luna lowered her eyes, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her goblet. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Harry exhaled sharply, setting his fork down with a clatter. He leaned forward, his green eyes piercing as he met her gaze. “Luna, I’m not angry at you. Hell, I’m not even disappointed in you. We all make mistakes. Merlin knows how many I’ve made managing all the businesses tied to the Black and Potter families. Do you know how many times I’ve thought I could handle everything personally? Too many. And I was wrong. I had to hire managers—people who actually know how to keep things running smoothly.”

He paused, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, his frustration giving way to something gentler. “But do you know which business I wanted to handle myself? Hogwarts Weekly. Because I get it, Luna. I get what it means to you, and I’m excited about it too. Working on it with you has been... different. Fun. And I thought you felt the same way.”

“I do,” Luna said, her voice trembling slightly. “I do, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Harry hissed, his patience finally snapping. Before he could think, he reached out, cupping her face firmly in his hands. His voice dropped, low and unyielding. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’ve told you that a million times. Say ‘sorry’ again, and I swear, I won’t be your friend anymore.”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized their impact. Luna’s wide, silvery eyes filled with tears almost instantly, and Harry’s heart plummeted. She wasn’t crying out of anger or even hurt—she was simply overwhelmed.

“Shit,” Harry groaned, releasing her face and scrambling to her side. “Luna, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I was joking—stupidly, terribly joking.” He knelt beside her chair, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. “I’ll be your friend for life, Luna. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t cry.”

Luna whimpered softly, her face buried against his shoulder. Harry could feel her trembling, and it made his stomach twist with guilt. He had always prided himself on being someone Luna could rely on—someone who could anchor her through the storm of her own emotions. Now, he felt like he’d failed her.

The quiet murmur of voices in the pub grew louder as Harry realized they’d drawn attention. Several witches and wizards were staring openly, their whispered speculation clear from the way their eyes darted between him and Luna. Harry scowled, digging into his pocket for a handful of coins. He dropped them onto the table, not caring if it was too much, and grabbed Luna’s hand.

“Come on,” he muttered.

Before anyone could say a word, Harry apparated them both out of the pub, landing with a jarring thud in the entryway of Grimmauld Place.

Harry collapsed onto his hands and knees, his breaths coming in harsh, uneven bursts. The dim light of the hallway seemed to press in on him, amplifying the pounding in his head. His frustration bubbled over, sharp and biting.

Luna hovered nearby, her usual serene demeanor shaken but not broken. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his shoulder.

“You’re going to drive me mad, Lovegood,” Harry muttered, his voice muffled as he pressed his forehead against the cool stone floor.

xxxxx

It was nearly dinnertime when Hermione arrived home, the comforting scent of Chinese takeout wafting through the bag she carried. She had a hunch Harry wouldn’t have bothered to cook, not with Luna Lovegood occupying his day and likely pushing his patience to the brink. A faint smirk tugged at her lips; she loved Harry dearly, but his penchant for taking responsibility for everything—and everyone—often left him hilariously frazzled.

Stepping through the Floo, Hermione braced herself for chaos. Yet what greeted her was something far stranger.

Harry was slumped on the couch, surrounded by parchments, a quill twirling absently in his fingers as he scanned the documents with a resigned expression. The faint furrow in his brow hinted at both frustration and a reluctant acceptance of whatever madness he’d endured. From the direction of the kitchen came the unmistakable sounds of clinking dishes and what she could only assume was an impromptu cooking experiment.

Harry glanced up and managed a weary smile. "Hey," he said, voice soft and tinged with exhaustion. "Welcome home, Hermione."

Hermione leaned down, kissing his cheek in greeting. “Rough day?”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Harry sighed, setting the parchments aside.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but before she could press him for details, a cheerful voice called from the kitchen.

"Hello, Hermione. I'll cook dinner!" Luna’s sing-song declaration echoed, and Hermione turned her head to find the blonde witch donning a black apron several sizes too large, a cloud of flour in her wake.

“I brought Chinese food,” Hermione interjected quickly, setting the bag down on the kitchen table. “Just fried rice, beef with vegetables, and chicken. Nothing fancy.”

Luna popped her head out of the kitchen, her dreamy eyes lighting up. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Hermione! But I’m making pudding.”

Hermione froze mid-motion, her gaze snapping to Harry. He was already shaking his head, silently begging her not to question it. She opened her mouth to speak but decided against it, letting Luna’s whimsical enthusiasm play out unchecked.

“That’s… nice,” Hermione managed, carefully placing the takeout containers on the table. “If it’s ready, we can eat together after.”

“It just needs to cool a bit,” Luna replied with a beaming smile, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Hermione sighed and turned back to Harry, who had resumed slouching against the couch. “I’m going to change,” she said, eyeing him expectantly. To her amusement, Harry followed her up the stairs without hesitation.

The moment they reached her room, Hermione closed the door and turned to him with a questioning look. “Alright, spill. What happened?”

Harry groaned, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “It’s Luna. She’s… overcompensating.”

“For what?” Hermione asked, fighting to keep the amusement out of her voice.

“For everything,” Harry replied dramatically, flopping onto her bed like a man defeated. “Merlin, Hermione, she’s been cleaning the house, rearranging the pantry, and now she’s baking—probably a disaster waiting to happen. And it’s all because I snapped at her earlier.”

Hermione crossed her arms, leaning against the dresser as she watched him with barely concealed mirth. “What exactly did you say?”

Harry winced, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “She kept apologizing, and I was already at my wit’s end after looking at terrible apartments all day. I told her if she apologized again, I wouldn’t be her friend anymore.”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, her tone equal parts scolding and amused.

“I know!” Harry groaned, burying his face in a pillow. “I felt awful immediately and apologized, but now she’s acting like the world’s perfect houseguest to make up for it. She even dusted the chandelier in the drawing room. The chandelier, Hermione!”

Hermione bit her lip to suppress a laugh. “You do realize you’ve created this situation, right?”

“Obviously,” Harry muttered, peeking out from the pillow with a pitiful look. “Is it too late to send her to the Burrow?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione said firmly. “Besides, you owe her. If you hadn’t been so dramatic, she wouldn’t be baking pudding right now.”

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groaned.

Hermione chuckled, pulling a comfortable T-shirt and sweatpants from her dresser. As she began changing, Harry sat up, his eyes narrowing.

“I hate that you’re wearing pants,” he complained.

“It’s just for a week, Harry,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“But you’ll still sleep in my bed, right?” he asked, his tone suddenly softer, almost hopeful.

Hermione turned, her smile softening as she approached him. “As long as there are privacy charms, yes.”

Relief washed over his features, and she leaned down to kiss him deeply, her hands cupping his face. Harry melted into her touch, the tension in his shoulders easing as he returned the kiss.

“Better?” she asked, pulling back slightly.

“Much,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her for a tight hug.

“Good,” she said, patting his back. “Now let’s go eat before Luna turns the kitchen into a war zone.”

Harry chuckled, standing and taking her hand as they made their way downstairs.

Back in the kitchen, Luna was carefully inspecting a suspiciously lumpy pudding, her apron now dusted with flour and what appeared to be a smear of chocolate on her nose. Hermione exchanged a look with Harry, both stifling laughter as they took their seats.

xxxxx

For the next two days, Harry slowly adjusted to his new normal. Gone were the days when he could just take Hermione wherever and whenever he wanted, sweeping her into passionate moments without a second thought. The house, vast and steeped in history as it was, had proven far from private.

More often than either of them would have liked, Luna had walked in on them. Whether they were stealing a quiet moment making out in a forgotten corner or in the midst of something far more heated, Luna always managed to appear. She would calmly apologize before floating away, utterly unbothered by what she'd seen.

Hermione, however, was mortified every time. As much as she enjoyed the thrill of Harry's unrestrained affections, the thought of being interrupted again by their unflappable friend made her shudder. Yet, she couldn’t deny the excitement of it all—being with Harry, here in Grimmauld Place, surrounded by history and shadows, and a life they were building together.

Today, the trio settled into a rare, peaceful morning. After breakfast, the three of them gathered in the sitting room, where the light filtering through the heavy curtains gave the space a muted warmth. Harry was sprawled on the leather couch, reading over a report on one of the many businesses he managed. His brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the parchment, though his hand absently drifted to Hermione’s hair as she leaned against him.

Hermione had the day off from her apprenticeship, so she indulged herself with a novel, her fingers idly twirling a strand of her hair as she read. Harry’s presence next to her was a comforting weight, grounding her in the quiet of the morning.

Luna, perched near the window with her usual ethereal grace, was rifling through a collection of photos sent by Hogwarts students for Hogwarts Weekly. She examined each picture with quiet admiration, occasionally letting out a delighted hum. The gentle rustle of paper and the scratch of quills were the only sounds in the room.

For now, no one dared mention the unfinished project of the cameras gathering dust in one of the Hogwarts classrooms. Harry had promised to sort it out, and Luna, after much persuasion, had agreed not to take any more drastic action. It was a temporary truce, but one everyone was content to let linger.

The peace was shattered by a loud, almost frantic knock on the front door. The sound echoed through the house, startling all three of them. Hermione flinched, her book slipping from her hands. Harry snapped upright, his report forgotten as he instinctively reached for his wand.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered, his voice sharp as his eyes flicked to the door.

From the other side, Ron’s panicked voice rang out. "Harry! It's me, Ron! Open up!"

Luna, nearest to the door, floated to her feet and opened it. Ron practically tumbled inside, his face flushed with urgency. He froze momentarily upon seeing Luna, his expression a mix of confusion and mild embarrassment, before his eyes darted to Harry and Hermione, both with wands drawn.

"Damn it, Ron, don’t bang on the door like that!” Harry scowled, lowering his wand.

“Well, maybe don’t lock it up for me!” Ron shot back, rolling his eyes.

“And what? Let you walk in on Hermione and me snogging every time you visit?” Harry quipped, his tone laced with mischief.

Hermione, despite herself, laughed as she shoved Harry playfully. “Honestly, Harry.”

Ron made a face and tossed a copy of the Daily Prophet at Harry. It landed unceremoniously on the table, the headline glaring up at them in bold, accusatory letters.

“Figured you hadn’t seen it yet,” Ron grumbled, slumping into an armchair.

Harry’s eyes widened as he picked up the paper, his face paling as he read the front page:

‘BOY-WHO-LIVED TO BECOME A FATHER!’

The accompanying article was equally absurd:

Reports have shown that Harry Potter, the Dark Lord Vanquisher, was seen looking over houses and apartments with a young witch in hopes of housing their growing family.

During one emotional lunch, patrons of the Leaky Cauldron saw the young couple arguing for a moment before ending their meal with hugging each other and leaving the pub.

The Daily Prophet would like to congratulate Mr. Harry Potter and the future Lady Potter!

A photograph accompanied the article, showing Harry and Luna. Harry’s hand rested on Luna’s stomach for a fleeting moment before the two walked away.

Hermione’s reaction was immediate and volcanic. “WHAT THE HELL?!” she shrieked, her voice reverberating through the room.

Luna and Ron flinched, both looking alarmed. Luna, who had been leaning closer to examine the photo, suddenly straightened and hesitated before pressing a hand to her stomach as if to check for a nonexistent bump.

“Luna, stop that!” Harry hissed.

“I’m not pregnant, am I?” Luna murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Hermione, meanwhile, was already marching toward the coat rack, her anger radiating in waves. “I swear to Merlin, I’ll burn the Daily Prophet to the ground—”

Harry was on his feet in an instant, grabbing her by the arm before she could storm out. “Hermione, calm down! Just... relax, okay? Take a seat!”

Reluctantly, she let him guide her back to the sofa. Luna sat beside her, still looking sheepish, while Ron remained rooted to his chair, wide-eyed at the unfolding drama.

Harry paced the room, running a hand through his hair. “Just to clear things up,” he began, his voice firm, “Luna is not pregnant. Merlin, that photo—ugh—I can’t even remember why I touched Luna’s stomach in the first place.”

“You were dusting off cobwebs from the apartment we were viewing,” Luna supplied helpfully.

“Right. That.” Harry sighed heavily. “And for the record, we’re not getting married, either.”

“Exactly,” Luna agreed with a solemn nod.

"And you were crying at the Leaky Cauldron bec—" Harry cut himself off mid-sentence, clamping his mouth shut as if he had said too much already. He shook his head, looking mildly frustrated with himself.

"R-Right…" Luna’s voice was soft, her usual dreamy demeanor replaced by a rare flicker of unease. She frowned slightly, her gaze dropping to her feet as if the floorboards might offer some sort of answer.

Harry exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, that's it, Ron," he muttered, his voice weary. "Who else has read this? No, scratch that—who else do we know that actually believed it?"

Ron scratched his head, hesitating for a moment. He wanted to ask why Luna was even at Harry’s house but decided against it—there were bigger issues at hand. “Well… Mum’s pretty riled up about it. She said Hermione cancelled your blind dates and then she picks up the paper and sees this. Naturally, she’s assumed the worst.”

"Oh god," Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Her voice was muffled but still brimming with frustration. “So, I’m guessing by now all of our friends know? And maybe some of them even believe it?”

Ron shrugged, frowning slightly. “Well, you weren’t exactly making your relationship public, so…”

"Oh, so you're actually in a relationship now?" Luna asked suddenly, her face brightening with a soft smile.

Hermione blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh, I-I just assumed you knew…”

Luna shook her head, her tone casual but sincere. “I just thought you were having fun, but that’s nice. You two look great together. You practically can’t keep your hands off each other whenever—”

“Luna,” Harry cut her off sharply, his tone laced with warning.

“Sorry,” Luna murmured, bowing her head slightly. Her voice dropped to a whisper as if she were genuinely contrite.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. He glanced over at Ron, who seemed far too amused by the entire situation.

"So, what's your plan now?" Ron asked, folding his arms. His lips twitched into a smirk. “Because I can guarantee you, people are already talking. George practically vibrated with excitement when he saw the paper back at the shop.”

“I don’t—” Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t goddamn know. I just… need to think for a moment.” His voice was tight, and his frustration seemed to hang heavy in the air.

He straightened up suddenly, his expression resolute. “Kreacher!”

Kreacher appeared almost instantly with a soft pop, dressed in a well-kept brown shirt that hung down to his knees. His large, bat-like ears twitched as he bowed deeply. “You called, Master?”

“Can you please make us some tea and coffee?” Harry asked kindly, his tone soft and respectful.

Kreacher nodded with a grunt of acknowledgment before disappearing with another quiet pop.

Luna, who had been quietly observing, blinked in surprise. “I thought he was at Hogwarts,” she said, her tone light but curious.

Harry leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out as he explained, “Yeah, he mostly stays there these days. But he still serves under me, so I call him every now and then. He likes popping in to check on things here, but he sleeps at Hogwarts to help the other house-elves. Apparently, they’ve made him their unofficial leader.” He chuckled faintly, shaking his head.

Luna nodded thoughtfully, but Hermione barely registered the conversation. Her attention was fixed entirely on the Prophet in her hands, her sharp eyes locked on the ridiculous photo of Harry rubbing Luna’s belly. Her silence was heavy, and both Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, each silently acknowledging the unspoken tension.

They’d known Hermione far too long—nearly a decade at this point—not to recognize the telltale signs of her overthinking. Her lips pursed, and her brows furrowed ever so slightly as the gears in her mind turned at full speed.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, feeling a faint cringe creep up his spine. Hermione wasn’t the jealous type, but even he could admit this situation was bizarre. Seeing a fabricated article about him supposedly fathering Luna’s child had to stir some weird, complicated emotions.

“Luna,” Harry began, his tone firm yet gentle as he turned to the blonde witch, who was shifting awkwardly where she sat. Guilt flickered briefly in her silvery eyes. “Send an owl to Rolf. He must be worried, confused, and probably furious. Let him know it’s all rubbish, and if he wants, he’s welcome to come here to confirm we’re not in a relationship.”

Luna nodded immediately, relief washing over her face as she hurried off to her room without a word.

“Rolf?” Hermione’s voice cut through the silence, tinged with surprise. She turned her attention to Harry, curiosity sparking in her expression. “Who’s that?”

“Her… partner?” Harry shrugged, clearly unsure how to define it. “You know how Luna doesn’t want to get married, right? Well, he’s been her ‘partner’ for about a year now. They don’t bother with labels since Rolf’s always off wandering the globe doing research on magical creatures. Luna said he only comes back twice a quarter, if that.”

Ron’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wait, so Luna has a boyfriend?”

“Not boyfriend,” Harry corrected, smirking faintly. “Just… ‘partner,’ as she’s very keen to remind me every single time.”

He glanced over at Hermione, who was now staring at him intently, her brow furrowed in that way she did when deep in thought.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Harry said defensively, throwing his hands up. “I only found out a few days ago when Luna brought it up.”

Hermione didn’t respond right away, her head tilting slightly as if piecing something together. “No, it’s just… do you mean Rolf, as in…”

Harry grinned knowingly, finishing her sentence. “Oh yeah. Rolf Scamander, grandson of Newt Scamander, the author of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'.”

“WHAT?!” Ron and Hermione yelled in unison, their voices echoing in the room.

Harry couldn’t help it—he burst into laughter, the sound filling the space as he clutched his sides. “Yeah, I know,” he managed between chuckles. “I had the exact same reaction when she told me!”

xxxxx

Luna had left the house after sending an owl to Rolf. She hadn’t been keen on sharing her destination, and it had taken a firm grip from Harry—and a long, pointed stare from Hermione—before Luna reluctantly promised not to do anything drastic and to stay within safe bounds.

Hermione had even come close to making her swear an oath but caught herself at the last moment, deciding it was probably overkill.

Hours passed, and still, Luna had not returned. Harry, restless as ever, paced back and forth in his room like a caged lion. Meanwhile, Hermione sat cross-legged on his bed, her book propped open on her lap. She had tried to focus on reading, but Harry’s incessant movement kept dragging her attention away.

“She’ll be fine, Harry,” Hermione said, sighing as she set the book down and crossed her arms.

“Fine,” Harry repeated bitterly, spinning on his heel to face her. “As if anything with Luna is ever fine! It’s been a week—one week—and she’s already caused complete havoc in my life. I swear, I ought to tie her up with ropes or better yet, have Minerva set up a permanent room for her at Hogwarts so someone can keep an eye on—”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind.

He groaned dramatically before collapsing face-first onto the bed beside her. Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of him sprawled out like an overgrown child. Reaching out, she ruffled his hair, the thick strands slipping through her fingers.

She noticed with some amusement that his hair was getting longer again. A mental note formed: she’d have to ask Fleur about that haircut he had while in France. She’d liked that one—it had suited him, clean and sharp.

“What do I do with her?” Harry mumbled into the bedding, his voice muffled.

“About Luna?”

“Yeah.”

“Well...” Hermione hesitated for a moment, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It’s complicated. You two have this... unusual relationship. But I think,” she paused, her voice softening as she chose her words carefully, “I think she might be using you as a... substitute for her father.”

Harry shot up from the bed, staring at her as though she’d just suggested dueling Voldemort all over again. “Excuse me?”

Hermione winced but pressed on, offering a sheepish smile. “Okay, relax. Let me explain properly, alright? Keep an open mind. This is just something I’ve pieced together from what I know about Luna—and your relationship, both before and now.”

Still looking skeptical, Harry nodded grudgingly, gesturing for her to continue.

“Alright.” Hermione straightened her posture, her voice taking on a measured tone. “After the war, Luna found out what her father had done, right? She was furious—angry beyond words. After that, she cut ties with Xeno and didn't bother to talk with her, even after he was released from Azkaban.”

Harry nodded slowly, his expression softening as the memories surfaced. He had visited Xeno numerous times over the years. The man was still as eccentric as ever, always brimming with questions about Luna: How was she? Was she happy? Did she need anything?

“The Quibbler was long gone,” Hermione continued, “sold off to fund repairs to their house. Xeno even bought the land surrounding it, hoping Luna would eventually return, maybe build a home there, close to him. He’s desperate to make amends, but she hasn’t forgiven him, has she?”

“No,” Harry murmured, his brow furrowed. “She hasn’t. Not completely.”

“And that’s where you come in,” Hermione said gently. “Luna sees you as someone she can rely on—someone steady. You’re safe, Harry. Reliable in ways her father wasn’t. It’s not a bad thing, but... she might be leaning on you to fill a void she doesn’t quite know how to handle yet.”

Harry sat in silence, digesting Hermione’s words. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket as he stared at the floor, his thoughts visibly churning.

“I never thought of it like that,” he admitted quietly after a long pause. “I just thought... I don’t know. That she needed a friend.”

“She does,” Hermione said, placing a hand on his arm. “And you’re a good one. But understanding where she’s coming from might help you figure out how to handle her better.”

Harry gave a short nod, still processing, and Hermione squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“Don’t overthink it,” she added with a small smile. “You’ll figure it out, Harry. You always do.”

Chapter Text

The morning light streamed into Grimmauld Place through the heavy curtains Harry had grudgingly agreed to replace last year. The deep, muted tones of the house had become warmer under Hermione’s influence, though it still retained its historic charm. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread lingered in the air, mingling with the creaks and groans of the old house settling into the day.

The front door creaked open slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to signal an uninvited intrusion. Luna Lovegood peeked through the narrow gap, her wide eyes scanning the room like a mischievous child sneaking into a forbidden place. In one hand, she held her pink shoes, dangling precariously from her fingers. Her other hand tightened on the doorknob as she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder before carefully stepping inside. The door closed behind her with a faint click, and she exhaled in relief, convinced her quiet entrance had gone unnoticed.

Her footsteps were soft, almost inaudible on the worn wooden floors as she tiptoed across the room. Luna flinched when a chair scraped lightly against the kitchen tiles. She froze, her wide eyes darting toward the sound. There, seated at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, was Hermione Granger.

Hermione’s smirk betrayed her amusement, her dark eyes glinting over the rim of her mug as she took a slow sip. She didn’t say a word, her expression alone enough to make Luna hesitate.

Luna opened her mouth, perhaps to offer an excuse, but Hermione shook her head, the movement so slight it was almost dismissive. The silence stretched, interrupted only by the faint rustle of fabric as Luna shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

Before she could make another move, a voice hissed from behind her.

“Luna.”

She barely had time to register Harry Potter’s tone before his arm hooked firmly around her neck, pulling her into a loose but unyielding hold.

“Good morning, Harry,” Luna said serenely, her voice unwavering despite her awkward position.

“Good morning, my arse,” Harry snapped, his voice low and sharp, though not without the hint of exhaustion. His grip loosened as Luna tapped at his forearm in surrender. She stepped away, rubbing her neck dramatically, though the slight pout on her lips made it clear she wasn’t truly upset.

“Where were you last night?” Harry demanded, his green eyes narrowing as they locked onto her. “You didn’t tell us where you were going, and you didn’t come home. We were worried sick!”

“I… I just met up with someone,” Luna replied, her voice quiet but steady, though her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Met up with who?” Harry pressed, taking a step closer.

Luna took a step back instinctively, her hands sliding behind her back as if to shield some unseen secret. “Just someone,” she murmured.

Harry’s jaw tightened, the muscle twitching as his patience frayed. Hermione, who had moved from her seat to lean against the doorframe, watched with open amusement. She said nothing, knowing better than to intervene when Harry was like this. His protective streak, though admirable, could also be relentless.

“What are you hiding behind your back?” Harry’s voice dropped, firm and demanding.

“Nothing!” Luna squeaked, the slightest crack in her usual serene composure making Hermione stifle a laugh.

“Luna,” Harry said again, his tone sharper, taking another deliberate step toward her.

Luna sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in resignation. Slowly, she brought her hands out from behind her back, her fingers unclenching to reveal a gleaming diamond ring.

The gem caught the morning light, refracting it into tiny prisms that danced along the walls. Even Hermione, standing a few feet away, couldn’t help the audible gasp that escaped her as she stepped closer, drawn to the brilliance of the ring.

“I-I’m getting married,” Luna stammered, her voice unusually hesitant. “To Rolf.”

The words hung in the air like a spell, freezing the room in stunned silence.

Hermione leaned closer, her fingers almost brushing against the ring as she examined it with wide eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, her voice filled with genuine awe.

Harry, however, remained rooted to the spot, his expression blank as his gaze shifted between Luna and the ring. His mouth opened slightly, as though to speak, but no words came.

xxxxx

Harry Potter carried a secret—a secret so tightly bound within the confines of his heart and mind that not even Hermione, with her razor-sharp intuition, or Ron, with his dogged loyalty, had an inkling of its existence. It was a truth he’d buried deep, locked away behind walls of guilt, pain, and longing. Not even the therapist he had reluctantly agreed to see after the war knew, despite the magical oath of confidentiality. No one could know. Not then, and certainly not now.

And yet, the moment he saw the gleaming ring on Luna’s finger, that carefully constructed wall cracked. The past surged forward, vivid and raw, with memories that had long haunted his sleepless nights.

It had begun in their final year at Hogwarts. A time of fractured hearts and broken lives. Voldemort had been defeated, but the wreckage he left behind seemed impossible to mend. For Harry, life had become a monotony of guilt and responsibility. Ron had thrown himself into helping the Weasleys rebuild their lives after Fred’s death. Hermione had been consumed with tracking down her parents and restoring their memories. That left Harry, adrift and untethered, grappling with nightmares that gripped him like icy chains, suffocating his every attempt at normalcy.

It was during one of his restless midnight wanderings that he found her. Luna Lovegood. She had been a ghostly silhouette against the dim corridors of the castle, her silver-blonde hair almost glowing in the moonlight. She’d been wandering too, her wide eyes reflecting an understanding that Harry couldn’t comprehend but desperately needed.

Their nightly walks became a sanctuary. Silent, companionable, unspoken. Luna never pressed him for answers, never tried to fix him, but her presence filled the empty spaces inside him. She lingered close enough to remind him he wasn’t alone but never demanded more than he could give.

In time, their shared solitude evolved into something deeper. It started one night in the Room of Requirement. They had claimed it as their refuge, conjuring a simple bed to shield themselves from the relentless onslaught of nightmares. As the rain battered against the enchanted windows, Luna had kissed him. It had been feather-light, barely a whisper, but it unraveled something in Harry he hadn’t realized was knotted so tightly.

Her kiss opened a door to emotions he hadn’t dared to explore. Longing. Desire. A desperate need to feel alive. What began as quiet companionship spiraled into passion, their nights consumed by fevered whispers, shared touches, and stolen moments in broom closets or behind the heavy curtains of forgotten classrooms. Luna’s presence became his solace, her laughter a balm to his frayed nerves, her quirky teasing a spark that ignited something playful and reckless inside him.

Yet even in their most heated moments, there was a fragility to it all. Harry felt it, like a thread stretched too thin. Luna clung to him fiercely, unashamedly. She teased him openly in the Great Hall, her fingers brushing his as they passed in the corridors. People had noticed, of course, but Luna was Luna—quirky, strange, and otherworldly. Few questioned her intentions or thought much of her lighthearted flirting, chalking it up to her eccentricity.

But Harry knew better. He could feel the weight of her attachment, and it terrified him.

Two months before graduation, their stolen nights together had reached a crescendo. That evening, as they lay entangled in the Room of Requirement, the air heavy with the scent of candles and the faintest trace of Luna’s lavender soap, Harry had made up his mind. He’d stayed up after she drifted into a peaceful sleep, staring at the small box hidden inside his bag. An engagement ring. Simple, elegant, and impossibly impulsive—just like him.

As Luna stirred, slipping back into her robes with her usual unhurried grace, Harry fumbled with the blankets, pretending to be preoccupied with straightening the bed. His hands trembled, his heartbeat thundered in his chest. He’d rehearsed the words a dozen times in his head, yet they caught in his throat as he watched her.

Luna hummed a soft tune under her breath, completely unaware of the storm raging within him. Her movements were languid, her hair falling in loose waves down her back as she adjusted her wand holster. She turned to him with a serene smile, her wide eyes glimmering with unspoken affection.

Harry had never felt more certain—or more terrified.

Unfortunately, before Harry even had the chance to ask his question, the conversation had naturally shifted—an inevitability, really. The future after Hogwarts was on everyone's mind, and Luna, in her unassuming yet enigmatic way, had opened that door before he could gather his courage.

The firelight from the Room of Requirement flickered faintly in his memory as Luna spoke about her plans. Her voice had been soft, melodic, and calm, yet each word seemed to press against Harry’s chest with a weight he didn’t understand at the time.

For himself, Harry had laid out his intentions plainly. He was rich, for one, and Grimmauld Place, while somber and steeped in a darkness he couldn’t fully scrub away, was his. He’d inherited the burdens of two great wizarding houses—the Potters and the Blacks—and while it was daunting, it was something concrete. Something tangible. A purpose that didn’t involve fighting for his life or hunting down the remnants of Voldemort's destruction.

He thought it sounded solid. Respectable. Not the most exciting path for a man his age, but after years of chaos, Harry craved simplicity. Stability. He was tired of being the Boy Who Lived; now he wanted to be a man who lived—just lived.

But as Harry shared his plans, his focus was on Luna. Always on Luna.

He knew her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, had been released from Azkaban but that things between them had not yet mended. Luna hadn’t gone home during the holidays, and while Harry hadn’t dared pry, he could see the lingering tension in her posture whenever her father was mentioned. Still, Harry had held onto hope. Surely, she’d find her way back to him, back to some semblance of a family. Luna deserved that.

And so, when she started talking about her own plans, Harry listened closely. At first, what she said didn’t seem all that unusual. She spoke of looking for odd jobs and finding a little place of her own. Something modest, quiet—peaceful. It was quintessentially Luna, and in many ways, it was exactly what Harry expected from her.

But then, without warning, Luna dropped a revelation that left Harry reeling.

She didn’t want to get married.

She didn’t want to have children.

She said it so simply, with that innocent smile of hers and a calm expression that belied the magnitude of her words.

At first, Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. The sentence seemed to echo in his head, the meaning twisting and turning as if his mind refused to grasp it.

Marriage and children were things she wouldn’t seek out. Not deliberately. If they happened, they happened, she explained. But she wouldn’t pursue them, and she certainly didn’t long for them.

Her voice was steady, serene, and utterly certain.

Harry felt the weight of the ring box in his pocket grow impossibly heavy, the small piece of jewelry inside suddenly carrying the full brunt of his hopes and dreams. He’d been so sure—so absolutely certain—that this was the next step for them. He had imagined proposing under the stars or during one of their quiet, private moments when the world felt distant and unimportant.

Now, the idea of slipping that ring onto her finger seemed not only foolish but cruel.

His mind raced as her words settled in. Could he live with that? Could he be with Luna without the promise of marriage or the hope of children? Could he give up on the future he’d dreamed of since he was a boy locked in a cupboard under the stairs?

A family. That was all Harry had ever wanted. He’d spent years imagining what it would feel like to have a wife to love and children to dote on—children who would never experience the loneliness and neglect he had endured. He wanted a home filled with laughter, with warmth and affection that couldn’t be broken by anything or anyone.

But Luna’s vision of the future didn’t align with his.

And for the first time, Harry understood that this wasn’t something he could compromise on. It wasn’t fair to Luna to expect her to change her mind. And it wasn’t fair to himself to pretend he could be content without the family he longed for.

He tried to keep his face neutral, but the emotion rising in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Confusion, disappointment, frustration—all of it swirled together in a storm he could barely contain.

What had the past year meant if not this? If their relationship wasn’t building toward marriage and a future together, then what had it been?

He hated himself for the thought. Luna had been there for him in ways no one else could. She had soothed his nightmares, calmed his restless mind, and given him moments of joy in the aftermath of war. Their nights wandering the castle, their stolen kisses in hidden corners, their shared laughter—they hadn’t been meaningless. He knew that.

Harry realized something then, something that sent a cold shiver down his spine. They had never actually talked about what they were to each other. Not once.

They never used words like "boyfriend" or "girlfriend," never discussed what their relationship meant or where it was headed. Their connection had existed in a nebulous space, undefined and unspoken. They met daily, shared secret smiles, kissed in stolen moments, and spent long nights together tangled in one another's arms. It had felt intimate, even profound—but now he wasn’t sure if it had meant the same to her.

Had it all been a misunderstanding?

Was this vagueness his mistake, some fault of his own? Or was he just too broken to be considered boyfriend or husband material?

The thought cut deeper than he cared to admit. The war had left him scarred, not just physically but in ways he rarely let anyone see. He had done his best to heal, to put himself back together, but now he wondered if the cracks ran too deep. If the pieces of him that remained were sharp, jagged edges that no one—not even Luna—could truly love.

“Harry?” Luna’s voice broke through his thoughts. It was soft, concerned, and laced with that ethereal quality that was so uniquely hers. “Are you alright? Do you want to—”

“What? No, no, I’m fine,” Harry interrupted, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. “We should just go back to sleep. Or I can take you to your tower if you want.”

She studied him for a moment, her silver-blue eyes searching his face. Harry held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t press the issue.

Finally, she nodded. “Alright.”

She didn’t pry. She never did. That was one of the things Harry had loved about her—how she gave him space without making him feel alone. But tonight, he wished she would ask. He wished she would push him to say what he was feeling, because he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

The rest of the night passed in silence, heavy and oppressive. And by the time they graduated, Harry had buried the ring deep within his Gringotts vault, locking it away as if that could erase the memory of it.

Luna moved on, throwing herself into odd jobs and eventually finding a small apartment. Harry had helped her at first, offering money she reluctantly accepted before repaying him with the money she got from selling some items that Xeno had given her. She seemed content, and Harry tried to convince himself that he was happy for her.

But he never stopped wondering what might have been.

The ring, forgotten by everyone but him, remained hidden away, a relic of a dream he no longer allowed himself to dream.

xxxxx

Harry’s mask slipped, just for a moment, but it was enough. Luna's widened eyes caught the fleeting shadow on his face, something fragile and raw he hadn’t meant to show. Before he could school his features back into neutrality, she had seen it.

Luna was the first to break the silence. Her expression shifted—sadness pooling in the depths of her silvery eyes, mingled with something that looked like disappointment, not in him, but in herself. Without a word, she turned on her heel, as if retreating would undo whatever had just passed between them.

Harry’s hand shot out instinctively, fingers wrapping around her wrist with a firm but gentle grip.

“Where are you going?” His voice was steady, but a trace of frustration edged his words. “You just got back.”

“I—” Luna faltered, her voice cracking like thin ice underfoot. “I made a mistake.” She shook her head, her pale hair catching the faint light of the hallway. “I’m going back to Rolf. I’m returning the ring.”

“What?” Hermione’s voice, sharper than usual, broke through the tension.

Luna’s gaze darted between them, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of her choices had suddenly become too much to bear. “I made a mistake!” she cried, her voice trembling. Her eyes locked onto Harry’s, searching, pleading for something unspoken. “I’m sorry for disappointing you again, Harry.”

Before either of them could respond, she tugged her arm free and reached for the doorknob.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

The spell was quick, precise, and without hesitation. Luna’s body stiffened mid-motion, her wide eyes darting frantically as Harry caught her limp form before she could hit the ground. He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair as he glanced at Hermione.

Hermione simply shook her head, her arms crossed. “At one point, I’d have scolded you for that,” she remarked dryly, “but honestly? This was probably necessary.”

Harry smirked faintly, though his focus remained on Luna, whose panicked gaze flicked between him and Hermione. “She’s chaos incarnate right now. I’ll sort this out.”

With a flick of his wand, he levitated her gently off the ground, guiding her towards her room. Hermione followed, muttering something under her breath about how ridiculous the entire situation had become.

In Luna’s room, Harry lowered her onto the bed with care, adjusting her so that she lay comfortably despite her magically rigid posture. He glanced around the space, noting the whimsical clutter that was so uniquely Luna. His eyes caught on a framed photograph by the bedside.

It was of him and Luna on the day of their graduation, standing close, their robes swaying in the summer breeze. Luna’s radiant smile seemed frozen in time, her hand resting lightly on Harry’s arm as if she belonged there. For a moment, he stared at the image, the memories pressing against the barriers he’d so carefully constructed.

Harry shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Those memories were locked away for a reason. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, not now.

“Do we still have some Sleeping Potion?” he asked, his voice low.

Hermione, leaning casually against the doorframe, summoned the vial with a flick of her wand. She passed it to him with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t this overkill?”

“Look at her,” Harry replied, nodding toward Luna. “Those bags under her eyes tell me she hasn’t slept properly in days. Wherever Rolf is, he’s probably abroad, which means Luna likely used a series of Portkeys or Apparated across half the continent. She’s exhausted, and she’s not thinking straight.”

He uncorked the potion, muttering a spell to ensure Luna could swallow it safely. Her eyes widened in alarm, a flicker of protest darting across her gaze, but Harry sighed, his tone softening.

“You need rest, Luna. We’ll talk about this later, okay? Just sleep. I’ll release the spell once it starts working.”

There was a brief pause, and then, almost imperceptibly, her eyes shifted as if conceding. Harry counted under his breath as the potion took effect, he let go of the spell, her eyelids growing heavier until, finally, she was still. Her soft snores broke the quiet, a strangely comforting sound.

Harry tucked her in again, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He lingered a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before pressing a light kiss to her forehead. With a wave of his wand, he set a series of wards around the room.

“What was that?” Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow as he turned toward her.

“Warded the room,” Harry replied. “Kreacher will know if she needs food, water, or anything else. The door will alert me if she tries to leave before she’s ready.”

Hermione smirked, her earlier frustration giving way to amusement. “You know, this might be a bit much.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I leave her alone for a few hours, and she comes back engaged to some bloke I’ve never met. If it were up to me, I’d have tied her to the bed for good measure.”

Hermione snorted, laughter spilling out before she could stop herself.

“And didn’t you say it?” Harry added, raising an eyebrow. “That she’s been using me as a substitute for her father? Well, I’m putting my foot down. She’s grounded.”

Hermione doubled over, laughing so hard tears pricked at her eyes. Harry, muttering something about needing a stiff drink, left the room in a huff, Hermione’s laughter echoing behind him as they walked towards his study.

xxxxx

Hermione didn’t understand what had come over her lately. She should have been frustrated—no, livid—with the chaos Luna was bringing into their lives. Yet, instead of irritation, a bubbling giddiness coursed through her, filling her chest with warmth she couldn’t quite suppress.

Maybe it was Harry. He had a way of turning even the most maddening situations into something almost endearing. Lately, he had taken on a brooding intensity she hadn’t seen in years. It was reminiscent of their Hogwarts days, where his emotions always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface, barely contained. His fiery outbursts, his raw honesty—it had once frightened her, but over time, she realized it was one of the things she adored most about him.

There was a ferocity in Harry’s feelings that matched the way he lived his life—boldly, unapologetically. And, though she’d never confess it out loud, those moments when his temper flared sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

More than that, though, she loved how he trusted her to steady him. She had a quiet kind of power over Harry—a soothing presence he leaned into when the weight of everything else became too much.

Hermione shifted beneath the plush blanket, the soft fabric brushing her skin as she lay on the bed. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open caught her attention, and her gaze lifted. Harry emerged, his unruly hair damp and glistening, a towel slung low on his hips while he used another to dry the stubborn droplets clinging to his neck and shoulders.

Her breath hitched. Water trailed languidly down his chest, tracing the faint ridges of his muscles. She bit her lip, unable to look away.

Harry glanced up, catching her flushed expression. He smirked, his emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. “What?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to summon her usual composure. “Nothing,” she replied quickly, though the pink blooming on her cheeks betrayed her.

Harry shook his head, chuckling softly as he crossed the room. “You want me to cook something, or should we just grab lunch on the way to Dudley’s?”

Hermione blinked, momentarily distracted by the way his back muscles flexed as he moved. “Should we just leave Luna here?” she asked, attempting to refocus on their plans.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, tossing the damp towel onto a chair. “She’s still out cold. We’ll be back long before she wakes up. I was thinking we could pick up some pudding for her as a peace offering. You know, just in case she decides to hex me for... earlier.” His grin was boyish, teasing, and undeniably charming.

Hermione smirked, leaning back against the headboard. “As if Luna would ever get angry with you, Daddy,” she teased, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

Harry froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. He turned to look at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. “Shut up,” he muttered, his voice low as he shook his head and returned to drying his hair.

She couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and melodic in the quiet room. There was something utterly delightful about catching Harry off guard, watching as his carefully constructed composure unraveled just for her.

When he finally finished, Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms over his head. Hermione’s eyes traced the lines of his body, the way his skin gleamed in the soft afternoon light streaming through the curtains. She knew she should say something about the damp towel now crumpled on the chair, but the words died in her throat.

Instead, she slid closer, her arms wrapping around his torso from behind as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice warm and inviting.

Harry glanced back at her, his lips quirking into a small smile. “What is it?”

“We still have some time, don’t we?” she asked, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his skin.

“A little bit,” he replied, raising a brow. “Why?”

Hermione shifted, her grin widening. “You know why,” she said, her tone lilting with mischief.

Before he could respond, she pushed him backward onto the bed, hovering over him with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Harry let out a startled laugh, his hands instinctively coming up to steady her.

“Can we?” she asked, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. Her curls cascaded around them like a curtain, framing his face in a halo of chestnut and gold.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft, adoring smile. “Whatever you want, love,” he said, his voice low and affectionate.

She leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was both playful and demanding. Their laughter mingled as they struggled with the awkward angle, their noses bumping and lips fumbling.

Hermione pulled back with a giggle, her eyes crinkling in delight. “Kissing someone upside down is harder than it looks,” she remarked, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

Harry chuckled, his hands settling on her waist. “Tell me about it,” he replied, his gaze softening as he looked up at her.

xxxxx

“Are you absolutely sure about this, Harry?” Hermione’s voice wavered slightly, betraying the nervous energy coursing through her. Her hands clutched the edge of the duvet tightly, knuckles whitening as her eyes darted down at him.

Harry’s emerald gaze sparkled with a mischievous delight, a grin spreading across his face that was equal parts endearing and maddening. “I am,” he replied, his tone warm but teasing.

Hermione’s breath hitched, a flush creeping up her neck to bloom across her cheeks. “But I might be too heavy,” she protested, her voice rising as panic began to take hold. “I—I could kill you!”

“And I’d die happy,” Harry quipped, his grin growing wider.

“Harry!” Hermione huffed indignantly, her brow furrowing as her blush deepened.

“Alright, alright,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender, though the laughter in his voice was impossible to miss. “Don’t worry so much. Trust me, okay?”

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes narrowing as she fixed him with a look that was both skeptical and fond. “Honestly, how do you even think of this stuff?” she muttered, her tone tinged with reluctant amusement.

“Hey, you have your own list, I have mine,” Harry countered, his laughter bubbling up, unrestrained and infectious.

Her lips parted in a gasp, her embarrassment flaring as the mention of her own “list” brought a flood of memories rushing back. It was true; between the demands of her apprenticeship with Andromeda, Harry’s myriad responsibilities as Lord Potter, and their recent attempts to play host for Luna’s extended visit, they’d barely had time to themselves. Their stolen moments—quiet snogging sessions behind closed doors, languid mornings spent tangled in the sheets—had been lovely but fleeting.

And now here they were, finding time for something decidedly less fleeting and entirely unorthodox.

Hermione swallowed hard, her nerves prickling as she processed the situation she’d willingly allowed herself to be coaxed into. She was naked. Harry was naked. And she was precariously hovering over him, her knees planted on either side of his head.

Harry, for his part, looked far too pleased with himself. His grin was a manic mixture of excitement and sheer audacity, his emerald eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a jolt of heat racing through her.

“Harry,” she began again, her voice shaky, her fingers twitching as they sought something solid to cling to.

“Trust me,” he interrupted, his tone softening as he reached up, his hands settling lightly on her thighs. His touch was warm, grounding, and a little bit possessive—the way he always was when they were alone. “I’ve got you, love.”

His words, simple as they were, unraveled some of her tension. There was something about Harry—his confidence, his unwavering certainty when it came to her—that made her feel safe, even in moments like this when she was entirely out of her comfort zone.

Hermione exhaled slowly, her body relaxing incrementally as she let his touch anchor her. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, her tone caught between exasperation and affection.

“And you love it,” he replied cheekily, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against her skin.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked upward despite herself. He wasn’t wrong.

As she adjusted her position slightly, she couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze never wavered. Harry’s expression was equal parts reverent and ravenous, and the weight of his focus made her heart stutter.

“Alright,” she said, her voice firmer now, though a hint of nervous laughter lingered at the edges. “But if this goes wrong—”

“It won’t,” he assured her quickly, his grin softening into something gentler. “You can trust me.”

Hermione hesitated for a heartbeat longer, her mind warring between lingering nerves and the undeniable pull of Harry’s unwavering confidence. Finally, she let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” she muttered.

Harry chuckled, his hands giving her thighs a reassuring squeeze. “Not before I make you blush a bit more,” he teased.

She swatted at him half-heartedly, her laughter bubbling up unbidden. As she allowed herself to settle into the moment, she couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Harry could unravel her worries, coaxing her from the rigid confines of her overthinking mind into the present.

It wasn’t just his charm or his cheeky humor—it was the way he made her feel utterly cherished, completely seen. Even now, with her cheeks flushed and her heart pounding, Hermione couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between them.

Harry’s grin widened as Hermione finally relaxed her stance. She was still hovering just slightly above him, her nerves evident in the subtle tension in her thighs. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, the soft waves catching the dim lighting of the bedroom, and Harry couldn’t help but think how utterly breathtaking she looked when she wasn’t even trying.

He could feel the warmth of her skin against his fingertips, his hands still resting on her thighs. Slowly, he slid his palms upward, his touch light and teasing as though coaxing her further into his plan. Hermione shivered, her breath hitching, and he smirked, knowing she was letting herself feel the moment rather than overanalyzing it.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Harry murmured, his voice low, teasing, yet holding a note of affection that only Hermione could inspire.

Her lips parted to retort, but she quickly snapped them shut, the blush on her cheeks deepening. She gave him an exasperated look, which only made him grin harder. “You’re impossible,” she huffed again, her voice breathy and softer than she intended.

“And you’re gorgeous,” he countered smoothly, his hands still tracing lazy circles against her skin.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched upward, betraying her amusement. “You’re just saying that to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe,” she admitted grudgingly, but her body was already leaning closer, as if drawn by some invisible force.

Harry let his hands trail up further, his thumbs grazing the curve of her hips. His touch was confident yet gentle, as though he knew exactly how far he could push her without breaking her fragile resolve. Hermione let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling into the duvet beneath her as if grounding herself.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “I told you, I’ve got you.”

Hermione glanced down at him, her wide brown eyes locking onto his. For a moment, everything else faded away—the room, the dim light, even the lingering nervousness that clung to her edges. All she could see was him, his unwavering confidence, his playful grin, and the way his green eyes burned with an intensity that made her feel like the center of his universe.

Finally, Hermione allowed herself to let go, gently lowering herself onto Harry’s waiting face. Her body tensed at the unfamiliar yet electrifying sensation that coursed through her, sending shivers down her spine.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as Harry adjusted beneath her, his movements deliberate yet teasing. Her breath hitched when she met his gaze, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable and utterly consuming.

"H-Harry," she stammered, her voice trembling with both anticipation and disbelief. Her legs, weakened by the intensity of the moment, gave way as she settled more fully against him. She stole another glance at him, only to find his focus entirely on her, his expression a mix of devotion and unrestrained desire.

Before she could catch her breath, Harry’s mouth moved against her, his lips pressing soft, deliberate kisses that sent sparks through her body. Hermione let out a startled cry, instinctively trying to pull away, but his firm grip on her thighs kept her anchored in place.

“Don’t run from this,” his actions seemed to say, his touch both possessive and tender.

The intimacy of it all overwhelmed her. His kisses were slow and reverent, as though he were exploring her very soul. Hermione’s head fell back against the headboard, her hands tangling in his damp hair as she moaned softly, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. The sheer intensity of the sensation left her reeling, her mind struggling to keep up with what her body was experiencing.

As Harry’s tongue began its exploration, Hermione could no longer hold herself together. Small, shuddering waves of pleasure coursed through her, leaving her whimpering and gasping, her grip on his hair tightening as if grounding herself. Her every nerve was alight, her body responding instinctively to his ministrations.

Then it happened—a familiar, almost forbidden sensation that made her entire body tense. His Parseltongue. The subtle vibrations sent ripples of unrelenting pleasure through her, the hissing sounds he made amplifying the effect.

“No—Harry!” Hermione gasped, her voice rising in pitch as she felt herself slipping further into the overwhelming waves of sensation. She tried to shift away, her body instinctively seeking both escape and more, but Harry held her fast, his hands unyielding on her thighs as he continued his relentless pace.

His determination left her breathless. One hand slipped away from her thigh, and before she could protest, his fingers slid inside her, curling just so, finding the spot that made her cry out. His tongue focused on her most sensitive spot, the vibrations of his Parseltongue coupled with the gentle rhythm of his fingers driving her higher and higher.

“Harry, please—I can’t!” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she fought to process the sheer intensity of it all.

But Harry didn’t relent. Instead, he worked her body with an almost reverent focus, his fingers coaxing her closer to the edge. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her thighs trembling as the pressure built to an almost unbearable peak.

And then, with a cry that tore through her, she shattered. Her release hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her shaking and breathless. Harry withdrew his fingers but kept her in place, allowing her to ride out every wave of pleasure as it washed over her. She couldn’t stop herself from moving against him, her body seeking to prolong the euphoric high.

Hermione barely registered the soft, amused chuckle that escaped him as she finally collapsed forward, her body trembling with aftershocks. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she realized the mess she’d made of him, but Harry didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Instead, he gazed up at her with that same mixture of tenderness and mischief that had always made her heart race. Reaching up, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch grounding her.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection.

Hermione managed a weak laugh, burying her face in her hands as she tried to catch her breath. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her true feelings.

Harry’s grin widened, his hands sliding up to rest on her hips. “You love me for it,” he teased, his voice warm and playful.

And despite everything, Hermione found herself smiling back, her heart full and her body still humming from the afterglow.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter didn’t know if his amusement stemmed from the fact that Dudley Dursley’s house was leagues more refined than the cramped quarters at Privet Drive or if it was the surprising charm of Dudley’s life now—a man who had somehow transformed into a devoted husband and diligent professional. Either way, Harry couldn’t help but chuckle every time he visited his cousin. The absurdity of it all was almost poetic: Dudley, the childhood bully turned family man, now living in a home filled with warmth and laughter, alongside a wife who genuinely adored him.

It was surreal. Dudley had rebuilt himself from the ground up after moving out of his parents' suffocating home. The true irony hit Harry the hardest on the day Dudley invited him to his wedding. Harry had brought Hermione as his date—an event that would forever live in his memory for her bold theatrics.

He smirked at the thought. At the reception, Hermione had brandished her wand at Dudley in mock warning, her voice dripping with mock menace as she told him never to lay a hand on Harry again. Both men had burst out laughing, though Dudley’s was a touch more nervous. It had taken a few moments for Harry to assure her that the cousins had long since made peace. That day had cemented the shift in their relationship, but the true villains remained unchanged: Dudley’s parents. Vernon and Petunia had made themselves scarce, glaring at Harry and Hermione from the corners of the reception, clearly uncomfortable with the polished and confident man Harry had become.

Hermione had ensured Harry was dressed to impress for the occasion, throwing money at tailoring costs and snapping at him that this was his chance to turn the tables. “They’ll see you as the oh so famous Lord Potter, not the boy they locked in a cupboard,” she had declared. Harry smiled softly at the memory. Hermione always had a way of making him feel invincible.

The door swung open with a loud creak, interrupting his thoughts.

“You’re finally here!” Dudley greeted with a mock frown, his broad figure filling the doorway.

“Hey, Big D,” Harry said with a grin, clapping his cousin on the shoulder as he stepped inside. “Sorry, we’re late.”

“Hello, Dudley,” Hermione chimed in from behind him, her voice polite and warm. She smiled, though there was a playful glint in her eyes that immediately set Dudley on edge.

“Hello, Hermione. You’re not going to pull a wand on me again, are you?” Dudley teased with a nervous laugh.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her tone deliberately slow as she replied, “Oh, I don’t need a wand anymore. We can do quite a lot without them these days.”

Dudley’s smirk faltered as he visibly paled. “O-oh,” he stammered, stepping aside to let them in.

Harry’s laughter echoed in the hallway as they entered the house. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a far cry from the sterile perfection of Privet Drive. Dudley had made a home here—clean, yes, but undeniably lived-in, with family photos on the walls and a faint smell of fresh-baked bread lingering in the air.

They settled into the living room, Harry handing over a bottle of wine as a courtesy gift. Dudley took it with a grateful nod, though his brow furrowed as he glanced at the clock.

“Why are you late, anyway? It’s well past lunch,” Dudley asked, setting the bottle down.

Harry cleared his throat, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, yeah, I had to take another bath. There was… an incident.”

Hermione, seated beside him, suddenly found the tree outside the window fascinating, her cheeks flushing pink.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Dudley asked, concern evident in his tone.

“Yeah, no harm done. Just made a mess with my meal,” Harry replied casually, his smirk deepening.

“What were you eating, anyway?” Dudley pressed, oblivious to the tension brewing between his guests.

“Pasta,” Hermione answered quickly, her voice tight. She cleared her throat, eager to change the subject. “Anyway, what’s the emergency, Dudley? Where’s Ashley?”

Dudley sighed heavily, rising to his feet. “Wait here. I’ll get her.”

As Dudley left the room, Hermione reached for a Muggle magazine lying on the coffee table, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. Harry, meanwhile, leaned back on the sofa, taking in the cozy surroundings. The space felt alive, filled with small personal touches—a crocheted blanket draped over the armrest, a stack of books in the corner, and a pair of mismatched mugs left on the mantel. It was a far cry from the clinical perfection of the Dursleys’ old home, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Petunia ever visited to offer her unsolicited opinions. If she did, he imagined Ashley would hold her ground with grace. Dudley’s wife had a quiet strength about her, one Harry admired.

“Harry! Hermione!” Ashley Williams’s cheerful voice rang out as she entered the room, her blonde hair bouncing with every step. She beamed as she rushed forward, enveloping Harry in a tight hug that nearly smothered him before moving on to Hermione.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Ashley said, her words tumbling out in excitement. “Dudley said you two could help us with our problem.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, their curiosity piqued.

“What problem exactly?” Hermione asked, closing the magazine and giving Ashley her full attention.

Dudley returned to the living room with a slightly uncomfortable expression, holding the hand of his son, Arthur. The little boy’s blond curls bounced with each unsteady step, and his chubby fingers clutched a small, worn teddy bear. Dudley’s broad shoulders seemed to sag slightly, as if the weight of the unspoken issue bore down on him.

“Hello, Arthur!” Harry’s voice brightened instantly as he crouched down, extending his arms to the toddler. Arthur giggled and toddled forward with unrestrained enthusiasm, collapsing into Harry’s embrace.

“Look at you, getting bigger every time I see you!” Harry said warmly, scooping the boy up as though he weighed nothing. He swung Arthur into the air, eliciting a chorus of delighted squeals before settling him back down in his arms. Pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead, he asked in a conspiratorial tone, “Did you miss me? Did you miss Uncle Harry?”

Arthur responded with an enthusiastic nod and a babble of nonsense words that only toddlers could master.

Dudley groaned and rolled his eyes, muttering something about Harry being too soft, but Harry was unfazed. Reaching into the pocket of his tailored jacket, he pulled out a neatly folded wad of cash. With a cheeky grin, he slipped it into Arthur’s little pocket as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Harry, you don’t need to do that,” Dudley grumbled half-heartedly, though there was no real heat in his words. He had long given up trying to protest Harry’s generosity. The first few times had sparked genuine arguments, but over the years, Dudley had learned that Harry’s stubbornness rivaled his own.

“Consider it an investment,” Harry quipped, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he winked at Arthur, who was now fascinated by the crinkling sound of the cash in his pocket.

Hermione watched the scene unfold from her spot on the sofa, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. There was something utterly endearing about the way Harry interacted with children. She remembered vividly how he had fumbled with a wailing Teddy Lupin during his first babysitting attempt, his panic so genuine that Hermione had laughed until her sides hurt. Yet here he was now, effortlessly charming Arthur, his once-nervous demeanor replaced with the quiet confidence of a man who had seen too much and yet found solace in life’s simplest joys.

“You’re really good with him,” she murmured when Harry caught her gaze. Her voice was soft, but the unspoken admiration in her tone was unmistakable. Harry’s smirk deepened as he returned her gaze, his thumb absently tracing circles on Arthur’s back.

“I have my moments,” he said lightly, but his eyes lingered on Hermione a beat too long, the charged silence between them speaking volumes. She felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny, and she quickly turned her attention to Dudley and Ashley.

“So,” Hermione said, clearing her throat and adopting a more serious tone, “what’s the problem? You’ve been fidgeting since we arrived.”

Ashley, who had been sitting stiffly beside Dudley, exchanged a nervous glance with her husband. Her blonde hair shimmered under the soft glow of the living room light as she wrung her hands together. “Harry, Hermione,” she began hesitantly, her voice trembling slightly, “we need you to promise not to tell anyone about this. Not your friends, not even family.”

Hermione raised a brow, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Of course,” she assured, leaning forward slightly. “What’s going on?”

Ashley exhaled shakily and glanced at Dudley again, silently urging him to continue. Dudley scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, but after a moment of hesitation, he began to speak. “It’s Arthur,” he said, his voice low. “He... he does things. Weird things. Especially when he’s upset or scared. I-I think... Harry, is he?”

Hermione’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but before she could say anything, Harry chuckled, the sound warm and knowing. “Let me guess,” he said, his tone almost teasing, “things happen that you can’t explain? Objects move on their own, lights flicker, maybe a vase or two shattered when he was having a tantrum?”

Ashley’s blue eyes widened in shock. “How did you—did Dudley already tell you?”

Harry shook his head, his grin widening. “No, but I had a hunch,” he replied. Shifting Arthur in his arms so the boy was nestled against his chest, Harry looked at Dudley and Ashley with an almost proud expression. “We are family, after all.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Dudley processed Harry’s words. Finally, Hermione broke the tension, her voice soft and tinged with amusement. “He’s a wizard,” she said simply, her eyes twinkling as they landed on Arthur.

xxxxx

Harry's laughter rang through the cozy living room of the Dursley home, rich and unrestrained, as Hermione fixed him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. She huffed, crossing her arms in indignation, though the twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed her amusement. "Will you stop laughing, Harry? Honestly, you're not helping matters."

Harry tried, truly, but the mental image of Ashley Dursley clutching a rosary while frantically summoning priests for blessings and exorcisms was too much. His laughter spilled over again, and he leaned against the arm of the couch for support, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

Ashley, seated stiffly on the edge of a chair across the room, flushed deeply, though whether it was from embarrassment or residual frustration wasn’t clear. "It’s not funny!" she exclaimed, her tone caught between mortification and exasperation. “We thought the house was haunted! Do you know how much we spent moving and having priests come bless it? And then it kept happening—even in the new house!”

Harry snorted, trying to compose himself but failing miserably. “Haunted by a two-year-old wizard,” he managed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temple, though the corner of her mouth quirked up. “Stop it, Harry,” she muttered before focusing on Ashley, her expression softening. “I understand why it must have been overwhelming. Accidental magic can be... unpredictable at that age. Frankly, I think it's quite early for Arthur to do that.”

Ashley wrung her hands together nervously. "You have no idea," she said, her voice trembling slightly. “His tantrums are... well, destructive. First, it was little things: a bowl of carrots he didn’t want would slide off the table or his crib would rattle if he didn’t want to sleep. But then there was the clown figurine I’d put out for decoration—it shattered into pieces without him even touching it. And one of Dudley’s car tires just... popped!” She gestured wildly, clearly still rattled by the memory.

Dudley groaned, his head in his hands. "Ashley, enough about the car," he grumbled. “I’ve told you—Arthur is not possessed!”

“I didn’t know that back then!” Ashley shot back, throwing up her hands. “I was this close to calling the Vatican!”

Harry doubled over again, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard it nearly hurt. Even Hermione cracked a smile at that, shaking her head. "Oh, Ashley," she said gently, “I can assure you, Arthur isn’t possessed by anything but pure magic.”

Dudley, clearly fed up with the exchange, turned to Harry. “Can we just get to the part where you explain all of this, Potter?” he muttered, his face a mix of irritation and resignation.

Sobering slightly, Harry straightened up and gave Dudley a look of rare seriousness. "He’s a wizard, D. Like me." He hesitated, his expression softening as he glanced at Ashley. "I’m sorry we didn’t explain sooner. There are rules—laws, really—about what we can share with non-magical people. Dudley doesn’t have magic, but my mum, Lily—your aunt—was a witch, and my dad was a wizard. It’s why I am the way I am.”

Ashley stared at Harry, her eyes wide with dawning understanding. “So, you’re saying... this runs in the family? That if we have more kids, they might...?”

Harry hesitated, then turned to Hermione, deferring to her expertise. She’d been sitting quietly, observing, but now she spoke with the calm precision of someone who had considered these questions many times. “It’s hard to say for certain,” she began. “Magic doesn’t follow predictable patterns. It’s not guaranteed. For instance, Harry and I might have children who inherit his green eyes, or they might not. Magic is just as fickle—it sometimes skips generations entirely, and sometimes it appears unexpectedly, like with Arthur—or me. My parents don’t have magic either.”

Ashley nodded slowly, processing this, but her brow furrowed again as she asked, “So, there’s no way to tell? No way to... prepare?”

Hermione’s lips twitched, and she gave a rueful smile. “I’m afraid not. But honestly, Ashley, there’s nothing to fear. Magic isn’t something dark or unnatural. It’s just... different.”

Ashley nodded again, though she still seemed overwhelmed. She glanced at Arthur, who was sitting contentedly on the floor, making a tower of colorful blocks Harry had conjured for him. The little boy’s face lit up as the tower began to hover inches above the carpet, his laughter filling the room.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Ashley murmured, though there was a flicker of something softer in her expression now. "That it would be... too different."

Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Different doesn’t mean bad, Ashley. I know this is all new to you, but Arthur’s magic is a gift. And he’ll need you and Dudley to help him navigate it. He’s going to be incredible—I can already tell.”

Dudley, who had been silent for most of the exchange, finally spoke. His voice was low but steady, his gaze fixed on his son. “He’s still my boy,” he said, almost to himself. “Wizard or not. And I’m not going to fail him—not like I failed you, Harry.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Dudley’s words settling between them. Harry’s expression softened, and he reached out, clapping Dudley on the shoulder. “You’ve already started making up for that,” he said quietly.

Breaking the heavy moment, Harry added with a grin, “Anyway, in nine years, he’ll be off to Hogwarts. So you better prepare for that."

Dudley blanched slightly at the thought of Arthur being whisked away to a magical boarding school, but he nodded nonetheless, his resolve clear. Arthur, oblivious to the serious conversation happening above him, giggled as his tower of blocks wobbled precariously.

Harry crouched down, ruffling the boy’s hair. “You’re going to be brilliant, Arthur,” he said warmly.

And as Hermione watched the scene unfold, her heart swelled with pride. This was Harry at his core—the boy who had once been neglected and unloved, now standing tall as a protector and guide for the next generation, his passion and kindness shining through.

xxxxx

The familiar warmth of Grimmauld Place wrapped around Harry and Hermione as they returned after nightfall. The ancestral home of the Black family was no longer the cold, forbidding place it had once been. Thanks to Hermione's persistence and Harry's funding, the house now had a welcoming air, with soft lighting casting a golden glow over the dark wood paneling and plush furniture. The faint scent of lavender and old parchment lingered in the air, giving the space a sense of home that Harry had longed for in his youth.

Harry set down the takeaway bags in the kitchen, his movements deliberate but unhurried. The smell of food mingled with the warmth of the house, a comforting reminder of the simple joys they had carved out for themselves after years of chaos. Hermione, meanwhile, emptied her beaded bag onto the low table in the sitting room, pulling out a small stack of books. The titles gleamed faintly in the soft lamplight: A Practical Guide to Wizarding Children, Warding for Beginners, and Magical Integration: A Muggleborn Perspective.

She settled on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, and opened one of the books, quickly losing herself in its contents. Her brow furrowed as she read, her lips moving slightly as she absorbed the outdated advice written in painfully small script. Harry watched her from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The wards on Luna's room pulsed faintly in the back of his mind. She was still resting, and Harry would wake her later, but for now, he was content to enjoy the quiet moment with Hermione. He walked over to the couch, his footsteps soft against the well-worn rug, and stopped just behind her.

"Hermione," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

She didn’t look up. "Hmm?"

"What are you reading?" He leaned down, his breath ghosting against the crown of her head as he pressed a kiss there.

Hermione tilted the book slightly toward him, though her eyes stayed fixed on the page. "It's this book on how to raise wizarding children. It's fascinating, but honestly, some of these suggestions are ridiculous. Did you know pureblood children were often kept indoors with only tutors for the first ten years of their lives? Completely isolated from the world! It's no wonder so many of them grew up with skewed worldviews."

Harry chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her. "And what’s your solution, Professor Granger?"

Hermione huffed, flipping a page with a little more force than necessary. "When our children are old enough, they’ll go to a Muggle school first. It’s important for them to have a balanced upbringing—understanding both worlds. And after Hogwarts, college will be non-negotiable!"

Harry’s smile widened as he straightened, circling the couch to sit beside her. He leaned back, his arm draping casually along the back of the cushions, his emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "You said it again," he pointed out, his tone light but probing.

Hermione glanced at him, confused. "Said what?"

"Our children," he replied, his voice dropping slightly, a playful lilt creeping into his words.

Her fingers froze on the edge of the page. For a moment, she didn’t dare look at him. She felt the heat of his gaze, the way it seemed to strip away her defenses with disarming ease.

"I... I was just speaking hypothetically," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink.

Harry shifted closer, the space between them shrinking. "Is that what you want?" he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Hermione’s breath caught. "What do you mean?"

Harry leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "Do you want to have my children, Hermione?"

Her heart stuttered, the question setting off a flurry of emotions she struggled to suppress. She wanted to shout her answer, to tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes—but she hesitated. The weight of her aspirations loomed over her like a shadow. Becoming a Potions Master, finding her parents, reclaiming pieces of herself she had lost during the war—these were goals she had promised herself she would achieve.

"I..." she began, but her voice faltered.

Harry didn’t press her. Instead, his hand gently cupped her cheek, guiding her face toward his. The kiss he gave her was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the fiery, impulsive kisses they often shared. This one was different—deeper, more intimate, as though he were trying to convey all the words he couldn’t quite say.

Hermione melted into the kiss, her book slipping from her fingers and landing forgotten on the floor. Her hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his shirt as though anchoring herself to the moment. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, her lips tingling, her mind spinning.

Harry rested his forehead against hers, a faint smile playing on his lips. "She's awake," he said after a moment, his tone gentle.

Hermione blinked, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. "W-Who?"

"Luna," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He stood, smoothing his shirt and glancing toward the hallway. "Let’s continue this conversation another time, yeah?"

She nodded, watching as he walked away. His footsteps faded as he disappeared down the corridor, leaving her alone in the sitting room.

Hermione slowly picked up her book, her fingers brushing against the pages without really seeing them. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, her heart pounding in her chest. As she stared at the empty doorway, a small, wistful smile curved her lips.

For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine it—not just the abstract idea of a future, but their future. A home filled with love and laughter, a garden where their children could play, and quiet evenings just like this one, where the world outside faded away, leaving only them.

xxxxx

The warm glow of the kitchen’s enchanted lanterns cast a soft light over the room as Luna sat at the long oak table, her pale hair catching the golden hues. She stared at the bowl of pudding in front of her, its creamy surface undisturbed save for the faint wisps of steam curling upward. She felt the weight of Harry’s gaze and avoided it, instead prodding at the Thai food remnants on her plate. The sharp tang of lemongrass still lingered on her tongue, a flavor she didn’t particularly enjoy, but she had dutifully eaten anyway under Harry’s watchful, disapproving glare.

Outside, the night deepened, shadows lengthening across the worn stone floors of Grimmauld Place. It was quiet save for the occasional creak of the house settling into its old bones. Hermione had tactfully left the two of them alone, retreating to the library to immerse herself in the world of books, sensing Harry needed this moment with Luna.

Harry leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed as he surveyed her. “The cameras have been dealt with,” he said, his voice even but firm, breaking the tense silence.

Luna glanced up, her wide eyes betraying a flicker of surprise, though she said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“Half of them will be gifted during Ron and Susan’s wedding,” Harry continued, his tone lightening. “The guests will be able to take pictures, and the photos will be used to make a family album. The other half I sold to the Daily Prophet after I threatened to sue them for releasing that picture of us. They’ve agreed to retract the announcement and publish a formal apology. Minister Kingsley backed me up on this, so the statement will be out by tomorrow morning.”

As he spoke, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of violet liquid. The potion shimmered faintly in the warm light as he set it on the table in front of her. His expression softened, though the gravity in his eyes remained. “You don’t need to explain anything,” he said quietly. “But I’ll admit I’m assuming the worst when you returned with an engagement ring on your finger. This is a contraceptive potion.”

Luna’s breath hitched, her delicate features paling slightly. Her gaze dropped to the vial, and she reached out with trembling fingers to take it. Without a word, she uncorked it and drank, the faintly bitter taste making her wince. She set the empty vial back on the table, her hands folding tightly in her lap.

Harry’s voice was gentler when he spoke again. “I also found an apartment for you,” he said, his emerald eyes watching her reaction closely. “I made an offer to our neighbors at Number 11, and they’ve agreed to sell. It’s fully furnished, but you can redecorate as you like. The wards are already in place, and it’s connected to the Floo network. Rent is 150 Galleons a month.” He slid a brass key across the table, the cool metal catching the light as it came to rest before her.

Luna blinked, stunned into silence as she picked up the key. She turned it over in her hand, her gaze darting between the object and Harry, who was now leaning forward slightly, his expression soft but resolute.

“See what I managed to do in just a few days?” he said, his voice tinged with a quiet urgency. “I kept my head calm and didn’t act out of panic. No drastic measures.”

Luna opened her mouth, the beginnings of an apology forming, but she quickly clapped a hand over it, her eyes widening in panic.

Harry let out a sigh, running a hand through his unruly hair. “You can apologize a million times, and I’ll still be your friend, Luna. I promise you that.” His voice softened further, a note of regret creeping in. “I’m sorry for what I said. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Luna whispered, her voice trembling. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she stared down at the key, her grip tightening around it. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I made a mess of things. I just wanted to—”

“You don’t have to make it up to me,” Harry interrupted, his smile tinged with sadness. “You’ve already done more for me than you know. You were there when I needed help at the Department of Mysteries. You barely knew me then, but you were ready to fight by my side. And after the war… you stayed. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to Luna's bowl of pudding in front of him. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he picked up a spoon and took a bite. The sweet, creamy dessert melted on his tongue, but he fought to keep a straight face as Luna’s eye twitched slightly at the sight.

“What happened during the war wasn’t your fault,” Harry said after swallowing, his tone somber again. “What Xeno did—he did it to protect you. He lost your mum; he couldn’t bear to lose you too. He would have sacrificed anything to keep you safe.”

Luna’s expression hardened, anger flashing briefly in her silver eyes, but Harry leaned forward, his own gaze piercing. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “Don’t get angry. Listen to me. This ends now.”

Her anger softened into sadness, tears slipping down her cheeks as she shook her head. “It’s not fair, Harry,” she said, her voice breaking.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, his tone steady. “None of it was. We were just kids, Luna. And your father… he did what he thought he had to. I’ve already forgiven him. It’s time for you to decide what you want to do. But stop trying to make it up to me. You don’t owe me anything. Just… focus on yourself, yeah?”

For a long moment, silence filled the room, save for the faint ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall. Luna stared at him, her gaze searching, as if trying to absorb the weight of his words. Finally, she nodded, wiping her tears with trembling hands.

Harry pushed back his chair and stood, smoothing out his shirt. “Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You ate my pudding,” Luna said flatly, though a faint pout tugged at her lips.

“Pudding is for people who don’t do crazy things,” Harry quipped, smirking as he flicked his wand. A second bowl of pudding floated over to her and landed gently on the table. “Eat up. We’ll talk about Rolf after. I’ll go fetch Hermione.”

As he left the kitchen, Luna stared at the fresh bowl of pudding in front of her, a faint smile breaking through her tear-streaked face. For the first time in days, the heavy weight on her chest felt a little lighter.

xxxxx

It turned out Rolf Scamander had been teetering on the edge of proposing to Luna all along. Harry and Hermione learned this detail during Luna’s recounting of events, her dreamy tone undercut by the faintest glimmer of regret. Rolf, oblivious to the Daily Prophet's article, had been immersed in his research in Japan when Luna found herself caught in the storm of rumors and scrutiny.

Upon hearing her side of the story, panic had swept across Rolf's normally serene features. The moment had unraveled in an almost comical flurry of nerves and impulse. Without a second thought—and clearly without a shred of preparation—the younger Scamander blurted out a marriage proposal. Luna, in her typical straightforward manner, accepted it with a serene smile, as if it was the most natural conclusion to the chaos around them.

What followed, however, was less amusing and more mortifying for Harry and Hermione. Luna had elaborated on her decision-making process with such vivid candor that both Harry and Hermione, seasoned war veterans though they were, had been left blushing furiously. Harry had shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his hands clenched tightly as he processed Luna's openness. Even Hermione, who prided herself on keeping a level head, found herself repeatedly clearing her throat and avoiding Luna's gaze.

Still, Harry couldn’t help but feel a weight lift from his chest. Luna’s recounting had affirmed his suspicions and validated his decision to give her the contraceptive potion. He could almost feel the tension draining from his shoulders, though the storm of emotions swirling beneath his composed exterior remained.

Luna, ever the eccentric strategist, revealed her plan to overshadow the Daily Prophet’s salacious article with an even more sensational announcement—her engagement to Rolf and the news that she was carrying his child.

Hermione, who had been following the conversation with a mix of concern and growing exasperation, couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Luna, you can’t just… conceive a child out of necessity!” Hermione exclaimed, her tone a blend of incredulity and frustration. “That’s unfair—to you, to Rolf, and especially to your future child!”

Luna nodded solemnly, though her serene expression faltered, revealing a flicker of guilt beneath the surface. “I know,” she replied softly. “And I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“No,” Harry interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. “You weren’t thinking, Luna. If you were, you’d have realized how reckless this is.” He leaned forward, his green eyes locked onto hers, his tone softening but remaining firm. “Now about this engagement... Is this really what you want? Luna, really think about it. I know you and Rolf have been partners for some time, but do you truly want this? Marriage isn’t just some patch for a problem or a shield against gossip.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths. Luna’s gaze drifted downward, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of the table. Then, with a slow inhale, she lifted her head, and the dreamy, faraway look in her eyes gave way to something resolute and clear.

“I do,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet certainty that silenced even Hermione’s rising objections. “Yes, I know I made a mistake with trying to conceive a baby with Rolf so suddenly, but I do. I love him truly. And I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

A soft smile graced her lips, and her eyes glimmered with unshed tears—not of sadness, but of genuine conviction. “He makes me happy,” she continued, her voice steady but warm. “He understands what I say, even when it sounds like nonsense to others. He listens, really listens, and he shows me pictures of the magical creatures he encounters during his travels. He’s even invited me to join him countless times, but I couldn’t because of my work.”

Harry should have felt a pang of hurt at her words. After all, he had spent years trying to make Luna happy too, listening to her peculiar observations, respecting her eccentricities even when he didn’t always understand them. He had thought, once upon a time, that he could be the one to give her the happiness she deserved.

But as he studied her now, radiating joy and certainty as she spoke of Rolf, he realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to admit before. He loved Luna, yes—but their love had always been a mismatched puzzle. They were physically compatible, sure, but emotionally… their connection had always been slightly off-kilter, like a melody played out of sync.

He pushed the bittersweet thought aside, letting it dissolve in the warmth of Luna’s happiness. For her sake, he wouldn’t let his past feelings taint this moment.

A genuine smile broke across Harry’s face, and he nodded. “Then I’m happy for you,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

Luna’s radiant smile widened, her relief palpable as she reached across the table and clasped his hand briefly. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

Harry watched her for a moment longer, a quiet fondness lingering in his gaze before he leaned back in his chair. He let his eyes wander to the flickering fire in the hearth, the flames casting dancing shadows across the walls of Grimmauld Place. Despite the complicated past emotions swirling within him, he felt a strange sense of peace. Luna had made her choice, and though it wasn’t the path he might have imagined for her, it was hers—and that was enough.

For now, all he could do was support her, just as she had supported him through the darkest chapters of his life. And in that moment, Harry resolved to let go of what could have been and focus instead on the future, whatever it might hold.

xxxxx

The soft glow of enchanted sconces illuminated Harry's bedroom in Grimmauld Place, casting golden patterns on the dark, richly paneled walls. The heavy drapes had been drawn closed, muffling the distant hum of the bustling London streets outside. Harry lay sprawled on his massive bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Hermione sat beside him, her legs tucked under her, wearing one of his oversized shirts. The fabric hung loose on her petite frame, slipping lazily off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin kissed by the warm light.

Their laughter had only just faded, lingering faintly in the air like a whisper. The echo of Luna’s indignant protests still played in Harry's mind, and his lips curved into a soft smile. Hermione had giggled uncontrollably at his deadpan announcement that Luna was “grounded” for two more days, a punishment Luna had accepted with a resigned sigh and a stack of books clutched to her chest. It had been a moment of levity in the middle of an otherwise tumultuous few weeks, and Harry clung to it like a lifeline.

But now, the silence that replaced the laughter felt heavy, pressing against Harry’s chest as he stared upward. The weight of memories—of unresolved emotions and unspoken truths—seemed to gather like storm clouds in his mind. His fingers flexed absently against the soft duvet, searching for some anchor to reality.

Hermione noticed, as she always did. She turned onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the room. Her wild curls framed her features, and her eyes—deep and endlessly curious—focused intently on him.

"Harry?" she asked softly, her voice laced with concern. "Are you quite alright?"

He blinked, pulling himself from the spiral of his thoughts. His lips parted as if to answer, but he hesitated. Instead, he gave a short, almost breathless laugh and said, "Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking... about the past few months."

Hermione’s expression softened, and a small smile tugged at her lips. "It has been chaotic, hasn’t it?" she said, with a light laugh. "And I still haven’t even taken my Mastery exam yet."

Harry tilted his head to glance at her, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "That’s before Christmas, right?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, brushing a stray curl from her face. "So you’ll be in charge of decorating the house while I hole up in the library, okay?"

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and rich in the quiet room. "Of course," he said with a smirk. "Kreacher will help, too."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, her brow furrowing as she shook her head. "I want you to do it on your own!"

"Merlin, this place is gigantic," Harry groaned dramatically. "How do you reckon I’ll manage that on my own?"

"With magic, of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry smiled at her, the memory of a Christmas past surfacing in his mind. He still remembered the look on her face when she’d caught him mismatching decorations on the tree—gold and silver baubles where there should have been red and green. And the candy canes—how was he supposed to know she wanted peppermint ones and not the fruity kind? He chuckled quietly to himself at the thought.

"Alright," he relented, his tone deliberately resigned. "But I’m counting on you being too knackered after your exam to notice if I mess up."

Hermione laughed softly, the sound soothing in its familiarity. But then her laughter faded, and her expression grew more serious as she studied him. "What’s on your mind, Harry?" she asked again, her voice quieter this time, more insistent.

She reached out, brushing a hand through his perpetually messy hair, her touch tender and grounding. Her gaze was unyielding, and Harry felt the knot of emotions he’d been suppressing tighten in his chest.

He sighed, shifting his gaze back to the ceiling. "Okay," he said finally, his voice low and steady. "Alright. I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone before. Mostly because..." He hesitated, his throat tightening around the words. "Because I just want to let it out and move on."

Hermione didn’t speak. She simply waited, her hand still idly playing with his hair, her touch silently urging him to continue.

Harry closed his eyes, the weight of his memories pressing down on him. The ache of loneliness from those moments, the confusion of emotions he hadn’t been ready to confront—it all came rushing back. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter, almost a whisper.

"Before graduating from Hogwarts, I planned on proposing to Luna."

The confession hung in the air between them, raw and vulnerable. Harry’s chest felt tight, but as he said the words, he felt a strange sense of relief, as though a long-closed door had finally creaked open.

Hermione didn’t move. Her fingers stilled in his hair, but she said nothing, her expression unreadable. Harry kept his eyes closed, bracing himself for her reaction, the memories still swirling in his mind like a storm he couldn’t control.

Chapter Text

The room was dimly lit, the flickering light from the enchanted lanterns casting soft shadows along the dark wood-paneled walls. The faint scent of old books and something distinctly Harry—a mix of pine, smoke from the hearth, and the subtle musk of his cologne—lingered in the air. Hermione sat cross-legged on Harry's bed, a sturdy four-poster draped in heavy emerald-green curtains, with the bedspread rumpled from where Harry had been sitting moments ago. His room was a peculiar mix of his old life and the new—ancient Black family heirlooms shoved carelessly into corners, stacks of parchment piled on his desk, and scattered trinkets that spoke of his quieter hobbies.

Harry sat across from her, his posture unusually tense, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sweater as though the very act of sitting still was too much to bear. His glasses were perched crookedly on his nose, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes, usually so vibrant, looked dulled, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“Before graduating from Hogwarts,” Harry began, his voice hoarse and hesitant, “I planned on proposing to Luna.”

The words hit Hermione like a thunderclap. Her breath caught, her heart skipping a beat as her gaze locked on Harry’s face. Of all the revelations she might have anticipated tonight, this wasn’t one of them. She’d always believed that whatever Harry had shared with Luna in their final year at Hogwarts had been fleeting—a means of grounding themselves amidst the chaos of war. A physical connection born from shared trauma, not something with roots deep enough to consider marriage.

But the way Harry avoided her gaze, the way his fingers trembled as they traced invisible patterns on his knees, told a different story.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the headboard and running a hand over his face. “It wasn’t just… casual, Hermione. Not for me.” His voice cracked, and he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off the emotions threatening to break free. “We’d sneak out of our dorms, meet in the castle, explore what was left of it after the battle. We’d fix things—just little things, you know? A broken window here, a scorched tapestry there. And after… when the nightmares got too bad, we’d go to the Room of Requirement. Just to hold each other. Just to... feel less alone.”

Hermione’s chest tightened as she listened. She remembered bits and pieces of this—Luna had mentioned some of it in passing, as had Harry during one of their rare vulnerable moments. But hearing the whole story now, in this quiet, intimate setting, was different. It was raw, unfiltered, and it made her heart ache in ways she hadn’t expected.

Harry chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “We ended up in a physical relationship, yeah. I won’t pretend it wasn’t… intense. But for me, it became more than that. I thought it was more for her too.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “So, I bought a ring.”

Hermione’s hand instinctively gripped the edge of the blanket beneath her, her knuckles whitening. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, loud and erratic, as Harry’s words unraveled the carefully constructed image she had of him during those years.

“I have the money so it wasn't really an issue and spent hours looking for the biggest one,” His lips twitched in what might have been a smile if it weren’t so laced with bitterness. “And I waited for the right time to ask her. But then she…” He trailed off, letting the weight of his unfinished sentence settle between them.

He let out a shaky breath, his head dropping as his shoulders sagged under the weight of the memory. “I told you about it, right? How she didn’t want a husband or a family?” He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “Merlin, that felt like a slap to my ego, Hermione. I couldn’t stop thinking... was it me? Am I that broken? After everything we’d been through together, she didn’t even see me in her future.”

Hermione’s chest constricted painfully as she watched him, his vulnerability laid bare before her. For years, she had wondered why Harry didn’t date more, why he seemed content to drift through his days with work and friends, never seeking anything deeper. She had assumed he was simply enjoying the peace he had fought so hard for, that he was letting himself live without the weight of expectations. But now, the truth was clear: he wasn’t living freely; he was hiding.

“And then she said yes to that bloke after just a year,” Harry muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “Can you imagine? One year, Hermione. That’s all it took for her to decide he was worth it.”

Hermione’s heart shattered as she saw a tear slip down Harry’s cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away, and when his voice broke on the next word, she couldn’t stay still.

“Harry,” she said gently, crawling closer to him and wrapping her arms around his slumped shoulders. He stiffened at first but then melted into her embrace, his head dropping onto her shoulder as the sobs he’d been holding back finally broke free.

Harry let out a choked sob, and Hermione’s heart shattered. He bit his lip, his frustration evident as he tried to stem the flow of tears that now streamed down his face. “That’s all I ever wanted, you know?” he said, his voice breaking. “A family. A real one. I swore to myself I’d never be like the Dursleys. I’d love my kids. Give them everything I never had. Get married, grow old together... just live.”

Hermione tightened her hold, her own tears threatening to spill. “You are, Harry,” she whispered fiercely. “You’re more than capable.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was Harry’s ragged breathing and the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth.

“I loved her,” Harry murmured after a long pause. “I really did. But I’m not in love with her that way anymore. I know that now. We wouldn’t have worked—not with the lives we wanted. I just… I just wish it hadn’t left me feeling like this.”

Hermione’s throat tightened as she fought back her own tears. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t broken, that he was everything she had ever dreamed of, that she would gladly build that life with him. But she knew now wasn’t the time. He didn’t need promises or declarations. He needed understanding.

“Did you ever tell her how you felt?” she asked softly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed.

Harry shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “No. What would’ve been the point? If I’d told her, she would’ve tried to make it right, maybe even proposed to me herself. But that’s not what I wanted, Hermione. I didn’t want to force her into a life she didn’t want, even if it meant losing her.”

“Harry, this isn’t just on you,” Hermione began, her voice soft but firm, a quiet melody in the stillness of the room. Her fingers moved in slow, soothing circles against his back, a gesture both comforting and grounding. “You know that, right? Luna made her choice, and that doesn’t make you any less of a man. Any witch would be lucky to have you.” She hesitated, then added with a faint, teasing huff, “Not that I’d let them near you, mind you.”

A breath of air escaped Harry’s lips—something between a sigh and the ghost of a chuckle. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Hermione to know she was getting through to him.

“Listen to me, okay?” she continued, shifting slightly to sit more comfortably against the plush bedspread. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, a subtle reminder of their closeness. “I can’t say for sure what Luna was thinking back then or even now. You know how she is—impossible to predict, always floating on her own wavelength. But you can’t keep assuming the worst about yourself just because she’s decided to marry someone else. People change.”

Her voice softened as she smiled, her hand sliding up to gently brush the unruly strands of black hair from his forehead. “Look at us, Harry. Would you have imagined us being in a relationship? I wake up every day wrapped in your arms, thinking it’s all a dream—that one day, I’ll wake up in my own bed and realize I’d only ever fantasized about being with my best friend.”

That earned her a small, almost imperceptible smile. Harry’s lips curved just slightly, the expression fleeting but genuine.

Hermione’s heart ached at the sight, but she pressed on. “And since we’re talking about… the future,” she began, her voice faltering ever so slightly. She cleared her throat and bit her lip, as though weighing the next words carefully. Her fingers stilled on his back, resting lightly against the soft fabric of his shirt. “I want you to know something. Right now, I want nothing more than to be with you forever and to have a family with you. I can promise you that much.”

Harry shifted, his head tilting slightly as if to look at her, but he said nothing.

“But,” she continued, her voice steady despite the flicker of hesitation in her chest, “I have plans, Harry. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, and there’s still so much more I want to do. I know what you want, and I want it too—eventually. But for me, it’s important that we follow the schedule I’ve laid out. I want to get married when the time is right and have kids when the time is right.”

Harry froze, his head snapping up to meet her gaze. His green eyes, so often guarded, were wide with shock. “Y-You see us having kids in the future?”

Hermione couldn’t suppress the soft laugh that bubbled up. The disbelief in his voice was almost endearing. “I do, Harry. I really do. Sometimes, I don’t even have to imagine it.” She grinned, her eyes glinting with warmth. “With Teddy running around with your eyes and my hair, it’s not hard to picture.”

Harry blinked, his expression softening as her words sunk in.

“You have no idea what kind of feelings you make me feel when I see you with Teddy or Arthur,” Hermione admitted, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Seeing you so good with them, so natural—it makes me giddy. And it takes every ounce of restraint not to scream at you that I want you, that I need you, and that you make me the happiest witch in the world.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he seemed lost for words. Hermione took the opportunity to lean in, her lips brushing lightly against his temple as she whispered, “Wait for me, okay? You’re not broken, Harry. And even if you were, I’d still want you. I’d fix you, piece by piece, and make sure you’d give us the most beautiful babies ever.”

A groan escaped Harry, his head dropping into his hands. “You’re making me crazy, Hermione.”

Her laughter was soft and musical, filling the room with a warmth that even the fireplace couldn’t match. “I know,” she said simply, her smile widening as she pulled him into a tight embrace.

Harry rested his head lightly against Hermione’s curls, her hair a soft, fragrant cloud that smelled faintly of lavender and something distinctly her. It was grounding, comforting in a way he didn’t think he deserved, but tonight, there was an uneasiness he couldn’t quite shake.

“I must say,” Harry murmured, his voice low and a little hoarse from the weight of their conversation, “you’re taking this quite well.”

Hermione shifted slightly against him, her hand moving to rest on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his shirt. She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with curiosity in the firelight. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Harry hesitated, his voice faltering as he tried to put his thoughts into words. He let out a quiet sigh, his breath stirring a stray curl near her temple. “I don’t know. I guess a part of me was nervous that you’d feel… I don’t know, jealous or upset about what I said. You’re the first person I’ve talked to about this, and it’s just—really nice, actually—that you helped me see things more clearly.”

Hermione let out a soft laugh at that, the sound warm and rich, but it carried an edge of something he couldn’t quite place. “Oh, Harry,” she said, her voice teasing but with a touch of exasperation. “Of course, I’m jealous.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at her words, his breath hitching slightly. He pulled back just enough to look down at her, his brows furrowed in surprise. “W-What?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his stunned expression, a smirk playing on her lips. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I—well—no, not really,” Harry lied, though the faint color rising in his cheeks betrayed him.

She snorted at that, shaking her head. “Of course, I’m jealous, you prat. You just admitted you wanted to marry Luna before! And that’s not even the worst part. I was already jealous of her—long before you said that. Especially when I found out from Luna herself that you two had a physical relationship in your final year at Hogwarts.”

Her tone grew sharper, tinged with mock indignation, though there was something genuine in the way her hand stilled against his chest, her fingers curling slightly. “Do you know what that did to me? It made me want to strangle her.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione wasn’t finished.

“Yes, yes,” she said quickly, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. “I know you don’t have those feelings for her anymore. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t make me furious. Furious that she had you all to herself before I did.” She sat up slightly, her eyes narrowing as her voice dropped into a playful hiss. “Makes me want to drown her in all that pudding of hers...”

Harry blinked, his jaw slack for a moment before a laugh burst out of him, rough and surprised. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Hermione interjected, fixing him with a pointed look. “Think of me as this jealous? Oh, you better know it, Potter. If I see any witch try to flirt with you, I’ll personally drown them in the Black Lake.”

Her words, though spoken in jest, sent a jolt of nervous laughter through Harry. “Okay, okay, calm down,” he said, his voice tinged with unease as he raised his hands defensively.

Hermione tilted her head, her expression softening slightly as she watched him. His emerald eyes were wide, his mouth half-open as if unsure whether she was joking or deadly serious. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. A burst of laughter escaped her, bright and unrestrained.

“Oh, Harry,” she said between giggles, her cheeks flushed from laughter. “I was just joking.”

Harry blinked at her, his expression skeptical. “Which part?”

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she lay back down, nestling herself against his side once more. Her hand slid beneath his shirt, her fingers spreading across the warm, familiar planes of his skin. The intimacy of the moment settled between them, like the flickering firelight—a mixture of comfort, tension, and something unspoken but deeply understood.

The weight of the conversation hung in the air, but Hermione knew, deep down, that Harry understood her. He always had. And no matter the ghosts of their pasts, there was something unbreakable between them—a bond forged through war, love, and countless unspoken promises.

As the fire crackled softly in the hearth, they lay together in silence, the world outside Grimmauld Place fading away, leaving only the steady rhythm of their breathing and the quiet strength of their shared connection.

xxxxx

The next two days passed peacefully, or at least what Harry considered peaceful by his standards. With Hermione preoccupied in Andromeda’s potions lab, Harry busied himself helping Luna move into the house next door. The move, though simple, had its share of peculiarities—Luna always found a way to make even the most mundane tasks feel like an adventure.

Harry hadn’t expected the house to be so different from Grimmauld Place. From the outside, it looked like a mirror image of his own—same old Georgian facade, same wrought-iron details—but inside, it was another story entirely. The house was far smaller, with only three rooms in addition to the living, dining, and kitchen areas. One of those rooms was so small Luna had decided, after a long and whimsical debate with herself, that it would serve best as a library.

“It’s cozy,” she’d said dreamily, tracing her fingers along the dusty windowpanes. “Rolf and I will fit perfectly here. Like Nargles in a mistletoe bush.”

Harry hadn’t even asked what she meant by that. The place suited Luna, though, simple yet brimming with potential for her eccentric flair. He imagined she and Rolf would spend most of their time holed up inside, her with her books and curiosities, and him… well, probably looking after the creatures Luna would inevitably bring home.

Despite helping Luna settle in, Harry kept a firm grip on her freedom—grounding her, as she put it, though her amused tone made it clear she didn’t mind. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house alone for now and was under strict orders to relax. He even suggested she invite Rolf over for dinner so they could all meet, a suggestion that Luna had accepted with a radiant smile.

Evenings, however, were Harry’s favorite part of the day. Hermione’s return brought a sense of quiet normalcy he craved. They would curl up in the study or the living room, talking about everything and nothing—mostly about the past. Hermione had made it her mission to convince Harry that he hadn’t done anything wrong, a reassurance he didn’t realize he needed until she gave it so freely.

It was during these conversations that Harry had finally confronted the embarrassing truths about his past relationship with Luna. He admitted to Hermione that back then, he’d felt an odd sense of responsibility toward Luna, one that he now realized was a misguided attempt to do what he thought was “the right thing.”

“In my head,” he’d confessed one night, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, “I thought that just because we—well, you know—I had to marry her someday. Grow a family with her. It seemed… logical?”

Hermione’s eyes had softened, though a tiny smirk tugged at her lips. “That’s not logic, Harry. That’s you being a noble idiot.”

“Yeah, well, thanks to the Dursleys, I didn’t exactly have a proper model for healthy relationships,” Harry had replied, his tone laced with self-deprecation. It was easier to laugh about it now, though at the time, the weight of those decisions had felt monumental.

Now, as Harry woke up on the third morning of this quiet stretch, he felt the comforting warmth of Hermione’s absence from the bed. She was an early riser, and the faint hum of activity downstairs hinted she was already awake. He stretched lazily, yawning as he freshened up and pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft sweater. It was a weekend for both of them, and he planned to enjoy it.

The wards monitoring Luna’s room told him she was still asleep, which left him free to focus on more pressing matters—namely, breakfast. He padded downstairs, drawn by the familiar smell of coffee and something sweet.

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place had become more inviting over the years, thanks to Hermione’s insistence on adding personal touches—a bright vase of flowers, cheerful tea towels, and mismatched mugs that somehow fit perfectly together. Harry found her at the table, legs crossed, the Daily Prophet spread open in her hands. She was smiling, no, grinning, and that immediately put Harry on alert.

“Morning,” he said, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee. “What’s so funny?”

Hermione didn’t look up right away, which only made him more suspicious. Finally, she glanced at him, her grin widening. “Did they pull the article on me and Luna?”

“Oh, even better,” she said, a soft laugh escaping her lips. She folded the paper and slid it across the table toward him with a teasing glint in her eye.

Harry picked it up cautiously, his brow furrowing as he read the headline:

GRANDSON OF NEWT SCAMANDER ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT

His jaw dropped. “What?” he blurted, scanning the article with growing disbelief. It opened with an effusive description of Rolf Scamander, his career, and his upcoming wedding to none other than Luna Lovegood. By the time he reached the part where the Daily Prophet issued an official apology for their earlier mistake of suggesting Luna was engaged—and pregnant—with Harry Potter’s child, he wanted to crawl under the table and stay there.

Hermione’s laughter brought him back to reality. “The fact that this announcement is on the front page means Rolf must’ve spent a fortune to make sure everyone knows,” she said, her tone light and amused. “Finally, Luna found someone as crazy as she is.”

Harry groaned, setting the paper down and rubbing his temples. “Merlin, Rolf is going to visit soon, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” Hermione replied, sipping her coffee with maddening calm.

Harry let out a dramatic sigh, already dreading the awkward introductions.

xxxxx

A few days later, Luna showed up at Grimmauld Place with Rolf Scamander in tow. He was balancing a box of books and wine, looking every bit the nervous guest as Harry opened the door. Harry hesitated before stepping aside, eyeing Rolf like he might topple over at any second.

“Here, let me grab that,” Harry said, easily lifting the box from Rolf’s grip. It was lighter than he’d expected, but Rolf still looked relieved, as though it weighed a ton.

“Thank you,” Rolf mumbled, wiping his hands nervously on his robes.

Harry carried the box into the living room, setting it on the coffee table. “Hermione!” he called out. “Luna’s here!”

Hermione appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She looked Rolf over with a curious expression before extending her hand. “Welcome to Grimmauld Place. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“A-a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger,” Rolf stammered, taking her hand but glancing at Luna for reassurance. “I-I’m Rolf Scamander, Luna’s partner.”

“My fiancé,” Luna corrected with a dreamy smile.

“Yes, of course, my fiancée,” Rolf said, stumbling over the words as his cheeks flushed pink. “Luna’s fiancé.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up slightly, but her tone was warm as she gestured toward the sitting area. “Come on in. Lunch will be ready soon, but you’re welcome to sit and relax for now.”

Harry chuckled under his breath as Rolf practically tripped over himself to follow Luna to the couch. Hermione disappeared back into the kitchen, muttering something about tea.

Once Rolf was settled—if his fidgeting could be called that—Harry dropped into his armchair and studied the man more closely. He was tall, sure, but not much taller than Harry, and his nervous energy was palpable. Luna’s descriptions of him—“handsome and charming”—didn’t quite align with the awkward bloke shifting in his seat. Rolf kept darting glances at Harry, like he half-expected to be hexed on the spot.

“Are you alright there, Rolf?” Harry asked finally, unable to hide his amusement.

“Oh, yes, just a bit nervous,” Rolf said with a shaky laugh. “Luna’s told me so much about you and Ms. Granger. You’re both… well, legends, really. I didn’t want to make a bad impression.”

Before Harry could reply, Hermione returned with a tray of tea and biscuits. She placed it on the coffee table, then perched on the arm of Harry’s chair.

“Just ‘Hermione,’ please,” she said with a small smile.

“Right, of course. Hermione,” Rolf said quickly, his hands fumbling for a teacup.

Harry leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “You mentioned not wanting to make a bad impression. What do you mean by that?”

Rolf froze mid-reach, looking like a deer caught in wandlight. He swallowed hard, glanced at Luna, and then—much to Harry and Hermione’s surprise—stood up and bowed deeply.

“Please allow me to marry Luna Lovegood!” he blurted out, voice cracking slightly. “I’m asking for your blessing, and I apologize for releasing that article without your permission!”

Harry stared, his mind grinding to a halt. What the actual… He turned to Hermione, who was gaping at Rolf like he’d sprouted antlers.

“You don’t need our permission,” Hermione spluttered. “We’re her friends, not her—well, this was supposed to be a casual lunch, wasn’t it?”

“But Luna said you’re her guardians,” Rolf said, looking utterly bewildered.

“Guardians?” Harry echoed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Luna, what did you tell him?”

Luna, who was already helping herself to a biscuit, shrugged nonchalantly. “I told Rolf that you and Hermione were taking care of me and that you’d want to meet him before we got married. Oh, and that you were annoyed about the article.”

“For Merlin’s sake…” Harry muttered, dragging a hand down his face. He turned back to Rolf. “Sit down. No one’s going to interrogate or threaten you, alright?”

Rolf hesitated but sank back onto the couch, visibly relieved.

“Yes, I was annoyed about the article,” Harry admitted, leaning back in his chair. “But only because the retraction about me and Luna was buried at the end of another piece. I wanted a proper correction, not a footnote no one would notice.”

“Oh,” Rolf said, his shoulders relaxing. “I-I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I just… this is my first real relationship, and I didn’t want to mess it up. Luna’s amazing, and I—I didn’t want to lose her.”

Hermione sipped her tea, clearly intrigued. She hadn’t known what to expect from Rolf, but his nervous rambling reminded her of a younger Neville Longbottom.

Meanwhile, Luna beamed at Rolf, her expression blissful as he continued to babble.

Harry finally broke the tension with a laugh. “Relax, Rolf. You’re doing fine. And honestly, if anyone’s going to make you regret messing up, it’s Luna. Did she tell you she fought Death Eaters during the war?”

Rolf’s eyes widened. “Actual Death Eaters?”

“She got punched in the nose once,” Harry said, smirking at Luna. “Stood right back up and blasted the bloke halfway across the battlefield.”

“You got punched in the nose?” Rolf gasped, turning to Luna with a horrified expression. He cupped her face gently, as though inspecting for lingering damage.

“I’m fine,” Luna giggled, letting him fuss over her without protest.

Once satisfied that Luna was, indeed, unharmed, Rolf reached into the box he’d brought and pulled out the books and wine.

“Luna said you both like books and wine,” he explained, holding them out nervously. “So… please accept these as a gift.”

Harry chuckled, taking the wine and examining the label. “You didn’t have to, but thanks. This is—”

His words were cut off by Hermione’s excited gasp. “Are these—these are first edition copies of Newt Scamander’s books!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Really? Well, Rolf, you’ve certainly raised the bar for housewarming gifts.”

Rolf smiled sheepishly, but the tension in the room had finally eased. As the four of them settled into a more relaxed conversation, Harry couldn’t help but think that Luna’s fiancée, nervous as he was, might not be so bad after all.

xxxxx

Harry tugged his sweater over his head, the fabric catching slightly on his messy hair before being tossed onto the armchair by the window. The action left his shirt rumpled, but he made quick work of the buttons, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. The cool evening air brushed against his skin, a welcome contrast to the warm glow of the fireplace in the corner of the room. He stretched his arms, groaning slightly as his muscles loosened, then climbed onto the large, four-poster bed that dominated the room.

Letting out a long, satisfied sigh, Harry burrowed under the soft covers. The sheets, enchanted to always feel freshly laundered, carried a faint scent of lavender that Hermione had insisted on months ago.

Moments later, Hermione entered the room, her silhouette illuminated by the dim light from the hallway before she shut the door behind her. She was wearing one of Harry’s oversized shirts—this one a faded navy blue with faint traces of his Quidditch team’s logo on the front. The hem reached mid-thigh, and the sleeves were rolled up to keep her hands free. Her hair, slightly tousled, framed her face as she approached the bed with an easy familiarity. Without hesitation, she climbed in beside him, slipping under the covers and curling into his side.

The warmth of her body against his made him relax further, the weight of the day melting away as he instinctively wrapped an arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he turned slightly to press a kiss to her hair. The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of the fire and the rhythmic ticking of the enchanted clock on the wall.

“Lunch was... interesting,” Harry murmured, his voice low and slightly amused as he stared at the ceiling.

Hermione hummed in agreement, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “That’s one way to put it.”

He chuckled softly, the memory of Rolf Scamander’s visit playing out in his mind. “For someone as nervous as he was when he walked in, he sure turned into a completely different person the moment he started talking about creatures. Did you see the way his eyes lit up?”

Hermione smiled against his shoulder, her voice tinged with both amusement and fondness. “It was hard to miss. He might as well have been lecturing a class on Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. I think Luna’s found someone who truly understands her world.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, glancing at her. “He mentioned traveling the world on his free time just to find those things for her. That’s dedication.”

Hermione nodded, her voice softening. “And taking the job at the Daily Prophet just to stay closer to her? That says a lot too. He seems like he’s really in love with her, and that warms my heart a bit.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin. “Even if it comes with misunderstandings because Luna leads him on with the wildest things?”

Hermione laughed, a soft sound that made his chest tighten pleasantly. “That was hilarious. He genuinely believed her when she said you’d grounded her. Did you see his face when she told him she wasn’t allowed to leave?”

Harry groaned, covering his face with his free hand. “Don’t remind me. I nearly died when she said that. Had to scramble to make it clear it was just a joke. The look of relief on his face when I said she could go with him… Merlin, I’m never living that down.”

Hermione shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him. Her curls framed her face as she smiled knowingly. “He reminds you of Neville, doesn’t he?”

Harry blinked, then let out a laugh. “That’s it! That’s who he reminds me of. A younger Neville. The way he lights up when talking about magical creatures? It’s exactly like Neville talking about Herbology. How did I not see that?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, settling back against him. “What do you think of him, though? As Luna’s fiancé?”

Harry paused, considering the question. “Honestly? He seems like a good bloke. Bit awkward, but harmless. And you saw how he looked at Luna when he thought he’d have to leave without her. He adores her.”

“He does,” Hermione agreed, yawning softly. “But he’s completely under her thumb.”

Harry snorted. “Oh, absolutely. That poor man doesn’t stand a chance. Luna could tell him the moon’s made of cheese, and he’d probably start planning a trip to prove her right.”

Hermione’s quiet laughter filled the room as she relaxed against him. Harry smiled, running a hand gently through her hair. “Still, they seem perfect for each other. I hope they make it work.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the fire casting soft shadows across the walls. Harry’s thoughts drifted as he stared at the ceiling, his thumb idly brushing against Hermione’s arm.

“I really hope this year stays peaceful,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Hermione didn’t reply, already half-asleep, her breathing slow and even. But her presence beside him was answer enough, a quiet reassurance that, for now at least, things were exactly as they should be.

xxxxx

The break room in Andromeda’s lab was cozy, a small haven amidst the chaos of cauldrons and potion fumes. The walls were painted a calming lavender, adorned with shelves of books and jars filled with dried herbs. A round table sat at the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs, one of which creaked ominously every time someone shifted their weight. Hermione was perched on a sturdy wooden chair, nibbling on the neatly cut sandwiches Harry had prepared for her earlier that morning. The crispness of the bread and the slight tang of the mustard reminded her of his careful attention to detail, even in the smallest of gestures.

She and Andromeda were chatting casually, their conversation swinging between Hermione’s upcoming Potions Mastery exam and Andromeda’s amusing anecdotes about her earlier students. The older witch’s voice was warm, filled with a quiet confidence that Hermione found endlessly reassuring.

The momentary peace was shattered when Harry stumbled into the room, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet. His usually composed demeanor was replaced by wide-eyed panic, his glasses slightly askew, and his hair, which never lay flat on a good day, looking even wilder. He looked as though he had been chased by a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, leaping to her feet and catching him by the arms before he could collide with the table. Her voice was laced with concern. "What are you doing here? What’s happened?"

"Oh, I, um—" Harry stammered, his gaze darting to Andromeda, who raised a single eyebrow in silent amusement. Without a word, Andromeda excused herself, taking her tea and slipping out of the room, though the smirk on her lips suggested she was already entertained by whatever had caused Harry’s current state.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Hermione turned back to Harry, her hands on either side of his face. "Harry, are you hurt? Did something happen? Talk to me!"

"No, no," Harry said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. "Nothing like that. No emergency. I just—" He let out a huge sigh and dropped into one of the chairs, reaching for the pumpkin juice on the table. He poured himself a glass, drained it in one go, and then set the glass down with a clatter.

“Okay,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Here’s the thing.”

Hermione, still looking concerned but now more curious, sat down beside him. Harry reached out, tugging her chair closer to his as though he needed her physical presence to get through whatever was about to come next.

“So, you know how I still have the wards set up at 11 Grimmauld Place?” he began, his voice low and hesitant.

Hermione nodded. “You never got around to changing them when Luna started staying there, right?”

“Exactly,” Harry said, waving a hand as if to speed past the obvious. “So, today I realized I needed to tell Luna about the wards so she could adjust them or replace them entirely. I Apparated over to check if she was there.”

Hermione nodded again, her brows furrowing slightly as she wondered where this was going.

“Well, when I arrived, no one was in the living room or kitchen, so I thought I’d check the bedrooms,” Harry continued, his voice growing quieter. He paused and rubbed a hand over his face, his expression a curious mix of horror and disbelief.

“Harry?” Hermione prompted, leaning closer. “What did you find?”

Harry exhaled sharply. “Luna,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Luna was in her room. She was… completely naked.”

Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, though her eyes danced with a mix of mortification and curiosity. “Oh, Merlin. Did she see you?”

“No,” Harry said quickly, holding up a hand. “At least, I don’t think so. But that’s not the worst of it!” He groaned, dropping his head into his hands before continuing. “She was wearing—well, not wearing, exactly. She had this… thing strapped to her waist.”

“A thing?” Hermione repeated, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What kind of thing?”

Harry made an awkward gesture around his hips, his face turning bright red. “A thing shaped like a man’s… you know.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “No!” she gasped, though a small, incredulous laugh bubbled up.

“Yes!” Harry whispered fiercely. “And it gets worse. There was a man—some bloke I didn’t recognize, but I fucking hope it was Rolf—kneeling on the floor in front of her with his arse in the air!”

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter, though her shoulders shook with the effort. “Oh my god,” she managed after a moment. “Did they—did they see you?”

Harry shook his head. “No, thank Merlin, I don’t think so. I left immediately. I don’t think I made a sound, but I couldn’t go back to Grimmauld Place after that. I just—” He gestured helplessly. “I had to see you. I need to tell someone about this. I can't tell Ron or he'll just faint on the spot!”

Hermione couldn’t contain her laughter any longer. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as tears of mirth streamed down her face. “Oh, Harry. You’re never going to unsee that, are you?”

“I wish I could kill myself,” Harry muttered, pacing the room. “What do I do?"

Hermione wiped her eyes, still giggling. “You do nothing,” she said firmly, though her tone was still amused. “Absolutely nothing. That’s Luna’s business, not yours.”

“Right,” Harry said, stopping his pacing and nodding. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

As he sat back down and rubbed his temples, the faint sound of a chuckle reached their ears from the direction of the lab. Hermione’s laughter faded as realization dawned.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “We didn’t put up any privacy charms.”

Meanwhile, in the lab, Andromeda sipped her tea, a smirk playing on her lips. The younger generation always provided such delightful entertainment.

Chapter Text

The early morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Grimmauld Place, casting a muted golden hue across the dark-paneled study. Harry Potter sat hunched over his massive mahogany desk, parchment and ledgers strewn about in a chaotic semblance of order. His quill scratched furiously as he tried to finish his correspondence before the inevitable interruption. He knew it was coming—he could practically feel her presence lingering nearby like a storm waiting to strike.

And strike she did.

“Why are you avoiding me, Harry?” Luna Lovegood’s lilting voice broke the stillness, sending a chill down his spine. She stood in the doorway, her silvery-blonde hair catching the dim light, her large, unblinking eyes fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Did I do something wrong again?”

Harry flinched, nearly knocking over his inkpot. He shot a fleeting glance at her and then immediately looked away, as though her gaze could pierce straight into the memory he had locked tightly in the deepest recesses of his mind. He shoved his emotions aside, fortifying his mental shields. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—relive that again.

“I’ve just been busy, Luna!” he said, his voice sharper than intended.

Luna tilted her head, her frown deepening. “You’ve been busy all week. Too busy to talk, too busy to eat lunch with me, and too busy to help me pick out Christmas decorations.” She stepped closer, her flowing robes swishing against the floor. “Are you sure everything’s alright? You seem… tense.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, gripping the armrests as if bracing himself against an oncoming gale. “It’s getting late,” he said hurriedly, his tone more forceful now. “You should pick up Rolf and head to the Burrow. Hermione and I will join you later.”

Luna didn’t budge. Instead, she leaned forward, narrowing her gaze as though trying to see through him. Harry swore inwardly. She always did this—this unnerving ability to quietly dismantle his defenses.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice soft yet insistent.

“Absolutely. One hundred percent sure.” He raised a hand as if to ward her off, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Go. Hurry.”

For a moment, she hesitated, then gave him a slow, pouty nod that nearly made him feel guilty. Nearly. She leaned in and kissed his cheek before turning to leave. Harry stayed frozen in place, listening intently for the soft click of the door closing behind her. When it came, he let out a long, ragged sigh and slumped back into his chair, rubbing his temples.

The door slammed open again. Harry bolted upright with a yelp, his heart leaping into his throat. When he saw the familiar figure of Hermione Granger standing in the doorway, he let out another sigh—this one of relief.

“Did she manage to corner you after all?” Hermione asked, her laughter spilling into the room like sunlight. She was wearing a casual jumper and jeans, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, quill ink smudged faintly on her fingers.

Harry groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Yeah. Bloody Merlin, that was horrible. Do you know how hard it is to dodge her questions? She just knows when I’m lying.”

Hermione leaned against the doorframe, grinning. “What exactly are you going to do when you see Rolf later?”

Harry groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t even want to think about it. It’s been a week, Hermione. A whole week of hiding and dodging. I’m starting to feel like a fugitive in my own house.”

Hermione snorted. “Well, to be fair, you did ask her to focus on decorating the house so she wouldn't bother you. And then you left her unsupervised.”

Harry peeked at her from between his fingers. “How was I supposed to know she’d buy a pink Christmas tree?” He sat up, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “A pink Christmas tree, Hermione! And not just pink—sparkly pink! It looks like a bloody sugar quill exploded in the sitting room!”

Hermione doubled over with laughter, clutching her sides. “I can’t believe you let her talk you into that.”

“Let her?” Harry spluttered. “Do you honestly think I had a choice? She was so excited, I couldn’t say no!”

Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Hermione pushed herself off the doorframe and crossed the room. She kissed Harry on the cheek, her lips brushing against the spot Luna had kissed earlier. “Focus, Harry,” she said, her tone teasing but affectionate. “We have a game to play, remember?”

Harry’s lips curved into a slow smirk as he turned to face her fully. “Oh, I remember.” His voice dropped, tinged with playful challenge. “Ready to back down yet?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, but she tilted her chin up defiantly. “Not a chance.”

xxxxx

Harry leaned casually against his desk, arms crossed, a devilish smirk curling his lips. Across from him, Hermione stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with determination and frustration, a combination that Harry found maddeningly attractive. Today wasn’t just any day at the Burrow—it was a day for their game.

The game had started innocently enough, a heated debate over the future of their backyard at Godric’s Hollow. Harry wanted a Quidditch pitch, naturally. Hermione, ever the pragmatist with a flair for beauty, envisioned a rose garden and a swimming pool. Neither would back down, and so, with the kind of competitive streak only the two of them could share, they had agreed on one simple rule:

If Hermione comes, even once, she lose.

Harry, being Harry, had immediately turned the stakes into a battle of wills laced with seductive torment. And, as much as Hermione hated to admit it, he was maddeningly good at it.

“Remember the rules,” Harry murmured, his grin widening as he stepped closer, his hands settling lightly on her waist. His voice was low, a teasing growl that made her breath hitch. “Whatever happens, whatever I do, you can’t come.”

Hermione swallowed hard, cursing herself for agreeing to this insanity. She was usually the disciplined one, the one who could keep her composure in the face of any challenge. But Harry—Harry bloody Potter—had a way of dismantling every ounce of her resolve with just a touch, a glance, a kiss.

Her voice trembled as she replied, trying and failing to sound unaffected. “We need to go now. We’ll be late for the Burrow.”

“No, just five more minutes,” Harry countered smoothly, his hands sliding lower. Before she could protest, he lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of his desk, the cool wood pressing against the backs of her thighs. His green eyes burned into hers, daring her to stop him.

And then his lips were on hers, devouring her in a kiss so heated it stole the very air from her lungs. His hands moved to her face, cradling it with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the urgency of his kiss. Hermione couldn’t help it—her hands found their way into his unruly hair, tangling in the messy black strands as she pulled him closer, needing more of him even as she cursed herself for her weakness.

His tongue brushed against hers, and her whole body shivered. The kiss deepened, growing more frantic, more consuming, until Hermione broke away with a gasp, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain control.

“Y-You’re cheating, you bastard,” she managed, her voice shaky.

“I’m not,” Harry said, his smirk returning as he leaned in to kiss her again, his hands firm and possessive as they moved down to her wrists. In one swift motion, he captured both her hands in his grip, holding them in front of her. Hermione’s breath hitched as he tilted her chin with his other hand, his lips descending on hers with even more intensity.

This time, there was no escape. He kissed her until her protests melted into whimpers, his hold on her wrists firm but not painful, his dominance sending a thrill through her she would never admit aloud. His free hand traveled to the curve of her neck, his touch featherlight as he whispered against her lips, “God, you’re so gorgeous. I want to take you on this table right now.”

Hermione shuddered, her resolve slipping. “Y-You can’t. That’s not fair,” she said, her words barely more than a moan as his lips trailed down her jaw to the sensitive spot on her neck.

“It’s not cheating,” Harry whispered, his breath hot against her skin. His teeth grazed her pulse point, drawing a soft cry from her lips. “The rules are clear: you can’t finish. But me?” He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “I can do whatever I want.”

As if to prove his point, his hand began a slow, torturous journey down her body, his fingertips barely skimming her curves. He trailed one finger along her collarbone, down the center of her chest, and over her stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Hermione bit her lip, her body trembling with anticipation.

“Harry…” she whispered, her voice a mix of protest and plea.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips captured hers again, his kiss searing, claiming. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to hold firm, but her body betrayed her, arching into him as his hand continued its maddeningly slow exploration.

She gasped against his mouth, her resolve crumbling. She knew she was going to lose this game—knew it with absolute certainty. But at this point, she didn’t care. She was already imagining how she could twist her inevitable loss into a victory. To hell with the Quidditch pitch. She’d let Harry think he’d won, and then she’d get her rose garden and the swimming pool.

But for now, all she could think about was the way his lips felt against hers, the way his hand made her shiver, and the way he grinned against her skin like he already knew he’d won.

xxxxx

Hermione couldn't believe it.

The audacity. The sheer, maddening audacity.

Harry had gone and unraveled her entirely. The smug git had kissed her senseless, his hands roaming to all the spots he knew would leave her trembling, before thoroughly disarming her with that infuriating charm of his. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he’d taken her on his desk in a way that left her breathless and aching. But he had the gall—the absolute nerve—to make sure only he was satisfied by the end of it.

Her body still buzzed with tension, her muscles coiled tight, and her skin felt far too warm despite the cool air at the Burrow. She shot Harry a murderous look as he sat across the room, utterly unbothered, casually chatting with Teddy about the boy's toy broomstick as though he hadn’t spent the last hour wrecking her sanity.

Bastard.

They were nearly an hour late to lunch at the Burrow, but Molly, ever the doting matron, hadn’t seemed to notice—or had chosen not to comment. Her focus was on the chaotic bustle of family and friends milling about the house, her wand flicking this way and that to ensure the steady stream of food and drink didn’t falter.

Hermione sipped from her glass of wine, trying to steady herself, but her traitorous gaze kept wandering back to Harry. He looked maddeningly good today, his crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his toned forearms, his tie loosened just enough to hint at that devil-may-care attitude she both adored and despised. His messy black hair fell into his eyes as he crouched to Teddy’s level, his grin wide and genuine as the boy eagerly showed off his miniature broomstick.

Her grip on her glass tightened.

She wanted to march over there, grab him by that damn tie, and—No. Focus, Hermione.

“Harry, can we—” She started to step toward him, intent on dragging him away for a private word (and maybe a heated kiss or two to take the edge off), but he was already moving.

Without so much as a glance in her direction, Harry straightened and walked off with Teddy in tow, leaving her standing there with a mix of longing and irritation bubbling under her skin.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, stomping off toward the kitchen in search of some form of distraction.

The kitchen was alive with laughter and chatter as a small group of women gathered around the table. Susan Bones, radiant despite her obviously glamoured pregnancy belly, handed Hermione a glass of wine with a warm smile.

“Hey, Hermione.”

“Thanks, Susan,” Hermione said, accepting the glass and glancing at her friend’s midsection. Her brow furrowed in surprise. “Oh—your belly! It’s still so small!”

Susan chuckled, her cheeks tinged pink. “Glamour charm. I’ve been feeling so bloated lately, and honestly, I just needed a break from looking like I swallowed a Quaffle. But Merlin, I still feel heavy and slow—it’s a wonder I made it here without toppling over.”

Hermione nodded politely, though she couldn’t quite relate. The idea of glamouring her body for comfort was fascinating, but she filed it away for later consideration. “How’s everyone holding up? Where’s Ron?”

“Outside, with George and the others,” Ginny chimed in, rolling her eyes. “They’re testing new Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products. Dad’s out there too, because of course he is. No one’s ever too old to blow things up, apparently.”

Laughter rippled through the room, light and infectious. Hermione leaned against the counter, letting the familiar warmth of camaraderie wash over her.

In the living room, Fleur, Angelina, and another woman sat chatting. Hermione glanced curiously toward them, raising an eyebrow.

“Percy’s fiancée,” Ginny explained with a smirk.

“Percy has a fiancée?” Hermione asked, startled.

“Yeah,” Lavender said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “It’s been a busy year for the Weasleys. Fleur’s expecting too, and Angelina...” She trailed off, her grin widening.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”

Ginny groaned, waving a hand. “It’s true. Fleur and Bill are having a baby finally, and Angelina’s pregnant as well. Oh, and if that wasn’t enough, Angelina and George eloped a few months ago. Mum nearly had a heart attack when she found out.”

“Goodness,” Hermione breathed, struggling to process the avalanche of revelations. “I’ve missed so much.”

“That’s what you get for disappearing,” Ginny teased, elbowing her lightly.

Hermione laughed softly, though a pang of guilt tugged at her chest. She and Harry had been avoiding the Burrow in the wake of a particularly salacious article in The Daily Prophet that insinuated Harry and Luna were expecting a child together. Another article had followed, claiming Luna was engaged to Rolf Scamander. The resulting chaos had been too much to bear, so they’d both opted to skip the usual Sunday gatherings for a while.

Now, standing among her friends and catching up on all she’d missed, Hermione felt a twinge of regret. This was what she needed—a reprieve from the intensity of her training, a chance to reconnect with the people she cared about.

She leaned into the easy rhythm of conversation, listening as the women shared updates on their lives, their families, and their plans for the future.

Still, her thoughts kept straying to Harry. She could feel his presence like a magnetic pull, even across the house.

The git. He was going to pay for this later.

xxxxx

Hermione stepped cautiously into the dimly lit storage room outside the Burrow, the faint scent of old wood and mothballs filling her senses. Dust motes danced in the beams of sunlight that trickled through the small, grimy window. Molly’s request had been vague—something about a box of decorations—but Hermione seized the excuse for a moment of solitude. The cheerful din inside had grown overwhelming, especially when the topic of conversation had veered sharply toward Luna’s engagement to Rolf Scamander.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek as she shuffled through the cluttered shelves, carefully balancing on an old stool to reach the topmost shelf. The creak of the stool beneath her made Hermione pause. She adjusted her footing, grumbling softly to herself as her fingers brushed against a box that seemed promising. Just as she shifted her weight to get a better grip, a voice broke the silence.

“What are you doing here?”

Hermione startled, her heart leaping into her throat as she flailed for balance. A pair of strong hands gripped her waist, steadying her before she could topple. She turned her head sharply, her wide eyes meeting Harry’s amused gaze.

“Harry!” she hissed, her cheeks flushing. “You scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed his lack of remorse. “I saw you come in here. Thought you might be hiding.”

“I’m not hiding,” Hermione huffed, focusing on the box again and ignoring the way his hands lingered on her waist. “Molly asked me to find decorations, and—”

“Luna started talking about Rolf?” Harry supplied, his voice soft but teasing.

Hermione bit her lip, refusing to answer as she rummaged through the box. The faint laugh he gave in response sent a shiver down her spine. She hated how attuned he was to her, how easily he could read her even when she tried to keep her emotions in check.

Before she could come up with a sharp retort, Hermione froze. Harry’s hands, which had been resting innocently enough on her waist, began to trail upward, his fingers brushing the sides of her ribcage. Her breath hitched when he suddenly crouched, his head ducking beneath the hem of her skirt.

“H-Harry!” she spluttered, gripping the edge of the shelf for support. “What are you doing?”

“Smelling you,” Harry murmured against her thigh, his voice muffled but undeniably wicked. “These stockings are nice. Are they new?”

“They’re—” Hermione’s breath hitched as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin above her knee. “You bought them, you prat!”

“Good taste, then,” he quipped, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her steady.

“Stop it!” she hissed, her voice rising in a mix of frustration and flustered indignation. She swatted at his head, though the force behind it was laughably weak. “I’m going to fall!”

Harry chuckled, standing to his full height and lifting her off the stool in one fluid motion. He pressed her against the wall, his body crowding hers in the narrow space. His mouth captured hers before she could protest, the kiss slow and deliberate, sending heat spiraling through her.

Hermione’s resolve crumbled almost instantly. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips moved to her neck.

“Harry, don’t,” she mumbled weakly, even as she tilted her head to give him better access. “You’ll leave a mark.”

“I know,” he murmured against her skin, his teeth grazing her pulse point before he began to suck, eliciting a breathless moan from her.

Hermione’s legs parted instinctively, allowing him to press closer. His hands gripped her waist, pinning her against the wall as his kisses grew more insistent. Every nerve in her body was alight, and for a moment, she couldn’t remember why this was a terrible idea.

When he finally pulled back, Hermione let out a frustrated groan, her lips tingling and her heart pounding. Harry smirked, his wand flicking to disguise the telltale mark on her neck.

“Please, Harry,” she whispered, her voice laced with desperation. “Please, let’s—”

“We can’t,” he said, though the hunger in his eyes belied his words. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, and to his surprise, she parted her lips, taking his thumb into her mouth and sucking gently. His breath caught, and his control wavered for a split second.

“You’re not playing fair,” he muttered, pulling his thumb away only to slide two fingers past her lips. She sucked eagerly, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed up at him. The sight sent a jolt of arousal through him, but he forced himself to stay composed.

“Remember the list, love?” he murmured, his free hand skimming under her skirt. “You wanted me to edge you. You wanted me to be in control. Also, we’re playing a game right now.”

Hermione whimpered, her knees buckling as his fingers traced agonizingly slow circles over her knickers. Her hips moved instinctively, seeking more friction, but Harry only smirked, his restraint maddeningly unshaken.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “But not here. Once we get home... I’ll make you forget your own name.”

The sound of a voice calling her name from outside shattered the moment. Hermione pushed Harry away, both of them scrambling to regain their composure. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven, but she shot him a glare that promised retribution later.

“We’re not done,” she whispered fiercely, straightening her skirt.

Harry’s grin was unabashedly smug. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

xxxxx

Harry carried the box of what appeared to be a mix of tattered holiday ornaments and ancient Christmas decorations, the kind that seemed to have survived countless winters at the Burrow. He cradled it carefully, balancing the dusty weight as he stepped onto the crooked steps of the Weasley home. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and sugar, Molly’s festive preparations in full swing.

Ron intercepted him halfway to the door, his broad frame blocking Harry’s path with an uncharacteristically hesitant expression. His freckled face was flushed, not with excitement, but something closer to discomfort.

“Hey, mate,” Ron started, scratching the back of his neck. “Think you could join me on a quick run to the Leaky Cauldron? Mum’s baked enough sugary stuff to put a Hippogriff into a coma, and we’re out of butterbeer. Could do with something less... sweet.”

Harry tilted his head, studying Ron’s odd demeanor. “Yeah, sure,” he replied slowly. “Let me just drop this inside first.”

Ron’s hand shot out, gripping Harry’s arm tighter than expected. “Er, actually, can we go now? Just leave the box here. Someone’ll bring it in eventually.”

Harry froze, his green eyes narrowing as he turned his gaze to his best friend. Ron’s sheepish grin faltered under Harry’s piercing look.

“What’s going on inside?” Harry’s voice dropped into a hiss, the tone Ron knew meant he was moments from losing patience.

Ron exhaled in defeat, his shoulders slumping. “Mum invited someone. For Hermione. You know… to meet her.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You’re joking.”

Ron’s wince was answer enough.

With a frustrated growl, Harry let the box of decorations tumble to the ground and strode toward the house, his steps brisk and deliberate. Ron trailed after him, muttering futile protests, but Harry had already reached the doorway.

He entered just in time to witness the scene unfolding in the Burrow’s cozy living room. A young man with sandy blonde hair and a confident smile stood at the center of the room, holding an ornate bouquet of fresh flowers. The petals gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows, an ostentatious display that made Harry’s teeth grind.

The man, introduced as Kenneth Tucker, extended the bouquet toward Hermione, who looked caught between polite composure and awkward surprise. Molly beamed, patting Tucker’s arm with maternal enthusiasm.

“Oh, Hermione, isn’t this lovely? Kenneth is such a wonderful match for you!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with unrestrained glee.

Hermione forced a smile as she accepted the flowers, her fingers tightening around the stems. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice calm but distant.

Tucker took her free hand and brushed a chaste kiss across her knuckles, causing Molly to clap her hands together in delight.

Harry’s knuckles whitened as he balled his fists at his sides.

“Harry, don’t,” Ron whispered urgently, grabbing his arm again. “Don’t make a scene.”

Harry inhaled deeply, forcing a tight smile onto his face. He stepped forward, his presence commanding as his boots thudded against the wooden floor. “Hello, Tucker,” he said, his voice smooth yet edged with something sharp.

Molly’s eyes lit up. “Harry, this is Kenneth Tucker! He’s studying to be a A soon-to-be Potions Master, just like Hermione! Isn’t that a coincidence?”

Harry extended his hand toward Tucker. The handshake was firm—too firm. The blonde winced, his smile faltering as Harry’s grip lingered.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Harry said, his voice deceptively warm. He clapped Tucker’s shoulder with enough force to make the man stagger slightly. “Enjoy the food. Molly’s an excellent cook.”

Tucker stammered a response, but Harry had already turned his attention elsewhere. His gaze flickered to Hermione, who stood rooted to the spot, her eyes cast downward.

Without another word, Harry walked away, heading toward the kitchen with Ron hot on his heels. Susan and Luna exchanged knowing glances before following as well.

Once inside the kitchen, Ron shut the door and cast a quick privacy charm, the shimmering bubble enclosing them in silence.

Harry summoned a bottle of firewhisky from the counter, pouring a generous amount into a mug. He downed it in one swift motion, the liquid burning a fiery path down his throat. He groaned, running a hand through his messy black hair.

“Don’t say it,” he muttered, glaring at Ron.

Ron raised his hands in mock surrender. “I wasn’t going to.”

“But you’re thinking it,” Harry snapped, his temper barely contained. “Just say it, then. Get it over with.”

Ron sighed, leaning against the counter. “It’d be easier if you just told everyone the truth. You know Mum won’t stop until Hermione’s ‘properly matched,’ and that means more Kenneth Tuckers.”

“He’s right,” Susan added, crossing her arms. “Molly’s relentless when it comes to matchmaking. Now that Bill, Percy, George, and Ron are starting to get settled, she’s got a lot of free time to meddle.”

Luna remained silent, her dreamy gaze fixed on Harry as she plucked the firewhisky from his grasp. She replaced it with pumpkin juice, her serene expression daring him to argue.

Harry rolled his eyes but drank the juice anyway. He exhaled sharply, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface. “Let’s just go, Ron. I need to clear my head.”

Ron nodded, his brow furrowed in concern. “Yeah, all right.”

As they left the kitchen, Susan and Luna exchanged another glance. The tension in the room lingered like an unspoken secret, the kind that everyone knew but no one dared to voice aloud.

xxxxx

Hermione wanted to throttle Molly Weasley. The woman was a force of nature—kind, loving, and annoyingly persistent. Today, however, Molly had crossed a line. This was supposed to be her day. A rare one where she could enjoy the teasing, stolen moments with Harry without raising suspicions. It was their game—flirty, maddening, and deliciously secretive. Every touch, every glance, carried a charged electricity, igniting anticipation that only Harry could fulfill.

Now, all that was ruined by the man sitting next to her. Kenneth Tucker, with his over-groomed beard and an air of self-importance, was droning on about his Potions research. Hermione barely heard him as she nodded at appropriate moments, her mind spinning. She didn’t care about his theories or his mentor. This was supposed to be her day off. She wanted to spend it wrapped in Harry’s arms or losing herself in their unspoken connection.

Instead, she sat there, trapped, while Molly beamed from across the table, her pride radiating as if she’d accomplished a grand matchmaking coup. The other guests—most of whom were in various stages of curiosity or discomfort—watched the unfolding scene with a mix of amusement and pity.

Hermione’s fingers curled around her glass of pumpkin juice as she resisted the urge to snap. Escape. She needed to escape. But as her mind raced through excuses, she heard the heavy thud of boots on the Burrow’s wooden floor. Her heart leaped.

Harry.

He strode into the room, his presence impossible to ignore, with Ron trailing behind him, his expression caught between caution and worry. Harry’s gaze swept over the scene, lingering briefly on Tucker. Without breaking stride, he moved toward the door, but Hermione couldn’t let him go like this—not without speaking to him first.

“Harry!” Her voice rang out, sharper than she intended.

He froze mid-step, his shoulders tense as he slowly turned to face her. His eyes softened for a moment as they met hers, but a storm still lingered behind his calm façade.

“Yes?” His tone was controlled, almost too casual, but Hermione could see through it. This wasn’t anger aimed at her—it was frustration barely contained, the kind that made his jaw clench and his hands curl into fists at his sides.

Behind her, Ron shifted uncomfortably, positioning himself to block the others from witnessing Hermione’s barely hidden distress. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, her chest tightening with emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Harry sighed, his irritation visibly easing as he took in the vulnerability in her gaze. “Ron and I are off to the Leaky Cauldron,” he said, keeping his tone light. “We’ll pick up some pretzels and butterbeer. Want me to grab you something?”

Hermione’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes did the talking, pleading for reassurance he couldn’t give here—not in front of all these people. Harry held her gaze, understanding passing silently between them.

After a beat, he turned to the room. “Anyone need anything else while we’re out?” His voice carried a cool authority that brooked no argument.

The murmured “no, thank yous” and nervous shuffles filled the silence. Tucker, who had been sitting stiffly since Harry entered, seemed particularly fascinated by the floorboards, avoiding Harry’s piercing gaze.

“Right, then,” Harry said briskly. “We’ll be back shortly.”

As he moved to leave, he caught Hermione’s wrist and gently tugged her aside. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though the world had faded into the background. Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her skin.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate, meant only for her ears.

And then, before she could react, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a chaste peck or a fleeting brush of lips. It was a kiss that spoke volumes—possessive, tender, and utterly unapologetic. Gasps echoed around the room, Molly’s indignant exclamation mingling with Luna’s delighted clapping. Hermione’s breath hitched as she clutched his shirt, her knees threatening to give out under the weight of the moment.

When Harry finally pulled back, his green eyes were blazing with a mixture of defiance and devotion. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead for good measure, then turned his attention to Tucker, his expression hardening.

“See you later, Tucker,” Harry said, his voice cool and sharp.

Tucker swallowed hard, nodding quickly, though his hand trembled slightly as he reached for his goblet.

Harry straightened, releasing Hermione with one final squeeze of her arm before striding out of the room. Ron followed close behind, a wide grin plastered across his face.

As they walked towards the Burrow’s apparition point, Ron finally broke the silence. “I can’t believe you actually did that.”

“Run,” Harry said, his voice calm but his pace quickening.

“What? Why—”

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!”

Hermione’s furious yell echoed from the house, loud enough to rattle the windows.

“That’s why,” Harry muttered, breaking into a full sprint.

Ron laughed, struggling to keep up. “You’re mad, you know that?”

Harry’s smirk was almost feral as he glanced over his shoulder. “Worth it.”

xxxxx

The evening sky had deepened into shades of navy and indigo by the time Ron and Harry returned to the Burrow. The crisp air carried the faint scent of freshly tilled earth and wood smoke, a nostalgic mix that Harry barely noticed as he trudged up the path behind Ron. A charmed bag swung lightly at Ron’s side, its weight betraying the crate of butterbeer and assortment of snacks tucked neatly within. Harry, however, carried something far more conspicuous: an enormous bouquet of red roses, their petals vivid against the dimming light.

"Well, what’s the grand plan now, mate?" Ron asked, his tone light, though his eyes betrayed amusement. He glanced at the bouquet and then at Harry’s resolute expression. "We spent hours out there, but we’re bound to go back inside. No escaping it now."

"If I don’t make it alive today," Harry replied, his voice dry, "my last will and testament is in the second drawer of my study."

Ron chuckled, clapping Harry on the back. "That bad, huh? Look, Hermione’s not going to murder you. At least not in front of everyone. We’ve still got dinner, remember? Those roses might even save you."

Harry shot him a dubious look. "Sure, but what happens after dinner? That’s when the real monster shows up."

Ron smirked, shaking his head. "You’ll face her wrath, sure, but it’ll be worth it. Trust me. Besides, it’s Hermione—she’s scary when she’s mad, but she’s not unreasonable."

They reached the door, and with a mock flourish, Ron opened it, calling out cheerily, "We’re back!"

Harry’s shoulders tensed as he stepped inside. His gaze immediately swept the room, searching. Relief washed over him as he noted the absence of the odious blonde bastard who had earlier been monopolizing Hermione’s attention. Instead, the living room was filled with familiar faces, most of whom were grinning in a way that instantly set him on edge.

"W-Where’s Hermione?" Harry asked, a note of trepidation creeping into his voice as he stepped further into the room.

He barely had time to react before a flash of red light struck him square in the chest. The bouquet of roses tumbled from his hands, only to be deftly caught by Bill, who raised an eyebrow as Harry collapsed onto the floor in an unceremonious heap.

Ron let out a startled laugh, bending down to help Harry up, but froze as Hermione swept past him. Her expression was a storm of fury and determination as she grabbed Harry by the front of his robes. With surprising ease, she dragged his limp body toward the staircase, her boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. The room fell silent, save for the creak of the stairs as she hauled Harry out of sight.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, straightening up. He glanced around the room, his eyes twinkling. "All right, who had ‘announcing they would be together before Christmas’ in the betting pool?"

Molly’s gasp of outrage cut through the murmurs of the gathered family and friends. "Ronald Weasley! Betting on your best friends? Honestly, I—"

But a smattering of hands shot up, including Arthur’s, eliciting a bark of laughter from Ron. Grinning, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jingling bag of coins, distributing winnings to the triumphant few.

"You knew about this?" Molly demanded, her voice climbing an octave. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, her gaze narrowing on Ron like a hawk sighting prey. "Why didn’t anyone tell me?"

Ron rolled his eyes, unbothered. "Of course, I knew. I’m their best friend. And they didn’t tell you because—" He gestured broadly, "—of this. You’d start badgering them about weddings and babies before Harry even had a chance to survive his first scolding."

Molly looked scandalized, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Meanwhile, Susan slid her arm around Ron’s waist, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Welcome back," she whispered, though her lips quirked in a smile.

Luna, seated next to a confused Rolf, leaning to him, clearly unbothered by the chaos. Across the room, Teddy, who had been quietly napping in Andromeda’s arms, stirred and let out a soft mumble before settling back into his dreams.

"What happened while we were gone?" Ron asked, popping open a bottle of butterbeer.

Susan leaned in conspiratorially. "Oh, plenty. Hermione was ready to hex you both into oblivion for leaving her to fend for herself. The other girls calmed her down, though, and things devolved into gossip pretty quickly. Teddy, of course, spilled the beans about seeing them kiss ‘lots of times’ at Grimmauld Place."

Ron nearly choked on his drink, his gaze darting to the peacefully snoozing toddler. "That little snitch," he muttered, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

"And the blonde git?" he asked.

"He left," Susan replied with a shrug. "Apparently, Molly apologized, but he looked like he couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Not that anyone blames him—Hermione was... on a roll."

Ron chuckled, his gaze drifting to the staircase. "Think they’re... you know, talking things out upstairs?"

Susan’s grin turned sly. "If by ‘talking things out,’ you mean Harry is getting a very thorough scolding, then absolutely. He deserves it, though. Leaving her to deal with all of this drama while basically outing their relationship? Bold move, even for him."

Ron raised his bottle in mock salute. "Here’s to surviving the wrath of Hermione Granger."

As the laughter and chatter in the room resumed, Ron’s gaze lingered on the staircase. Upstairs, he imagined, things were far from quiet, but he couldn’t help but think that his best friends would come out of this stronger—and, more importantly, together.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter knew he deserved every ounce of the 'Stupefy' Hermione Granger had sent his way the moment he walked into the Burrow. The spell had struck him before he even had a chance to explain himself.

He should have known better. Outing their relationship in front of everyone—practically broadcasting it to the world in one dramatic gesture—and then leaving her behind to fend off the fallout had been a spectacular mistake. One he regretted almost as much as the furious look she had thrown his way just before he’d hit the floor.

As the haze of unconsciousness faded and his body began responding again, he braced himself for the scolding of his life. He expected a tirade, sharp words cutting him down to size as only Hermione could manage. Instead, when his eyes fluttered open, the fiery storm he anticipated wasn’t what greeted him.

Hermione was standing over him, her expression ablaze—not with anger, but with something far more primal. Her eyes burned with an intensity that made Harry’s breath hitch, her chest rising and falling as though she had just run a marathon. The privacy wards around Ron’s old room thrummed in the background, a near tangible reminder that they were utterly alone.

Before he could speak, before he could even think, she tackled him.

Harry hit the bed with a soft oof, and then her lips crashed against his. There was nothing tentative about the kiss. It was ferocious, her frustrations and emotions poured into the way her mouth moved against his. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging in a way that sent a shiver down his spine, while her body pressed firmly against his.

Her lips claimed his like a storm, relentless and overwhelming, shaking loose any lingering doubt he might have had about just how much she cared.

Harry’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer as though he couldn’t stand even the smallest distance between them. Hermione moaned against his mouth, the sound vibrating through him and setting every nerve alight. She kissed him harder, her teeth grazing his bottom lip before she pulled back just enough to speak.

“I-I thought you were angry,” Harry rasped, his voice raw from the sheer force of her kisses.

“Furious,” Hermione hissed, her eyes narrowing as she leaned down to bite at his neck. It wasn’t gentle—sharp enough to make him gasp and arch beneath her, his hands gripping her hips instinctively. She soothed the sting with her tongue, the sensation a maddening mix of pain and pleasure.

“Kissing me in front of everyone,” she continued, her tone laced with a dangerous edge, “and then leaving me to deal with it all alone? Do you know how insufferable that was?”

Harry groaned, his head tipping back against the bed as Hermione bit him again, this time just above his collarbone. “I was jealous,” he admitted, his voice strained.

Her hands pinned his wrists to the mattress, her grip firm despite the fact that he could easily break free if he wanted to. “Jealous of what?” she demanded, her breath hot against his skin.

“That stupid bastard,” Harry growled, his green eyes flashing as he met hers. “He kissed your hand. I saw it, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t stand it, Hermione.”

Hermione’s expression softened for a fraction of a second before the fire returned. “I didn’t like it either,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “But that doesn’t mean you get to leave me to deal with the fallout.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, the sincerity in his voice undeniable. “I’m really, really sorry. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I wanted everyone to know that you’re mine. Mine alone.”

Her eyes darkened at his words, a dangerous gleam in their depths. “Yours?” she repeated, her voice a soft, teasing purr that sent shivers down his spine.

“Yes,” he whispered, his hands finally moving to cup her face as she leaned in again.

This kiss was just as passionate as the first but carried a different weight—less wild, more deliberate. Her teeth scraped against his lips, her tongue sliding against his in a way that made his toes curl. Harry’s hands roamed up her back, pulling her impossibly closer as though he could merge them into one person.

When Hermione finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breathing heavy. “This isn’t over,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her hand slid down his chest, pausing just long enough to make him tense before she grabbed his manhood through his trousers.

Harry let out a startled yelp, his cheeks burning red.

“You promised me the best orgasm of my life when we return home, Harry Potter,” Hermione said, her voice like silk and steel. “You keep that promise, and maybe—maybe—I’ll forgive you.”

She released him with a smirk, standing up and smoothing down her clothes as though she hadn’t just turned his entire world upside down.

Harry watched her, his heart racing as he sat up. “Hermione—”

But before he could say more, she turned on her heel, heading for the door. Harry scrambled to his feet, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered, peppering her face with kisses, each one softer than the last. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Hermione tried to maintain her stern expression, but a giggle slipped through, her resolve crumbling under his relentless affection.

“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes even as a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re just buttering me up so you don’t have to explain to the others when go back out there.”

Harry grinned, pulling her even closer. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ll tell them how brilliant you are, how much I love you, and how lucky I am that you finally got tired of my persistence and agreed to date me.”

“That didn’t happen!” Hermione protested, slapping his chest.

“Oh, right,” Harry said, his grin widening. “Then I’ll just tell them the truth—that we got drunk, started snogging, and the rest is history.”

“Harry!” Hermione hissed, though her smile betrayed her amusement.