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maraudergirls · 6 years ago

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‘7 things i love about us’ ( Harry x Hermione)

For @hermione-who from @wizardingworldwaitforme and @beaubcxton

Hermione can’t believe what she’s seeing.

Maybe it’s because of the shock of her tights colliding with the freezing floor, or the strength the cry provoked by her surprise.

She shakes the white plastic stick. Once. Twice. Thrice. Observes. It’s unchanged.

She rests her back against the wall and stretches her legs forward, until their extension is blocked by the base of the washbasin. The last time such a huge turn in her life had happened, it had been in a similar room, and she remembers it as if it were yesterday…

There was music. A sweet music. Somebody was tickling the tiles of a piano. A huge one.

“Are you ready?”

She looked up at Ginny.

She’s just able to hear the knock on the door, and a deep voice asking if she’s all right, before the whiteness of the bathroom gives place to the pitch blackness of her closed eyelids.

***

There Is music. A sweet music. Somebody is tickling the tiles of a piano. A huge one.

Harry straightens his green tie, anxiety coiling around the pit in his stomach like a vicious snake.

“Alright, mate?”

The groom nods. “Just a little bit nervous s'all.”

Ron claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous of mate. She loves you. You love her. You both make fondue, I become a godfather-”

The word fondue stirs an unforgotten memory from the Burrow in Harry’s brain, and he’s forced to recollect as thoughts about their sixth Christmas together flood him.

A hoarse cough had disrupted his occasional good sleep.

He groaned at first, throwing the comforter over his ears.

The residue of his nightmare burned his scar, and breathing heavily, he tried to shove the screams of his friends away. Cold sweat welcomed him as he opened his eyes, the worst suppositions attacking him from all parts.

When he managed to get a bit more lucid, he recognized the sound of Ron’s rambunctious snoring, which drived any suspicion of horror away, and, with a sigh, Harry cautiously got up.

It was dark enough that the atmosphere felt stifling. He walked ahead as if in a trance, following the beaker of faint light spilling ahead. As his steps got closed to the source of clarity, the sound of a retch disrupted the silence and he willed his heart to still.

Somebody was being very sick in there.

Rapping once on the bathroom door, he called out, “You okay?” and immediately berated himself for asking such a ridiculous question.

The victim of his horrible choice of words didn’t seem to think much of it, and Harry oddly wondered how serious their cause of ailment was for they called out a weak, “Yeah.” Here, they interrupted and contradicted their previous statement by moaning.

Shortly after, the flush of a toilet stained the air. “I’m fine.”

True to his perceptive nature, he recognised that she was Hermione Granger, and she was most definitely not alright.

“Mione? Can I come in?”

“You don't need to.”

A beat of tangible silence, then, “Please?”

The door weakly swung open, creaking as it did so preceded by something clicking and Harry was faced by a very sick crush.

Even with a ghostly pale face, blue-ish lips, and damp hair, he could not recall a time when he hadn’t thought she looked more beautiful.

Against his better judgment, he tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear, and his heart stumbled when he saw red color her skin.

Offering her a glass of tap water, he leaned against the bathroom floor with her, shutting the door.

“What’s happened?” His voice echoed in the room, and he winced at the modulation.

“It’s those damned fondue rolls that Ronald seemed to like.”

She said ‘Ronald’ with such a tone of severity as to make Harry cast a silent wish to spare his friend from his fate.

Interrupted in his thoughts by another retch, he padded over to Hermione, pushing away the hand she hung between them and petted her back.

“Get it all out, Mione.”

Her answer came out weak, “Thanks Harry. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”

A smile carved its way onto his face. “Anything for-”

His romantic proclamation was cut short by another moan, and was altered into a chuckle when she uttered, “I’m going to kill him.”

They sat like this till the early hours of morning, until a very worried Mrs. Weasley accosted them for not waking her up, and shooed him away.

They breezed by the hours. Harry lending a pun here and there and Hermione scoffing at it, stating that he was mad though there was no longer an absence of good humor by the time dawn brushed their eyelids.

It was enough time for Harry to realise, at the moment when he was holding her hair and whispering words of comfort, that he’d had been loving her for an epiphany, that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, and that, if that meant that all his days were going to be vomit scented, then so be it. As long as he had her.

And suddenly, there was this burning feeling in his chest, the type of impulse that one cannot hold, so he just said it, plainly and simply, as if he was making a remark about the weather, “I love you, Mione.”

She didn’t falter for a beat, just smiled weakly at him and, with an assurance that the fondue rendered quite hard, returned the sentiments.

She didn't realise how deep the ardor ran. To her, the feelings she had for Harry were strictly platonic and she was definite it was the same case for him too. They were best friends, of course she loved him too.

This was no occasion for a kiss, Harry thought, to prove that his feelings were much more different than what she understood. So instead, he silently promised himself that, someday, if she’d have him, they’d get married, and love each other until the embers of the past finally fade past.

For now, her friendship was a gift, golden and pure, sent from the Olympians before, and he silently vowed never to make the mistake of being Icarus.

“-did not raise you so you could use fondue as an inappropriate word! And to corrupt poor Harry as well. Why, I never-”

Harry coughs, interrupting the reproach from Mrs.Weasley, a woman almost as dear and symbolic to him as his own dead mother. She’d nourished him with love, care, and affection. And now, here she is, as kind and lovely as she had been decades earlier, when he’d asked her where the platform was. The only change Harry can notice is a new set of wrinkles, but they add to her grandmother look.

Ron, the same as always, silently assures Harry to go on, his right ear still bearing the flush of his mother’s shouts.

“They’re ready for you, Harry.”

***

“Are you ready?”

The knocking on the door intensifies, and Hermione shudders.

How long has she been lying here? Not so long, if the person on the door hasn’t stopped making noise already. It’s starting to annoy her. Her head is throbbing.

“Mione, love, it’s late. We have to be there in fifteen minutes. Ron says we should leave-”

“Ron said we should leave.”

“Really? He doesn’t want to come?”

“He said he’ll catch up on us. Plus, he seems a bit afraid of getting closer than ten feet to you. I reckon he said something about damaging a book...”

Hermione shrugged, and Harry smiled to himself. Ron hadn’t told him anything about any book, or anything at all. He was not even aware that they were going to Hogsmeade together, since Lavender got the most of his attention lately. But Hermione didn’t know that.

Her hands deep in her pockets, she engaged another conversation, and soon the topic that Harry dreaded, the question of why they were going alone, was far away from their minds.

The sky was calm, but the cruel cold was cutting into their skin, and Hermione caught herself longing for a hug.

, she wondered what was wrong with her lately. Why did she keep liking Harry’s company better than Ron’s? Why did she desperately want to sit next to him in every class? Why did she crave the same food he did? But she promptly found rational answers: Ron was being something of a jerk, the classrooms were crammed, and the mashed potatoes were the best dish on the table.

So why was she wishing for a hug now?

Shaking her head slightly, she reassured herself: she just wanted a best friends hug. Nothing more.

Ugh… She’d convince herself of it much more if she listened to what he was saying.

“So Trelawney came in, and I didn’t know she was going to be so angry-”

Harry ruffled his hair more than it already was, and Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling too obviously.

Exasperated at herself, she decided to look elsewhere.

“But you know, she’s always predicting my death, and one day she’ll be the cause of it. I mean, people die from boredom, don’t t-”

“Oh look Harry!” Hermione interrupted him, excitement tangible in her voice. She pointed at Zonko’s, at an object that had caught her interest. “I heard about this new illusion potion they released. Let’s have a look at it!”

Glancing at his expression, she understood that it was not in her friend’s plan to pay a visit to the joke shop, and was ready to resign, but he grabbed her arm and started walking toward the place she had indicated.

“What is it about?” he asked kindly.

Glad that he had accepted her suggestion, she explained, “It imitates the first effects of amortentia, but instead of making you smell odors, it makes you see images related to the person you love.”

Harry, who was opening the door, stumbled slightly at her last word, and she felt her own cheeks light up.

After thinking about it, why did she want to see that potion?

But again, the rational part of her brain protected her: it was an amazing bit of magic. There was no other curiosity in her intentions apart from the scientifical one.

After she cleared that detail, she didn’t feel afraid to approximate herself to one of the purple-colored bottles, and hold it up.

“I wonder what my parents would think about this. They’d laugh a lot, for sure. Oh, I could buy them one, what do you think Harry?” As he didn’t answer, she turned around, but didn’t find him next to her. “Harry?”

Her eyes scanned the colorful crowd, but her friend was nowhere to be seen.

“Come on, we’re not going to play hide and seek,” she mumbled to herself.

It struck her that she wouldn’t mind playing hide and seek with him, but she pushed the thought away.

He was not near the noisy hats, nor next to the nosy books, and the corner of the quivering quills eas empty. She looked over the heads of the third years, and between the bodies of the seventh years, and even checked on-

“Boo!”

Hermione started, and instinctively swung round with her hand ready to slap. Thankfully, Harry was not close enough to be reached.

“Harry James Potter!” she cried, listening to the thumping polka of her heart. “Do not dare to frighten me like this ever again!”

Grinning sheepishly, the boy excused himself, and after a bit of scolding, the incident was quickly closed.

They exited the shop immediately after reconciling, regretting its warmness, and after a simple look of understanding, mutually agreed to head for one of the pubs. As Hermione headed for the Three Broomsticks, Harry stopped her with a call. He first answered to her raised eyebrows with a difficult gulp, but then explained that the weather was so bitter that it made him daydream of hot chocolate.

“But they don’t have hot chocolate at the Three Broomsticks,” Hermione remarked.

She blushed furiously under her scarf when he pointed out that Madam Puddifoot’s were the best.

The door made a loud ringing noise when the boy opened it, and Hermione threw it a dark look. There were about ten people inside, and as soon as she had crossed the entrance, ten smirking mouths had started whispering.

We are here as friends, she wanted to shout at them. Instead, she swallowed, and took a sit.

“Look,” Harry told her, when he noticed she was too uncomfortable. From the inside of his winter cloak, he pulled out a bright red plastic bag, and fidgeted with whatever was inside for a bit.

Under Hermione’s surprised gaze, he laid a little flask on the pastel table.

“The illusion potion!” She cried. He had apparently bought it while she was occupied looking for him.

He winked at her. “Fancy a vision?”

Two drops in each cup were enough, and they drank the steaming beverage promptly, eager to know what its effect would be.

Harry looked at a wall, blinked, colored a bit, but shrugged and smiled, as if he had seen what he had expected to see.

Hermione, however, turned a deep shade of red, and gaped at a window for several seconds. When Harry mocked her for looking like a fish out of water, she frowned.

“I’m disappointed,” she said sternly. “It didn’t work.”

She was sure that the boy would have retorted something, but he limited himself to hum enigmatically and finish his drink.

“Mione?” He said after putting his cup down. She noticed that his cheeks were vividly pink, but implied it must be due to the inside temperature. “What would you call this?” He moved his hands in strange gestures, first pointing at her and himself, and then at their surroundings.

“Oh,” she muttered shyly. “What do you mean?”

Harry looked like he was preparing himself to climb a mountain without shoes.

“Do you consider this a date?”

His question was so abrupt that Hermione didn’t even think about her answer. “Yes, I reckon it’s one.” But when the sense of what she had said reached her conscious, she promptly added, “A friends date, of course.”

Harry’s smile trembled just a bit, and he responded with assurance, “Yeah, of course, because we’re just friends, nothing more.” In the same spirits, he glanced at 13-years-old girl that had been looking at them with great interest since they had stepped in. “We’re just friends.”

Hermione laughed heartily at the kid’s wide eyes, and finished her own chocolate.

“I like our friends’ date,” Harry breathed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

She looked at him, her mind still a bit clouded by the potion’s vision, and grinned. “I like it too.”

***

“I like this, mommy.”

The little girl in front of Harry points to the twinkling stars of the ceiling, and Harry smiles.

He’s getting married.

By tonight, as he will hold Hermione in his arms and trail a line of beautiful kisses below her nose, he shall breathe, “You are mine and I am yours, Hermione Potter.”

The mother kisses her child, and the kid bounces on her parent’s knee.

Very few people cannot complain about their first kiss, and most of them laugh off it as awkward while they stumbled in the dark, wishing they could erase the past. However, some people find beauty in the weirdness, like how their noses bumped against each other and how their glasses bore in the other’s face. And among these people shine Harry and Hermione.

They had a wonderful and legendary first kiss. It was the first time they felt like they were kissing the stars.

It took place at the dusk of frost. It was warm enough for the ice to be melting, but cold enough for them to walk close to each other, inches barely separating them.

It had been an exceptionally cold winter, physically and mentally speaking. So many subtle and burning moments.

Until this moment, if Harry had to choose a word to fit their relationship, he’d like to call it unrequited pining, while Hermione would classify it as an unfortunate series of events.

For what else could she call these feelings eating her and consuming her blood? Everytime she caught herself catching glimpses of his messy hair and green eyes, that reminded her of the tree in backyard that she pleased to admire during class, she berated herself. Didn't he know that she stilled everytime their fingers brushed when they were sitting together?

But nothing about it was unlucky. Not really.

Harry certainly didn’t seem to think so. Why would her hand in his, pulling him forward against the throng of students, against time and war, be called unfortunate? Certainly, he was fortunate to have a bushy haired girl in his life, and idly wondered how people lived without somebody like her. If he had to pine, if every carefully planned look between them drove him flexing-his-fingers-mad, then so be it.

She pulled him outside, laughing and singing her joy, and everything was well. Like it was any other day when she’d make him feel angels were having a party in his head. But suddenly, the perfection left. She left. She released his hand. Before Harry could protest, something cold hit his face, which he instinctively shut, and he spluttered.

“Come on, Harry! Not afraid of the snow, are you?”

Still coughing, he threw a reproachful look toward the sweet voice, though the corners of his lips twitched

. “Imagine that!” Her voice was teasing and light, and Harry could tell by the playful look in her eyes, the love of his life had finally got bizarre. This is why you shouldn't read, he suddenly thought. “The Boy Who Lived scared of the snow!”

Before she could throw another ball, he summoned a fistful of snow and magicked it to shove her. The whiteness paused her rant, and he bit his lip for a second. Had he gone too far? Did it hurt?

His worries were for naught, for, the very next second, a loud laugh tinkled through the air,and he only caught a glimpse of a pink and cute nose before another shovel of snow was pushed into his mouth.

“Not great at this, Harry?” Another laugh. Another mocking tone. Another shovel of snow thrown at her.

She expected it this time, and their childish game soon turned into a frightening and tactical battle, involving several mates from different houses. Thankfully, Hermione was on his side, and he got the lucky opportunity to sit close to her as they traded rumours about who was going to strike next.

“I think McKinley is going to strike from that side,” Hermione said, with a finger to the inclined direction.

Harry just nodded, head spinning partly from the planning but mainly due to the female’s intoxicating smell next to him.

“WAR!!”

The battle cry echoed close to them and on instinct, Harry pulled Hermione up.

“We’ve got to run.”

They smothered their giggles as they run. There’s a thud then and Hermione stumbled as a snowball hits her. Harry caught her, his hands clasping her arm but he loses his balance by doing so and then they’re falling, falling, falling.

And it's so so cold but also so warm.

“Hey,” Harry said, his breath tickling Hermione’s eyelashes but she doesn’t pull away. Not yet.

“Hey.” She swallows and shuts her eyes.

And he wants to hold her so bad and tuck her lips in his. Choosing another dangerous path, he slowly, so slowly brushed something off her cheek and shivers but its not due to the cold.

“You’ve got a bit-” His voice failed him. “Bit of snow.”

Words weren't necessary. Hermione’s eyes pore into Harry’s and his heart squeezed at the chocolate brown doe eyed look. All senses of caution and rationality were thrown out of the window and buried when she slowly, so very slowly leans in. Their lips gently ghosted each other before they collided and their bodies crumble against the weight of a millenia aged love.

Flushed against each other, she weaves a story in his hair and his hands cup her neck.Their breaths are searing scorching hot against each other and their hearts melt lava.

“Finally.” Harry murmured, his gaze locked on Hermione’s soft and shy one, their shared panting only registering in their bliss minds.

***

Bliss… It’s all she feels… There is no coherence…

What she’s doing on the floor, she doesn’t know…

What happened?

Her mind only processes happiness. A drunk happiness.

There is another moment of unsteadiness. And a sense of urge.

Something distressed her, a vague sense of urge.

From outside, Hermione witnessed how the rain pounded down heavily on their tent.

She shivered as a strong gust of wind stung her chest despite the heavy clothing, and tried to calm her nerves by taking a deep and rattling breath.

A quick glance at the sky comforted her: it was time to go back inside. And so, she did.

Immediately, she knew something was wrong, like the times when your throat is hurting the night before you wake up with a fever and surrounded by tissues. Wand in hand, she called out, “Harry?”

She covered her mouth instantly, and blamed herself: raising her voice was stupid. What if she had alerted any intruders about a secondary presence? But surely, there couldn’t be anybody else under the magical roof, right? They had taken precautions.

Her uneasiness nudged her into calling again. And again. And when she was certain that he wouldn’t call back, she hoped against hope that he was in such a deep sleep as to not hear her. The hairs of her neck standing straight, she crept towards the bunk beds.

Once there, her heart stopped: the bed was nicely empty, lacking the body she’d grown accustomed to seeing.

Head pounding, she dropped on the mattress, and tried to analyze the facts rationally, as she had always taught herself to, even though her chest was slowly crumbling like ash.

Had somebody managed to apparate inside? But she had checked the protection spells earlier, and they were perfectly efficient.

She hadn’t seen him getting out. She had guarded the camp. Always, without falling asleep, without leaving the tent from view. Except…

Except when a suspect noise had attracted her farther into the woods. She knew it would have been crazy to leave her place, but she needed to be sure that no threat would have assailed them when leaving tomorrow morning.

And then, during her minute of absence, perhaps, snatchers had gagged him and casted an invisibility shield over him as they snuck out? Even amid her panic, she dismissed the idea, snatchers were often rather unskilled at magic. And probably very stupid.

But she was the stupid one now! She was the one who left Harry unguarded. She was the one who did not didn’t know where he wandless boyfriend was.

But most of all, she was the one who hadn’t told him how she was sure she felt about them. And now she may never have the chance to.

“Harry,” she implored.

Her throat tightened, and worry clouded her mind and vision, making it impossible for her to think about anything, except one word.

Gone.

“Harry!” She cried to the top of her lungs.

Clenching her jaw, she summoned her Gryffindor recklessness and stormed out of the tent, feeling mad in her sorrow. She kept screaming under the buckets of rain, she ran as far as it was safe to run, she splattered herself with mud and wet leaves.

Nowhere, she thought as she pulled the roots of her hair, he’s nowhere.

Her tears and the sky’s were one, her laments and the wind’s were the same, her desperation and the forest’s united.

Feeling like a lion in a cage, broken inside, wrecked outside, her stomach assailed by a wave of nausea, she headed back to their shelter, but hadn’t took two steps before her knees buckled and her hands hit the floor.

The cold that her skin felt was nothing compared to the cold that attacked her heart, and she resigned to remain on the spot where she was, waiting for what had taken Harry away from her to come and finish her off.

She couldn’t live without him.

In her despair, she thought about his smile, his smart remarks, his clumsy gestures, his deep voice… She even seemed to hear him calling her name. If the grey wall of water in front of her hadn’t been so thick, she would have imagined she could see him running toward her.

Her vision was so realistic… Like the one she had had after drinking the illusion potion. The green eyes, the ruffled hair, the messy clothes. Why had she denied the truth back then? They could have had much more time! She could have told him…

She could have told him what she felt…

“Harry!” She shouted to the mirage. “Harry!”

Her mind trickled her in the most cruel of the ways. It made her imagine he was shouting back. It made her feel he was getting closer.

And she must have gone crazy for real, because she felt a collision with a body, two strong arms wrapping her, lips melting with hers, and the world stopped spinning.

“Mione,” His voice reached her ears despite the rain’s chaos. “Mione, I was so afraid! I wanted to check on you, but you were gone! You didn’t answer my calls! I thought they had gotten you!”

“Harry,” she breathed, “You’re not- not a vision? You’re real?”

Through sobs, he kissed her once more, pouring all his feelings in the act. “Does that answer your question?”

She nodded, conscious that he couldn’t see her, but just to feel the relief of acknowledging his presence herself. And she remembered…

She still had something to say properly.

“Harry,” She fought the pandemonium of the weather, to be sure he would hear her every single word. “I never want to leave you, ever in my existence. I was ready to let myself go! You’re the only thing that makes this life worth it! I love you!”

She didn’t know if she was crying or laughing anymore. Maybe it was both. But Hermione was sure of one thing: saying it was much better that keeping it to herself.

She loved him.

***

He loves her.

But now, people are staring.

Lacing his hands together, Harry chews his lower lip. He is wary. The clock strikes ten, as if it too wants to taunt him.

He shuts his eyes. Is she having second thoughts? Does she not want to marry him anymore? And the worse path, has she ran away?

“Harry?”

The groom snaps his eyes open and looks at his best mate. Barely repressing a groan as he grasped the besiege in the other’s eyes.

“Harry, Something’s wrong with Hermione.”

“Fuc-.” Harry swears. “What is it?” and then more firmly, he asks shaking Ron’s shoulders. “Where is she?”

“Bathroom.”

Harry takes off, barely noticing the worried glances thrown his way by the guests. He can only focus on the morose tone delivered to him. Pressure beats on his long and its not long before his throat is clogged.

A horrible assumption screams its way into his brain, like a deadly wraith before he shrugs it off with much effort.

Running to Hermione, he can only think, you promised until the very end.

Harry sighed as he walked up the stairs of the apartment. Truth be told, sometimes, he regretted his choice to become an auror and wondered what life would have become if he had accept McGonagall’s offer. He’d have been called Professor Potter by now.

Instead, he was forced to raise his arm and follow the tiring cycle of stun or kill and capture. Perhaps, it wasn't the wisest choice someone with PTSD could make.

Coping with the screams and the blood usually wasn’t exceptionally hard except for days like this. Days when he was forced to watch as envy and anger flashed before the emotions were squashed and replaced by blankness. Sometimes, triumph shone in those dark eyes and he worried for the posterity.

Shuddering at the memory of the cold hugging him, he looked up as rapid footsteps sounded.

“Harry!” The man in question caught sight of Ron’s face and immediately stills for there was no sign of humor or lightheartedness discernible in those features.

Marching forward, he shook Ron by the shoulders, instant worry weighing down upon him and he oddly wonders how Atlas held the world for such a long time. “What’s wrong? Is Mione okay?”

A twisted expression forms its way on Ron’s face. “Harry-”

“Merlin, what is it, Ron?”

The man sighed and his face scrunched up once again. He looked like he wished he was anywhere else. There’s a brief pause which felt like years to Harry and then, “Hermione left, mate.”

“What?” His voice was faint, almost non-believing. “You’re joking.”

“Bloody hell.” Ron cursed. “She said you guys wanted different things that other people were willing to provide and I’m sorry mate.”

Harry had a sudden urge to sink to the floor and melt. Tears already sparkled in his eye and he seized something to blame; his job, someone else, him. “Different things?”

It’s not really a question. Amending: “Where is she?”

“I dont know.”

The world has become hazy and he can't see straight; everything is a blur. It’s almost like Hermione’s absence has caused the colors from his life to vanish for he walks in the grey stillness of life. He had to make this up to her for her reasoning was flawed; the useless ring bouncing in his pocket lays claim to this fact. Where had she decided to stay? Would a visit to her parents at this time be considered ill mannered? Deciding he doesn't give a shit about manners and only about Hermione, he straightened, a plan taking shape in his mind.

As if reading his thoughts, Ron flexed his fingers together. “I think she left you a note, mate. She asked you not to look for her.”

Harry slumped, shut his eyes and when he speaks, the voice was almost a croak. “Thanks, mate.” The walls were closing in.

The reply was almost strangled and pained. “Anytime, mate. She might have explained why in the note.”

The heartbroken victim nodded but didn’t move, offering a pained smile. Someone once told him that the worst kind of pain is when you smile to stop the tears from slipping out. And, with that prompt, the tears finally spill and he’s drowning in this grief. He should have noticed she was unhappy, noticed he was being a workaholic. This was all his fault.

Ron urges. “Go check it out, mate.”

“I’ll do it when I want to!” Harry sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Each step he took to his apartment, he felt like his whole body slowly disintegrating from the unexpected anguish. Hoping the headache away, he unlocks the door and freezes.

The room is encompassed by a halo of warm light and the scent of candles sting his nostrils. He notices a row of flowers, similar to an aisle and in the middle of this enchanting scene is a woman. His goddess, Hermione. The sight of her is so surprising, he cannot utter a single word but only feel such devastating and sweeping relief, his knees almost buckle.

“You said you wanted it to be a surprise” Hermione says, tears already shining in her eyes like twinkling city lights. And to bewilder him even more, she goes on her knees.

Slowly walking towards her and joining hands, he kneels next to her and kisses her palm, enjoying the sensation of gravity that flows through him.

He doesn't ask her how she knew he was proposing. Why she wasn't with Victor Krum right now? It doesn't matter. She’s with him. Chose him. And that realization ignites the fondness he only reserved for her in his heart.

“Harry,-” Hermione said, her voice already breaking on a sob. “My mom always told me soulmates were real. And I never believed them because I was a seven year old cynic. Perhaps, it was when I entered your compartment that September 1st when I saw you that the prospect of a fated partner didn't sound so frightening. You were there for me when no one was. And I hope, I wish that I can be here for you whenever you need me.”

“I want to give this a go too since I planned it.” Harry started with a watery chuckle. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way. I never thought I would be so lucky to fall in love with my best friend but I have and I don't ever want to let that go. If you’ll have me, I shall be a husband, a partner and an equal to you. I will be yours. Until the very end.” And trying to add some humor, he chuckles. “If we get married, I’ll buy you a thousand books.”

“Sure know how to make a girl say heck yes!”

Harry surged forward and claimed his girlfriend’s, now fiancee lips with his own.

They were going to do it, finally.

***

They were going.

Yes, this is it. They should be headed somewhere. She just got distracted for a second.

Oh Merlin, yes, she got distracted, and by what! Now how to tell him-

“Mione! Why aren’t you answering? Are you okay? Open the door!”

The voice… The man…

Her split second of clarity is gone.

Through the thick fog of her daydream, she sees him… On that spring night…

“Open the door!”

His voice was playful, almost teasing, as if he knew she’d fail to unblock the lock.

“I am trying to, stop pushing me!”

It was dark, very dark, and the flickering light of the naked lightbulb was not helping much.

“Mione,” She managed to make his words out only by miracle: the hard breeze was pushing them away as soon as they were out of his mouth. “It’s freezing here, I’m shaking like Ron’s bedroom in September!”

A smile took over her lips. They had been in Ron’s room enough times now to know its rocking feeling provoked by the fall wind. Living on the last floor of the Burrow reserved many more surprises than just the neighbor above.

“I can’t get the key in the hole!” Was her feeble defense. She was too occupied in succeeding in her mission to look for a smart answer.

“Of course you can’t, you look just like Minnie when we told her that I was Teddy’s Godfather!” Sure, her hands were trembling, though not for the same kind of nervousness. Minnie had been quite stressed, Hermione was just over excited. “Give it to me, won’t you?”

She laughed, and handed the key over.

Harry grabbed it with the assurance of a man full of happiness and, in less than it took him to boast about it, the door was open, and his wife was dragged inside.

With a flicker of his wand, Harry lit up the inside of the place, and when Hermione finally stopped blowing warm air in the palms of her hands and rose her gaze, her exclamation was as quiet as she was breathless.

They were standing in the middle of a cozy entrance hall, with the smell of new wood and fresh paint invading their nostrils. The walls looked at them warmly, their coat of creamy white already covered in pictures and paintings. Under Harry’s eager attention, Hermione stepped closer to them, and what she saw brought tears to her eyes.

In a corner, she recognized Professor Sprout holding a mandrake, and Neville, in black robes and pointed hat, fainting. Next to him, a short-haired Ginny was holding a cup, in the exact way she had done during the engagement party, the sparkles in her eyes glowing like real ones. Farther to the left, between an ashen-faced Seamus and a couple of thestrals, stood Sirius, his smile wider than ever, the words “I am proud of you” readable on his still lips. He was intensely fixing a point on the opposite side of the room, so Hermione turned around.

She saw a tiny Mrs. Weasley winking at her, and a Mr. Weasley, of the same size, holding a rubber duck with great interest, apparently immersed in deep conversation with her own parents. They were surrounded by a Romanian Horntail, a cauldron of polyjuice potion, and a delicate reproduction of Hedwig. Under the bird’s wing, seven people in Quidditch robes, who turned out to be the original Gryffindor team of their first year, looked at a giant ginger cat, who was pursuing a rat.

“Wormtail,” Hermione whispered, as she traced the fine lines with her fingers.

“And here are the others,” Harry reached out for her hand, and directed it to a spot above this one. A werewolf was standing straight, its face illuminated by a silvery moon, and could have appeared to be dancing with a tall black dog. On their left were the faces of two handsome people, James and Lily Potter, framed by a rectangle of miniature diaries, lockets, rings, diadems, and golden cups. Near them, an elevator of the Ministry of Magic carried a mount of books and a white-bearded old man, with a crooked nose and golden spectacles. He was beaming at a stern McGonagall, and offering her a lemon drop.

“He did like them indeed,” Hermione breathed, emotions all over her voice.

Placing two fingers under her chin, Harry made her look up. The ceiling was covered in stars and clouds, and hippogriffs and motorcycles. There were people mounting broomsticks, a castle covered by fog, birds chasing a golden snitch, candles and flying pumpkins. Colin Creevey was holding his camera, Hagrid was caressing the giant squid, and Dean was kicking a black and white football.

“This is- wonderful Harry,” was the only think she managed to repeat, and he grinned and nodded.

“Luna did the entire house, and each one of our friend brought an idea, or a picture.”

Their snowy boots were forming puddles on the wooden floor, but their attention was elsewhere.

Hermione’s thoughts were about the lovely surprise her boyfriend had granted her, and how lucky she was to share her life with this amazing being, her loved one, and her focus was on every detail that her eyes could absorb of the scene.

Harry’s thoughts were about how much better the cottage looked now that he had at last brought her to it, and his focus was on her face, admiring how the corners of her mouth raised in grins he longed to kiss again and again.

Her lips were moving, murmuring words his fascination did not let him grasp, and the only understanding he got was when she let her body talk for her mind, and hugged him with such passion that, had he had to die right then and right there, he would have done it as an overjoyed soul.

As he covered her face in fond pecks, and she cried tears of deep affection, nothing in the world would have seemed more perfect to them, had it not be for a sudden growl that echoed among their adorable confusion.

Her eyes puffy and her nose red -- she appeared more beautiful than ever to Harry -- Hermione raised her face from the crook of his neck, and smirked, “You’re never on break when it comes to this, are you?”

Scratching the back of his neck, which was growing as red as his cheeks, the man shrugged, “I need energy to keep being the best husband in the world.”

To their eyes, her sudden chuckling was matched in faultlessness only by his sheepish smile, and perfection was back, until another cavernous sound rose, this time from Hermione’s stomach.

“Seems like a good plate of pasta would suit you too, darling.” His raised eyebrow was not mocking, but sympathetic, so for once, she didn’t scowl at it.

“Only if we cook it together,” was her answer.

“First dinner in our own house,” sighed Harry, “We ought to cook it together.”

She smiled, and took a deep breath.

***

He takes a deep breath.

Ginny’s in front of the door. Of course, she’d never leave her best friend.

“Is she-?”

The redhead smiles at him. “She’s never been better, Harry.”

He sighs. “Good.”

Ginny approaches him and fixes his tie. “Go back to your place, will you? I’ll take her out of here in no time.”

Harry nods, and the woman bangs on the door.

***

Now, there is banging.

Whoever is waiting for her response tries to open the door, but only struggles with the secured lock.

More people join the panic on the other side of the wall. There is swearing, and the mention of a wand. Concern, also.

“I swear,” cries a desperate voice, “If in three seconds I don’t get an answer-”

“Calm down, mate-”

“What if she hurt herself? Didn’t you hear her c-”

“Harry?” Her croaky voice silences all the others. “Stop hitting the door please.”

The muteness continues, and an irrational fear makes her wonder if she scared the voices away.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” She’s relieved: at least, Harry’s is still here.

She wipes her forehead with a shaky hand, and slowly, very slowly, starts recovering her spirits.

“Yeah- Yeah, I am.”

“What was the cry about, then? Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

Instinctively, she flashes a reassuring smile. Then, she remembers he can’t see her. “No, I’m perfectly fine. I just need a moment.”

She can hear whisper, and another man’s voice, Ron’s she reckons, hissing above the others,

“She’s not okay. Even if we said we’d be leaving now-”

Yes… Yes, indeed, they were about to leave. That’s what she said.

It was late...

“We’re leaving, Harry,” she giggled. “Hannah must want some sleep.”

He did not hear her, or faked not to.

Her hand on the entrance’s doorknob, Hermione chatted some more minutes with her friend, discussing the latest Ministry business or the upcoming wedding of another of their mutual friendships, hoping that her husband would finally listen to reason. But the peeping and laughing didn’t falter even the slightest bit.

“You’d think we’d be the most excited,” Hannah smiled, gesturing toward the hallway.

At these words, Fox, the dog of the house, came to rest his tired body at the feet of his mistress, and both women were sure that, if he could have talked, his speech would have been short and concise: “I come from a place of real madness.”

“You had enough of it for nine months,” Hermione remarked, alluding to her friend’s dark shadows under the eyes with a compassionate expression.

They both nodded and let the sweet atmosphere wrap them gently into oblivion.

Somehow, it felt so comforting to have the chance to listen to a baby’s chirping. It meant the war was over, really over. That they would not have to go through any more serious anguish, nor be in letal peril each time they crossed a door. It meant that they could try to forget the obscure times.

Hermione still remembers -- how not to -- how she had grown used to carry a ball of lead in her stomach, the concentration of guilt, horror, and worry that followed her everywhere. It was the barrier between her and happiness, between her present and a prospect of some desired future. It kept her in the dark, strengthened her afflictions.

Slowly, after everything was done, the heavy ball had turned into a soft bubble, one of brightness, healing, and hope. It still followed her everywhere, and made her life so much more easy. It was a reminder that she could breath in liberty, inhale the permanent scent of love and laughter. It was an invitation to live life.

A wave of squealing and giggling reached the spot where the two friends were standing, and they both reintroduced themselves to the world.

“Maybe,” Hannah yawned, “We should remind the guys that the baby needs some sleep.”

Laughing heartily in agreement, Hermione dropped her coat on the floor, a habit that had been encouraged by the host since her first visit, and followed the stream of cheerfulness that floated in the air.

To her, Dylan was somebody very important. He was the first newborn in their circle of friends and acquaintances with nothing related to the war. He was born on a sunny August day, one year after the fatidical second of May, and received a name that didn’t connect him to anybody they had lost.

He was the first flower in the spring of their new life.

With every step they took toward their destination, the room where Mr. Longbottom junior was supposed to be taken care of by his father and friend, the intensity of delight increased considerably, until the air was so full of it that it became highly contagious.

“Darling,” Hermione called, leaning on the doorframe, with tears on the corners of her eyes. “It’s time for us to leave.”

With a childish disappointment in his eyes, the interpelled agreed to follow his wife toward the exit, but solemnly asked for the pleasure of being accompanied by his fellow men. Smiling motherly, Hannah nodded her consent, and they were all off toward the front of the house.

Congratulations flew back and forth for at least ten more minutes, and Neville, Dylan, and Harry were still laughing when the door of number 28, Begonia Street, closed for the night. The Potters were accompanied to the gate of the garden by Fox, and reluctantly parted from him with a few caresses and biscuits.

When finally alone outside, the lovers hugged each other as they walked, sharing their warmness in silence, until Harry finally spoke,

“Mione?” Her hummed answer was distracted: she still thought about the bubble. “What do you think if- well, if we had one too?”

With some airiness, a characteristic she had recently learnt from Luna, Hermione answered,

“Oh Harry, it would be wonderful. He is so adorable and quiet. It’s true that it would be a little hard to take care of him, with our full schedules and what not, but I guess that if we adopt one that is not too big, he could be friends with Crookshanks.”

But a single glance to her partner let her understand that they did not mean the same thing. She was talking about a dog, while Harry…

“You’re not serious, are you?”

***

“Oh Mione, you can’t be serious.”

Her reflection in the mirror makes her grimace.

With a face pale like this, and a mane of knots that could be declared the biggest nest in the world, she surely doesn’t look like someone who received the best news ever.

Her eyelids descend slowly, and with a clunk, she turns on the tap. The cool and fresh water against her burning skin is welcomed with a sigh.

Grabbing a towel, she lays her back against the door.

“Harry?”

An expecting voice answers from the floor. He must have sat while waiting for her,“Mione?”

He never did leave her, she thinks.

The wooden panel quivers, and now the voice repeats from its habitual height, “Mione?”

“Step back,” she warns him. “I’m going to open the door.” His relief is so strong that she feels it vibrating from the inside of the bathroom. “But be warned, love, I’m horrible to see.”

She hears his disbelief, even if he doesn’t say a word about it.

The lock clicks, the hinges creak, the barrier between them vanishes, and she’s engulfed in a suffocating embrace.

“You scared me so much. Are you sure you’re okay? Why did you scream? What’s- Love, you’re crying!”

She giggles in the crook of his neck at his surprise and he, convinced that she hit her head and went momentaneously crazy, takes her chin in his hands. “Ok listen now, Mione. What happened? Why are you all weird?”

“Your eyes, Harry.”

“Er- what about them?”

“I hope he or she gets them.”

“He or sh?-”

And with shaking hands, she looks up at him and blinds him with her bright grin. “I’m pregnant.”

Several seconds pass but Hermione doesn’t worry. She can see the awe slowly rising in his face, similar to the sun peaking in the countryside.

“I think I’m dreaming.”

Laughing now, she forgets her fainting spell as she pinches him playfully. “I’m convinced you’re just a dolt.”

He doesn’t retort at her attempt of humor. “You’re pregnant?” He whispers, his green eyes so close to her brown ones, his breath ghosting over her lips and she forgets for a second that its her wedding day. Harry always made her feel like the vulnerable teenager that she once was.

And she can't try to diffuse the emotion in his words, so she plays along, her heart beating strongly.

Hearts.

“I am.”

It is another excruciating long moment of silence and then he laughs, the joy on the melody so evident and rare, she almost stumbles back.

And then, they’re kissing. Hands tugging at each other’s hair, arms circling the other’s waist and sigh worthy kissing.

Someone wolf whistles and they break apart.

“I’m so happy, Mione. Thank you.”

She suppresses the expected tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And our baby.”

“Your what?” Ginny’s cries, startled. She’s leaning against the doorframe, Fred and George flanking her sides. The trio have the typical stunned expression: wide eyes, parted lips and the overall what’s happening look.

Harry winces and mutters out a quick sorry but she doesn’t care that they’ve found out.

Merlin, she’s happy. She never was one to keep secrets.

“I’m pregnant!”

And then, she’s aware of the Weasleys pouncing upon her and Harry’s hearty chuckles as he shoos them away.

“I've got to get dressed.”

“You could just wear this.” Harry smirks. “Or rather, something else.”

“Harry!”

Kissing her again, he pulls away from her, still laughing.

“Got any more secrets to tell me, Mione? Or can I waltz back? I think our guests are getting bored at Ron’s terrible singing.”

“We better save them, then.”

Harry pulls her close to his chest once more and kisses the crown of her head. There will be plenty of time to discuss their child. When she’d suspected and how lucky they were. All these conversation starters stirred in his mind as he swept away from her. “See you out there!”

She didn't hear him, too overcome by the flurry of motion surrounding her.

“Where’s the bloody makeup, Ginny?” Harry heard as he shut the door.

Harry tugs at his hair and smiles sheepishly when he noticed Hermione’s lips twitch. She always said he messed up his hair way too much. He supposed he rather did. Maybe it was a Potter thing. And maybe, their child would inherit it too.

Their child.

Resisting the urge to laugh jubilianty, he marvels at the thought that their child was attending their wedding. How weird and amazing!

He shakes his head, warding off the daze and gazes at his bride.

A blush stains Hermione’s cheeky and despite the beautiful gown, he can only focus on how beautiful her nose looks like.

Many colleagues had advised him that he might feel like bolting as his soon to be wife walked down the aisle. Harry thought they were barking mad. Watching her awkwardly smile at the guest and fidget with the flowers draped around her wrist, he felt like they were on one of those dates.

The ring on her hand flashes and he starts to tear up. She is his. And he is hers. After all they’ve been through-fighting and studying -- Harry thought the former was easier --, the lights that twinkle around them make him realise that this would be the happiest moment of his life.

It would be rivaled by the birth of his children a year later, but he still doesn’t know that.

Harry had never felt so jocular in his life as he does as Hermione reaches him. Gently, holding her hand and helping her step up, he tugs her veil down and smiles.

Pure affection radiates in her eyes and tears already glisten their way down her cheeks.

Kissing a one drop away, he ignores the crowd as they aww.

“Hey.”

A smile splits her face as she remembers how it had all started. “Hey, yourself.”

The priest coughs. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are-”

Harry blanks out, the touch of Hermione’s fingers on his skin rendering him illiterate.

“Harry, HARRY, MR POTTER!”

Shook from his reverie, Harry hears Ron’s snort before he sees Hermione hide a giggle.

The priest is anything but amused. “Your vows, Mr. Potter. See to it that you don’t dream while you read them.”

The couple roll their eyes and simultaneously grin at each other.

“I didn’t miss your vows, did I?”

Chuckling faintly, “No. I’d kill you if you did.”

Another grin. “Where do I start, Hermione? Everyone says weddings are stuffy and boring. I don’t want to make you cry in this vow, Mione. Rather not start the rest of our lives together by you crying by something I said. Reserve the tears for after the ceremony. Ow- don't hit me. True love is the most inconvenient kind.” Harry admits, adding a touch of seriousness to his tone. “I vow, Mione to protect and serve you. To make you breakfast in bed. To lull you to sleep with my warmth if you desire it and to wake you up by a trail of kisses but most importantly, I vow to always be there for you.”

“Wow, Harry. Its like, you want me to cry.” Hermione laughs, though it sounds more like a sob. “You’ve said most of it, I think but...Love to me isn't jumping off a plane to prove your undying devotion. It isn't about two broken pieces joining to be one. You and me, Harry, we’ve gone through a lot of shit but we’re not broken. We just look better together. It’s about wanting to live your life with someone, not needing. And my soul wants to co exist with yours throughout the rest of eternity. Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence by Erich Fromm.”

The crowd giggles while the bride flushes.

Of course, she had to quote someone.

It was her intelligence that drove his heart wild, really.

“And now,” she continues, “I’m going to stop even though I want to go on and on about how this was unexpected and read my 18inch essay about the comparison between life and love but you probably know all about that and I might cry any second so-”

The priest smiles faintly, which quickly fades in a flash of light.

“Rings.”

Ron steps forward and Harry takes one, the finest, and places it on her delicate finger, his touch almost caressing. Hermione sniffles as Ginny places the ring on her palm. Barely breathing, she pushes it on him. The crowd is silent and the priest happily asks,

“Do you Harry Potter take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Through sickness and through health?”

Harry swallows. “I do.”

“And do you Hermione Jean Granger take this mean to be your lawfully wedded husband? Through sickness and through health?”

“I do.” Hermione whispers and locks her gaze with Harry’s. In this moment, it is only them. Only their breaths and their soft and fond gazes.

“Then, by the power vested in me, I now proclaim you husband and wife. You may-”

Harry doesn't wait. He leans forward and cups his wife’s -Merlin, his wife- face and presses her lips against his.

As he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers, he’s indifferent to the cheers and clapping from the guests. Only Hermione as she says, “May I cry now?”

They laugh.

Looking at their rings, they can hardly believe what they’re seeing.

#ours #harmione #harmione fanfiction #harry potter #hermione granger #harry x hermione #harry #hermione #lightning era #hpwritersnet #hpwriters #hp fanfic #hp fic #fortescuesnet #usernosebleed

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maraudergirls · 6 years ago

Text

Smores ( Harry x Luna Carnival Au)

For @wizardingworldwaitforme from @hermione-who and @@beaubcxton We love you and surprise!

“Just bloody ask her mate!”

“I can't. You know that!”

“Why not? Stop being a wuss!”

“What if she says no, Ron?”

“What if she says yes?” The boy, Ron counters back, frustration seeping into his tone. Some would call it a privilege, attending to Harry Potter, but his best friend thought it was a right nuisance.

Especially, when the said boy was pining after a girl.

Harry Potter was many things. A fighter, the Gryffindors would call him after he’d ward off the dementors. The hufflepuffs would chime in with a “He’s selfless!” after he gave his life up once more. The Ravenclaws and the Slytherins wouldn’t say much, too immersed in their work but if pestered, they’d retort that he was a rather resilient fellow who should pick up a book once in a while.

If asked, the professors would smile fondly and say he was a smart student and then share caring sentiments regarding him. They’d follow the statement by saying that their parents were rather bright students as well. And like most people, they’d soon wander off in their blissful thoughts.

Harry Potter was many things.

But charmspeaker, he was not.

Perhaps, one might consider it bizarre that the boy could fight soul reapers, death eaters and even corpses but couldn’t even stomach the idea of asking a girl out.

Particularly when that girl was Luna Lovegood. Caring, kind of oblivious and wouldn’t hurt a fly, Luna. Goddess Number 1, Apple of his eye, light in his darkness and wackspurt to his nargle. He’d been pining after her for ages, perhaps ever since she brushed her hand against his when he had asked for a pencil.

Harry groans. He was pathetic.

A girl like Luna deserved to see the whole world on a date. Taste italian pizza and drink American Iced Tea. He doubted she would like that much, however. Luna seemed like the person who find contentment in standing still.

Weather (and his mother) forbade him from taking her to a beach.

“You’ll catch a cold, Har!” Lily had scolded him earlier that morning, her hands dusty with flour as she set a plate of cookies on the table, cookies she’d made for his father.

Harry had stuffed one in his mouth and proclaimed, “Its for a girl, Mum!”

“And she can say yes to other sensible and safe events or she’s not the right girl for you.”

Harry supposed there was some truth in her words but to his love riddled brain, it was the worst of betrayals. And he had sighed, mournfully and clambered up the stairs, plate hidden and a grinning mother at the end of it.

“Mate,” Ron sighs and sits next to the boy. “I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Harry smiles abashed and runs a hand through his hair. “You think?.”

Barely managing to suppress a thankful sigh, Ron claps his friend on the shoulder. “I’m positive.”

When the other boy doesn’t respond, he quickly walks out the door, happy that his best-friend duty could be considered fulfilled.

“Mate!!”

The call sounds at lunch time and Ron looks up as he stuffs a leg of chicken in his mouth. It was perhaps the third time his eating had been interrupted that very day, Ron thought morosely. Truly a travesty.

“She said yes!”

The other boy gives a thumbs up and widens his eyes proportionally to add effect. “Conhuhasdu”

“Where should I take her?”

Not again. How was he supposed to know about girls? Harry should have been asking Hermione these questions. Or his own parents. James and Lily Potter were married. They obviously had some experience in the whole dating thing.

Swallowing” “Take her to a carnival, mate. Girls dig that.”

Harry bites his lip. “Yeah? You’d think she like that?”

Ron hums for good measure. For a moment, Harry looks transfixed and Ron can hardly believe his luck but then: “Why though? Why not the beach?”

Oh for Merlin’s sake.

“Harry.” Ron said very rationally. The food that spewed from his mouth is a testimony of the level of nonchalance the boy exhibits. “If you want to go to a beach, go.”

“Mom’s not allowing me to go.”

“So?”

“So? So, I can't go. Girl or no girl, I can't worry Mom like that. Not after what she’s been through.”

For a brief second, Ron wonders if this is the same boy who flew a car with him and took out a whole unit of villains but then he nods. After what Lily had been through, indeed.

“Luna’s a pureblood, right?”

A sound of assent.

“She’d love how weird carnivals are.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! And we’d go on all those rides and I could get- Wait, you’re a pureblood.”

“Bloody hell! Will you look at that? I am!”

“Oh sod off. How do you know about muggle fairs?”

“Hermione took me once.” Ron says shortly. “Fairs?”

And after all the help he had offered, Harry has the gall not to answer his question as he bounces off and shoves his coat on, knocking the lamp post while he’s at it. “Thanks, Ron. You’re the best.”

Only after Harry strides out of the room does Ron allow himself to bite into his cheese burger with a blissful moan.

“Car- nee-val” Harry teaches as they walk under the entrance arc. Dozens of kids run around with painted faces. Luna giggles as she notices one boy sporting the face of a dragon. The scent of fried food wafts through the air and the pair hear their stomachs grumbling mournfully.

The feeling of happiness was rich in the air and the laughter of the children near them who asked for balloons was contagious.

Tugging her along, Harry was content as they breezed past several booths, hardly noticing anything besides the presence next to him.

Luna gently touched his hand once to get his attention. “What’s that?”

Following the direction of her hand, he answers, “It’s sand art.”

“Its beautiful.” Luna murmurs in awe.

Indeed it was. The palette was a sight for sore eyes. Purple, green and blue sand occupied the space of several containers.

“Want to play?”

“What do you do?”

Harry scrunches up his nose trying to remember. “You choose a container, I think and place one funnel at the top. And then you’d uh, put the sand in the bottle till it’s filled to the brim. Its kinda cool if you’re into ah, designing.”

Luna inspects the booth for several seconds, “Maybe later.”

And so, they go on. Several times, Luna would stop and ask him a question and Harry would explain how crazy hats worked and they're not actually popping butterflies but rather butterfly like balloons.

At first, it was tiresome. Question thrown after question but then he’d looked at Luna and all his misery drowned away.

He had never seen her so excited. So full of childish glee.

Wisdom always shone like tears in those blue eyes and he’d never have the opportunity to see anything different but now, he found he rather loved the new look and with a bounce in his step, apprehended her.

McGonagall once asked him why circumstances revolved around him and he’d chirped I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me. It seemed like the statement still applied, even if he didn’t go to Hogwarts anymore.

For several people cast them weird looks and they scoffed about Luna’s attire.

He thought she looked gorgeous. A normally sized chunk of radish hung from her left earlobe and a small carrot dangled from the right. She was wearing a knee-length colorful dress with an enormous butterfly design on her back. Her shoes were multicolored but Harry failed to understand why people seemed to think it was their business.

When the third person to call her out that night laughed with his friends, Harry took a glance at Luna and was speechless to notice she still wore that airy and bright smile. Was she not affected at all by the taunts? This was probably the fourth time they teased her in his presence. And he hoped it’d be the last time.

As if answering his question, she shakes her head slightly when Harry steps forward, adamant to teach someone a lesson.

“Leave it be, Har.”

He protests. “They have no right-”

“And so they don't. They’re misguided. Hecates are to be blamed.”

Disgruntled, he listens.

A wide smile splits Luna’s face. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

And all thoughts of shoving a wand in someone’s ear turned to dust with that coy admission.

Harry had never noticed how loud carnivals could be, and how dim they got, so dim you could barely see when you accidently trod on someone's toe, but now he did.

Now he was conscious of everything, stealing what he hoped were secret glances at Luna every so often, hoping she was enjoying herself.

The bright smile she had on her face as she drank in the scene comforted him, but then he hastily reminded himself that Luna Lovegood was always smiling.

He loved that about her, he realised with a jolt.

That no matter how dark and crowded the carnival, or even the world, got, she still somehow managed to find the light, and just smile.

It’s infectious, her energy.

He really, really loved that about her.

They can hardly hear each other over the noise when Harry pulls Luna over to a wooden stall, standing on the outskirts of the crowd.

“Want anything?!”

Luna tilts her head to show she hasn’t understood.

Harry makes a point of pointing at the pink candy wound over sticks, shouting even louder.

“WOULD YOU LIKE SOME?”

Luna blinks, her smile slightly faltering as she follows his gesture. Her blue eyes flicker over the stall, taking in the impatient stall-owner, who is also pointing to the candy in a similar fashion, and she nods.

“THE CANDY LOOKS NICE, SHOULD WE GET SOME?”

The scene is so ridiculous that Harry can’t help but laugh as he proceeds to pick the largest treat on the stall.

Luna seems hesitant as she receives the gift from Harry’s hands, which worries him.

Had he mis-heard her, did she not want any? Had he already made a fool himself, not even an hour into his date?

She tentatively reached out, grasping a small piece between her fingers, and pulling. She let out a soft gasp as the candy tears clean off, and Harry realises something.

Of course, candyfloss was a muggle thing, Luna’d probably never seen the cloud-like sweet, and while incredibly wise, Luna was fascinated by littlest of things.

He leans in closer, just so she can hear him better, and desperately tries to ignore the warmth rushing to his ears.

“Try some.”

Luna, ever-trusting, lifts her gaze from the pink, and keeps her eyes locked on his, as she lifts the candy up, and deposits it in her mouth.

Harry watches as her eyes widen slightly, and her smile returns, brighter than ever. He stepped back then, the urge to pull her close being too strong.

“Muggle’s come up with the most amazing things.”

She breaths, and Harry was glad to see she went in for more. And more, and more.

At least now he knew what to get her for christmas.

When it’s finished, and believe me it didn’t take long, the pair seem to be drawn to the ride that towered above them all. The wheel spun, every cart occupied by some sort of couple. It seemed like the go-to place for letting people know you were on a date.

And maybe that’s why Harry suggested they ride the ferris wheel. He wanted make sure Luna knew how he felt.

And when she excitedly squeezed his hand, commenting on how he’d “read her mind” and explained something to do with “Nargles and their fear of heights”, he was glad he’d asked.

They were an odd couple, that was for sure.

What, with Luna’s special even for a wizard wardrobe, and Harry’s dug up old muggle clothes that he hardly wore, they didn’t exactly look like a couple you’d run into on the street.

Normally, maybe, they might have cared about the indiscreet stares they still received, as they paid for their tickets, and the scoff a woman sent their way when Luna smiled at her, but together? So high up that even the noise didn’t bother them anymore, and the stars winked at them from above, perfecting an already perfect day? All they noticed was each other.

The ride came to it’s usual standstill, Harry and Luna at the very top. It was mesmerizing for him, watching her shut her eyes and take in the cool breeze, fingers stroking the air as if she could feel something no-one else could.

To Harry, Luna was a whole world. She lived it, breathed it, floating between reality and just plain fantasy.

It was the best way to live.

“Look.”

She was pointing at something far in the distance, something Harry couldn’t even see from where he sat.

She giggled slightly as he struggled to find it, pulling him closer.

“There.”

This time her lips were right by his ear, and she whispered her next words.

“Aren’t they beautiful, the lights?”

And Harry saw. He had to agree, the city lights of Muggle london did glow rather brightly, and on any other day he’d have admired them for longer. But, at the word beautiful his eyes twitched back towards Luna, who’d been watching him.

“Yes,” He agreed, whispering for no apparent reason, “beautiful.”

Twelve times. Twelve more times they rode that ferris wheel. And each time they stopped high enough for Luna to spot something else to be fascinated by. By about ride five her hand was in his, Harry somehow also finding the courage to move close enough that their shoulders touched.

He was trying really hard not to sweat.

Her fingers were soft and slender, and he revelled in her touch. He loved the feel of her skin on his, and at sometime, he didn’t know when, maybe the sixth ride? His thumb was stroking her palm, the feeling regular, like he’d done it a million times.

When they spoke, their conversation flowing from each topic, Harry always wondered why he hadn’t seen this side to Luna before.

The incredibly thoughtful, grounded, funny Luna. That was just it. She was so, ridiculously funny that by ride seven he was sure he had tears in his eyes from all the laughter.

“You know, Harry, you surprised me.”

This kind of brought the laughing to a stop, just as ride 11 ended and 12 began.

“I did?” Harry cleared his throat, wondering what he’d done.

“Well...with everything you’ve been through. I’d have thought things like fairs and carnivals would be a breeze.”

“But I can feel your nervousness.”

And there it was, the marker screaming that the whole date had been a disaster. She could tell he was anxious. He was obviously acting weird, putting her off. Was he sweating?

I mean, it was practically freezing, but he still felt the heat of sahara with her so close.

“That’s okay though. I’m nervous too.”

And she says this with such a comfortable air about her, that Harry can’t help but think she is saying this to make him feel better. But then, the thought of Luna lying at all was even more crazy.

It was funny, how things had changed in the space of 12 rotations. It was like a clock on fast-forward, each ride symbolising a stage in their relationship. Discomfort, tentativeness, touch, closeness, realisation and learning and perhaps even loving, it was way too far to tell Harry scolded himself when his thoughts strayed, all thrown into one.

In a way, Harry was grateful, for when he took Luna’s hand, and led her from the beginning of their “us”, it felt like he’d been holding her forever. He told himself it didn’t make sense, how right Luna felt, that he was surely dizzy from the perfectly slow ferris wheel, but he lacked the enthusiasm to make it believable.

It was quite a funny story, how Harry came to be holding a fish in his hands. Even he didn’t quite understand it.

I mean, it was normal, right? Buying goldfish at fairs, people did that, Harry was sure.

Only, the funny part was the stall-owner’s face when Luna had pointed past all the giant teddy-bears and the array of colourful balloons, after Harry had finally managed to land his arrow in the target and win, following many, many tries.

He’d asked her what she wanted, for he’d played for her, and wasn’t really surprised when she singled out the small orange sea creature, as it swam in reply.

“Are you sure?” the stall-owner seemed genuinely surprised, like he’d given up on the thought of selling that fish long ago, but, Harry thought with a smile as he handed his date her fish, (a thing he’d never really had to do before), the stall-owner hadn’t known Luna was coming.

And so he held the fish with pride, as Luna cooed through the bag, talking to the creature like an old friend.

“What shall we name you?”

Luna mulled it over, then straightened, lips tugging into a smile.

“Denis.”

Harry blinked, “Denis?”

Luna waved his question away, like her answer was obvious.

“All the cutest people are called Denis.”

He wondered idly if she was possibly referring to an old boyfriend, but this quickly diminished when she bent down again, peering at the fish with such a look a person would give their pet, “you’re so adorable, aren’t you little denis?”

He doesn’t really decide to tell her then, the words just kinda spill from his mouth. He lets them though, figures he needs to voice how much he likes Luna in some way other than blushing.

“Reminds me of the first time I knew that I, uh… you know.” He’s obviously not very good at the whole actually talking to your date thing yet.

“That you?” Luna regarded him with a kindly curious look, genuinely interested.

Fascinated by the littlest of things.

“Reminds me of the first time I knew i liked you.”

When he finished, her smile grew wider, how was that even possible, and she looked even prettier, again how?

Harry kept talking, hoping he could always make her smile like that.

“We were still in school back then..”

He didn’t get it, not at all.

She wasn’t angry.

Hanging up posters for her stolen possessions with such a carefree attitude, like it all didn’t matter. Like it was all just ‘good fun’.

Well, he certainly didn't find it funny.

Humor was not one emotion he’d feel. Rage and bitterness though? Definitely.

Why bully someone as lovely as Luna? He didn’t get it at all.

“I’m sorry about your godfather, Harry.”

The words froze him in his tracks, and he waited for the rush of pain, the choking feeling in his throat that usually arose whenever he thought of Sirius.

But it never came.

He looked down to see she had grasped his shaking hand, and her touch healed it. Blocked him, even if it was just for a moment, from the sea of prodigious grief.

Somehow, just Luna’s timid smile, managed to convince him that ‘everything was going to be okay.’

“Are you sure you don’t want help looking for your stuff?”

She pulled away, and he felt the inexplicable urge to stop her, but instead took a half-step back, clenching his fist in an attempt to shake off the feeling of her fingers touching his.

Merlin, what was she doing to him?

“That’s alright. Anyway, my mum always said, the things we lose always have a way of coming back to us in the end.”

Harry didn’t get Luna at all.

Maybe that’s what made her so special.

“Looking back, I probably should’ve asked you out right there and then.” The hand that wasn’t holding the fish went to the back of his neck, rubbing the blush away.

She nodded, seriously considering his statement. Then, her eyes slowly drifted over the carnival.

“D’you think the nice man has any flossing candy left?”

“Wanna sneak out?”

Luna considers and then, nods her head thoughtfully.

If asked, many people would say the greatest love story to exist was Aristotle and Dante. In a world which is blatantly homophobic, perhaps the pair bring a promise of a greater future. A hope.

I’d like to believe they fell in love with Ari’s fierce and protective love and Dante’s open and deep soul.

Among the many who believed, one lover sought to live.

They creep forward like spies. The atmosphere is amusing enough that they both have smiles tugging at their lips as they slide in the truck.

Harry assumes the role of driver and shifts the gear and pushes forward. In a matter of seconds, they pretend they are no longer strangers and zoom against the inky black darkness.

Luna laughs and her date thinks it's a beautiful sound. It was a mixture between a snort and a bell and he decided that it was a melody he’d listen to forever if he could.

Rolling past, the figure of trees blur into the night sky and soon, they’re leaving the city, leaving civilization and entering the void.

Taking a quick glimpse to see if Luna was okay with the proceedings, Harry is assured as she smiles fondly.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder proved true. Hair flying with the breeze and lips parted in happiness, Harry could think of no painting that could rival the image he was gazing at.

Switching his attention to the road, he leans back and they drive, crickets chirping as the car ground.

Luna falls asleep. Blaming it on the crunelo, she says with rather too much enthusiasm, “They’re not very fond of civilization. Makes them all jittery. Did you see one? We’re so lucky to be in their presence.”

Harry quirks an eyebrow at her rambling though it goes unnoticed “We’re here.”

Let me paint a picture of their surroundings: From their vantage point in the truck, enormous mountains rose, their dark peaks nearly imperceptible. Fireflies hummed in the sky, their light offering a golden glow to the soothing darkness. Stars trailed the night sky and Luna knew that they were blinking down at her, silently promising that they saw.

The stars had always meant something special to Luna. Her mother often used to say, “The stars are our ancestors, love. Whenever you seek comfort, look upon the stars and wish and hope for the posterity.”

The world was etched in charcoal, the once vibrant colors of dawn now, a long forgotten memory. It was only them in this fantasy world where no plague of politics or racism existed. Time stood still as Harry led them to the back of the truck. Luna hadn’t noticed it before but there were pillows littering the space accompanied by a blanket. A lone basket stood at the base and Harry burrowed in it before he magicked a sandwich.

“I figured we wouldn’t be happy with the carnival food.” He grinned at the precipitous enlargement of Luna’s eyes. “I brought you s’mores for dessert because I remember hearing you say it was your favorite.”

Luna whispers, surprise, and awe seeping into her tone. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

And it’s ridiculous really, how happy the sentence, the fact made him. The events leading up to now were considered as a date but right now, he felt something more tangible in the air. Make or break, after all, and by the end of the night, he’d understood where he stood with the fairy next to him. For better or for worse.

“I could do this forever,” Luna exclaims softly, staring so intently at her food, mesmerized.

Harry chuckled, “Yeah, these s’mores are pretty marvelous.”

She looks up, and lets out such a melodious sound Harry’s taken aback. She’s laughing.

He would never get used to it.

It was probably the trick of the light or lack thereof, but Harry was sure Luna’s eyes glowed in that moment. Brighter than bright, as her laughter died down and she lowered her s’more.

“You’ve got…”

Her words dwindle into nothing, and Harry was sure the thing that happened next was no trick. His heart constricting, he could feel it, and it felt like the right side of his face was melting. A very good, painless fire in the form of Luna’s fingers lay on his cheek.

Her finger trailed his lip, taking the chocolate with it.

“Chocolate on your face.”

She was whispering, why was she whispering?

Maybe it was because he was moving closer, and she was leaning in.

Or maybe it was because he’d dropped his s’more to cup her cheek, and was gazing into her eyes like he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

Or maybe it was because she had closed the distance between them, and her lips were on his, and everything was black and blue and black again as colors and thoughts whizzed around Harry’s mind, settling on perfect.

He was still reeling when the kiss ended, and he watched as Luna blushed, pulling back to bite her lip.

If things were up in the air before, now they were definitely firmly on the ground, spelling it out simply.

They liked each other.

A lot.

“Do you want to know when I started liking you?”

Sighing in relief, he nods. He wanted to ask her ever since he murmured the story about how he fell for the pixie. His pixie, hopefully. Assuming she’d tell him her story in return, he was left rather disappointed as she changed the topic and bounced off for more cotton candy.

“I didn’t realize, Harry.” She murmurs, her gaze as soft as his own mother’s and he embarrassingly tries to hide the tears that now shine in his eyes. It constantly baffled him that people felt affection to his persona. “I think I always knew and whenever you’d smile at me while you ate or whenever you defended me, you’d feed the burrow of feeling that I wore on my sleeve.”

Harry smiled at her and offered her his hand. Nestling in his warmth, she goes on, “If I had to choose a memory-“

Luna was the last to leave class, concluding that she couldn’t get bullied if no one else was left to tease her about her earrings or her name.

Walking out of class with extreme foreboding and caution, it’s unsurprising when a loud and cruel laugh cuts the silence preceding the contents of her bag spilling out.

“Loonie LOVE-good!” They chanted. “Who’d love you?!”

Never fight back with swords, Luna, but rather with silence and wit.

And so, she had taken the wise words of her father to heart and never tried to include herself in their pointless arguing. Luna was in the midst of collecting of her things when footsteps sound near. Glancing up, her heart stills as it takes in a very livid Harry Potter.

The anger is not directed at her. Merlin, no. It never will be but rather at the students behind her who now shuffled under the might glare of the boy who lived.

“Luna? Are you okay?”

His voice is laced with compassion and drowned with sweetness. Quite contradictory as his face looked like it was made of stone. However, Luna noticed worry lines creasing its way on his forehead so she nods and smiles at him for good measure. “I’m fine, Harry. just dropped my things.”

A silent plead not to hurt them which reluctantly, Harry listens to for he drops his wand back and clenches his jaw, as the bullies slump with obvious relief.

“Do you know who she is?”

Luna winces. She probably should have asked him to drop the whole issue altogether. Harry’s bark was worse than his bite and she shuddered to wonder what rumors would fly around.

Probably, ‘Star-Crossed Lovers.’ They certainly did make a weird pair. Would, would make a weird pair.

Laying a hand on his arm, she says, “Harry, you don’t need to-“

“No, Luna. They’ve got to know that they’re cowards-“ He throws the pale boys a glare. “I doubt they’ve fought death eaters and survived to tell the tale but you have. And you’ve remained as kind as ever whereas-“

“Harry.” She says again and perhaps, it's the unexpected whisper that surprises him, for he breaks the scrutiny of annoyance and tears his eyes towards her. The boys seize the chance and hurry away. Sighing, Harry lets them after Luna prompts a quick, “it’s okay.”

Harry sighs and helps her. “I don’t know why you let them be so rude.”

“You can’t change everyone.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Harry says grimly. Standing up, he moved rather awkwardly and shuffled his feet.

“Thank you for helping me. You’ve always been kind.”

The boy flushes and coughs. “S’alright. Just take care, yeah?”

“And then you ran away.”

Harry splutters. “I did not run. And why did you like me, then? I acted like a tosser.”

Luna yawned and snuggled closer to Harry. “I don’t know. I suppose you were the first person to care for me besides Ginny.”

The world didn't deserve Luna but perhaps, his feelings for her would offer some consolation.

“This is my favorite part of our date.”

Luna grins at him. “I can’t relate. I rather liked the cotton candy.”

Kissing her palm quickly, he drapes the blanket over them as the darkness winnows over them, cocooning them in some hazy dream. The stars fade as he blinks.

Harry supposed that Ron was wrong. You don’t need fireworks and adrenaline electrifying your marrow to feel happy.

Maybe you just needed that someone.

And maybe a fish too, he thought with a chuckle back to Denis, who sat comfortably in the backseat of his truck, a shiny new bowl as his home.

He wouldn’t trade the world for today but he concluded grande gestures weren’t always necessary. Not that today was grande but he had already planned the second date and since Sirius planned it, it was hella posh. Sometimes, you just need the quiet, the feeling of someone’s hand on yours. Them lending you their love and the trust that you wouldn’t abuse it.

The feeling of Luna nuzzling in the crook of his neck would never be forgotten. Decades later as he bounces his children on his knees, he will call their mother a flower.

Tranquility can bring happiness too, Harry concluded as he traced Luna’s soft features with his eyes.

Harry chuckles lightly.

Luna was right. The treats were indeed delicious.

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