Out of the Mouths of Babes by Seakays Title: Out of the Mouths of Babes Author: Seakays Rating: G Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Note from admin: This was actually written a number of years ago for aome, but wasn’t seen by a large audience. So, with Plumeria’s permission, it’s being reposted for you all to enjoy, as it happens to be set at Christmas time.
The castle was, in a word, magnificent. Nestled securely on its volcanic outcropping, it instilled in the casual admirer a sense of power, of security, of nobility. Its stone turrets and innumerable armaments served as a constant reminder of the castle's prominent position in the history of Scotland.
The extraordinarily bloody history of Scotland.
Although today, with the bright sunshine and warm breezes wafting across the Highlands, it was difficult to contemplate this place of royal stature rife with battles and sieges. But Stirling Castle had indeed been the silent and beautiful witness to many wars, to sieges, both successful and not, to countless murders of men, great and small. From William Wallace's victory over the English in 1297 to the ill-fated siege led by Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1746, it stood as a silent and irresolute witness to the sometime cruel whimsy of men at war.
While it was true that most would be hard pressed to recite this information without a guidebook in hand, the young woman who was currently gazing at the field in front of her was no ordinary woman.
She was rather tall, being about five foot seven and slender of build. Fine-boned and long-limbed, she moved with grace and was rather spare with any unnecessary movement. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face in a simple clip, with the length cascading down her back to her waist.
She had a rather thin face that was mercifully saved from appearing pinched by a light dusting of freckles and impossibly high cheekbones. Delicate eyebrows provided an arched frame for a pair of dark brown eyes that almost always sparkled with excitement. She could quite easily have been described as elfin in appearance had it not been for the mouth. Wide and generous with full lips that almost seemed swollen, they added sensuality to a face that was both arresting and surprising.
She wore a heavy wool coat in a deep hunter green that reached the top of her high-heeled boots. Black leather gloves held a small brown satchel and a metal crate, rather square and non-descript. She was, by all accounts, a beautiful woman. But many that were attracted to her for purely aesthetic reasons were surprised by what lay beneath the surface; the brilliant mind, intensely focused, and possessed of an almost unparalleled thirst for knowledge. If you had judged her with only this cursory awareness, you would have correctly judged the brunette to be an extremely formidable woman.
But, when you took the time for a closer accounting, small, odd little details became readily apparent. That the clip she wore in her hair was in the shape of a cauldron and her boots were made of dragon hide, not leather. That her coat was really a cloak and what she carried in that metal crate was neither feline nor canine, but kneazle.
Hermione Granger, while both brilliant and beautiful by any Muggle standard, was quite simply the most accomplished witch of her generation.
"Splendid countryside, isn't it, Crookshanks? But dreadfully remote, almost sullen, rather like our Harry," Hermione murmured to the annoyed contents of the metal crate she was carrying.
When Harry had decided, after the war, to open a school/orphanage, she had not been truly surprised. Although a career in Quidditch had beckoned, so many orphans had been created in the aftermath of the war with Voldemort that it was their call that Harry had ultimately answered. Not the cheers of the crowd, but the cries of the children. Like absolutely everything he did, that Harry Potter had chosen to run the school almost single-handedly made headlines around the Wizarding World.
The Boy Who Lived, giving up wine, women and Quidditch for teaching, parchmentwork and children shocked almost everyone. It was this shock that had always baffled Hermione. Did the Wizarding World think so very little of its Savior? How could anyone truly be surprised that a boy who was raised without love, without family, without even a single kindness for over a decade would choose to surround himself with love, with children, with family?
But shock people it did and it created such a media frenzy that Harry finally had to sell the lovely old farm he had purchased outside of Hogsmeade and move the orphanage to the Highlands of Scotland. Frustrated by the rabid actions of the press and desperate to ensure the privacy of his young charges, Harry had made Stirling Castle both unplottable and impervious to detection by all current Muggle technology.
In order to ensure that children would still be able to find their way to The Stirling School, as it came to be known, Harry had asked his most trusted friends to act as intermediaries on his behalf. So for the past ten years, Hermione Granger, along with Ron and Luna Weasley, Neville and Hannah Longbottom and Minerva McGonagall had become The Stirling School's official secret keepers. It was known, without ever being stated, that if anyone knew of a child in need, any of these six could be contacted and the situation would be taken care of.
For the first six months after Harry's move to Scotland, Hermione was certain she was going to age prematurely due to Portkey lag. When she had bemoaned her dark circles and the sudden appearance of more than one grey hair, Harry had offered, rather sarcastically, to cast the necessary glamour to hide her "hideousness" from the poor children. Neville and Hannah remained certain to this day that Harry had never quite figured out how to remove the "P_R_A_T" tattoo Hermione had hexed him with. Nor did he ever directly tell anyone just where exactly the tattoo actually was.
Over time, however, Hermione's role lessened and she began to concentrate her efforts in the study of Wizarding Psychology. Too many witches and wizards had suffered horribly at the hands of Voldemort and his henchmen. While the physical scars could be healed and charmed away, the psychological ones couldn't be erased with a simple Obliviate.
So, five years later, armed with a Healer's designation in Psychiatric Wizardry and the notoriety that came with being one of the Hogwart's Heroes, Hermione had opened her own practice.
Within a week, she was overbooked.
Within a month, she needed to hire staff and within a year, she was an unmitigated success. She had a thriving practice, a beautiful home, a wonderful man in her life, yet, here she was, suitcase in hand, ready to part ways with that life for the better part of a year. To become the assistant Headmistress at The Stirling School for the scholastic year 2007/2008.
Simply because he had asked.
Being the very smart witch that she was, Hermione had learned long ago that she could refuse Harry Potter nothing. So rather than prolong the inevitable, she had almost immediately agreed. She carefully reassigned her patients, rented her house to a lovely young couple from Kirkcaldy, had a hex-casting, plate throwing, knock down, drag out fight with her boyfriend, packed, grabbed a Portkey and arrived with a healthy set of nerves, her suitcase and Crookshanks in the middle of a wheat field about half a kilometre from the castle gates.
Knowing that Harry had set up very advanced anti-Apparition wards and magical indicators within a five kilometre radius of the castle, she knew she was in for a bit of a hike. However, the walk had turned out to be a blessing in disguise for it allowed her to yank a choke chain on her nerves and compose her saucy, smart and sassy best friend face and attitude. And she knew, without question, that it had better be a damned good façade, for it was one that she had to maintain for an awfully long time.
For Hermione Granger, Healer Extraordinaire, one of the Hogwart's Heroes and a woman who was once asked to grace the middle of PlayWizard magazine, was recklessly, hopelessly and completely in love with Harry Potter. Always had been and she ruefully suspected that she always would be. In love with a man who was her best friend, who referred to her as "one of the wizards", who asked her for advice on women. The man who she was going to be living with for the next 352 days.
Not that she was counting. No way, not counting at all.
Shaking her head to forcefully clear her thoughts, Hermione scanned the horizon quickly. Finding the old oak that she was looking for, she removed her wand, tapped three times in quick succession on the innermost knot and whispered "Alohomora, Stirling". A rippling line of liquid silver began to shimmer in the air, outlining the castle doors. Barely visible to the naked eye, she picked up her bag and Crookshanks and stepped through. Setting her baggage on the dark hardwood of the foyer, she was startled to hear her own voice reverberate through the hall.
"Hermione Granger, Healer - Psychiatric Wizardry, Age 27 years, 11 months and 2 days. Identity confirmed."
Hermione was in mid-chortle when she heard the tell tale swoosh of wizarding cloak and knew he was heading down the stairs towards her. She steeled herself, for she knew that it was always this first glimpse of Harry that was her downfall. There was always something in the way he entered a room that made her knees buckle ungracefully and her stomach clench in a spectacular combination of awe, love, respect and lust. He was standing about half way up the Scarlet O'Hara staircase, frozen in mid-step and grinning from ear to ear.
Harry was dressed all in black as per usual. When Hermione had once commented on his propensity for the colour and the mystique that it naturally created, Harry had laughingly confessed that his nod to a monochrome wardrobe had very little to do with any man of mystery aura and very much to do with his absolute inability to colour co-ordinate. Hermione had laughed for weeks after and still had a healthy chuckle whenever she read the latest theory about why the dead sexy Harry Potter always wore black.
She was running towards him within seconds. They met at the bottom of the stairs in a fierce hug, Harry spinning Hermione around twice before setting her back on her feet. Encircled in his arms, Hermione pressed her cheek to his chest and for one brief moment allowed herself to fully enjoy being held by Harry. All too soon Harry stepped back, holding her at arms length.
"Merlin, Hermione, you are a sight for sore eyes. Just as hideous as always, but still a sight." Harry's eyes were filled with mischief as he began the banter that seemed to typify their adult relationship. And Hermione certainly knew exactly what her role was.
"Cor, Potter, it’s a darn good thing you are a very rich man. You certainly aren't going to have much luck with the witches with charms like those, you ugly git."
Laughing loudly, Harry crushed her to him again and whispered softly, "Oh, Hermione, I have missed you so much. And here you are coming to my rescue once again. You are too good to me."
"Harry James, for once in your life, you speak the truth. I am too good to you. I shall have to demand much better compensation in the future." Hermione was laughing out loud herself by this point and was just beginning to relax into her best buddy role, when somehow the world seemed to tilt just very slightly off its axis. For instead of punching her arm and suggesting a salary decrease for her insubordination, Harry had leaned down to her ear and breathed ever so softly.
"Anything, my beautiful witch. I'd give you anything." He finished by placing just the whisper of a kiss on her cheek. Pulling away quickly, he glanced very briefly into her shocked eyes, showing hints of an emotion that Hermione would have been hard pressed to identify, then bent down and hoisted Crookshanks's crate. "You must be tired and sore from the Portkey travel. Let me show you to your room, milady." Harry held out his arm and bowed in a very exaggerated fashion; Hermione hooked her arm through his, wondering if somehow she had imagined the previous moment. If she wasn't so certain that her own long suppressed desires and fatigue were making her even more vulnerable to Harry's charms, she might have spent a bit more time analyzing her heart's insistence that the emotion she saw in Harry's eyes was love.
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Hermione spent the next two weeks in a state of almost constant motion. Horrified by the nearly non-existent school curriculum, she had worn out three quills, written literally metres of parchment and exchanged so many owls with Minerva McGonagall that Hedwig had, the previous day, simply refused to come to her office any more.
Busy with the curriculum and desperately trying to get a handle on the names and associated pranks of the 136 children that lived at Stirling, Hermione had had little time to reflect on the very un-Harry like behaviour in the lobby the day of her arrival. The fact that Harry had been almost non-existent over the past ten days certainly gave her more rationale to determine that his small kiss and romantic words were nothing more than old charm not properly turned off. Harry was so used to exuding his tortured soul/hero, witch's man persona that he had forgotten to rechannel it around her. She just wished it didn't rankle her quite so much that he wasn't around. After all, she was the one who had moved halfway across the country, given up her practice for a year and more likely than not, delivered the death blow to her three year relationship with one Gavin Reed. Hermione audibly sighed when she thought of Gavin. Merlin, that had been a fight. Just the second one they had had in the past three years and funny, both had really been about the same thing, or rather the same person, Harry Potter.
Hermione had met Gavin at one of the Weasleys’ large summer gatherings. He had been a classmate of Bill's at Hogwarts and was currently the permanent liaison between the British Minister of Magic and the North American Presidential Ministry. He had an incredible intellect, was impeccably cultured and very well read. The fact that he was Muggle-born was just icing on the proverbial cake. Their attraction had been mutual and instantaneous and within six months they were sharing a flat, much to the chagrin of the Doctors Granger and one raven-haired best friend.
While Hermione had expected her parents to be less than thrilled with her "living in sin", she was thoroughly shocked by Harry's almost raging disapproval. In fact, in direct contrast to almost everyone else, Harry had to visibly struggle to remain even barely civil to Gavin. To give Harry credit, however, it soon became apparent that Gavin's distaste for all things Harry was as deep-seated as the reverse. Over the years, things had cooled between the two wizards and rarely did they ever threaten to hex each other in public, or at least really mean to do it, but the air between them was positively glacial.
When Harry had approached her about Stirling, Hermione knew her biggest obstacle would be Gavin. Hoping to get him into a more pliable and mellow mood, Hermione had quite deliberately set out to seduce him. A chilled bottle of Yellow Tail, chicken divan, a cream lace teddy and the promise of post-coital massage had her hoping that he would at least listen before erupting. Merlin, had she been wrong. Not only was he irate about her consideration of the position, he was almost apoplectic with rage about what he termed her "underhanded female behaviour." A horrible fight had erupted with accusations and crockery being flung with careless disregard to damage. Truths and half-truths spewed forth, but strangely enough it had ended on a statement and a splutter. Raving once again about Perfect Harry Potter, Gavin had issued his final ultimatum.
"Hermione, if you go to him, we are through. Over. Finished. I refuse to be second rate in your life any longer."
As Hermione desperately tried to reassure him, once again, that there never was and never would be anything but friendship between her and Harry, Gavin finally broke down.
In laughter. Cold, harsh, disbelieving laughter.
"And you really believe that, Hermione? Are you really that stupid? Or has that barge you are sailing up that Egyptian River finally sunk with the weight of your naivete?"
Enraged at his insinuations that she was stupid, Hermione raised both her voice and a lovely Royal Doulton serving dish when he delivered the declarative statement.
"Hermione, Harry Potter is in love with you. And I am beginning to suspect that the oh-so-platonic love you have for him is nothing more than a cleverly constructed lie to save both your feelings and your reputation."
Chafing dish still in hand, and wrapped in nothing more than an old Gryffindor Quidditch team shirt, Hermione Granger spluttered. And coughed. And then laughed.
"Harry isn't in love with me. Gavin, I'm doing this to help the kids and to help Harry. Come with me, for a couple of weeks. Please, Gavin, let's not fight.
While they hadn't broken because of this fight, their relationship had been severely chipped, and Hermione suspected, irreparably cracked. Hannah had already written to her of Gavin escorting Lavender Brown to the Summer Solstice gathering two days ago. It surprised her that she wasn't actually angry with this; disappointed would be a better word. She had been hoping to talk Gavin into coming to Stirling for Halloween and clearing the air between them. She supposed that beginning to date other witches was Gavin's rather obvious notice to her that their relationship was over, or at the very least, not exclusive any longer.
The insistent rapping at her door drew Hermione out of her reverie. She waved her wand swiftly and the door opened to reveal a rather soggy ten year old girl. Hermione knew it was wrong to have favorites, but Briannan Atwell was just that.
"Briannan, what happened to you? You're all wet."
"Kailey and Claire Sharkey happened, that's what, Dr. Granger. They are a menace. I came up here with my suggestions on proper punishments for them." Searching through the pockets of her jeans, Briannan continued, "I've written them down here, in alphabetical order just to make it easier to decide." As she finished, left arm outstretched and the other bent at the elbow, hand on waist, she positively quivered with all the indignation only a ten-year-old witch could exude.
Hermione had to turn around and gaze out the window of her office to hide her grin and her absolute sense of déjà vu.
"Thank heavens for Hogwarts next year, right Briannan?" Hermione spoke softly, quickly waving her wand and casting a small drying spell on the girl.
"Oh, Dr. Granger, I cannot wait to be able to use magic like you and the other teachers. And I just know that Harry will let us use magic here in the summers."
Smiling broadly, Hermione countered. "You know that you are not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. I'm shocked that Mr. Potter would even think to suggest it."
For a split second, Briannan actually thought that Hermione was mad, then she began to laugh. "But Harry got into so much trouble at Hogwarts and he told me you were right by his side through most of it, right?"
When Hermione only raised her eyebrows in response, Briannan continued. "Dr. Granger, did you know you loved Harry as soon as you met him? Or was it later? I'm not sure that I want to fall in love when I am eleven, but if I met a boy like Harry, I know I'd just have to fall in love with him."
For one of the rare times in her life, Dr. Hermione Granger was quite speechless. After stumbling a bit, she finally responded. "I love Harry with all my heart, Briannan, but we are only friends, we aren't in love with each other. It's a difficult distinction to make and not one that I'd expect you to understand right now."
"Maybe not, but I do know that Harry has smiled more since you have been here than in all the time I've ever seen him. I know that he had pink chrysanthemums planted outside your window because he said they were your favourite. And I know that he has been using that yucky hair gel stuff because I smell it when I hug him goodnight. He only uses that stuff when he goes out with witches."
Torn between shooing her little inquisitor out the door and sitting her down and interrogating her about Harry's witches, Hermione decided that distracting her little "ten going on thirty" charge would be the best order of business. She would think on what Briannan had shared later.
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Monday, September 15
Dear Ginny,
It's been a great start to the school year and I am dead chuffed at the wonderful instructors that Harry has hired. The children at the school are certainly going to be well prepared to enter Hogwarts. Harry is a wee bit lax with discipline, big surprise that, he even lets the children call him Harry, for heaven's sake. You know how I was complaining to you earlier that Harry hasn't been around? Well, Ginny, he's around all the time now. I didn't realize he also taught classes here. When I asked him what he was doing in August when he was gone from the castle, he simply said he was putting his affairs in order.
It's my birthday on Friday and Harry is taking me to the nearest Muggle town for dinner. He wants me to dress up to celebrate my 28th, so I've decided to do just that. You know that little black dress I bought a couple of years ago? I do believe it's time for it to make its debut. Maybe if Harry sees me in something other than robes, I'll be able to make more sense out of what little Miss Atwell told me a couple of weeks ago.
In other news, Gin, Ron and Luna are expecting again. Number 3 in 4 years. Looks like they just might be giving your Mum and Dad a run for their money.
Love, H
As she closed the front cover of her journal and placed the locking charm on it, Hermione was hit again with a wave of grief. God, she missed Ginny. Missed everything about her. Some would have thought it was odd that she wrote to Ginny, who had been dead now for almost three years, but Hermione couldn't give a toss. This was her way of connecting with her friend and truth be told, incredibly relaxing.
The shriek echoed in the hallway, followed by a loud clatter and then, "I'm all right, Dr. Granger. Just tripped. Bye." Hermione dropped her journal in her desk drawer and went out to make certain that little Dora Lupin, who had seemed to inherit her mother's coordination, was really okay.
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Wednesday October 16
Dear Ginny,
I am so sorry that I haven't written sooner. Busy times here as we have had a sudden increase in the number of students. Wasn't Voldemort bad enough that we still have to have these ridiculous feuds? I thank God every day that Harry is here to take care of these children. Speaking of Harry Potter, things are getting complicated, Gin. I had the best time on my birthday. We had a wonderful dinner; he took me dancing and we walked around the lovely town to the Apparition point. He was suitably gobsmacked by the LBD and the heels and it was so very romantic. What’s the problem, you ask? That was it. Nothing else. All the romance and nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Not even a touch on the cheek.
Oh, I know what you are thinking, Gin. A nice liberated witch like me can also make the first move, but I can’t. Not with this. Not with him.
But, it was the look, Ginny. The one he gave me when he dropped me at my door. He looked like he wanted to devour me whole. And trust me, if he had made one move, he could have put parsley on my head and made a meal of me.
Best be off. Halloween plans are calling me. I can't let your brother and Luna, who are visiting, decorate the Dining Hall. They'll scare half the children witless.
Love, H
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Friday October 31
Dear Ginny:
It's 2 am and my heart is pounding so hard that I can still barely write. But I digress. I have to get my thoughts under control and tell you things in order.
We had a wondrous time in the Dining Hall tonight. Ron and Luna were there, along with Zach and DJ and then Minerva surprised us at the last minute. Did you know that she has been seeing that lovely old wizard at Durmstrang for the past few months? You know, Professor Wildwood? It's lovely to see her so happy again. I wasn't certain she was going to ever smile again after we lost Albus.
Anyway, Gin. We were having a great time with the children, telling stories and playing games. Harry and I herded the little ones into their dormitory and then as we were walking back to join the rest in the lounge, he pulled ever so gently on my arm. I turned to look at him and oh, Ginny, how could I not be in love with this man. He told me how much it meant to him for me to be there. How much he appreciated me. He knew what I'd left behind in London. Then he pulled me to him and held me. I knew he was going to let me go and so I did it. You would have been proud of me. I looked at him, whispered you're welcome and I kissed him. It wasn't much of a kiss, Ginny, but I swear I could hear the ocean swell and the birds sing in that one moment.
He didn't kiss me back which did worry me, but he was so lost in thought the rest of the night that he lost seven games of chess to Ron in under an hour.
Love, H
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Friday November 11
Dear Ginny,
I have come to the conclusion that the hungry look I thought I saw on Harry's face at Halloween was really just a bad case of indigestion. He's avoiding me, Gin. He barely looks at me anymore and when he does talk to me, he's developed this odd third person way of referring to me.
"Is Dr. Granger happy with the grade four test results? Would Dr. Granger like to add to the order for Flourish and Blotts?" It is incredibly annoying.
I'm not certain what I've done to make him so aloof. Everything has been the same except for the kiss. He must have been horrified that I kissed him.
Oh God, Gin. I am so embarrassed. Here I am thinking there is all this unresolved sexual tension between us and what he really needs isn't me, but a good dose of Pepto-Bismol.
Is it June yet?
I miss you so much, Gin. I really wish you were here.
Love, H ************************************
Friday December 3
Dear Ginny,
Sweet Merlin on a ruddy broomstick. Ginny, I am so incredibly happy. Harry and I had a huge fight. A massive fight. Complete with wands and curses. Thank you ever so much for showing me that Bat Bogey Hex back in 6th year.
I guess I really should explain. We were having a staff meeting in the Blue Room, when Harry gets up on his high horse and starts spouting off about the increase in expenses for the school. He is going on about some people thinking that six year olds need Blue Dot quill nibs and 3mm thick parchment when house brand and 1 mm would do. My heavens, Ginny, if they learn with the best product, they will do their best, don't you agree?
Anyway, I knew and EVERYONE else in the room knew that he was referring to me. And he would not give it a rest. Oh, I tried to keep my mouth shut, but then he just up and waltzed over the line. Danced right across it with both of his eyes wide open.
He told me my parchment order would be placed on hold while he used the funds to purchase Airborne 6000's for the children in grade four. Oh yes, it was okay to purchase "brooms" with our funds, but not learning tools.
He had declared war and he knew it. Within seconds we were screaming at one another, insults about intellect (his), stubbornness (mine) and hair (both of ours) were flying around the room. When Harry finally yelled in a voice I'm quite certain I never want to hear again, I was really not surprised to see that we were alone. Chickens, the lot of them.
But, Ginny, it was what he said. He told me if I didn't like how he ran his school, I could pack my bloody little suitcase and Apparate my arse back to London and my overbearing, grey-haired, paunchy lover.
I couldn't believe it. Harry still thought I was seeing Gavin. How could one man, one wizard, be so incredibly stupid? Had he seen Gavin once since I'd been at Stirling? Had I used the fireplace to contact him? Hell's bells, had he even seen Hecate, Gavin's owl, once in the past four months? I swear, Gin, I'm in love with the Wizarding world's biggest prat.
After I screamed all of this back at him (without the love part, of course) and turned on my heels to make my flouncing and rather dramatic exit, a pair of arms stopped me. And those arms, pulled me back hard against his chest, then it was his lips in my hair, on my neck, whispering, "I'm sorry. Please don't leave me. Please don't ever leave me."
We didn’t kiss, Ginny. But it was wonderful. There just might be a chance that he loves me back.
Love, H *******************************************
Thursday December 20
Dear Ginny,
There is absolutely no chance that he loves me back. He apologized to me. Not for the fight. Not for purchasing useless Quidditch brooms, but for "invading my personal space" as he put it. He said he was angry with me and was so worried that I was going to abandon the CHILDREN who need me, that he had to "get unfortunately physical" with me.
How could something that meant so much to me mean so little to him? How can he not see that we are so much better together than apart? Is the thought of being with me so repugnant that a life alone is infinitely more attractive?
Ah Gin, don't answer. You know all of the questions are really rhetorical.
I'm going to go and draw a bath, pour myself a bottle of Chardonnay and wallow in a pity party decked out for one.
Love, H **************************************
It was a terribly subdued Hermione Granger that made her way to the Dining Hall on Christmas Eve. While she was looking forward to spending the evening with the children, part of her couldn't wait to leave the next morning for her week off. While she certainly hadn't intended on joining her Mum and Dad in Cancun, the thought of spending the holidays avoiding Harry and feeling sorry for herself was abhorrent. If she was going to be miserable, she might as well do it while be wearing a bathing suit and sipping drinks served by a hunky bartender named Carlos.
In her hands, she held the present that she had gotten for Harry. After their last conversation, she had thought twice about giving him something so personal. But, upon reflection and a couple of really good bottles of Australian Chardonnay, she had decided that eighteen years of friendship deserved a present better than a wand polishing kit, which she had purchased in a fit of pique by express owl the other night. She was intensely proud of the quilt that she had made Harry, all without magic. She had designed it herself and sewn into the fabric was really everything that they had shared together. A troll to represent the beginning of their friendship. A snake, a cloak, a wand with the accio charm written below, two large H's intertwined with an ornate R, an owl and a cat and finally a heart. The heart was to have meant their love for one another. The love of a man for a woman. But, Hermione supposed sadly, she would just have to explain that it represented the love of one friend to another. She had wrapped the quilt in sheets of glittering gold paper and affixed a small apple ornament to represent their teaching together. She briefly wondered what Harry might have gotten her, but supposed that a book was the most likely answer. A book was always appreciated and was about as safe a present as she could ever receive.
Upon entering the Dining Hall, Hermione could see that Harry had taken careful note of the wonder that was Christmas at Hogwarts, for it had been created in almost exact detail here at Stirling. The look of awe on the children's faces was enough. Enough to convince Hermione that tonight needed to be about joy, about friendship, about love. These children had no one to share that with and she knew that for at least tonight, her fractured heart would have to take a back seat to their happiness.
Hermione had taken great care in dressing for this evening, hoping that a great outfit and a pair of killer heels would be enough to help her face Harry. She was rather surprised to find that Harry seemed to have taken the same amount of care. Even if she wasn't stupidly in love with the man, she would have been forgiven for a small swoon at the sight of Harry Potter dressed in a soft red jumper and black trousers. Even his hair was relatively tamed and as she hugged him briefly in greeting, she could smell the "yucky" hair gel that Briannan had mentioned.
"Happy Christmas, Harry."
"Harry Christmas, Dr. Granger, you do indeed look hideous tonight."
"Only as ugly as you do, you unsightly prat."
And with the light banter polished over eighteen years of friendship, it seemed that everyone present breathed a sigh of relief and the festivities began in earnest.
The food was incredible and the soda and wine flowed generously. Presents were exchanged with all the children and all that was left before they headed off to bed to await the arrival of Saint Nicholas was Harry's traditional story. While he had fully intended to read The Night Before Christmas, the children begged him and Hermione to tell the story of their defeat of Voldemort.
Leaving out the particularly scary and gory bits, Harry and Hermione fell into a natural rhythm of telling the story, laughing and shuddering at particular times and finishing both each other's thoughts and sentences. Harry finally finished, over an hour later, telling how the heroine on the battlefield and Ron leading the others at Hogwarts had unified their strength with the hero's, filling him with such hope and love that he was able to finally rid the Wizarding World of the threat of Voldemort forever. The children had sat rapt through the entire telling and once Harry had finished, looking everywhere but at Hermione, they had all cheered as one.
Holding his hand up for peace and quiet, Harry finally said, "Time for bed. Santa Claus won't be making any appearances at Stirling if we are all still up at midnight." It was as he was saying this that he noticed Briannan's hand bolt upright in the air.
"Yes, Briannan?"
"Harry, I've been thinking about your story. The hero and the heroine. What happened to them? Did they live happily ever after? They must have loved each other a great deal for that love to have defeated Voldemort."
"I'll answer that one, Harry. Of course they lived happily ever after. The hero became renowned the world over and used his fame and his fortune to help others. The heroine used her books and cleverness to heal and they have a friendship that people still write about today. Now, it's off to bed with all of you. Happy Christmas, I'll see you all in 2008."
As the floor matrons escorted the children back to their dormitories, Hermione rustled beneath the Christmas tree and extricated her present for Harry from the remains of the tinsel and ribbons and bows. When she turned to give it to him, he was staring at her, staring like he was seeing her for the first time in ages.
"Happy Christmas, Harry. Here's your present. I hope you like it." Hermione stated unnecessarily.
When he made no move to take it, she thrust it into his hands, irritated and hurt that he would chose to end their wonderful night on such a sour note. "I'll be gone in the morning, you can have Dobby change the bedding for when I get back in the New Year."
She almost made it to the large oak double doors, when she heard him. "Don't go. Please don't go. I have your present too. Don't you want to see what I got you this year?" He was trying so hard to be charming, but Hermione's hurt had been rubbed raw by Briannan's innocent question and she wanted nothing more than to run to her quarters and cry until dawn.
So she snapped back at Harry. "Do you really want to give me a present, Harry? Are you so certain that you won't be invading my personal space again?" Walking briskly back, she snatched the gift from his hands and tore the paper open, only vaguely acknowledging the beautiful blue and yellow wrapping paper.
And she was right. It was a book. The tears were really threatening to fall, when she turned it over to read the front cover. The title astounded her.
"Books and Cleverness" by H.J. Potter.
Breathing rapidly, blinking back tears, she began to look through the book. Which wasn't really a book, more of a memory album. There was page after page of pictures of her alone, her with Ron, her with Ginny. There was a small worn feather from the quill that she had first given him. There was a copy of the appeal that she had researched to save Buckbeak from certain death. There was a picture of various otters. Copies of her O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results. Her valedictorian speech. The ribbon from her doctorate diploma.
It was, without question, the best present, the best anything that Hermione had ever received. That Harry had taken so much time to collect these things, that he had even collected them in the first place touched her heart so deeply that she knew right there and then that she would love him until the day that she died. He was the very best part of her and she would not, could not, ever leave that behind.
Knowing that Harry must have been waiting for some kind of verbal response, she lifted her eyes from the treasure she was holding and was shocked to see his back to her, shoulders shaking. He had opened her gift; she could tell as the paper was on the floor and the quilt was spread out between his hands.
"Harry . . . thank . . . ." Hermione trailed off, for Harry had turned around, his eyes lifted to hers, eyes that were full of love and awe and something else, an emotion that she would have been hard pressed to name.
"You made this, didn’t you? Without magic." He was shaking his head and muttering at this point and Hermione had to step closer to hear what he was saying. "Amazing woman. . . too smart. . . too good. . ."
"Harry," Hermione tried again. "This book . . . it's incredible . . .thank you. I'll treasure it forever. And Harry, I'm sorry I've been so difficult lately. I was wrong about something incredibly important to me. You know how I hate to be wrong. I hope you like your quilt." All of this was said in a rush and all but sprinting, Hermione once again headed for the doors.
"Stop." It was not said loudly, but it was said in such a way that she really had no choice but to obey. As she turned to face him, he was right in front of her.
"You move too fast. You talk too fast. You trust too fast. And you never give me time to catch up. Don't say anything, Hermione. Let me finish. I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. I really didn't want to love you at first. I wanted to love you from afar for a while and then there was Reed and then you were here. And then we were getting along so well and I thought that he was still in the picture and then I didn't want to be rebound bloke."
Taking a breath, Harry was staring intently into her eyes. "I want happily ever after, Hermione, and I want it with you." Raising his hand to cup her cheek, he drew her in and kissed her, lightly, almost experimentally. Running his tongue along her bottom lip, Harry felt rather than heard the moan from deep in his throat as Hermione began to kiss him back. The kiss was a kiss of promise, of love, of a friendship continued, just transformed. It was the kiss of pure magic, of a love that had been forever, everlasting and just beginning, all of these together and each one on its own.
Finally separating, but still wrapped in each other's arms, Hermione smiled and spoke for the first time.
"I love you, Harry. I so want my happily ever after." Arm and arm, they left the Dining Hall, together as they had always been, but ever so much more. As Harry lifted his wand, issued a quiet "Nox", Hermione couldn't help reflecting on the pearls of wisdom that sometimes came out of the mouths of babes.