Chapter Text
They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Hermione was having one of those days. A day where she wondered why she’d returned to school. Her mood darkened as she flattened herself against a bookshelf while a group of giggling second years raced past her. The only thing restraining her from lecturing them on library etiquette was a fear that her impression of Madam Pince may be too close to the real thing.
Compared to her classmates she felt as ancient as the text she was seeking in the far back row.
Annoyed but undeterred, she continued on her mission. Dust tickled her nose the further she went, shimmying her body into the dim corner. With the light of her wand, she scanned the faded titles until she found what she was looking for. She took down her prize and clutched the book to her chest like a long lost friend. Advanced arithmetic was gruelling. And she loved it. It was the perfect distraction. As she returned to the more populated part of the library a timid voice called out to her softly.
“Excuse me? Do you know where I can find the astronomy guides?”
A wide eyed first year girl with blonde hair stood there shuffling her feet. Hermione jumped into the role that had been assigned to her. When she was finished pointing her in the right direction, the girl smiled gratefully and went on her way.
Hermione comforted herself that at least she was more approachable than Madam Pince. Maybe whatever similarities did exist between them were not so strong after all. As heavy as this role could be, like her classes, they kept her busy; present.
She continued towards her destination, aware of the eyes on her, something that hadn’t let up since the start of the year. Part of her knew it was the shiny badge pinned to her robe. But she wasn’t dumb enough to let herself think that her connection to another person wasn’t the stronger draw. After all, gossip as such, both within the walls of Hogwarts and beyond, had plagued her since fourth year; there was no reason to think any of that had changed since Voldemort’s defeat.
Hermione had always found there to be an extra element of magic within the walls of the massive library. At first, it was her innate sense of curiosity that had driven her to love the space, but over the years, she’d begun to feel a certain comfortability engrained in its very nature, one that demanded respect and attention.
Faint autumn light peeked its way through the windows now, as she approached her favourite spot, shedding an effervescent glow over the rich mahogany surfaces. She may or may not have charmed the small table so that anyone else who approached suddenly remembered something more pressing. She refused to feel guilty for this. A contented sigh left her as she sat in the cushioned chair and used another spell to hush the world around her. Hermione set to work, organising herself, then diving into the material. Her reading was engrossing. At least until the sound of loud kissing became impossible to ignore, even with her spellwork.
One vexed glance over her shoulder revealed two sixth years pinned against a nearby bookcase, without even a shred of propriety. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was something in the air, or if suddenly everyone felt like seizing the day after surviving a bloody war, but no matter where she turned lately, she was subject to scenes like this. This sort of exchange of tonsils also happened to be what she spent most of her patrols docking points for, and that was on a good night.
She shuddered at the brief but visceral memory of two returning seventh years who she’d had the unfortunate luck of catching mid-coitous. How anyone could ever get so carried away as to drop their trousers in a public hallway, she’d never understand. She debated it for all of five seconds before she sucked in a breath and was up and out of her chair. She cleared her throat as she approached, crossing her arms and doing her best to school her face into a neutral expression. When the girl stopped sucking the boy’s face and met her eyes, Hermione wasted no time explaining that there were more appropriate places to engage in this type of behaviour. After all, she wasn’t a prude—even if the vast majority of the student population thought otherwise—she simply wanted to study in peace.
The boy’s cheeks were stained red as she docked them each ten points, and the girl—a Ravenclaw—only glared at her before tugging her boyfriend along. Hermione waited for them to be out of eyesight before she returned to her seat, rubbing her tired eyes. While there were things she liked about being Head Girl, feeling like a perpetual killjoy was not one of them—an accusation Ron had thrown out in the throes of the demise of their short and ill fated relationship. Never mind any of that though. She pushed thoughts of Ron and their failed relationship back, sick of ruminating. It was for the best.
Once again, Hermione allowed herself to be distracted by homework. At least when she was studying she could hold onto the girl who had been so desperate to be in the position she was in now. A girl who had vowed to prove herself in this new world, one that had turned out to be nothing like she’d imagined. Everything had seemed so different when she’d first received her letter, so full of hope and potential. That wasn’t to say that hope and potential and dwindled over the years, but with each tragedy that befell them, and the ever growing cloud of dark magic that seemed to loom overhead with Voldemort’s return, her childish innocence and the air of wistfulness and whimsy she’d first carried upon arriving at Hogwarts had fizzled into a clearer sense of reality. Even despite their victories, she knew she’d never fully return to who she had been before.
But that was then, and this was now, and that meant something. At least, she hoped it did. It had to. If she’d learned anything over the past few years, it was that life was short and it was best to make the most of the time you were given. As she continued her reading, more and more students filtered out of the library, heading down to the Great Hall to eat. Her own stomach was knotted (something that hadn’t fully let up since the war ended), and she decided to skip the meal.
Before long, the peace and quiet of the library settled over her. The twilight sky was beautiful against the layer of snow that had begun to build at the end of November, and it had just turned the perfect shade of midnight blue when a loud thunk made her whirl around in her seat, instantly reaching for the vine wood and dragon heartstring wand sitting beside her.
“Wow, easy there.”
The noise revealed itself to be none other than Cormac. There went her peace.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” Hermione said. She released her hold on the wand, but kept it within reach.
“I wasn’t,” he said, shrugging his large shoulders. “I just thought you might want some company.”
Hermione forced herself to practise the kind of patience she usually reserved for rowdy second-year boys, who had grown comfortable with school and their peers, but typically to the detriment of knowing what was deemed socially acceptable. Cormac was not so different, it seemed. “Kind of you,” she said with a forced smile. “But I’m fine, thanks.”
He stood there awkwardly, and she stayed turned towards him. With every second that passed, she was made more and more aware of the ways the war had changed her. The idea of putting her back toward him made her body thrum with anxiety. This wasn’t exactly personal to Cormac, but by the same token, she hadn’t forgotten their disastrous date two years ago—even if that felt like a completely different lifetime.
For some reason he had started to linger around her again.
Admittedly, she’d been surprised to find him back at all, but then there had been several older students who had opted to return to Hogwarts for an additional year, not just those who had missed out on the previous year due to the overthrow of Headship. In honour of the great loss which had befallen Wizarding Britain, Hogwarts had opened their doors to any recent-graduate who felt they still had something to learn or were now considering their futures with newly-garnered insight. Frankly, Hermione had been surprised to find Cormac among them, but not in such a way that prompted her to probe for why—not that it had stopped him from filling her in on his plans to become a Healer—to do his part after the war. Thankfully, they didn’t have many classes together. Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from showing up at the end of Applied Ancient Runes and offering to walk her back to the dorm, or taking the seat across from her at meals. He’d already asked her to go to Hogsmead with him on two separate occasions, and she had brushed him off each time, hoping he would get the hint. He hadn’t.
Hermione wasn’t sure what was in it for him this time. Ron wasn’t around to be pissed off by his attention since he’d decided to help George with the shop. Cormac was on the Quidditch team this year. There were plenty of other girls, both attractive and potentially interested, that he could be bothering… and yet. Here she was.
“So, are you going to Slughorn’s party?” he asked, filling the silence.
His words took a second to register. “Erm. I suppose so.”
“Ah. Nice. Me too.”
She nodded and picked up her quill again, a hopeful attempt at subtly indicating she was not interested in wherever this conversation was leading.
“I was thinking…” he started again, drumming his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop, “I know last time was a bit, well, rocky. But I thought maybe we could go again. Have a do over.”
Her lip stung as she bit down, hard. A deluge of words clogged her throat. All of them a resounding negative to his offer.
“I can’t,” she said finally.
His light brows drew together. “No?”
“No,” she repeated, glancing back at her assignment, hoping he would leave.
“Oh. Are you already going with someone?” He leaned against the bookcase then, closer than she wanted him. His pungent cologne made her temple throb.
She only just managed to hold in a sigh, mind quickly going over her options.
“Yes, I am.”
Cormac didn’t say anything, but dug his hands into his pockets. “Alright then.”
When he still didn’t leave, Hermione gave up. Efficiently, she packed her things, stood, and slung her school bag onto her shoulder. The light had become considerably more dim since she’d sat down and now, with Cormac’s large, overbearing frame standing so close, she felt a sense of claustrophobia overtaking what had otherwise been a quiet, meditative study session. She’d get nothing done now if she stayed, even if he finally took the hint and left her alone.
“Goodnight,” she said, moving past him. His hand shot out, touching her elbow. He seemed to realise his mistake and quickly released her when she looked up at him.
“Wait—” he said, taking a step in the same direction she’d just turned. “Who?”
Hermione stepped back and crossed her arms, an audible tsk and accompanying huff of frustration echoing off the hard surfaces surrounding them. “What?” she asked.
“Who are you going with?”
“Why?”
He gave her a bemused look which only served to make her blood boil. “Didn’t realise that was a personal question,” he added.
She narrowed her eyes and Cormac chuckled uneasily. Even so, he pushed off the bookcase and came to stand before her, then scratched the back of his head. Hermione was not born yesterday, and again, was not as much of a prude as everyone seemed to think, so it did not escape her notice that he’d shed his sweater and rolled up his sleeves, leaving his objectively well-toned forearms on display. She nearly rolled her eyes at his rather obvious attempt to sway her.
“Is it someone in our house?” he ventured, when she remained silent.
“Are you meant to guess?”
“Dunno.” He smiled then, letting his arm drop and stepping forward, boxing her into the back of the nearest bookshelf. As he leaned forward, he lowered his voice, “Could be like that Muggle game, sixteen questions.”
Hermione sighed. Honestly. “It’s twenty questions,” she said.
“Even better,” he drawled.
The last thing she felt like doing was indulging Cormac in a game, especially one that didn’t exactly have a real answer. As soon as she’d let the lie slip past her lips, she’d begun scanning through a list of names, searching for any reasonable scapegoat. Maybe she could borrow Neville for the occasion. He was still fairly down about his and Luna’s break up, even if it had been amicable.
Hermione began to inch away, sliding down the bookcase until she reached the aisle. She tightened her hold on her bag. “As fun as that sounds,” she said, halfheartedly, “I think I’ll be going.”
“Don’t I at least get one?” he asked, his tone far too flirty for her liking.
“One what?”
The introduction of a new voice made Hermione spin around, nearly dropping her things, and very nearly knocking a nearby candle from its chamberstick. She reached out and righted the candle before it had the chance to fall and catch. The edge of her finger caught the flame and as she pushed the chamberstick back, away from the edge of the table, she put the tip of her finger between her lips. When she looked up, Harry was there, eyes locked on her.
“All good?” he asked. Hermione knew to Cormac’s ears it would be in question to the minor burn, but that in reality, his question went much further.
“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “Yes. All good.”
“Oh, hey Potter. Hermione was just telling me who’s taking her to Slughorn’s party.”
“I wasn’t,” she clarified.
“Right,” he said, raising his eyebrows mockingly. “She was going to let me guess who’s taking her.”
Harry glanced between them and Hermione struggled to hide her horror at the situation. She willed herself to say something, anything, but her mouth had gone suddenly dry.
Harry stepped closer and slid his fingers beneath the strap of her bag, the edge of his forefinger just barely grazing the skin of her neck as he took it from her shoulder. “That’d be me,” he said, looking to Cormac.
“Ah, yeah. That makes sense,” Cormac said. “Going as friends I suppose. That is—unless you decide you’d rather have a proper date? I think we could find someone for you, Potter.”
Hermione may have laughed if the situation wasn’t so entirely unfunny. Most of the girls in the school would throw themselves at Harry if given the chance.
Harry didn’t appear amused. He lifted her bag onto his shoulder and then placed his hand on the small of her back. “Not necessary.”
She finally chanced a glance back at Cormac, whose eyes were glued to where Harry touched her. Warmth spread through her from where his hand rested, burrowing its way into her belly and inching across her limbs and face.
“You’re not going as friends?” Cormac asked with confusion.
“Not sure that’s your business, is it?” Harry gave her back a gentle stroke with the pad of his thumb, the slight pressure at the side of her spine sending a euphoric sensation down to her toes. She felt her cheeks grow hot and subconsciously began to edge backward, toward the entrance.
And Cormac…poor Cormac. He looked like he’d been hit in the face with a quaffle. He stood taller, him and Harry nearly on equal footing. Her best friend seemed to have only grown more after his eighteenth birthday. Cormac’s face twitched, his shock still evident. “Right. Well.” He cleared his throat. “See you there.”
Harry only gave a brief nod before his hand came to rest on her waist and he was tugging her into his side a little more pointedly, guiding her away and toward the entrance of the library. Her heart beat loudly in her ears, blood too hot for her body, even in the chilled castle.
They were nearly out of the library when Harry finally spoke. “You missed supper again,” he said. As if that was the most important element of all that had just unfolded.
“Excuse me,” she started, “how could you—at a time like…” She let out a weary sigh, too aware of the audience of girls watching them leave. “I know,” she said. The girls were not subtle, peeking over their books. They never were though, full of giggles and hushed whispers which trailed behind them as they exited into the cool corridor.
Hermione only stopped once they were out of earshot of anyone else.
“Harry,” she said, swatting him over the shoulder, “Why would you say that?”
Harry dropped his hand from her back and rubbed his neck, looking at the floor.
“I, er—sorry. Did you have a date?” he asked quietly.
“No.” She pinched her eyebrows together, surveying him. He let his arm drop and instead wiped at the side of his mouth, even though there was nothing there, to the naked eye at least. His lips twitched upwards as his gaze moved to hers.
With the slightest purse of his lips and shake of his head, he said, “Just saving your arse then.”
A huff of laughter and irritation left her. “By implying that we’re dating—to Cormac ? Do you realise—”
Harry shrugged. “He can think what he likes. I’m not worried about it.”
This time she did release a huff of annoyance. “You know that’s not how that works.” He raised his eyebrows and she barely suppressed an eyeroll. “You don’t think he’ll be telling every single person who will listen about our apparent relationship?”
Harry rolled his own eyes and she narrowed hers. He sighed, hand coming to her shoulder. “Hermione, half the school thinks a lot of things about us.”
His words made her stomach twist. She pushed out a breath. “Not just the school.”
“Fuck all of them anyways.”
“Harry!”
A flicker of a smile appeared on his face. “Language. I know.” He squeezed her shoulder and released her.
Before Hermione could think of a reply, her stomach grumbled, sounding twice as loud in the empty corridor.
At this, Harry grinned properly. “Let’s get some food in you.” He secured her bag over his shoulder and turned, nodding on down the hall. “Come on.”
Hermione let out a long, tired breath. “Oh, all right. It is the least you could do for your girlfriend,” she muttered.
Harry snorted, eyes cast on the stone floor beneath their feet.
“I thought the latest article claimed we were married in secret last month.”
“That’s right. How could I have forgotten; I finally won you over.”
“Yes. After many years of heartache, on your end, mind you, you finally wore me down. Hagrid officiated, of course, behind the greenhouse.”
“Mmm,” she said, feigning memory, “It really was the most beautiful handfasting ceremony. I’m still not sure how we ever pulled it off, between our rounds and your quidditch practice, obviously.”
He rubbed his chin and nodded. “And your insatiable need for—”
Before he had the chance to finish, Hermione turned and swatted him hard in the ribs. “Harry James.” She looked behind them, thankful that they’d entered a corridor devoid of any other inhabitants, especially first-years. “I swear to Circe, if you…”
“What?” he said, defensively holding his hands up. He was holding back a bout of raucous laughter at this point, green eyes alight behind his glasses. “Insatiable need for getting top marks in all your classes. Merlin, Hermione. Get your head out of the gutter. You’re worse than Ron.”“I am not worse than Ron.”
“Hmm,” he said, but instead of pushing her, he reached out and pulled her into his side for a brief but hug. “Only joking,” he added, then dropped his arm and let her continue on beside him.
She elbowed him, good naturedly, and they continued on their way, detouring towards the kitchen at Harry’s insistence. According to him being Heads meant they could claim it as part of their rounds. Hermione was mostly just relieved to get food after all, and it didn’t hurt that that they hadn’t caught any students in any compromising positions along their route back to the common room.
As the night wore on, the encounter in the library faded from her mind. Harry was right. There was no use worrying. What was the worst that could happen?