When he inherited the house from Sirius, he thought he'd never be rid of that horrible painting, so it had taken him by surprise that someone had been able to do it. One less curse on the Black house, one less thing hanging over him like a dark cloud. He'd never understood the Pureblood mindset, though he doesn't really think he can. Really, he doesn't want to, it's stupid. Everything with Voldemort happened because of it.
He laughs at her declaration, giving her an eye roll full of fondness. Of course that's what she goes with after so long seeing her. Harry meets her for an embrace halfway, arms wrapping tightly around her, not particularly keen on letting go.
"Did you rush here, or was I just late getting to the post? You'll never know." He lets her go with one more squeeze, taking her arm and linking it with his. "You'll have to catch up, I'm already a cup in."
It's not as if they've shied away from physical displays of affection before, except for the few months after the war when Ron was still giving them side-eyed glances like his Horcrux-induced nightmares would come true if Harry and Hermione hugged longer than five seconds. It's nice that they moved past that time, because not being able to touch Harry feels like a crime.
So she doesn't protest the lingering hug and the last squeeze, but warms all over from it. She even manages a bit of a dopey smile and all.
She follows him, arm linked with his.
"I left after breakfast in the Great Hall, but it's a lot less overdone when the children aren't there. Which is great, you know, for the elves - but I will gladly catch up. I'm sorry if I came by unannounced - I haven't bothered you, have I?"
"Doxies are a bother. The owls at the Ministry shredding my post is a bother. Hermione Granger isn't anywhere near that level of bother." Harry pauses, leading her to the table so he can get her a cup and settled in. Before he does, he grins at her, leaning forward with his hands on the tabletop.
"I'd classify you as a nuisance." And just for good measure, a wink.
As if he could ever be bothered by her presence after what they'd been through together. Truth be told, if he examined it for even a moment, he'd even have to say she's already breathed a bit more life into Grimmauld Place since her arrival. It does get a bit lonely from time to time.
She pulls a little face, not a real frown but definitely an eyeroll. "Ah, the Potter sense of humour," she quips dryly, as a nuisance probably would.
She pokes his leg with her toes under the table, and takes a sip of tea. Just the way she likes it, too. There's something so perfect and wonderful about the fact that Harry knows how to make her tea, even years after the last time they went camping, that it makes her settle with a sigh and forget all the things she was ready to ramble about.
She does fixate on something, though. "You said you missed friends - have the others not visited?"
"If there's one thing that will never change, it's that. Everything else is up to whims."
He sits with his renewed cup of tea and slides her the plate of shortbread biscuits. Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise, trying not to sputter on his tea. Oh, right. He'd definitely told her that bit, hadn't he? Why did he have to be so maudlin when writing her? Now, the statement sounds dramatic.
"Oh, er. It's just been busy at the Ministry, so we mainly just meet up at the pub for drinks? I go to the Weasleys for dinner sometimes. You know Mrs. Weasley, she worries too much sometimes."
It has been difficult, but it should feel easy compared to finding and destroying Horcruxes. The expectation set on him to be a great Auror and the stress of failure have made the satisfaction of the job not as worthwhile. Maybe he's just burnt out and needs a holiday.
Why does that break her heart a little? The idea that after everything Harry has had to give up in life he's not constantly surrounded by people he loves and likes? Filling the house with delight and laughter?
Even the idea that the Weasleys haven't visited either, to see what he's done with this place, feels rude to her.
"Harry," she starts, reaching out to cover his arm with her hand, squeezing gently to draw his attention. "Do you need a break? From the Ministry, the training programme, all those things... I know, you're the best wizard in a while, but you fought a war for them, for us. You don't have to jump right into adulthood, straight away."
Bit late, considering they've been adults for half a decade now. "Well, you know what I mean."
It's not that he doesn't see friends or have them over sometimes! Life just.. kinda gets in the way and people have their own things to do, right? It does give him plenty of time to think about how he's not happy. No, that sounds dramatic, too, doesn't it? He's fine, it's fine. This is just one of those times where he's just got to slog through and things will get better at the other end of the tunnel.
He gets out of his head when she touches his arm and it's such a fond and gentle thing that makes his resolve waver. Harry's never been particularly good at lying to Hermione and he can't find it in him to start- especially with the way she's looking at him so earnestly.
He opens his mouth to argue that he didn't jump right in, that he had been eager to become an Auror. What comes out is a sigh. Dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, he glances back at Hermione, looking a little lost.
"It's just not what I thought it was going to be. I dunno. I feel guilty for not getting the same thrill that Ron and the others do. I know I'm helping and doing good work." He shrugs. "I just don't feel it."
She knows, reasonably, that she can't fix all of Harry's problems but gods, she would like to try. Anything to erase that lost look on his face from ever making a reappearance. Her throat constricts a little, and the hold she has on his arm tightens for a moment, before she nods.
In understanding.
"You need a break. I'm not saying a weekend, or a vacation, but a break. Where you're not beholden to anyone's expectations of the Boy Who Won, or the Boy Who Lived. You need time to be your age, and make dumb choices."
She throws him a tiny smile. "You know, like quitting your Ministry job and going back to Hogwarts to teach Potions."
That's the thing about Hermione. She may not think she's fixing all the problems, but she's doing more than she knows. More than Harry wants to voice for fear of sounding kind of pathetic about it all. His free hand moves on top of hers, still resting atop his arm, his fingers brushing delicately over her knuckles.
It's times like this that he realizes just how much he's missed her company and goes back to those desolate times when it was just the two of them in a tent and stressed beyond belief as they did this thing more significant than all of them.
He laughs in surprise at the idea of it all, though he can't help his tone from becoming a tad self-deprecating. "Yeah, wouldn't that be nice? Can't say that teaching a few defensive spells to twenty-five students in a secret room really qualifies me."
She lingers. Physical contact, physical affection has never been difficult to have with Harry before, she's given him every hug she's ever thought he needed. But it's been years since they were hiking together on the hunt for Horcruxes, years since she last had to watch herself around Harry so as to not upset Ron, and years since she and Ron just did not work out.
So she lingers, because sometimes there's a dumb part of her that wonders if they will ever break this game of emotional chicken they've been secretly hiding from each other. Or, if it's one-sided, she'll just take it to her grave.
"You laugh, but I know McGonagall has to do with a board of directors still and I'm sure they'd all be charmed about the idea and appeal of Harry Potter teaching their children spells." After a beat, she adds, mercilessly: "You might have to do more than Expelliarmus with them, though."
Someday Harry will stop being a coward about being forward with his feelings toward Hermione, but he's afraid of making their friendship weird if things don't work out. He can't deny seeing things not working out between her and Ron had been a blessing and a curse. It had meant that she didn't have feelings for him, but that also meant there was a possibility of the same rejection. The same sad rejection he'd gotten from Cho, and then later, Ginny.
"I-- Excuse me!!!" Harry gapes, flabbergasted and sputtering. Maybe a little embarrassed as Hermione rightfully takes the piss. He can feel the warmth in the tips of his ears, but he's not really offended. "Watch your tone, 'Mione, or I'll have to Expelliarmus that tea right out of your hand. It'd be a shame, that."
He huffs, rolling his eyes as he gently kicks her foot with his own. "I'll just send an owl, shall I? 'Dear Headmistress McGonnagal, bet you thought you were finally rid of me, but actually just wondering if you had any open positions a few weeks before the school year because that's exactly what you want to deal with on short notice.' That'll go over nicely and she won't at all be annoyed by it."
She retrieves her hand from his grip now, to clutch at her tea with both hands, sniffing impetuously. "I'm the Potions Mistress, Harry, I do what I want."
She wants to flash him an amused grin. "Oh come on, you have to try now. We could delight all the student body with our continuously taking the piss out of each other like this. It's practically tradition that the Defense and Potions professors don't get along, you know?"
She has a brilliant idea now: "Let's get drunk and write that letter. I'll help you win your case."
He laments the distance between them now, covering it by going back to his own tea. Ah well, the moment is gone.
"And what makes you think the current Defense professor is going to just give up their post?" His eyebrows raise at the idea of getting drunk, but less so about the thought of writing an embarrassing letter to the Headmistress begging for a job when he's already got one that's serving him well. He just needs to be a bit more grateful is all. How many people would kill to be in his position at the Ministry?
But he can't deny the idea is taking root in his head. "I've got some wine in the storeroom if you like. We can take it up to what used to be the drawing room. Give you the opportunity to see the changes."
"There is no current Defense professor," she tells him, with full honesty. "Once the school year is over, he's moving to the States to pursue a Mastery in Dark Creature Hunting, which is - " She scrunches up her nose in distaste. Needless to say, with the way Hermione is about magical creatures rights, she does not get along with the current professor.
But this wasn't planned. Just serendipitous. The longer she thinks about it, the more the idea has value.
"Alright, let's do that." She's done with her tea. "I'm done with my tea. And I haven't had a drink in months, with the way the Great Hall is."
"Huh. Can't see what someone would enjoy in a profession like that, but okay, I guess." Maybe it's because this professor didn't fight in the war. Maybe he did, but Harry can't relate to wanting to make hunting Dark Creatures a career. Like most creatures, leave them alone and they won't bother you.
It does give him something to think about as he leads Hermione past the storeroom to grab a few bottles of wine (just in case it doesn't sate their thirst) and to the newly-decorated drawing room. In place of the drab, dark decor, a cheery crimson wallpaper has taken its place. The piano still sits off to one corner, but now a set of furniture in a deeper red sits in place of the faded floral couches that had once been there. The mirror over the mantle has been replaced with a portrait of a Quidditch pitch, a game happening in full swing.
Perhaps the biggest difference is that it looks lived-in. There are even a few books scattered on an end table and a blanket strewn across one end of a couch. Harry makes a grand gesture once he opens the door.
"Make yourself comfortable. It's definitely better than last time, right?"
"It's wonderful, Harry! It's like we've stepped into a completely different house - or maybe a home." She turns towards him before dropping herself into a comfy red armchair.
"Very Gryffindor of you."
She hasn't seen this much red in a while, but it works for the space. It's cosy and lived in and welcoming, instead of being a proper lad's mancave. She's proud about what he can do.
"Ah, this is so comfy... What else have you had a chance to change?"
"Definitely better than flowers and all that black wood." He grins, pleased with himself. It has been a lot of work, but it's amazing what a few charms and a good do-it-yourself book will do."
He sits down on the couch, kicking his feet up. Harry passes her one of the bottles, its cork already removed. "I've done my room, which, y'know, was Sirius' mum's. I left the other ones alone. Got rid of some of the portraits and the really morbid display of house elves. Dunno what else I'll do, guess I'll wait and see."
"God, that thing was atrocious, I'm so glad you got rid of the display fast. Those poor elves, I just..." She shakes her head, and takes a long drink straight out of bottle like some feral animal. It's been a long day - and she's been in need of a chance to relax, herself.
Thirst sated, she holds the bottle out for him if he wants to take it.
"You could do the other rooms, you know? Have a study for yourself - well, an office or whatever - and guest bedrooms that aren't in shambles from thirty years ago," she suggests. "I could help you with the library!"
"Grimmauld Place feels better getting rid of it all. Obviously it's not an overnight fix, but it's keeping me busy, y'know?" He takes the bottle back and has a drink. Harry makes a face at the bitter taste but endured. Not really the best one in the collection, but it would do. Lying there, he mulls over her words with a smile.
"Yeah, alright, you can handle the library. You know I don't have enough books to need a whole library, right?"
"Yeah, I know," she answers, waving his concerns off dismissively. "But just because you don't have enough books now doesn't mean you won't need one eventually - and a home needs books, Harry."
"Does it? I've been doing alright so far you know." He pauses, picturing something of a corner bookcase. "I guess it couldn't hurt? What did you have in mind?"
"It's not exactly my house, Harry," she reminds him, a bit bashful. "I was going to fill the shelves or help you clean up the old one, if there's anything left to clean?"
"Not really? I've been mostly doing it some evenings after work or on weekends. It gives me something interesting to do." It's helped take his mind off work and the rut he's found himself in. Seeing the changes from what Grimmauld Place looked like during the war and what it's turned into, Harry can't help but feel proud of it. He's done that.
Heaving a sigh, he looks lazily over at Hermione sitting in one of his favorite chairs.
She lets a small, sad smile slip at that - this is what fills his time with joy? Cleaning an old and definitely cursed (in places) house after work?
She has to bite her tongue not to give him the same spiel of how he doesn't have to keep saving the world, and how he's done enough for wizarding Britain and doesn't owe them his inner peace even now.
He's giving her a look that he might not realise reaches deep, has the flutter in her belly startle into a frenzy all over again.
She clears her throat.
"Get some pen and paper." No quills in this house, they die like men - men with a loyalty card to Paperchase.
Hey, it's not as pathetic as it sounds! He gets a space that is thoroughly his and he got there with his own two hands and a bit of magic and paint. The cleaning bit is a drag, but Kreacher is definitely too old for all of that and wasn't all that helpful to begin with so.. there's that.
He still goes out to the pub or watches Quidditch matches every once in a while! He even read a muggle novel recently! Well. He started it.
Knowing when an order is an order, Harry groans as he makes himself stand up and retrieve a notebook and pen. Pens are superior in every way and his hand doesn't get stained with ink. When would the wizarding world learn the superiority of the ink pen?? Instead of moving back to the sofa, he sits at the foot of Hermione's chair, resting his back against the arm she's not occupying.
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He laughs at her declaration, giving her an eye roll full of fondness. Of course that's what she goes with after so long seeing her. Harry meets her for an embrace halfway, arms wrapping tightly around her, not particularly keen on letting go.
"Did you rush here, or was I just late getting to the post? You'll never know." He lets her go with one more squeeze, taking her arm and linking it with his. "You'll have to catch up, I'm already a cup in."
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So she doesn't protest the lingering hug and the last squeeze, but warms all over from it. She even manages a bit of a dopey smile and all.
She follows him, arm linked with his.
"I left after breakfast in the Great Hall, but it's a lot less overdone when the children aren't there. Which is great, you know, for the elves - but I will gladly catch up. I'm sorry if I came by unannounced - I haven't bothered you, have I?"
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"I'd classify you as a nuisance." And just for good measure, a wink.
As if he could ever be bothered by her presence after what they'd been through together. Truth be told, if he examined it for even a moment, he'd even have to say she's already breathed a bit more life into Grimmauld Place since her arrival. It does get a bit lonely from time to time.
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She pokes his leg with her toes under the table, and takes a sip of tea. Just the way she likes it, too. There's something so perfect and wonderful about the fact that Harry knows how to make her tea, even years after the last time they went camping, that it makes her settle with a sigh and forget all the things she was ready to ramble about.
She does fixate on something, though. "You said you missed friends - have the others not visited?"
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He sits with his renewed cup of tea and slides her the plate of shortbread biscuits. Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise, trying not to sputter on his tea. Oh, right. He'd definitely told her that bit, hadn't he? Why did he have to be so maudlin when writing her? Now, the statement sounds dramatic.
"Oh, er. It's just been busy at the Ministry, so we mainly just meet up at the pub for drinks? I go to the Weasleys for dinner sometimes. You know Mrs. Weasley, she worries too much sometimes."
It has been difficult, but it should feel easy compared to finding and destroying Horcruxes. The expectation set on him to be a great Auror and the stress of failure have made the satisfaction of the job not as worthwhile. Maybe he's just burnt out and needs a holiday.
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Even the idea that the Weasleys haven't visited either, to see what he's done with this place, feels rude to her.
"Harry," she starts, reaching out to cover his arm with her hand, squeezing gently to draw his attention. "Do you need a break? From the Ministry, the training programme, all those things... I know, you're the best wizard in a while, but you fought a war for them, for us. You don't have to jump right into adulthood, straight away."
Bit late, considering they've been adults for half a decade now. "Well, you know what I mean."
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He gets out of his head when she touches his arm and it's such a fond and gentle thing that makes his resolve waver. Harry's never been particularly good at lying to Hermione and he can't find it in him to start- especially with the way she's looking at him so earnestly.
He opens his mouth to argue that he didn't jump right in, that he had been eager to become an Auror. What comes out is a sigh. Dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, he glances back at Hermione, looking a little lost.
"It's just not what I thought it was going to be. I dunno. I feel guilty for not getting the same thrill that Ron and the others do. I know I'm helping and doing good work." He shrugs. "I just don't feel it."
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In understanding.
"You need a break. I'm not saying a weekend, or a vacation, but a break. Where you're not beholden to anyone's expectations of the Boy Who Won, or the Boy Who Lived. You need time to be your age, and make dumb choices."
She throws him a tiny smile. "You know, like quitting your Ministry job and going back to Hogwarts to teach Potions."
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It's times like this that he realizes just how much he's missed her company and goes back to those desolate times when it was just the two of them in a tent and stressed beyond belief as they did this thing more significant than all of them.
He laughs in surprise at the idea of it all, though he can't help his tone from becoming a tad self-deprecating. "Yeah, wouldn't that be nice? Can't say that teaching a few defensive spells to twenty-five students in a secret room really qualifies me."
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So she lingers, because sometimes there's a dumb part of her that wonders if they will ever break this game of emotional chicken they've been secretly hiding from each other. Or, if it's one-sided, she'll just take it to her grave.
"You laugh, but I know McGonagall has to do with a board of directors still and I'm sure they'd all be charmed about the idea and appeal of Harry Potter teaching their children spells." After a beat, she adds, mercilessly: "You might have to do more than Expelliarmus with them, though."
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"I-- Excuse me!!!" Harry gapes, flabbergasted and sputtering. Maybe a little embarrassed as Hermione rightfully takes the piss. He can feel the warmth in the tips of his ears, but he's not really offended. "Watch your tone, 'Mione, or I'll have to Expelliarmus that tea right out of your hand. It'd be a shame, that."
He huffs, rolling his eyes as he gently kicks her foot with his own. "I'll just send an owl, shall I? 'Dear Headmistress McGonnagal, bet you thought you were finally rid of me, but actually just wondering if you had any open positions a few weeks before the school year because that's exactly what you want to deal with on short notice.' That'll go over nicely and she won't at all be annoyed by it."
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She wants to flash him an amused grin. "Oh come on, you have to try now. We could delight all the student body with our continuously taking the piss out of each other like this. It's practically tradition that the Defense and Potions professors don't get along, you know?"
She has a brilliant idea now: "Let's get drunk and write that letter. I'll help you win your case."
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"And what makes you think the current Defense professor is going to just give up their post?" His eyebrows raise at the idea of getting drunk, but less so about the thought of writing an embarrassing letter to the Headmistress begging for a job when he's already got one that's serving him well. He just needs to be a bit more grateful is all. How many people would kill to be in his position at the Ministry?
But he can't deny the idea is taking root in his head. "I've got some wine in the storeroom if you like. We can take it up to what used to be the drawing room. Give you the opportunity to see the changes."
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But this wasn't planned. Just serendipitous. The longer she thinks about it, the more the idea has value.
"Alright, let's do that." She's done with her tea. "I'm done with my tea. And I haven't had a drink in months, with the way the Great Hall is."
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It does give him something to think about as he leads Hermione past the storeroom to grab a few bottles of wine (just in case it doesn't sate their thirst) and to the newly-decorated drawing room. In place of the drab, dark decor, a cheery crimson wallpaper has taken its place. The piano still sits off to one corner, but now a set of furniture in a deeper red sits in place of the faded floral couches that had once been there. The mirror over the mantle has been replaced with a portrait of a Quidditch pitch, a game happening in full swing.
Perhaps the biggest difference is that it looks lived-in. There are even a few books scattered on an end table and a blanket strewn across one end of a couch. Harry makes a grand gesture once he opens the door.
"Make yourself comfortable. It's definitely better than last time, right?"
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"Very Gryffindor of you."
She hasn't seen this much red in a while, but it works for the space. It's cosy and lived in and welcoming, instead of being a proper lad's mancave. She's proud about what he can do.
"Ah, this is so comfy... What else have you had a chance to change?"
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He sits down on the couch, kicking his feet up. Harry passes her one of the bottles, its cork already removed. "I've done my room, which, y'know, was Sirius' mum's. I left the other ones alone. Got rid of some of the portraits and the really morbid display of house elves. Dunno what else I'll do, guess I'll wait and see."
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Thirst sated, she holds the bottle out for him if he wants to take it.
"You could do the other rooms, you know? Have a study for yourself - well, an office or whatever - and guest bedrooms that aren't in shambles from thirty years ago," she suggests. "I could help you with the library!"
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"Yeah, alright, you can handle the library. You know I don't have enough books to need a whole library, right?"
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Heaving a sigh, he looks lazily over at Hermione sitting in one of his favorite chairs.
"So. About this letter..."
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She has to bite her tongue not to give him the same spiel of how he doesn't have to keep saving the world, and how he's done enough for wizarding Britain and doesn't owe them his inner peace even now.
He's giving her a look that he might not realise reaches deep, has the flutter in her belly startle into a frenzy all over again.
She clears her throat.
"Get some pen and paper." No quills in this house, they die like men - men with a loyalty card to Paperchase.
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He still goes out to the pub or watches Quidditch matches every once in a while! He even read a muggle novel recently! Well. He started it.
Knowing when an order is an order, Harry groans as he makes himself stand up and retrieve a notebook and pen. Pens are superior in every way and his hand doesn't get stained with ink. When would the wizarding world learn the superiority of the ink pen?? Instead of moving back to the sofa, he sits at the foot of Hermione's chair, resting his back against the arm she's not occupying.
"Right. Bullet points or just wing it?"
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shhh I missed them too
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