He takes the bottle, taking a few large drinks that he will probably regret later on. Harry can't help the fond smile as her lips touch the crown of his head and he bumps his head back against her knee as a retort.
"Oh, I don't know, Hermione." He pauses, turns toward her and shrugs. "I've got nothing. I was going to comment how someone might prefer something else and I've completely lost it."
She leans back into the armchair, running her fingers through his hair again, summoning the notebook in her hand to read over the list.
Distance, where there can be some. She's fighting half a bottle of wine here to be pragmatic for him - the things she does for love.
"There are some obvious downsides," she murmurs, "which would come up in an interview. Such as that students can be difficult, and that it doesn't pay as much as Aurors do."
She scrunches up her nose. "Alrigh, posh boy, I've seen you eat leftovers two evenings in a row before - maybe don't lead the interview with 'it isn't about the money' or you'll be Hogwarts' first underpaid professor."
"What does my love of leftovers have to do with my financial status?" He waves a hand, dismissing the notion. "That's fine, so long as they do something with what they're not paying me. Like helping First Years get school supplies if they can't afford it."
It just punches through her, right to the heart of her, making her suck in a breath quietly. The generosity of him. The casual consideration, the history behind it - was that Harry, when he was first taken to Diagon Alley? Small and hungry and aware that he couldn't afford a single book? Before Hagrid revealed he was richer than bloody Midas, with his Potter vaults and his inheritances.
She leans over in her chair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, before letting her arm drape over his shoulder and sliding so she can kiss his temple, his cheek. Quickly delivered, each kiss is a stamp of the overwhelming amount of love she has for this man.
Diagon Alley is such a vivid memory, and even if he didn't have anything but the clothes on his back at the time, it was probably the best day of his life. It was as overwhelming then as it is now to consider the massive wealth tucked away in his vault. Less now, but Harry's not very materialistic, so if he can make sure new students coming in don't have to struggle? He's all for it. He remembers watching the Weasleys use what little they had, getting things secondhand and making things work somehow.
He's pulled out of his own head by Hermione's quick little kisses and her warm arm wrapped around his shoulder. He can feel the flush of embarrassment high on his cheeks, and he reaches up to rest his hand on her arm.
"It'd be nice to do good and feel like it meant something."
She lingers there, because being affectionate with Harry has always been completely easy for her, even when she's interrogating the depth of her feelings for him. Also, because the man just continuously looks like he is in need of a hug.
"Harry, of course it meant something," she murmurs softly, squeezing his shoulder. "All you've been through, everything that's been demanded of you - I'm going to harp on about how you deserve a break forever, but I don't want you to think that it's been for nothing. You have no idea - the students, Harry. They're so different from what we were like when we were little, it fills me with such hope to see it - Slytherins and Gryffindors huddling together to study. Bloody hell, even the Quidditch games are full of genuine sportsmanship, and none of that peacocking everyone did when we were in school ourselves. You did that - you made that hope possible."
He's never been one to shy away from physical affection, but he's got a decade of catching up to do. Harry doesn't like to think of all the missed opportunities and abuse in his life before Hogwarts- it's too much to unpack and a burden on his mind where one isn't needed. He's built a life for himself and has the best friends he could ever hope for as well as a family he is pleased to call his own. Honorary Weasley is still a Weasley.
Tipping his head back to rest on her, he does consider what she says, and as she speaks he can't help but think what he'd said sounded a bit dramatic. He's coming across all wrong and doesn't mean to sound stroppy about it or 'woe is me'. "It wasn't just me, 'Mione. It was everybody who stood up because they decided it was enough. I didn't have a choice, they did. And they chose to do things differently."
It's good to know that things at Hogwarts are different, more unified now that the dust has settled and normalcy can be challenged. He knows it wasn't all him, it was everybody and they don't give themselves enough credit for their bravery. "I think I want to be to students what Professor Lupin was to me."
The admission from him fills her chest and makes it expand with something - he is all at once so bright and hopeful and stunning that it's almost hurts to look at him - and tears gather at the corners of her eyes.
"Yes - yes, you should," she croaks out, leaning over him to press a kiss to his forehead, close to the hairline - close to the scar. "It might be the wine and the partial grading exhaustion speaking, but I am so proud of you I could kiss you, Harry Potter."
Professor Lupin had been the reason he'd gotten through that school year, and his connection with Harry's parents had helped make him feel like he wasn't quite so alone in the world. As if a part of them were present and he didn't have to grasp at stories of what they'd been like. There was such an easy-going warmth and something so endearing about chocolate being his solution to most problems.
He doesn't mean for her to get emotional. She's probably right, it's got to be the wine talking, but he's feeling sentimental and reflective. Something so simple as writing a resumé, his deeds and accomplishments- his life- on paper gets him to start analyzing everything in a way being an auror had never brought out. Silently, he wonders about that point, too.
"You're the one that got me thinking about it!" Her lips press to his forehead and that warmth in his chest tightens. He doesn't know what he'd do without her in his life. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened without you around. Ron and I'd have definitely been killed by something, for sure."
Too late, she's gotten emotional already. And it will simply have to continue happening! Because he's making bold assumptions that don't match with Hermione's (drunk, melodramatic) memory.
"I would've died, Harry," she points out, calmly. "Troll in the dungeons, remember?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Harry and Hermione.
"Also possibly more handsome than all of them," she adds, because she's had wine and the thought just bursts out of her, chased by a tiny giggle.
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"Oh, I don't know, Hermione." He pauses, turns toward her and shrugs. "I've got nothing. I was going to comment how someone might prefer something else and I've completely lost it."
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Distance, where there can be some. She's fighting half a bottle of wine here to be pragmatic for him - the things she does for love.
"There are some obvious downsides," she murmurs, "which would come up in an interview. Such as that students can be difficult, and that it doesn't pay as much as Aurors do."
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"Students can be difficult? Try teaching a room full of your peers." It's mostly a joke, at least. Harry sighs, rubbing over his face.
"I'm not saying this as a brag, but I've got more money than I even know what to do with. I don't care about the money."
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Yeah, he'd be fine with that, actually.
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She leans over in her chair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, before letting her arm drape over his shoulder and sliding so she can kiss his temple, his cheek. Quickly delivered, each kiss is a stamp of the overwhelming amount of love she has for this man.
"The fucking heart of you, Harry Potter."
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He's pulled out of his own head by Hermione's quick little kisses and her warm arm wrapped around his shoulder. He can feel the flush of embarrassment high on his cheeks, and he reaches up to rest his hand on her arm.
"It'd be nice to do good and feel like it meant something."
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"Harry, of course it meant something," she murmurs softly, squeezing his shoulder. "All you've been through, everything that's been demanded of you - I'm going to harp on about how you deserve a break forever, but I don't want you to think that it's been for nothing. You have no idea - the students, Harry. They're so different from what we were like when we were little, it fills me with such hope to see it - Slytherins and Gryffindors huddling together to study. Bloody hell, even the Quidditch games are full of genuine sportsmanship, and none of that peacocking everyone did when we were in school ourselves. You did that - you made that hope possible."
shhh I missed them too
Tipping his head back to rest on her, he does consider what she says, and as she speaks he can't help but think what he'd said sounded a bit dramatic. He's coming across all wrong and doesn't mean to sound stroppy about it or 'woe is me'. "It wasn't just me, 'Mione. It was everybody who stood up because they decided it was enough. I didn't have a choice, they did. And they chose to do things differently."
It's good to know that things at Hogwarts are different, more unified now that the dust has settled and normalcy can be challenged. He knows it wasn't all him, it was everybody and they don't give themselves enough credit for their bravery. "I think I want to be to students what Professor Lupin was to me."
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"Yes - yes, you should," she croaks out, leaning over him to press a kiss to his forehead, close to the hairline - close to the scar. "It might be the wine and the partial grading exhaustion speaking, but I am so proud of you I could kiss you, Harry Potter."
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He doesn't mean for her to get emotional. She's probably right, it's got to be the wine talking, but he's feeling sentimental and reflective. Something so simple as writing a resumé, his deeds and accomplishments- his life- on paper gets him to start analyzing everything in a way being an auror had never brought out. Silently, he wonders about that point, too.
"You're the one that got me thinking about it!" Her lips press to his forehead and that warmth in his chest tightens. He doesn't know what he'd do without her in his life. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened without you around. Ron and I'd have definitely been killed by something, for sure."
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"I would've died, Harry," she points out, calmly. "Troll in the dungeons, remember?"