Chapter Text
The air is starting to crisp up a bit, missing that mugginess that defines summer days, even though the weather is still quite warm. The sun angles lower now, the light cutting golden through the buildings and trees in the evening. It’s Hermione’s favourite time of year. She used to associate it with neatly stacking her books and supplies into her trunk, triple checking her packing list, the rush of running through the barrier at King’s Cross, the steam of the red engine making the crowd hazy before a stray breeze would push it away. She’d always look for Ron first, an orange neon beanpole, then look down next to him, see Harry, and the picture would be complete.
It makes her feel nostalgic now, this happy recollection of her childhood. It’s only been a number of months since she’s graduated from Hogwarts, but with everything that happened, it feels like she’s one hundred, thinking back to a world that’s gone by.
Not even their friendships are the same. Different choices, failed romantic aspirations, and no longer in proximity, she wonders, as she slides into an overly warm coffee shop just across the street from the campus, if this will mark the final descent of their closeness, the letters already coming far and fewer inbetween, meetups pushed back as life gets in the way. Even with Harry. Especially with Harry. Not even all of their adventures can make their friendship survive the endless pull and demand of adulthood. The thought makes that nostalgic feeling twist into sadness, a growing sense of loneliness as she waits in line. Maybe that’s okay, maybe that’s what’s supposed to happen, maybe she should focus on new people, new experiences, maybe, “Harry?”
Hermione blinks rapidly, staring up at the drink board, to the side of the counter where there are dry, overpriced pastries, then back to the cashier, who is a slightly sweaty looking Harry Potter.
Harry Potter, who has been given every medal known to wizardry. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, the Master of Death, the defeater of the most evil wizard in several lifetimes, who is supposed to be starting his second year of his highly praised position as a trainee Auror, the confidant of the Minister of Magic; who has amassed, through his inheritance, awards, royalties, a number of old money pureblood lines dying out and their wealth going to him, and the selling of properties, a comfortable independent wealthiness, is staring at her, with a tiny smirk, in a brown apron over a white shirt, a flannel over his shoulder.
Her mouth falls open. There is a tall man standing next to Harry in the same uniform as him, his hair in a ponytail, one earring dangling. He glances between them, “I take it you two know each other?”
Harry’s smirk deepens, “Never met her in my life.”
She chokes, looking around the room again as though it will give her more information. She shakes her head.
The tall guy rolls his eyes. “Whatever, he’ll be on his break in maybe fifteen. Can you wait until then?”
Hermione nods, then shakes her head, then nods again. Oh she’ll be waiting for his break all right. “I’d like a regular coffee, milk and sugar please.”
Harry frowns, taps the order into a beige register slowly, glancing over his shoulder to the tall guy, who, after a second, nods. Harry grins, a little pleased, “That I’ll be a pound ten, then.”
Hermione hands the money over, squinting as she watches Harry put it in the till, watches from the side of the counter as he turns, pours the coffee from a fancy looking machine, splashes some milk in, puts more sugar than he probably should, though of course he knows she likes her coffee that way, not all that dissimilar from how she likes her tea, having watched her make it for herself nearly every morning and more than a few evenings for years.
And now he’s here. Making coffee outside of her muggle Uni.
The savior of the wizarding world. Her distant best friend. Here.
She sits at one of the little tables by the front door. She tells someone no after they ask if they can use the other chair. She waits.
After a small eternity, Harry disappears for a minute, comes from the back, now without an apron, and flops himself into a seat across from her.
“What happened to Auror-”
“I quit.”
She purses her lips, “Are you having some sort of crisis? Why are you here?”
He sighs, runs his hands through his hair, leans in closer to her. “Probably. And I am here because you are, too.”
She leans in closer, “You’re here because I’m here, too? That doesn’t -”
“I’m here because you’re having some sort of crisis.” Harry hisses out.
Hermione gaps at him. “Excuse me?”
“What did you think was going to happen? You march into the Weasley’s kitchen, announce that you are off to the muggle world to become a - a what? Chemist?”
“I’m studying Chemistry -”
“The brightest witch of our age and you wandered off to study muggle nonsense? Why? Not to mention -”
“Mug -Muggle nonsense? Okay Malfoy, didn’t realise that’s how you felt. It’s not nonsense. It’s not complete because they don’t know everything, but it’s a different way of looking -”
“Malfoy? You know I don’t mean it that way, it’s just, no, that’s not even the point, the point is that after you announce that, you flounce off, trying to be cool or something, saying that you’ll see us around, and what? We’re just supposed to be okay with that? After everything?”
“I didn’t hear any objections when I told you this was happening -”
“You didn’t give me a chance to react. You just dropped that bomb and ran away. You haven’t answered my fire calls -”
“I’ve been busy getting ready -”
“Hermione, what are you doing here?” Harry’s leaning in so close Hermione can feel his breath on her face. She doesn’t move back.
“No, what are you doing here? I’m here for school. That doesn’t make sense to you, fine, but why are you here, Harry, what happened to training?”
“I wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t. I don’t think that it’s what I - I told them it wasn’t a good fit for me. I said I needed a break. I do need a break. I need a break and I need to be here, to be here for whatever crisis you’re having.”
Hermione leans in, just an inch more. They are too close for conversation. Harry’s eyes widen but he doesn’t pull back. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Why do you think I’m having a crisis?”
Harry swallows. “Because you wouldn’t do this, you wouldn’t leave me- leave like this, just drop everything in the wizarding world to come here. I know. I know that I’ve been. I haven’t been a great friend. But I still know about how they treated you, how they were idiots at the Ministry, but I was trying - I could have done something about it, but you left. Just left.”
They stare for a long second. He has lines of yellow in his beautiful irises, the bastard. “Ah, but Harry, you left first.”
She sits back, watches as Harry’s face falls into sadness, his shoulder’s rising in defensiveness. “I didn’t leave.”
“No? Then what, my last five letters went answered? Not to mention the five before the one you bothered to get around to? My last three fire calls weren’t made to your kitchen wall? You barely acknowledged Ron’s and I’s break up, you patted my shoulder and then left shortly after I told you that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures turned me down because I was too ‘radical’, so you see, it was you who left. And worse. You didn’t leave the wizarding world, you left me.”
Harry’s staring down at the table, he looks angry, then sad, he leans back, his finger tapping on the table between them, a deep frown in place.
She takes her lukewarm coffee and stands. He stares up at her, still frowning. “I’m not having a crisis, I’m just. I need to figure it out. This is just something different. So you can stop cosplaying as a barista and leave me to it. Go back to being Harry Potter.”
“Potter, breaks over.” They both startle and look over at the tall guy, who's staring at Harry with his arms crossed, a longer line forming as a class has just let out.
Harry stands, moves around the table, too close to her, leans down so their faces are inches away like before. “I’m not stopping and I’m not leaving.” He moves past her, his shoulder brushing hers. Just as he’s a step away, he looks back. “And I didn’t leave you.” He goes to the back, comes back out with his apron on, and smiles at the next customer.
Hermione leaves class, her rucksack over one shoulder, digging through, trying to find a fresh pen. Her other one ran out. She has an idea, something said in her lecture reminding her of something from her potions N.E.W.T. If she just writes it down, quickly, this amorphous link, she’ll be able to -
“Why are you always like this?” Harry is pulling her back by the other arm of her bag. She looks at him, surprised, then down at the rubbish bin that she almost walked into. She slides the bag out from her arm, having Harry hold it and continues her search.
She finds in one of the interior side pockets, pulls out a note card, scribbles down her thought. She pulls her bag up, making Harry hold it higher, and finds her little folder for exploratory notes and tucks it away. She throws out her old pen, tucks her new pen in her case, then zips her bag closed. She gives him a small smile, and turns. He slides the backpack back over her shoulders and then they are walking down the hallway together.
“How are you here? Do you know my schedule?” She glances over at him with a sniff. “Are you stalking me?”
Harry scoffs. “I can’t stalk you.”
“You following me around and knowing my schedule without my permission is stalking, Harry.”
“We lived in a tent together for months, Hermione, we are well past the point of, what, now that you’re muggling, calling each other? Leaving a message on your answering machine? Shall I send a polite note through the post, inquiring whether or not you have time for tea next Wednesday afternoon? I know that you like to wear two layers of socks, three layers of shirts and sweaters and no bra in the winter time. You eat blocks of cheese plain while standing over the sink, even though it gives you terrible gas, right in front of me. Get over yourself. Be happy I didn’t barge in while you were in the toilet at home.”
Hermione sighs, nodding, too much truth in this to deny. She holds the door for him while they exit into the now chilly evening, the sun barely up. “Are you still having a crisis at the coffee shop? Or did you come to your senses, quit and go back to your promising future?”
They are walking towards her flat. At Harry’s silence, she glances up at him. He looks tired. “I’m not having a crisis, you're having a crisis. I’m here to support you during your crisis. But I’m not going to lie.” The look before crossing the street. A surprise gust of wind comes through, making her shiver. Harry glances at her, pulls her in close, slinging an arm over her shoulder. “I thought it sounded, I don’t know, quaint? Easy going? To work in a coffee shop. How hard could it be?”
They pause by the front door to her building as she digs out her keys. “But Hermione, it’s so hard. It’s. Just. There’s so much work. And the people.” His voice has taken on the quality she is deeply familiar with, the one he would get right before forcing himself to start that potion’s essay he’d been putting off all week. Not quite a whine. But, well, a bit of a whine. “People are not kind before their first coffee or tea of the day, let me tell you.”
They are climbing the stairs to her flat. She’s on the second floor, a very small one bedroom that has a nice big window with a reading nook surrounding it. She loved it the first time she saw it.
She unlocks the door, letting him in.
He looks around, sees the piles of books everywhere, the window seat, the small kitchen along one wall, the tiny dining table shoved against the corner, the love seat sofa and the big squishy armchair and smiles. It’s big, natural. She blinks, trying to remember the last time she saw him smile like that.
She’s not sure. That makes her sad, makes her wonder if she hasn’t been just as negligent in their friendship as him.
Hard to be attentive when he ignores you for months at a time, though.
She shakes her head. Regardless, this is definitely his crisis.
“Nice place you have here.” He flops down on the love seat, still looking around.
“Thank you.” She’s genuinely pleased. She sits down in the armchair across from him. “You know. If the job’s so hard, you are, I believe, now one of the wealthier wizards in Britain. I’m guessing you aren’t struggling to make rent. You could, just, you know, not work.”
Harry stops looking around, the smile sliding off his face. “Here’s the thing, Hermione.” He looks uncomfortable. His voice is low. He doesn’t say anything. He squirms a little. She leans in, curious. “The thing is.” He clears his throat. She stares, her eyebrows raising. “I’ve lost it all.”
She blinks at him. His face is dead serious.
She clutches the little chair pillow she put in her lap when she had sat down close to her chest. “What? But, how?”
He looks away from her, down to the floor, swallowing. “It just started as a way to blow off steam, you know?”
“What is it? What do you mean by blowing off steam?” Her mind is running into all sorts of options. Illegal potions? He looked stressed whenever she saw him last year. What else could it be, some sort of -
“Gambling. There’s a surprisingly vibrant underground gobstones gambling scene. I learned about it while with the Aurors-”
“Gambling? Gobstones? But - but,” Her voice is high pitched, even to her own ears.
Harry grimaces. His leg starts bouncing. “I know, I know, it’s so lame sounding. But that’s how they get you, you know? It doesn’t feel serious, and then all of sudden, all of it’s gone. All of it.”
“All of it, but Harry, that has to have been millions of Galleons -”
“Then I started stealing from work. It’s hard to stop once you get going. The Gobstones, I mean. They were threatening to go to the press, too, unless I paid. So I just started fibbing about some expenses here and there, you know? But Kingsley found out pretty quick. It honestly wasn’t that much money yet, so he decided not to arrest me, just gave me the boot, instead-”
“Stole? From Work? The Boot?” She feels a little faint. How had this happened, Harry, her Harry, would never -
She closes her eyes. “You absolute prick, you had me going for a second.”
He starts laughing, just a chuckle at first, but it builds. He is barely breathing by the time that she throws the cushion at him. He lets it bounce off of him, clutching at his sides, his face bright red. He’s laughing so hard that she’s laughing now, too. “I can’t breathe. I - I can’t breathe.” He gasps, falling silent. She’s laughing so hard she’s starting to hiccup.
His voice barely comes out, a rush of breath letting out what he’s saying as one long word. “Underground-gobstones-gambling-ring.” He’s laughing so hard that he’s stopped making sounds. She quickly follows. They both fall from their seats to the floor, she takes a huge gasp, falling on her back, laughing once more. He coughs, then starts rolling on the ground, guffawing. “I - I - I can’t believe, I can’t believe you -”
“Shut up. Shut up! W-when did you get so - so good at lying?”
Their breaths start to come back, occasionally slipping into little spats of laughter. Eventually they quiet down. Hermione stares up at the ceiling, smiling. “Let’s be real. If you started stealing from the Ministry, they’d probably call you industrious and give you a bonus or something anyway.”
Harry doesn’t respond. She looks across the floor at him, in between the spindly legs of her coffee table. He’s on his stomach, his chin resting on his forearms, still smiling, but it’s faded. There’s a distant look in his eyes. He comes back to her after a second, only a half grin in place. “Yeah, you know, probably.”
She considers him. “So, still filthy rich, then?”
He snorts, rolls on to his back, his head cushioned on the palms of his hands, staring at the ceiling now. “Yeah. I keep trying to give chunks away to charity, but then between royalties for that book, the interest on my accounts, some investments paying off, I seem to just have it all back right away, anyway.”
“Poor baby.” Hermione coos, rolling onto her side, her head on her hands like she’s a sleeping child.
Harry gives a gusty sigh. “No, I’m rich, baby.”
She pulls a face. “Ew.”
He laughs, just a short one this time, but still genuine. “Yeah, really.”
They’re quiet again. She’s looking over his profile. He looks back over to her. “I’ve really missed you.”
She blinks, a mix of emotions, a thrill of happiness, a strong sense of agreement, a spike of anger. Confusion. “Is that why you’re here?”
His voice is soft. There’s something fragile about him, an uncertainty in the line of his brow. “Do you not want me here?”
She hesitates, for just a second, some kind of bitterness entering her for all those months she felt rejected, she felt unwanted. For him to so easily turn it on her. It hurts.
But the truth, the real truth underneath that feeling comes out, somewhat in spite of herself. “I always want you around, it doesn’t matter where I am.”
The tension in his face relaxes a little. His eyes close, a small smile forming. It makes her feel warm, makes it easier to swallow down all those other feelings.
She closes her eyes too. They let the moment sit, warm and comfortable, between them. But, as always, her brain can’t let anything rest, and has to start throwing out thoughts. “What does Ginny think of all this, then?”
Harry hums, an uncomfortable sound. Her eyes pop back open. Harry’s staring at the ceiling again. “Probably not much, considering she dumped me.”
Hermione sits up right, hands over her mouth. She rotates where she’s sitting, her legs under the coffee table. Harry sits up too, still facing the wall. “Ginny Weasley dumped you?”
“Yep.” Harry’s profile is stiff, his nod short.
“I’m sorry. Ginny Weasley, Ron’s little sister, who has had a crush on you, or at least the concept of you, for the entirety of her life, dumped you?”
“Yes. For Neville Longbottom.”
For a second she wonders if Harry is messing with her again. But no matter how she runs it in her head, she can’t see how this is funny. “Nev-Neville Longbottom?”
“Yes, that Neville.”
Hermione can’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Ginny Weasley dumped you, Harry Potter, for Neville Longbottom?”
“Yes, let’s keep repeating it. That’s fun.” Harry grumbles, looking down at his hands.
“I think I believed the Gobstones thing more.” Hermione rests her elbow on the table, her chin in the palm of her hand.
Harry rotates too. Putting his forehead directly on the coffee table. “It’s not that mad. Neville’s gotten well fit.”
Hermione nods, humming. That is true.
“And I guess they bonded while at nightmare Hogwarts.”
This also makes sense, on some level. But she can’t seem to get over this stunned feeling. “It’s just, I mean, she hasn’t said anything to me at all. And we talk. I mean. I guess less now that Ron and I have been broken up for a while. It has been awhile since we’ve talked, thinking on it, and she hasn’t gotten back to me in a bit, but I thought that was just a theme happening. All of us getting busy. Everyone else at least. How long ago did this happen?”
Harry shrugs, an awkward movement, considering his forehead is still on the coffee table. “A month ago.”
Those feelings she swallowed before pop up again. She’s finding it hard to not let them out now, but she clings to wanting to know what happened. Even if it’s a month after.
“Did she cheat?” Her voice comes out more deadly than even she was expecting, distracted as she was by her other feelings.
Harry lifts his head up, giving it a shake. “No. Nothing like that. I don’t think they were even talking while Ginny and I were dating. But in a weird way that’s worse? Kind of? It means they knew that it would be crossing some kind of line if they had, which means that they both kind of knew that there was something there, doesn’t it?”
Hermione puts her hand back into her chin, thinking. “I see what you’re saying, but I’m glad I don’t have to go and kill them. I’m just not sure what else they could have done? Hard to get less cheaty than literally just not talking.”
“They could have just dated each other and left me out of it.” He’s looking into the middle distance. Hermione doesn’t really have a reply for that. It doesn’t seem like he has enough emotional distance from this for perspective, and he’s not wrong, so she just nods.
Harry rubs at his face, groaning. “It’s my fault. You weren’t the only one I was being a shitty friend to this last year. Neville’s a good bloke. Both of them are good people. She broke up with me right away, once she understood that she was unhappy and wanted something else. He didn’t even reach out to her until he confirmed with Ron that we broke up. But it’s just awkward, no way around it. They’ll be ducking me at gatherings for years, no doubt. And he is really good looking now. So tall.” He kind of laughs to himself, his face in his hands, his glasses dangling from between his fingers.
“You’re fitter, don’t worry.” Hermione says absently, considering him. His face isn’t red when he lowers his hands, his eyes dry. She frowns.
“You think so?” He sounds a little eager.
She tilts her head. “Of course. You’re you. You’re the best looking guy in our year.”
Harry flushes, looking away from her, fighting a smile. “Our year? That's too much, I mean. Our whole year?”
“Did you love her?” She’s never really thought to ask. Always just assumed.
His fidgety smile falls. “Yeah. Of course.”
She shakes her head. “I mean, did you love-love her?”
He starts tapping his finger against the table. “I. I don’t know Hermione. I mean. She felt like. She was this dream, this funny, beautiful, talented person who liked me, and when I was with her, I felt, I don’t know. Normal? Like a teenager getting to know a really great girl. But then, after the war. I’m not normal. I’m. And I couldn’t be normal with her anymore. Whatever. I’m so sick of myself. And you know, that’s why I’m here, if you really want to know. Because I’ve been a shit friend, and I’m so, so sick of everything being about me. I’m taking a break. I’m just going to have this surprisingly stressful job where no one gives a shit who I am and I’m going to be here for you. You know, during your crisis. I’m going to be a better friend to the person who deserves it the most and stop being such a self centered arse. Can we stop talking about me? I want. I want to know about you. What’s happening with you? And your crisis. ”
Hermione opens her mouth to say she’s not having a crisis again, but several things occur to her at once, and she closes her mouth, shifting where she sits. “Alright. Okay then. We’ll focus on my crisis.”
Harry nods, leans forward, ready. Determined. He looks like if she requested she be made Minister for Magic, Harry would march off and hold a coup, just for her. She wonders if he could actually pull that off, for just a second, before she shakes her head. “Thing is, I'm not sure what my crisis is. So you’ll have to stick around to work it out with me. You don’t have to work at the coffee shop, though, in order to stick around, you know?”
He sits back a little, leaning against the sofa. “I need to fill my time while you’re in class somehow.”
She grins at him. “You could, I don’t know, go here? Take classes?”
He barely suppresses his grimace. Her grin widens. He rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, no thank you. I mean, I doubt I could even get in here, anyway. Outside of that, they did just hire me. Would be bad form to quit just as I’m starting to get the hang of it, wouldn’t it?”
She shakes her head. “Plus, you’d much rather deal with uncaffeinated people than go back to school, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. There is that. There is that.”
She stifles a yawn behind her hand. Harry stands, puts his hand out for Hermione to grab and he hulls her up, as well. “I’m going to go. Why don’t you come by the coffee shop tomorrow? My shift ends at three, right after your class.”
She nods, “Sounds good. But hey, how do you know that? Did you get my class schedule from somewhere?”
Harry wiggles his eyebrows, pulling out his wand. “A man works in mysterious ways.”
“You summoned my schedule from the administrative office, didn’t you?”
Harry wiggles his eyebrows in even more exaggerated motions. “A man works in obvious ways.”
Hermione snorts, watching as Harry twists and aparates away.