A Very Happy Birthday Bedtime Story

Happy Birthday to me. Cinnamon eyes reflected back at me from my vanity mirror. I laid the hairbrush that I had just been wielding down a little harder than necessary on the vanity top.

Happy Birthday to me. Yeah, right. Not bloody likely. Nothing like turning 21 years old and not having a soul to celebrate with. Everyone who’s important to me had other plans. Mum and Dad felt guilty about not being here on my big day. It’s not every day you turn 21, after all. Mum and Dad would normally be here to celebrate with me but they won a trip to the States. They deserved a vacation. So I sent them off with my blessings.

Ron owled me this morning. He sent his birthday greetings with a promise to take me to my favorite Italian restaurant upon his return.

And Harry. Well, I don’t know what Harry was doing. He hadn’t spoken to me for six months. Ever since the night I got a little tipsy and declared my undying love and devotion to him. Right, Hermione. I stared into eyes that looked much older than my 21 years. You got rip roaring drunk, and you told your best friend that you were in love with him. Brilliant move.

I could still remember that night like it was yesterday. It was our regular Thursday night dinner. After graduation, Harry, Ron and I had promised to have a weekly get together so we wouldn’t lose touch.

On that particular Thursday night, Ron had to leave early to check on his mother, who wasn’t feeling well. Harry and I both stayed, drinking a few more glasses of wine than usual. Harry decided to walk me back to my flat. I thought he feared that if we tried to Apparate home, we might have ended up in the middle of the Thames.

I didn’t know if it was the Merlot, the moonlight or mere madness on my part, but when Harry took the key to open my door, I had put my hand on his, halting him in mid motion. He stood there bathed in the moonlight, looking more gorgeous than any wizard had a right to. When he looked at me quizzically, I did something that I will regret to my dying day. I told Harry that I loved him. Just like that. Harry, I love you.

The look of shock and horror on his face was so great, you would have thought I had told him Voldemort had returned. But my alcohol soaked brain didn’t register his expression. I was too intoxicated not only by the alcohol but by the relief of revealing my long held, secret desire for my best friend. My feelings, once liberated, would no longer be denied.

My inhibitions were swept away by a maelstrom of emotions, not to mention a bottle of expensive Merlot. I gave in to the impulse that I had been fighting for years. I kissed Harry Potter. It was a tentative kiss at first. But emboldened by wine and the taste that was pure Harry, I began a more thorough exploration of the mouth I had only dreamed of kissing.

At first, Harry stood there, not returning my kiss. But then his lips had softened, exploring mine as well. Just as the kiss had begun to intensify, Harry had ended it, pushing me away from him.

If I live to be a hundred, I will never forget the look in his beautiful green eyes that night when he ended that kiss. He had looked like a little boy who had just had his security blanket snatched out of his arms by a cruel father who told him he was too old for such childish things now. He had stared at me for what felt like an eternity, not saying a word. Then he had placed the keys in my hand, turned and walked away.

Harry had always found an excuse to beg off Thursday dinners after that. Before long, I had stopped asking. Ron had questioned me endlessly about the rift between me and Harry. I told him to ask Harry if he wanted to know why, because I had no idea.

Liar, my mirror mocked me.

I had glared into the silvered glass. Oh, shut up. If I had wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it

Before my mirror could make another retort, I was startled by a pecking sound on my window. Odd, I had thought I had received all the birthday owls from everyone already that morning.

I walked to the window and stared in shock at the snowy white owl perched on the ledge. Hedwig. I opened the window to admit Harry’s owl. She held out her leg so that I could untie the parchment. She flew off before I could offer her a treat. I thought it a little odd that she didn’t wait for a return message.

I unrolled the parchment with a slightly trembling hand. I immediately identified Harry’s untidy scrawl.

The note was short and to the point.

Hermione,

Meet me at our usual Thursday spot.

Harry

After months of silence, he wanted to see me. Was he finally ready to deal with what I had said that fateful night? Was he now willing to tell me how he felt in return?

There wasn’t even the slightest question in my mind about whether or not I would go. I had been waiting for this night for six interminable months. I was like a drug addict too long denied a fix of the drug that I craved. Harry Potter was my drug of choice. I needed a fix of him like I needed the air that I breathed. My only hope was that after tonight was over, I wouldn’t be suffering through a lifetime of withdrawal.

* * * * *

I stood in front of my cheval mirror, eyeing myself critically, trying to decide if the dress I had bought on impulse two months ago was appropriate for my dinner with Harry. It was a simple, silky pumpkin colored creation that clung in all the right places and flared out around mid calf. A matching scarf draped around my neck and a pair of strappy sandals completed the ensemble. I had wrestled my bushy brown hair into an elegant chignon, leaving a few tendrils to wisp around my face and had applied only the bare minimum of makeup.

“You look beautiful dear,” my mirror complimented.

A compliment from my usually critical mirror? Still worried brown eyes stared back at me critically, though.

“He’s a fool if he can’t see how beautiful you are. And I don’t mean just the outside, either.”

I turned away from the mirror lest it see the doubt reflected in my eyes. This was the most important night of my life. Tonight, I would either start my life with Harry or start living a lifetime without him. I didn’t question that it would be one way or the other.

In one fateful, drunken night, I had forever changed the course of our relationship with three little words. I love you. We couldn’t go back to being just friends. I knew that. I hoped Harry did. I hoped tonight wasn’t his way to try to reconcile our friendship back to what it had been before. If I couldn’t have Harry’s love, I couldn’t have Harry in my life. It had been too difficult over the years watching him date other witches. I had stood by, acting like I was happy for him but dying a little inside each time I saw him holding some other witch’s hand I wanted it to be me, more than I wanted my next breath. I wanted Harry’s friendship. I missed it desperately. But I wanted his love more. I had my heart all wrapped up in a pretty, little package to present to Harry tonight. My most fervent desire was that he not hand it back to me like he would an unwanted Dursley Christmas present.

^*^*^*

I walked into the restaurant and was greeted by a smiling maitre d’ who led me to a secluded table in the back. Harry stood as I approached. He smiled at me nervously. He had never looked more gorgeous. His forest green sweater brought out the beautiful color of his eyes. His black dress pants had a perfect crease down the front. It looked like he had tried to tame his unruly black hair into some semblance of order. It hadn’t worked. Looks like he took as much pains with his appearance as I did, I thought.

After the maitre d’ left, an uncomfortable silence descended upon us. Harry looked up in gratitude as the waiter approached our table.

“May I show you the wine list tonight?” asked the waiter.

“No.” We both said simultaneously. Harry grinned and I smiled. Our combined outburst seemed to have broken the ice, melting away the tension that had been there a moment before.

“Then I’ll leave your menus and be back in a few minutes for your orders.”

Harry smiled at me and requested, “Can we put off discussion of serious things for a little while and just enjoy our dinner? I’ve missed our dinners and would just like your company before we have to get serious. I‘ve missed being with you.”

My heart tripped, then accelerated at his words. All I could do was nod my head yes. My ability to speak seemed to have vanished after his declaration that he had missed me. Maybe this night would turn out all right after all.

We ordered and enjoyed a wonderfully prepared meal, our dinner conversation consisting of how our jobs had been in the months since we had last seen each other. We both studiously ignored the pair of pink elephants that were waltzing around our table.

Finally I could ignore the pink elephants no longer. “Harry, why did you ask me here tonight? It’s been six months. I know my declaration must have taken you by surprise, but don’t you think I deserved some kind of response other than silence before now?”

I asked, desperate for any kind of explanation for Harry’s uncharacteristic behavior.

“Hermione.” Harry began tentatively. “To say that you surprised me is putting it mildly. I never knew you had those kinds of feelings for me. I had never thought of you in that way at all.”

My heart plummeted to the floor.

Harry continued, unaware of the heartache he had just dealt me. “I mean, Hermione, that I had noticed before that you were pretty. Fourth year, at the Yule Ball, I noticed that. But you were my friend. I could have just as soon been interested in Ron as been interested in you.”

My eyes widened in surprise.

“No, not like that, Hermione,” Harry stuttered, blushing. “I mean, oh hell, Hermione. I don’t know what I mean.” He took my hand which had been laying on the table and twined our fingers together. “Hermione.” He gazed at me earnestly.

Oh, here it comes, the I-really-like-you-but-I-think-we-should-be-just-friends speech.

“I never had a real family. You know that. The Dursley’s tolerated my presence, nothing more. They never loved me. Do you know what it was like to grow up never knowing love at all?”

No, my parents loved me very much. I shook my head, smiling sadly at him.

“When I came to Hogwarts, I met you and Ron and found my family. A family that loves me. I depended on that. I needed it more than you will ever know. And though we had our ups and downs, I knew I could never do anything that would that would make you stop being my friend. But when you told me you loved me that night, it turned my world upside down.”

At my confused look, Harry continued. “You were offering me a different kind of love that night. I knew I could never do anything to lose your friendship. But I knew I could do something stupid enough to make you stop loving me like that.”

Tears stung my eyes, spilling out and cascading down my cheeks. “No, Harry….”

“Let me finish, Hermione.” He brought his hand that still held mine up to his lips to gently kiss each of my fingers in turn. I couldn’t have spoken if I tried. I simply stared into his brilliant green eyes, waiting breathlessly for his next words.

“I’ve kissed other witches.”

Not what I wanted to hear.

“And, I’ve even had sex with some of them.”

Definitely, NOT what I wanted to hear. Just because you saved yourself for him, didn’t mean he’d do the same.

“But, when you kissed me that night, I wanted to make love with someone for the first time.”

Oh, boy. This was getting good.

“But I couldn’t make love to you.”

Why ever not? I certainly wanted to jump his bones right then and there in the restaurant. Wouldn’t that be the spectacle?

“That’s why I ran off. I realized that I loved you as well and I couldn’t deal with it.

Ignoring the problem seemed easier than facing the fact that I wanted to make wild, passionate love with my best friend.”

Damn the spectacle, he was mine. Wait, he said he loved me too.

“You love me?” My voice returned but sounded more like Minnie Mouse’s.

“Yes, I love you Hermione. And if you’ll give this stupid prat a second chance, I’d like to spend my lifetime proving it to you.” Harry kissed my hand gently again.

YES. But if he didn’t quit rubbing his thumb back and forth against my hand like that we’d never make it home to my bed. I’d attack him in the restaurant. If Harry could make me weak with desire simply by kissing and rubbing my hand, what would I do when he actually kissed me for real? Poor, Harry. He didn’t stand a chance.

“I’ve always believe in second chances, Harry,” I said, trying to get my breathing under control.

Harry grinned at me; that full all out grin that went straight to my heart. “But, I think we shouldn’t rush anything. We should take our relationship slow,” he stated.

That’s what you think, buster.

Harry walked me home. Not because we were afraid to Apparate like before, but because it was much more romantic walking along in the moonlight, holding hands with the one you love. I never knew that simply holding hands could be so sensual. One of the many things Harry Potter had taught me.

When we arrived at my door, Harry once again took my keys to open it for me. He kissed my lips gently and bade me goodnight. I was determined he would not walk away again.

“Harry, come in with me.” I caught his hand, bringing it to my heart, clasping it there.

“Hermione, we agreed, we’d take this slow.”

You said that. I never agreed, mister.

Harry looked down at me with such love in his eyes that I did not hesitate to ask. “You said you loved me, right?”

“Yes, Hermione. I love you, oh and Happy Birthday.”

I smiled. “Then, come in with me Harry.” I took his other hand and pulled him towards the door to my flat. He followed, closing the door behind him.

Happy Birthday to me, indeed.

 

Almost seven years later

 

Hermione tucked in the dark blue comforter embroidered with golden snitches around her six year old son’s shoulders. Kissing his tousled black hair, she moved on to the twin bed across the room, where her three year old daughter bounced up and down on top of the covers. Catching her mid bounce, Hermione swooped her daughter under the covers and pulled them up almost covering her head, eliciting peals of laughter. Kissing her daughter’s cheek, she admonished her children, “Time for all good little witches and wizards to be asleep.”

“But Mummy,” Harrison whined. “You haven’t told us the story yet.”

“Yes,” piped up Elizabeth. “We can’t go to sweep without the stowy.” Elizabeth pulled on her mother’s arm until Hermione was forced to sit back on the side of her youngest child’s bed.

“It’s late, you two. Way past your bedtime,” Hermione started.

“But we’ll never get to sweep tonight. Daddy said so,” Elizabeth offered.

“Daddy said so, did he?” Hermione asked skeptically

“Yeah, Daddy told Unca Wan he gave us too much candy and we were never going to get to sweep tonight. Why’d we never get to sweep cause we eat too much candy Mummy?”

“Because, you little dummy, it’s a proven fact that if kids eat too much sugar,

they act hyper,” Harrison explained like that should have been obvious to anyone.

“I not hyper,” Elizabeth crawled from under the covers onto her knees, rocking back and forth.

Hermione quickly covered her mouth with her hand to hide the grin that sprang to her lips at her son’s explanation and her daughter’s subsequent denial. Harrison may have been a carbon copy of his father physically but he had gotten his bookish personality straight from his mother.

“Harrison, how many times have I told you not to call your sister a dummy?” Hermione kindly admonished her son.

“Oh, at least ten times… in the past week. I keep forgetting.” Harrison gave his mother one of Harry’s famous grins that never failed to make Hermione forget what she had been chastising her son about in the first place.

“Okay, young miss, back under the covers with you,” Hermione tucked the covers back over Elizabeth. “If the two of you will settle down, I’ll give you an abbreviated version of the story.”

“What’s bweviate mean?” Elizabeth scrunched up her face and looked up at her mother.

“ABBREVIATED. It means short, you stup..” Harrison stopped when he saw Hermione’s raised eyebrow.

“Oh, showt,” Elizabeth smiled and nodded her head as if she had known all along.

Hermione looked lovingly at her two offspring, leaned back against the headboard and began the story. “Once upon a time, there was a young wizard named…”

“Daddy,” Elizabeth piped up.

“Harry,” Harrison replied, casting an exasperated look at his sibling.

“Harry,” Hermione continued with a smile, “was raised by his mother’s family who didn’t love him at all. His parents were killed by an evil wizard when he was just a year old.”

“Ah, poow Daddy,” sympathized Elizabeth.

“Yeah,” agreed Harrison. “But we love him, don’t we?”

“Yes, very much so,” Hermione said.

Hermione continued, “When Harry was eleven years old, he received a letter from Hogwarts. Harry’s mean family, the Dursley’s, did everything in their power to keep him from finding out the truth. But the letters kept coming until Hagrid delivered the last letter and told Harry that he was a wizard.”

“Then he went to Platform 9 & ¾ and met a red headed boy with freckles who was destined to be his best friend.”

“Unca Wan,” supplied Elizabeth.

“And he also met a girl with bushy brown hair who was destined to be his other best friend. She was quite an intelligent witch for her age.” Hermione added, “Her name was Hermione.”

“In other words, she was a know-it-all,” contributed Harry leaning up against the doorframe to his children’s room.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at Harry. “Who’s telling this story?” Hermione asked.

“Seemed like a family affair to me.” Harry smiled innocently.

“Well the three of them were destined to be the best of friends,” Hermione continued, ignoring Harry. “But it wasn’t until an incident in a girl’s bathroom with a mountain troll that Harry and Ron accepted Hermione as their forever friend.” Hermione looked up at Harry and smiled.

“Through the years they had their spats and squabbles like all friends do.”

“Like when Uncle Ron and Dad got mad at you when Grandpa Sirius sent Dad the Firebolt, and you turned it in to Professor McGonagall.” Harrison supplied.

“Yes, quite like that. But they eventually forgave me and your dad knew I was just looking out for his best interest.” Hermione smiled at the memory.

“And they had many adventures together.” Hermione added.

“Like rescuing Buckbeak and helping Grandpa Sirius escape.” Harrison said.

“Skip the ‘venture stuff and get to the good part,” pleaded Elizabeth.

“Yes,” agreed Hermione. “This was supposed to be an abbreviated version.”

“So one night Hermione got a little tipsy…” Harry snorted from the doorway. Hermione glared across the room at Harry. “And she told him that she loved him.”

“And he wan away,” Elizabeth poked out her bottom lip.

“Yes, Harry didn’t speak to Hermione for six long months.” Hermione stated.

“Longest six months of my life.” Green eyes met brown.

“But on her 21^st birthday, Harry owled Hermione and asked her to meet him for dinner.”

“It was so womantic,” Elizabeth sighed dramatically.

“Ugh,” grimaced Harrison.

“Just wait son, one day you’ll find a witch to love just as much as I love your Mum.” Harrison didn’t look convinced.

Hermione grinned and finished her story. “And that night Harry told Hermione that he loved her too. They got married, had two beautiful children and lived happily ever after. The end.”

“Mummy, what kinda pwsent did Daddy get you for your bifthday?” Elizabeth asked.

“Uh,…well..” Hermione stammered, blushing.

Harry strode into the room, rescuing Hermione, not for the first time in her life. “Enough stories and questions, luv. Time for you to be asleep. He kissed both of his children on their foreheads, extinguished the candles on the bedside table with a softly spoken Nox and led Hermione back to their bedroom.

Once he shut the door behind him, he turned and took Hermione into his arms. “Elizabeth is a bright little witch, she’s eventually going to figure out that we’re avoiding that question.”

“Harry,” Hermione pulled back slightly in his arms, looking up at him. “If you ever tell our children what present you gave me that night, I will hex you to Hell and back.” Hermione stated firmly.

Harry grinned unrepentantly. “Well, you technically didn’t get your present til nine months later, and we named him Harrison James.”

Hermione pulled Harry’s head down to hers for a brief but passionate kiss. “Tell me a bedtime story,” she whispered in his ear.

Harry scooped Hermione up into his arms, causing her to giggle, then deposited her onto the bed. Lying down behind her, he pulled her back into his arms, spooning himself close up against her.

“Once upon a time,” Harry began, “There was this strong, adventuresome, handsome wizard who met an intelligent, brave, beautiful witch. After years of being the best of friends, the wizard realized that he was madly, passionately in love with the beautiful witch. Of course it took the intelligent witch to clue the handsome wizard in to the facts. But once he realized that he loved her, he asked her to marry him.”

Hermione giggled and turned in Harry’s arms to face him, loving warm brown eyes met passion filled green ones. “And they lived happily ever after. The end,” she finished.

“Not the end at all. It was the beginning of happily ever after.” Harry claimed Hermione’s mouth in a kiss that soon left them both breathless.

Harry pulled away slightly. “Hermione. It’s your birthday in a week. Do you want your present early?” Harry grinned and Hermione pulled his head back down to hers in answer.

And they lived very happily ever after indeed.