Drafting a Marriage

Chapter 8:

"Harry, are you in there?" Hermione called from outside the seventh year boys' dormitory.

"Come in, Hermione!"

Hermione opened the door slowly, ensuring adequate warning in case Harry or any of the other boys were scrambling for cover. Spending a year in a tent with Harry meant the usual modesty rules no longer applied to them, but she didn't feel that way about the other denizens of the dormitory.

"Here are the books you wanted; I'm done with my essay so you and Neville can keep them as long as you like."

"Thanks Hermione," Harry gratefully replied and indicated with a wave that she should set them down on his desk. After doing so, she turned and was just about to head out the door before Harry called out, "Hermione, wait!"

She turned and shot him a quizzical look, one hand resting on the door and waiting to see if she should swing it wider or close it shut again. "Erm, do you have a class or something you need to run off to?"

"No," she replied slowly, her features still etched in confusion. "Do you need to talk about something?" Seeing Harry continue to fidget, she took this as a 'yes' and closed the door softly before taking a seat on the foot of his bed. "What's on your mind, Harry?"

Harry continued to fidget, keeping his eyes downcast as he tried to figure out how to start such a conversation with his best female friend. "Hermione, do you know what you're going to do about this marriage law?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to fidget as she quickly removed her concerned gaze from Harry's head and stared into the bedspread as if it may hold the secret to her situation. "Not – not really," she finally conceded. "I have some ideas about what type of person I think would be a good match, but I don't have a clue as to who that person might actually be."

A rare uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Harry spoke up again. "What type of person are you looking for?" Hermione took a deep breath then haltingly began listing off the same criteria shared with her girlfriends in the library – intelligent, comfortable in the Muggle world, open-minded about her having a career, some physical attraction. With each criteria listed, Harry steeled his courage to go on with the conversation.

"Would you ever consider … me … to be a good match?"

Hermione looked up sharply and saw the anxiety swirling in his green eyes at delivering such a bold proclamation. Emotions flooded her mind and left her momentarily bewildered on how to act on them; she never pictured herself in this situation – her best friend basically asking if they should be a couple. A married couple.

"Harry, can I ask you a question first?"

"Erm, sure," Harry responded, thrown off by this redirection.

"When we were in the tent and Ron left, you knew I was very upset right?" Harry nodded slowly, gazing at her with still-confused features. "And when I was upset, did you think to try and comfort me?"

Harry jogged his memory to those horrible days back in the tent – his own feelings of betrayal, the despair brought on by both the situation and the horcrux effects, and a distraught and sobbing Hermione. He could picture it now – she was curled up in a chair, wet from running out in the rain to try and stop Ron from leaving and sobbing uncontrollably. He went over to Ron's now-abandoned bed and picked up some blankets to put around her … then he walked off and got in his own bed.

A pained, clouded expression crossed his features in realization and he turned toward Hermione and grabbed her hands. "I'm so, so sorry for not helping you more," he croaked out.

Even now, tears welled up in Hermione's eyes as she squeezed Harry's hands and gave a small nod in acceptance to his plea for forgiveness.

A few moments passed between them, both too emotional to continue conversation. Finally Hermione recovered and started, "Harry, it was a difficult time for all of us. Had we not been under the strain, all three of us would have reacted differently that day. But before I can answer your question, I need to understand why you didn't try and comfort me?"

"I thought … I thought you just forgave me?"

"I did, Harry. It's just that … I need to understand things. You know that."

Harry took a deep breath and pulled his hands apart from Hermione. Why did he react the way he did? He clearly knew how much Ron's departure hurt her, and in hindsight he could see that he did a piss-poor job of comforting her.

"The easy answer would be that it was the horcrux's influence, or perhaps Voldemort's," Harry started. "Or I suppose I could claim it was how I was raised by the Dursleys – that I never really developed that whole sympathetic and comforting side." Harry paused a moment, to shrug then slowly shake his head. "I think that's part of it probably."

"But not all."

"No, not all. I think … I think I was so consumed by my own hurt and emotions I probably couldn't see what I could do to help you."

Hermione looked at her friend with a wistful smile before again reaching out to pat him on the leg. "That's what I figured as well," she whispered.

The silence stretched between them as each digested their thoughts and feelings about that fateful day and the emotions that surrounded it. But unlike earlier, this silence was once again comfortable.

"So … about my question," Harry tentatively asked, breaking the silence.

"I think we could make it work, Harry," Hermione started, looking pensive as her mind assimilated all the points of this latest conversation. "I think the real question is whether it is what we want, though."

Harry's momentary relief crashed abruptly. "I don't follow."

Hermione began to fidget uncomfortably as she tried to think of a way to explain this to her friend. "Harry, you have the third pick. Assuming Luna doesn't choose you –"

"Luna is going to choose me?" Harry blurted out, unsure what to think about such a scenario.

"I don't know, Harry. She didn't know who she wanted to choose when I talked with her last. Although I'm sure you would be one of the few she would consider.

"But as I was saying, only Luna and one other witch will be chosen. Out of all the eligible witches in England, you would prefer to be with me?"

"Out of all the witches in England, I know you the best."

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. "But that doesn't mean I'm the best choice for you. I think we're compatible – very compatible, even. We share a deep friendship and a long history. But do you feel anything – physically feel anything – when you see me? Basically, are you in love with me?"

Harry could only blink several times in response. Was Hermione really giving him a speech about making an emotional decision over a logical decision? "But I fit all of your criteria," he argued.

"You do," she conceded. "While I think you're attractive, I don't feel 'attracted' to you. Do you know what I mean?"

Again Harry thought about this fine point his friend was trying to make. Did he think Hermione was an attractive girl? While not a stunning beauty, she did have an inner beauty that Harry felt overruled any qualms about her wild hair and pretty, but not breathtaking, features. But did that mean he was 'attracted' to her?

"I guess I don't really know," Harry finally conceded.

Hermione leaned forward and stared intently at the man across from her. "That matters to me, Harry. I need to feel you're attracted to me and I need to feel that towards you. You've known me a long time, so if you don't know by now …" She shrugged her shoulders lightly and put up a brave smile. "I would say it's not meant to be."

While Harry knew he was probably going to be rejected even before beginning this conversation, hearing it from Hermione directly made it final. "How are you going to figure out who does that for you before Christmas?" he asked, trying to keep the tone of his voice light despite the disappointment he felt.

Hermione sighed and leaned back before admitting, "No idea." She then turned a significant look toward Harry, "But at least I'm going about my life and talking with other people. You and Neville are holed up in this dormitory except for classes and the occasional meal –"

"We usually nick some food from the kitchens or ask Kreature to bring us something," Harry supplied, immediately feeling abashed when he noticed Hermione's patented 'I told you so' glare upon hearing his response.

"As I was saying, you and Neville need to get out and at least talk with some of the girls here. I know there are … issues … with you two being out there but you need to at least get to know a few girls to see if you feel anything. Do you have an idea on what type of witch would be a good match for you?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, "Er, yeah. I have a few ideas."

"Good. Have you written them down yet? You should write them down so you will remember your criteria even when blinded by some witch's … er … physical charms."

Being too panic-stricken to make snarky comments about Hermione's 'physical charms' comment, Harry nodded slowly to indicate he had indeed written … something … down.

Hermione brightened considerably. "That's great, Harry! I'm glad to see you're taking this seriously. So let's see what you have; maybe I can help you?"

"No, that's okay," he hastily replied, unconsciously backing away from his friend a bit. "You've done more than enough to help me already."

Hermione cocked her head to the side, then narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "You haven't created a list, have you? Harry, this is important! It affects the rest of your life! The wizarding world isn't like the muggle one when it comes to annulling marriages – you'll be pretty much stuck with your choice forever!" With one last disappointed sigh Hermione folded her arms and shook her head sadly at the ill-prepared wizard in front of her.

"Don't look at me like that!" Harry hotly retorted. "I hate it when you look at me like that," he mumbled, feeling again like he was being punished for simply being himself. "I do have a list, Hermione, but it's not … not a list of criteria like you have."

Hermione looked momentarily placated before a confused look settled across her face. "If it's not a list of criteria, what is it?"

Now Harry began blushing, really, really not wanting to have this conversation with her. Unfortunately he knew Hermione and she wouldn't let this go. Maybe it was a good thing she didn't think they should get married …

"Well, it's … ah …" he started, trying to figure out how to describe this to Hermione without getting hexed – or worse, lectured at.

Suddenly comprehension dawned on her face, proving once again that maybe she was too smart for her own good. "It's just a list of witches, am I right?"

Cringing slightly, Harry nodded miserably.

Hermione looked somewhat smug, then slightly mischievous. "Let's see it, Harry. I can tell you loads about these witches." She then cast a significant look in his direction before adding, "Loads of details."

For some reason that even Harry couldn't quite fathom, suddenly turning his list over to Hermione for scrutiny didn't seem like such a bad idea. After smoothing out the parchment on the bedspread between them, Hermione took a cursory look though the list and began nodding slowly. She then tensed and, with her head still bent over the parchment, asked in a quiet voice, "Are these in any particular order, Harry?"

"Erm, yeah."

The tense silence returned between them. "You … you have me ranked first?" she whispered out finally.

Oh shite! "Well, ah, yeah I did." Harry finally admitted.

Without warning a frizzy-haired missile launched, engulfing him in a fierce hug. Totally bewildered, Harry just sat there woodenly hoping that she wasn't really trying to squeeze the life out of him like a huge basilisk.

"That's probably the nicest compliment I've ever had. Thank you Harry!" Upon hearing those words, Harry relaxed a bit and returned his friend's hug.

"So … does this mean you've changed your mind?"

"I'm afraid not, Harry," Hermione responded with a sigh, despite still remaining latched to him in her hug. "Now let's look at the other names you have before I change my mind."