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Miranda Granger watched as her daughter and Harry Potter communicated with just a look. Since waking up last week with all of her memories restored, she'd been in a quandary of sorts. It was clear to her that Hermione and Harry were very much in love with each other. What she didn't understand was why they were dancing around their feelings for each other like passing ships in the night.
She'd always thought of her daughter as a forthright, take-charge kind of girl. They'd raised her to fight for what she wanted and she'd put that to good use – especially over the last 8 years. When Hermione had first told them in a letter that she had nearly been killed by a troll, only to be saved when a boy named Harry realized she was missing, found her, and jumped on said troll's back, they had immediately decided the magical world was too dangerous. They couldn't follow her there and protect their little girl. They wanted to pull her out and put her back in a nice, safe, normal school.
But she had fought them tooth and nail on it, saying magic was a part of who she was and she wouldn't allow them to take it away from her. It only got worse as the years went on, too. But always there was Harry. She described him in letters throughout the year as good, kind, noble, self-sacrificing for the good of others. Miranda thought, for the longest time, that her daughter would one day introduce Harry as not a friend, but a boyfriend. But there she was all these years later and no progress has been made on that front.
And if Harry was the kind of man who slew basilisks, dementors, and dark lords then why couldn't he admit that he was in love with Hermione? How could her extremely intelligent daughter be so dense as to not see what Miranda saw? Harry always checked with Hermione on just about everything. Whether it was what to eat, where to go, or how to reply to a question. He looked at her like she was the only girl in the entire world.
So she watched, waited, and waited some more, for just one sign, one signal that the two teenagers were making some progress but the past week showed nothing of the kind. She scanned the room looking for her husband and caught his eye as he was talking to Harry about quidditch. She nodded toward the kitchen and left the room as her husband made his excuses to follow her.
She pulled him by the hand to the farthest point of the kitchen and sighed. "Anything from Harry?" she asked, hope permeating every syllable.
Richard dug the heel of his palms into his eyes and rubbed vigorously. "No. Nothing at all. I ask about girls and he says there was one but it's over. He says he doesn't 'really have time to date' at the moment while he's looking right at her! I swear he didn't even see me at all. He was staring at Hermione the entire time. So then, I ask him about Hermione. And that opened the floodgates."
He turned around to grab a water bottle from the fridge. "That man can talk about Hermione for hours, I tell you. According to him, our little girl is an angel descended from heaven. She can do absolutely nothing wrong."
"Hermione is the same way," Miranda said. "I asked her if she was seeing anyone and she blushed, Richard, and glanced at Harry. She thinks I didn't notice but I did. She said there was something with Ron but it was over before it started."
"Can't blame her, the way he left them," Richard muttered.
"Anyway, I think they're both waiting on the other to make the first move but I have had it, Richard. I can't watch this trainwreck anymore. This whole will-they-won't-they thing is so played out. It's like watching one of your mum's soap operas for crying out loud! How did those two stay in a tent for 2 months by themselves without shagging each other senseless?"
"Okay, so what do we do? Do we play matchmaker to make this thing happen? Shame it isn't Christmas, a mistletoe could do some real work for us," he said wistfully.
A mistletoe…now that just might work. So what if it isn't Christmas? It's still winter in Australia. Rules are rules, right? But there's always the chance they refuse to kiss once they're under it. Miranda wouldn't put it past them to attempt wiggling out of the tradition. If only there was a way to make sure they couldn't do that… "Richard," she said slowly as a memory bubbled to the surface of her mind.
"Got an idea?" he asked excitedly.
"Do you remember her 3rd year? She mentioned in her Christmas letter that year about mistletoes."
"Yes," he replied after thinking for a minute. "She said that there were some older students hanging magical mistletoes around to catch unsuspecting students." His voice picked up speed and pitch as the idea came to him. "She said magical mistletoes trap you until you make the kiss! And they don't accept cheek kisses or pecks. It had to be a real kiss."
Miranda zipped down the hall to her office and grabbed an envelope, paper, and pen. She eyed Hermione's bag on the desk and dug around the expanded space until she found some coins.
Dear Mr. and Mr. Weasley
I am in desperate need of a magical mistletoe. I do apologize for the muggle paper but Hermione absolutely cannot know about this. I hope 2 galleons is enough, I took it out of Hermione's bag without her knowledge.
Thank you,
Miranda Granger
Miranda stuffed the note and the coins into the envelope and walked back to the living room where Harry and Hermione were watching television. "Harry, dear, could I borrow Hedwig?"
Hermione eyed her suspiciously but at Harry's nod, Miranda went outside to the backyard where the snowy owl was perched in a tree.
"Hedwig! Could you take a letter for me, please?" The beautiful owl came down to rest on Miranda's arm. "This needs to reach Fred and George Weasley as soon as possible. Thank you so much." She tied the letter to Hedwig's leg and the owl nodded at her before taking off.
A week later, Hermione felt like something was not quite right. Her parents had forgiven her and for that she would be eternally grateful, but they were acting so strange. All throughout dinner they had been glancing at her, and then Harry, and giggling. Her parents never giggled at each other and it was bothering her quite a bit.
She wondered if they had figured out her deepest secret. If they had, surely they would have said something, right? If they knew she was desperately in love with Harry they wouldn't keep it to themselves. They would interfere and do something crazy. She just hoped that if they did know, they didn't tell him. Hermione would never be able to get over the humiliation if they told Harry exactly how she felt about him.
She was entirely aware that Harry didn't think about her that way. Ron had told her what Harry said after the locket was destroyed. In a fit of anger when she told him his leaving them during the hunt erased any chances of them ever being together, he told her all about the vision in the horcrux and Harry's declaration that she was like a sister to him. She couldn't imagine what he'd have said if she told him she had fallen in love with Harry during their time alone.
Ron's words had gutted her and she wished she could say he had been lying, but she knew it was true. Nobody had bothered to ask her how she felt about Harry – not that she would tell them, of course, but it would have been nice. Hermione wanted to do entirely un-sisterly things to her best friend and he would never know, or if he did know he would be disgusted. He would laugh at her, and tell that he was sorry but he just didn't see her that way but he hoped that they would always be friends.
It wasn't like being best friends with Harry wasn't enough. If all she could have from him was his friendship for the rest of her life, she would treasure it gladly, cherish it for as long as she lived. But at night when she was alone and dreaming, she had all of him. He was hers and she was his and they would be together always. She would wake up with her heart aching for him. Hermione wanted more than just his friendship, more than just his hugs and banter. She wanted to shout out her love for him in the middle of Diagon Alley and have him kiss her nose and tell her that he loved her, too. Then they would go to their home and have their wicked way with each other because they were just so in love that it was gross.
But alas, it was not to be. Hermione sighed in the backseat of her parents car as it made its way through town on the way back to their house in Australia. She could feel Harry's questioning look so she patted his arm and smiled at him.
"I'm fine, Harry. I'm just quite full from dinner, you see."
She could tell he didn't believe a single word of it but he wouldn't push her and that was just another reason she loved him. She was the pushy one, who needed to know who, what, when, where, why, and how immediately. Harry was more laid back, especially since the war ended. He was a natural at brooding and so when Hermione needed to brood, he understood and would wait for her to talk to him about it – not that she would ever talk about the problem she was currently having.
When they arrived back at the small, white house her parents had settled into as Monica and Wendell Wilkins, her parents rushed out of the car and through the front door. Hermione shared a look with Harry and he shrugged his shoulders, so she decided not to think more of it. It was just parents being weird, nothing to worry about.
She walked up the sidewalk next to Harry and allowed herself to revel in the heat emanating from him before they had to separate. Hermione was first through the door with Harry right behind her when suddenly she couldn't move. She panicked and felt Harry stiffen next to her and they each palmed their wands, expecting an attack.
Until they heard more giggling. Stray Death Eaters didn't giggle, but her parents apparently did. Her mum was standing a few feet in front of her with a grin Hermione could only ever describe as shit-eating.
"Mum?" she asked, confused. "What's going on? Where's Dad?"
"Mrs. Granger, are you okay?" Harry asked at the same time, the genuine concern clear in his voice.
"Oh, Harry, dear, I've told you. Call me Miranda. I won't have such a close friend of Hermione's be so formal with me," she laughed.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at the emphasis. She was about to continue in her interrogation when her mum pointed toward the stairs. Hermione and Harry both turned their heads to look and saw her father holding a fishing pole.
"Dad? Why are you holding a fishing pole on the stairs?"
"Oh, sweetheart. Your mum and I just thought you needed a little help. Why don't you and Harry just look above you for a second?" he said grimly.
Worried, Hermione craned her neck to look up and saw a magical mistletoe dangling in the air from the hook on her dad's fishing line. Hermione paled and quickly turned to Harry whose complexion matched hers in the moment. What was odd was he looked just as terrified as she was sure she must look. Shouldn't he be laughing or otherwise disgusted at the prospect of snogging someone he viewed as a sister?
"Harry?" she asked timidly.
"Hermione…I-I'm sorry…I don't know how to get out of it. I'm so sorry," he said, and Hermione realized he was trembling. She quickly took his shaking hands in hers and gave them a comforting squeeze.
"Harry…why are you sorry?" Hermione asked slowly.
"Because…I know you don't want to kiss me and now we're stuck under this mistletoe and we have to kiss you're going to hate me and–"
"Harry, wait, stop. Be honest with me for a moment, will you? Do you want to kiss me?" Hermione looked into his eyes and hoped against hope that he would see that she would never hate him for this.
Slowly, he nodded, and Hermione thought she might faint. Harry wanted to kiss her! She wasn't sure where her parents had gotten a magical mistletoe. The only thing Hermione was sure of was that if ever there was a time to tell Harry the truth, it was now.
"Harry, can I tell you something?"
"Anything, Hermione, you know that," he smiled.
"I want to kiss you, too. In fact, I've wanted to kiss you for…a long time. At least since 4th year if not sooner."
"What?" he asked quietly. "Why would you want to kiss me?"
"Because…" She took a deep breath. "I love you, Harry."
The biggest grin she'd ever seen appeared on his face and Hermione laughed. "What?"
"I love you, too, Hermione," he said before pressing his lips to hers, accompanied by the cheers of her parents. Hermione lost herself in the soft warmth of his lips as his tongue darted out at the same time to meet hers in a dance as old as time.
"It's about bloody time!" her parents echoed in unison, but neither Hermione or Harry noticed.