Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's reviewed and been following along with this story. I hope you enjoyed it!
Here, finally, is the promised Epilogue, which is pure, plotless, pointless fluff simply for the sake of fluff. Enjoy!
The Reasons for Dating
Epilogue: Happiness
It was the Quidditch match of the century.
Ron was so excited he was barely coherent. And getting him to talk about anything besides Quidditch and the Cannons was just about impossible. As for how many times he'd mentioned the year 1892… Harry was beginning to suspect that Ron's entire mental calendar of history began and ended with that year (the last year the Cannons had won the League Cup, though not the last year they'd actually competed in the final game for the League Cup- that had been in 1905, he knew, also thanks to Ron).
It was the Quidditch match of the century. The stands were absolutely exploding at the seams with fans dressed in orange (including Ron who was a sight to see in his Chudley Cannons shirt and with an orange Cannons cap on his head, that, thankfully covered his hair so it wasn't visible.) The Kestrels fans were grouped together in the one area of the stands that was a mass of green rather than orange although they tried valiantly to cheer as loudly as the Cannons fans, despite being outnumbered nearly 3 to 1.
The match wasn't due to begin for another half hour and already Ron was in a rather pitiful state of anticipation. Luna was watching it all with a tolerant smile and loyal enough to Ron that she, too, was wearing orange.
He exchanged grins with Bill and joked, "I sometimes think the main reason Ron keeps me around is because I can get good seats at Quidditch matches." It was about the only perk of his fame and status in the wizarding world which he actually used and even appreciated, the fact that he could almost always get box seats to watch any Quidditch match no matter how quickly tickets sold-out.
Bill, Mr. Weasley and Ginny all laughed when he heard a vaguely familiar voice call his name.
"Harry!"
He turned to see Viola Stirling waving at him as she made her way through the stands towards them. He felt Hermione stiffen a little beside him as she saw his former girlfriend and slipped his hand into hers, giving it a slight squeeze.
He managed an easy smile at Viola. "Hi, Viola." She looked as exotic as always with her dramatic coloring and the red lipstick she favored to further highlight the contrast with her pale skin and black hair. But somehow the allure was gone. He could look at her and acknowledge her strange beauty dispassionately. He laced his fingers with Hermione's as he realized, with no surprise and only a feeling of odd satisfaction, that there really was no other woman in the world for him. Only Hermione…
He saw Viola glance down at his hand holding Hermione's and her smile froze for a fleeting second before she met his eyes. "Hi, Harry. It's good to see you again." She glanced at Hermione and the Weasleys. "Hello."
They murmured greetings, glancing between him, Hermione and Viola. He inwardly grimaced, wishing Viola hadn't seen him and decided to come say hello. He hadn't seen her in more than six months since they'd broken off their relationship but to see her for the first time since then in front of Hermione, only days after beginning their new relationship, made for a decidedly awkward situation.
He forced himself to grin. "Looking forward to the game?"
"Oh, definitely. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Quidditch for years; I wouldn't miss it."
"Are you supporting the Cannons?" Ron asked at this point, sparing Harry the need to respond and Harry couldn't help but smile at Ron asking this, reminded for a moment of Ron confronting Cho for her support of the Tornadoes.
Viola laughed. "Yes. It's about time they win the Cup again. For this match, I think everyone who's not a die-hard Kestrels fan is a Cannons fan since they all know how long it's been."
The tension lessened by a miniscule amount as everyone relaxed a fraction at this answer. (Harry shuddered to think of what Ron's response would have been had Viola answered otherwise, especially at this particular game.)
Viola turned back to Harry. "Anyway, I saw you sitting over here and thought I'd drop by to say hello, since it's been a while. Take care, Harry." She turned to go, paused, seemed to consider for a moment, and then turned back to face him again. Her smile seemed quite genuine as she added, "I'm glad to see you finally realized how you felt about Hermione." She turned to Hermione. "He used to talk about you all the time."
He sensed the Weasleys' amusement at this and was annoyed to feel heat creep into his cheeks. Great Merlin, he was blushing! So he'd been a blind idiot not to realize his feelings for Hermione before now; did everybody including his former girlfriend need to remind him of it?
Hermione's smile this time was genuine. "Did he, really?" Her tone was amused now.
"Oh he did. I always suspected it and he only confirmed it with the way he talked about you." She turned to leave again, saying, "I'd better get back to my friends. Enjoy the game."
"We will, thanks. Bye, Viola," he said lightly, deciding he'd never been so glad to see anyone's back in his life.
He turned back to Hermione, meeting her amused gaze, and shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. "I haven't seen Viola in more than six months. It was interesting to see her again."
Her smile grew into a grin. "I'm sure. She is very pretty, isn't she?"
He shrugged again. "I've seen prettier." He squeezed her hand and gave her a meaningful look.
She understood, colored and laughed slightly, shaking her head. "You need your eyesight checked." She spoke lightly but her eyes softened, telling him silently, thank you, and that she trusted him, knew she had nothing to fear from Viola or anyone else.
He returned her smile with a look, his gaze lowering to her lips and lingering there in the visual kiss he couldn't give her here, in public as they were.
"If you two would stop making me sick…" Ron's dry voice interrupted and they both turned, startled, to see Luna nudge Ron with her elbow and Ginny do the same on the other side, with a hissed whisper, "Ron!"
He looked unrepentant, only smirked at Harry. "Come on, you two, the game's about to start."
They grinned at him and returned their attention to the pitch where the Kestrels leprechaun mascots were beginning a lively jig, ending the display with their usual shower of leprechaun gold Galleons into the stands.
Then all thought of gold vanished from the minds of everyone in the stands as the Kestrels zoomed out onto the pitch as the announcer called their names. "Ahern… Malloy… Mackenzie… Tooley… Gunerman… Boyd… and Peter O'Neill!" The Seeker was the last, as always, announced to a positively deafening roar of cheers from the Kestrels fans and some of the Cannons fans as well, all of whom remembered perfectly well his brilliant maneuver that had won the last match for the Kestrels. Ron appeared to have forgotten his admiration for O'Neill after that last match and was glowering at O'Neill as if he saw in him the embodiment of the Cannons' doom.
Then there was an explosion of sound from the entire stadium as the Cannons made their entrance. "Leonard… Helsen… Halley… Vincent… Parker… Reynolds… and Matthew Farrell!" Hermione winced slightly at the crescendo of the cheers that ensued when George Helsen, the star Chaser who was considered by many to be the reason the Cannons were even playing in the League Championship game this year and the best hope for the Cannons winning the Cup, flew out onto the pitch. And inwardly sighed. This was already shaping up to be a headache-inducing afternoon…
But then perhaps not. After all, this was the first major public event she and Harry were attending together.
A temptation to try a sudden thought grew inside her and she decided she'd try it. If nothing else it would serve as a diversion for her during this game.
She looked down at her hand, still holding Harry's, resting on his knee, before glancing at him. His attention was on the pitch, as she'd expected.
She moved her thumb in a lazy caress of his palm, wondering if he'd react or do anything. He didn't. He only relaxed his hand slightly, allowing her better access. Deliberately, she traced her finger from the point where his fingers met his palm to the tip of each finger and then down again, before continuing her aimless and yet purposeful caress.
Harry shifted in his seat, giving up the attempt to pay any attention to what was going on on the pitch. He couldn't believe this. She was touching his hand, for Merlin's sake, only his hand, and he was already as hard as a rock. But the touch of her fingers on his palm seemed to be sending bolts of sensation straight to his groin and making him think, inescapably, of what her clever hands would feel like on other parts of his body… He grimaced, crossing his legs, thanking Merlin that he was wearing wizarding robes, not daring to look at her as he did so. He could sense the amused smile on her face and knew if he saw it, he would give in to his impulse and simply Apparate them both back to his bedroom, the one place he really wanted to be right now. To heck with Quidditch, the entire Quidditch League, the Cup, the Cannons, everything.
Some part of his mind that was still thinking clearly and not completely focused on the feeling of Hermione's finger on his sensitized palm, smirked in detached amusement at his blithe dismissal of his favorite sport and this event he'd been looking forward to for weeks now. And all because of Hermione. Hermione and her evil, wonderful, torturous, delightful finger tracing his hand…
Her finger paused in its path and then began again, tracing two parallel lines then another one, perpendicular to them, followed by one line and then a curve, followed by a very circular line… He glanced down at his hand, to see her repeat the pattern.
H J G
Her initials. He smiled, the desire raging through his body momentarily (very momentarily) forgotten in a wave of tenderness and sheer happiness. She'd traced her initials on his palm… And somehow he felt as if he'd been marked in some visible way, as if she'd branded him as being hers. As if there were suddenly a sign on his chest declaring to all around him, Property of Hermione Jane Granger. Because he was. He belonged to her, just as she belonged to him. And he wouldn't have it any other way.
After all, the Quidditch League Cup came and went every two to three years. It was a game, its victories and losses transient joys and sorrows for fans. How could it- how could anything compare to the simple, lasting happiness of just being here, with the people he cared about most in the world, hand in hand with his Hermione? No matter whether the Cannons won or lost…
Harry was startled out of his unusually sentimental thoughts with a noise that sounded much like he imagined a nuclear bomb exploding would sound, shouts, whistles, yells, the popping sound of (illegal but still occasionally used) wizarding fireworks being set off suddenly bursting out from everyone. Huh- what?
His gaze was drawn sharply to Ron who was jumping up and down in the box yelling like a madman, and just managed to decipher in all the incoherence and deafening din, what he was screaming. "He caught it! He caught it! We won! We won! Ha! We won!"
And saw the Cannons swarming around Matthew Farrell, their Seeker, who was staring at the struggling Snitch in his hand with comical amazement before he was drowned out of sight under the mass of his team-mates, all wild with exhilaration.
He felt himself grin, a cheer automatically coming from his own throat. The Cannons had finally won the League Cup!
Beside him, he heard Hermione laugh, exclaiming, "First time since 1892! That's incredible!" And then felt Ron pulling both him and Hermione in for an exuberant, celebratory hug, heard Ron's voice yelling, "We won! We won!" in his ear, and had to laugh. He couldn't deny the excitement he felt; it was contagious from everyone around him, especially Ron who looked as if he'd temporarily gone mad (which he supposed, Ron had). Even Mr. Weasley had forgotten the dignity of his years and was cheering as loudly as anyone.
And amid all the jubilance, he had a sudden memory of himself telling Lilah, when she'd accused him of caring more for Hermione than he did for her, that the likelihood of the Cannons winning the League Cup was higher than his feeling anything like lust for Hermione. ("She's my best friend; I've known her since forever, practically," he'd protested-stupidly, he thought now.) He had to laugh at his own blind stupidity, tightening his arm around Hermione's shoulders. The laugh was really on him now. The Cannons had won. And he definitely lusted after Hermione, lusted for her, loved her, was in love with her.
Looking at Hermione's laughing face, seeing the happiness in her eyes and smile-if that was what came from being wrong, he'd gladly be wrong any day, he decided. Their eyes met and for a moment, all the noise of celebration around them faded into a vague buzzing. Oh, he loved her and even if he made mistakes every day for the rest of his life, it wouldn't matter as long as she was happy. That was all he needed to make him happy; she was all he needed.
Happiness- the happiness of loving and being loved- was really all that mattered…
~The End~