*

They had known each other for seven years, but in the end it only took seven weeks for them to finally realise what had been going on since a September day a long time ago.

*

Week One

"I swear, it's taken us a week to move all of Hermione's stuff," moaned Ron, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. "How do the Muggles do it without magic?"

"With great difficulty," joked Harry. In truth, he had no idea how Muggles managed to move house- it wasn't an element of that world he had any experience with.

The difference between Harry and Hermione was easy to see when moving into their new house deep in leafy Hertfordshire. Where it had taken Harry a full hour to pack up everything he had at his flat in Clerkenwell, it had taken Hermione a week to sort all her belongings out at her parents' house and have them all brought to the new house.

The house had been part of Hermione's theory as to 'civilising' her boys. It had been put into action after she arrived at Ron and Harry's to find three weeks' worth of washing up, not a single clean sock in the house and the two boys sat watching television, Harry explaining Eastenders and Coronation Street to Ron.

Suitably appalled, Hermione had suggested the three of them move into a house together, where she could keep an eye on them and they could look out for her. All was well, and they found the perfect house in Hertfordshire. Although it wasn't really far from civilisation, it was secluded enough for magical folks like them to live an openly magical life at home. There were woods, and enough land for them to play Quidditch without being seen. Everything was perfect.

And then, Ron met a girl called Alexandria on a Monday, fell in love with her by Thursday and to cut a long story short, they were married by the Saturday and had had moved into her flat in Newcastle-upon-Tyne by the next Monday. Which was very nice for him, but not so much for Harry and Hermione, who both privately imagined life living together alone would be quite awkward at times.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione came running into the room through the patio door. "You should see the stream! It's so pretty! There are ducks!"

Harry and Ron exchanged an amused look. They hadn't seen Hermione this excited since before the war started- not even when the war ended. They moved her largest bookcase into place in the living room and then watched as she moved hundreds of books onto the shelves with a flick of her wand.

"What would you like for tea?" she asked. "My treat tonight."

"Chinese," the two boys replied in unison.

*

Week Two

Hermione half-dragged her tired self into the house. Work was hard at the moment, and she was still working to get her new home just as she wanted it. She'd planned to finally arrange everything in her study the way she wanted it, but she felt much too tired to do anything beyond eating dinner and curling up in bed.

"Hermione?" Harry poked his head around the kitchen door. "You're so late!"

"Work is hell," she said with a yawn. "I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten since eleven."

"So you won't want this then?" he asked, coming out of the kitchen with two bowls of steaming hot pasta. Hermione looked at him as if he were the second coming.

"I love you!" she squealed, grabbing one of the bowls and collapsing onto the sofa in front of the television. Harry watched with a smile as Hermione began scarfing it down.

"You know, it is allowed to touch the sides and you are allowed to chew," he told her, sitting down beside her.

"I'm far too hungry," she said, punctuating it with a yawn.

"Are you really run that ragged at work?"

"Unlike some people, I don't spend an hour a day poncing about on a broom."

"I don't ponce about," he said sniffily. "And if you don't like your job, can I suggest the radical idea of leaving?"

"I can't leave," she said, yawning again. "I don't have enough experience for what I really want to do yet. It takes time."

Harry slung an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders.

"It won't last forever," he told her. She grinned.

"That's what I've been telling myself all day."

*

Week Three

"Close your eyes!" Hermione shrieked. Harry had barely opened the front door an inch when she yelled, and he obediently closed his eyes.

"Now you can come in," she told him. Feeling his way into the house, he made it inside. Hermione grabbed his hand and he allowed her to drag him into the centre of the room.

"Open them."

Harry did. Hermione had finally put the finishing touches to the living room. The squishy red sofas they had bought were facing each other, while one wall was taken up with books. In the alcove under the stairs, the teak desk he'd bought her as a present was already piled up with papers.

Of the three walls, one was taken up by bookshelves, and he noticed immediately that an entire shelf had been given over to his growing library of Quidditch books. The other three walls were almost literally covered in photographs. Hung above the fire was a large portrait of himself, Hermione and Ron. On one side was a stationary picture of her parents, on the other side a magical picture of his.

"Hermione-"

"Do you like it?" she asked, biting her lip anxiously. He grinned.

"It's brilliant. How did you get it all done while I was at Cannons Park?"

"Magic, idiot. I took the day off. I've been planning this for ages! Do you really like it?"

"I really, really love it."

*

Week Four

"Hermione? Hermione? Are you here?" Harry closed the front door, threw his bag onto the sofa and began looking around for his friend. She was usually to be found somewhere at home on a Saturday night- she didn't feel the need to go out all the time. He liked that about her. Ron was the sort to always go out on a Saturday because it was a typical thing to do. Hermione didn't need to.

"Hermione?" he called again, padding up the stairs. The light was on in her study, and he knocked on the door. "Hermione?"

"Mhmmehm?"

Taking this as an invitation, he went inside. Hermione was sat on the windowsill, of all places, a large book in her lap. There were empty bottles of water and juice scattered around the room, and even more empty chocolate wrappers. If her hair had been brushed at all in the last week, it didn't look like it. She was still in her pyjamas and was wearing a big pair of fuzzy blue socks.

He was fairly sure that this was where he'd left her the night before, in the same clothes, but with much less rubbish.

"Have you… Have you left this room at all today?"

"What is today?" she asked, turning the page. She was quite clearly paying him only the slightest attention.

"Saturday."

"Oh. Well then, no."

"How long does it take to read one book?"

"Not very long. This is the fourth in the series."

"How long is the series?"

"Seven."

"And… have you stopped reading at all, today?" he asked.

"Yes. Well, I went to the toilet a couple of times."

"So… is the book any good?" he asked with a smirk.

"Excellent."

"Want to tell me what it's about?"

"You can read it yourself when I'm done."

"I'll think about it. Do you want some dinner or do you want me to hook you up to one of those things…"

"An IV? No, I'm fine. I'm just going to read to the end of this chapter."

"How many times have you told yourself that today?"

"Twenty two."

Harry now crossed the room so that he was stood beside her. He wrenched the book out of her hands and tossed it away.

"HARRY!" she screamed. "What are you doing?"

He picked her up off the sill and started to walk out of the room with her in his arms.

"It's for your own good."

Although she screeched and screamed all the way downstairs, she didn't try too hard to get away from him.

*

Week Five

"Are you ready to leave yet?" Harry called up the stairs. "It was time to leave five minutes ago!"

Tonight was the first anniversary of the end of the war, and Magical Britain was determined to celebrate on a large scale. However, Hermione still wasn't ready yet. Harry had been ready to go for about half an hour, although he had made an effort- shiny new dress robes, hair wrestled into some sort of style.

"I'm almost done, Harry!" she shouted down from her room. "Do be patient!"

"Hermione, I gave up being patient two weeks ago when I started waiting."

"Oh, shut up!"

He heard her bedroom door open and then footsteps on the landing. Then on the stairs. Then Hermione emerged into the living room and almost took his breath away.

"I'm ready," she told him with a smile. Harry did not answer. More specifically, Harry could not answer. He had seen her wear this particular robe several times before- Hermione did not have the funds to get new dress robes, even for this event and had refused to let him buy some for her. Something about the way she looked was different. Was it her hair, in a neat plait? Was it the earrings she was wearing or the bracelet around her wrist?

"Aren't you coming, Harry?" she asked from the front door. He shook his head slightly.

"Yeah. I'm ready. Let's go."

***

Four and a half hours later, they arrived home after one of the most entertaining Ministry events they'd ever been to. Everyone there had been absolutely determined to celebrate rather than mourn, and it had been great fun.

Especially for Hermione, who had been in such high demand that once on the dance floor had not left it. Ron had calculated that every wizard there had danced with her. Except Harry, who had not had the bottle to walk up to her and ask to dance. He knew perfectly well that she wouldn't say no or laugh at him. In fact, he knew perfectly well that Hermione could've been dancing with Wayne Croonie, the year's big Quidditch star, and she would've dropped him within a second for Harry.

Of course, he hadn't wanted to ask just in case. He hadn't wanted to ask because under fairy lights with a live band, the romance of the evening might have caught him up and made him do something he'd live to regret.

"Did you have a good time, Harry?" Hermione asked, twirling around the front room.

"Mawh-vellous," he said in imitation of some of the society witches he'd had to put up with earlier. Hermione giggled.

"I'm glad! I was sure you'd find it very boring."

"Oh, it was boring too. Do you know what the threshold of boredom is for 'Harry, we owe you so much!' and 'You really do have your mother's eyes' and 'Harry Potter, it's an honour to meet you!'"

Hermione stopped twirling for a moment and looked at him.

"Hey!" she shouted rather loudly. He looked up at her.

"What?"

"You owe me a dance, Potter!"

"Eh?"

"I danced with everyone this evening! My feet are killing me, but not once did you come and ask me to dance. I danced with Remus, six Weasleys, Neville, and even Snape!"

"You didn't dance with Ron."

"Yes I did," she said. "You may not have noticed. It was a very short dance. Poor widdle Ronnie couldn't bear to be away from Lexi for more than a minute and a half."

Hermione giggled again and twirled over to the stereo. After fiddling for a minute, some music that he didn't recognise came on.

"What is this? Muggle, is it? I don't recognise it."

"It's called 'Sway', Harry. It's by a man called Dean Martin."

"Is he new?"

Hermione didn't giggle so much as laugh out loud.

"No Harry. I was introduced to him by my grandmother."

"Oh."

"Now, stop stalling Potter. You owe me a dance and you're not going anywhere until I get it."

He smiled at her and allowed her to drag him into the middle of the room.

"What's got into you?" he asked. She giggled.

"The romance of the evening, dwarling!" she said, also in imitation of the society witches. They danced in silence, closer than they imagined themselves to be. Then the song ended- too quickly for Harry's taste. They moved apart and paused to catch the breath they hadn't realised they needed.

Hermione smiled at him- a bright, almost blinding smile- then kissed him on the cheek.

"Good night, Harry!" she said before twirling away up the stairs.

*

Week Six

Harry had spent his Saturday at practice. Although his coach didn't usually demand the teamwork on non-match Saturdays, the Tornadoes game against the Magpies was coming up and everyone was nervous about taking on the team from Montrose. He'd much rather have spent the day with Hermione at home, but some things, he knew, couldn't be helped.

The sun was still quite high in the sky when he returned home, legs aching from hours on a broom. He walked around the house to the garden, expecting to find her sat outside in the sun, reading a book. They'd planned to take advantage of the good summer weather to have a barbecue, but although some of it had been set up already, she was not there.

"Hermione?" he called, expecting now to find her in the kitchen. He went in through the open kitchen door, but still could not see or hear her. "Hermione? I'm home!"

The idea that this was his home with her had always caused his heart to warm a little, but now he was rather concerned as to where she might be. A half-finished glass of water stood on the kitchen worktop next to the phone. Forcing himself to remain calm, he went up the stairs.

He could hear sniffling or something now. He knocked quietly on her bedroom door, but received no reply. Deciding her welfare was more important than her privacy, he went inside anyway.

Hermione was curled up on her bed, a crumpled, soggy tissue in her hands. She had her television on, and although he didn't know what she was watching, he identified it as one of those films that requires its audience to have a great deal of oestrogen.

"Oh Hermione! What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said with a sniff. Harry sat down on her bed and stroked her hair.

"It's not nothing. Please tell me what's wrong."

"It's silly. You'll laugh at me."

"No I won't. What's going on?"

"My mum phoned earlier."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. It's really quite good, actually."

"So why are you upset?" he asked, pulling her up enough to hug her closely.

"It really is very silly-"

"Tell me anyway."

"My cousin Maria is getting married."

"That's good news, isn't it?" he asked, confused as to why such news would cause Hermione this sort of grief.

"Yes. But no!" she said, beginning to cry a little again. "You don't understand!"

"Not at the moment, I don't. Of course, if you tell me, I have a better chance."

Hermione moved away from him just far enough to really look at him.

"My cousin Maria and I are the same age," she told him. "And, well, I've always been the first to do things."

"And you feel bad because she's the first to get married?" he asked, trying to sound sympathetic, but finding it curiously amusing just the same. He'd never imagined Hermione to be one to care about this sort of thing. It was curiously female and he'd never thought her to really be bothered about female things.

"Well... I don't know... You see, Maria is the sort of girl even less likely to get married and settle down than I am. If she's getting married... then why haven't I even got a boyfriend? Am I that-"

"If you say undesirable, I'll hex you until next Thursday," Harry told her. She smiled slightly.

"You're very sweet Harry, but the statistics speak for themselves. How many girls our age do you know that can boast only one date ever?"

"It was with a Quidditch star, Hermione," he reminded her with a grin.

"Still... I don't know why I care today. I don't normally. But Maria! Of all people. And my mum sounded disappointed, as if she wants me to be like Maria. It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair," he told her quietly. "But if that's your greatest worry in the world, I should count yourself lucky."

"I do. I'm dreadfully lucky to be a witch with a job I like well enough, a beautiful house like this that I get to share with my best friend. But sometimes I'm lonely, all right?" Hermione jumped up onto her feet. "There! I admit it! I'm lonely sometimes!"

"Everyone feels like that from time to time," he said after a moment. She might've been his friend for many years now, but he had no idea what to say to her in this most vulnerable of girlish states. After all, the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel worse.

"I bet Ron doesn't," she sniped. Harry sighed.

"Is this about Ron as well?"

"Only to a point," she admitted, going to look out of the window. "It's not about Ron himself, but what he has. I mean, doesn't it feel odd to you that he's married and domesticated, and we're... well, we might as well still be at school!"

"Hermione, your destiny is not the same as Ron's. Do you really want to be domesticated? You're not a cat."

"Funny."

"Hermione, you're not twenty years old yet. I know witches seem to get married pretty young, but you know that in the Muggle world your cousin is the exception not the rule."

"I know," she said with a heavy sigh, now turning back to him from the window. "I know."

Hermione wiped her eyes and smiled brightly.

"I'm over it," she declared. Harry blinked with surprise.

"That easily?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yes. For the time being."

He hugged her tightly and kissed her hair softly.

"Good."

*

Week Seven

"I want to move out," she said quietly. Harry's jaw opened and fell with a bang to the floor.

"What? Why? Did I do something-"

"No, it's not that. I just... It doesn't matter, all right? I just... I don't think the two of us like this is really the best environment to live in."

"Why not? It's worked for six weeks!"

"Has it?" she asked. "For the last six weeks all I've had to listen to at work or on Diagon Alley is gossip about us! I'm sick of it!"

"You're moving out of the house you spent weeks perfecting because of gossip?" he asked, absolutely incredulous.

"No."

"Then, for the love of God, why?"

"I just... It really doesn't matter."

"It's all right," he said in a cold voice. "But you don't have to leave. I'll leave."

"But-"

"You're the one who put such effort into the house. I'll go."

"Please Harry, you don't understand."

"You say that to me a lot," he replied in that same cold voice. "Do you think I'm particularly stupid to not understand things?"

"No, you're twisting my words! It's not- I can't explain it."

"Is it still the thing about your cousin?"

"No."

"What is it then? If you tell me, I can try to understand!" he said, now pacing up and down the room.

"You're making me dizzy!" shouted a version of himself from a photograph on the wall.

"Sod off," he told the photograph. "Hermione, this has been the best six weeks ever."

"Seven weeks."

"Seven, then. It really has! I was worried it would seem weird without Ron, but it doesn't. Different, but not weird. Haven't you noticed we already have a routine? You cook dinner on Mondays, Tuesdays and Sundays. I do it Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and we eat out or have pizza delivered on a Saturday. On Sunday mornings after you've read the Sunday Prophet, we clean the house. Of a morning I always make sure you've had a proper breakfast so you don't collapse by the afternoon. While I'm exhausted in bed after Quidditch practice, you're washing my robes before I even get the chance. We even take turns with the remote control. Bloody Hell, Hermione, what's so wrong with all that?"

"Nothing!" she shouted. He sighed.

"So why do you want to leave it?"

"I- You wouldn't-"

"Understand. Yes, I know." Harry glared at her and then stomped off up the stairs. As he slammed his bedroom door shut, the faint sound of Hermione crying reached his ears.

***

He managed to wait a whole five minutes before going down to her. Although she was still crying, she'd made an attempt to stop before he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Please tell me what's wrong," he murmured to her, wrapping his arms around her as he always did on the rare occasions Hermione cried.

"You wouldn't understand!"

"I get that. Tell me anyway."

"It's not really about the gossip," she said, punctuating it with a sniff. "It's, well, it's that it's only gossip."

"As opposed to-" he stopped abruptly. What was that meant to mean? "Hermione?"

"I didn't mean it like that," she said hurriedly, pulling away from him. Her cheeks were flushed unusually red and she was looking anywhere but at him.

"Hermione, tell me now," he commanded in the same voice he'd used to order troops around during the war. She wasn't accustomed to it and so obeyed it easily.

"I'm in love with you, idiot boy," she said with the slightest of hiccups. "And I have been for a very long time."

"Oh."

"Is that all you can say?" she asked, in a hurt sort of voice. "Oh?"

"Well."

"Two words, excellent. I pour my heart out to you and I get 'Oh well'," she said sarcastically.

"I..."

"Three words."

"Hermione-"

"Four words. Don't I rate an entire sentence?"

"You're an idiot, Hermione."

"Thank you. Not quite what I was hoping for."

"How long have you been in love with me?" he asked, feeling that it sounded like a very stupid thing to say, but having nothing else that would come out.

"A very long time," she said, not looking at him.

"How long?"

"Well, I'll give you a clue..." she said. "I confided in Sirius about it."

"Sirius," he asked, his jaw hitting the floor again. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the mention of his long-dead godfather or that she had been in love with him since then. "That long?"

"Yes. And no, I'm not in the least bit surprised you didn't notice."

"Oh."

"Are we really back to that?"

"Well..."

Hermione made an exasperated sort of noise.

"No, I mean..." he stuttered. "It's just that, well, I confided in Sirius too."

"About what?"

"The same thing."

For a long, heavy sort of a moment, they thought about the implications of this. It seemed Sirius had taken more than just a chance for Harry to have a home to his grave.

"You love me?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes."

"Since the Fifth year?"

"Possibly before. But I don't think you can know what love is when you're fifteen."

"And 'almost twenty' is much better?"

"Yes," he said with a grin. She reached out and took his hand. He pulled her to him and planted a single, soft kiss on her forehead. She tilted her head up and the second time, he caught her lips instead.

For the longest of moments, they did not move. For the longest of moments, they contemplated the meaning of this particular conversation and where it had led.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Are you still going to move out?"

"Not a chance. By the way, next time you have something important to say, don't wait four years."

"Seven weeks," he amended. "That's how quickly I really fell in love with you."

"Seven weeks, hmm? Well, if you're going on that time scale, I only took five weeks. I win."

"Do you really?" he asked, twisting around on the sofa so that she was now more beneath than above him. He began trailing a line of kisses across her face and down her neck.

"Apparently not," she said with a slight giggle, finding it very hard to breathe. "Seven weeks it is, then."

The End.