the art of french toast

6.

February 10, 2001

Hermione was a nervous wreck. She had owled Harry the same day he'd barged in on her and Malfoy, wanting to explain herself as soon as possible, but it had taken a couple of weeks for him to be free from work. Now she was standing in front of a muggle café trying to get the nerve to go inside.

"Come on Hermione, it's just Harry," she whispered to herself. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and opened the door. A bell sounded and familiar green eyes snapped to hers from a little table in the far corner. Hermione cleared her throat as Harry pushed back his chair and stood, waiting for her.

Hermione knew she was being irrational. This was Harry. Her best friend of ten years, Harry. The man she spent nine months in a tent with.

Feeling silly, she rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly with no intent to let him go. She could smell his cologne, the same one he'd been using for years, the one Hermione had gifted him on his thirteenth birthday. She noticed he had gotten her coffee, and tears stung her eyes.

"How are you?" Harry asked when they sat down, his hands in his lap and a concerned look on his face. Something about that concern didn't sit right with Hermione.

"I'm alright, how are you?" He blew a harsh breath out of his nose and ran his hand through his already unruly hair.

"Good. I'm good..." Silence settled over the table.

"So," they both say at the same time. Hermione laughs lightly and looks at her friend; her brother.

"I said I would explain, so...Kingsley asked me to watch Malfoy during his sentencing. I saw no reason to decline." Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"Besides the fact that he's hated the three of us for years and said awful things—slurs actually—to you?" Hermione sighed, knowing this wouldn't be easy.

"Harry we were children, and you know he stopped bothering me in fourth year."

"Yes, because he was preparing to help Voldemort!"

"He didn't have a choice!"

"We all have a choice, Hermione! Everyone chooses how their life plays out!" He shouted.

"Your parents didn't. You didn't." Harry's face twisted into something ugly.

"Fuck you for that." There weren't many people in the café, but the barista was giving them a worried look. Harry flushed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before leaning in closer. "If this is about your little crush on him, just be honest with me, yeah?"

"What are you–"

"Don't think I don't know, it was pretty obvious with the way you were always staring at him." Hermione's blood boiled.

"I could say the same for you!" Harry scoffed and crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. "No, this isn't about my feelings for Draco. This was a favor for a dear friend who needed my help and trusted me with this responsibility. You are acting like a child. I cannot believe you're angry about this!"

After everything they'd been through together. All the late nights, all the fighting, and this is what he couldn't handle?

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised you still have feelings for him. Seeing as I found you in his bed!"

"And who gives a shit, Harry? Why do you care so much who I keep company with?! Honestly, how dare you? I've never asked you for a single thing; I've helped you through anything you needed. Every. Single. Time. I was there for you after Ginny. I was there for you whenever you needed a babysitter for James. I was there. Why can't you just understand this once?"