Unlike a Sister (Harmione)

Chapter 37: Altair

When Harry turned the shopping trolley down Aisle 17, he found Hermione studying an assortment of chocolates and sweets like they were Professor McGonagall's instructions on a blackboard.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She jumped, then kissed his cheek.

"What do you get a medieval coven of witches that saves your life?"

He chuckled. "Cadbury Eggs."

"Hmm," she said, leaning into him. "We're past Easter."

"Jelly Babies, then," he said, chin resting on her shoulder. "Didn't you bring enough from Diagon Alley?"

"Yes, but there's no telling what they'll like."

"They live on a windswept island and eat puffins. They're going to love whatever you bring."

She laughed and if Harry could've bottled that sound, he would have.

"We'll get the lot, then," she said, slipping free and scooping up family-sized packs of Jelly Babies, Wine Gums, and Curly Wurlys.

She deposited them in the trolley next to the wine and snacks (sunflower seeds for him, yogurt pretzels for her) and they moved to check-out. Passing the little self-service machines that seemed so popular these days (but that didn't like cash), Harry found a human cashier and paid.

Outside, he waited while she returned the trolley. His car was parked in the distance. Almost without conscious thought, they had decided to drive to Scotland rather than apparate and had stopped at a Tesco on the outskirts of London to pick up provisions for the seven-hour drive.

Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, Hermione walked back to him. She wore blue jeans and one of her dad's charity run tees from the '90s. It showed a smiling cartoon tooth wearing a red sweatband and trainers beneath the words: Dentists Against Diabetes. Her curls were pulled into a messy ponytail.

"Ready?" she said, holding out her hand for one of the bags.

"I got it."

They walked across the massive carpark, an impossibility in London. As the Audi drew near, Harry glanced at her. Then, he shifted the bags to one hand and took her hand in his.

She started and looked down, her cheeks going violently pink. For those twenty metres before they reached the car, a strange current passed between them and Harry felt like he'd swallowed a bowl of Fizzing Whizbees.

He loaded the boot, placing the candies and wine next to a box full of books from Flourish and Blotts and jokes from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He got into the driver's side and she entered the address in the satnav. As he pulled back onto the A1, she rifled through his collection of CDs. Three years ago, the man at the dealership had laughed for thirty seconds straight when Harry said he wanted a car that could play CDs. They had to put in a special order.

Still, when she slid the disc into the console, he jumped when he heard the scratchy vocals and compressed drums of one of his favorite bands after the war.

"What made you pick this one?" he said, not a little nervously.

She shrugged, opening her bag of pretzels. "I remember liking them. I brought some audiobooks, if you'd rather-?"

"No, it's fine," he said quickly.

When the eighth track came on-the one they had danced to eighteen years ago in a darkened club when they were both high on a ridiculous combination of Muggle and magical substances-he watched her from the corner of his eye. But she merely looked out the window, occasionally pointing out an amusing hoarding sign.