"Not forest green like hers, but chocolate brown like hers"

Chapter 7

Harry strolled through the Hogwarts corridors, his mind caught between surprise and suspicion. He had just realized that his father had actually listened to him. However, given his father's notorious penchant for doing whatever he pleased, suspicion gnawed at the edges of Harry's surprise. It was a trait that his Uncles Pads and Moony had made sure to highlight – his father's inability to be calm, particularly when it concerned his mother.

One defining characteristic of James Potter was his relentless pursuit of Hermione Granger during their school years. His uncles had hinted at his father's possessiveness and jealousy, especially when it came to matters involving Harry's mother. So, it struck him as rather odd when he observed his father's lack of reaction to the boys who dared to approach his best friend.

Harry couldn't deny that he didn't appreciate seeing those boys encroach upon Hermione's space. In his eyes, Hermione was an indomitable force – bright, brave, and possessing a colossal heart. She had a penchant for throwing hexes that could be downright formidable if she was angered. There was an undeniable golden quality about her, and Harry couldn't fathom how some guys failed to notice it.

As he made his way to the Hogwarts library, his steps purposeful, he spotted Hermione engaged in conversation with a Ravenclaw boy. She was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, with the boy standing too close for his comfort. "Harry," she greeted with joy upon seeing him, momentarily forgetting the presence of the boy. Harry, however, offered no response. Instead, he fixed the boy with a raised eyebrow and a steely gaze, causing the Ravenclaw to retreat awkwardly, leaving Hermione alone.

"Really, Haz?" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. But Harry didn't say anything; he just grinned cheekily. "I don't know what's happening this term, but guys seem terrified just because they think you're the Chosen One—"

"Oh, but I am the Chosen One." He interrupted with a playful self-satisfied smile. He then sauntered over to a nearby chair, nonchalantly propping his feet up on the table. "They know better than to mess with me... or you ."

"Feet, Haz. Put them down," Hermione chided, her tone gentle, but with a hint of amusement. He promptly obeyed, removing his feet from the table, looking like a child caught in the act. A fleeting thought crossed his mind – was this what his life might have been like if he had grown up with his parents in Potter Manor? 'Of course it would' and a soft smile graced Harry's features.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The sound of Hermione's voice brought him back to the present, and he looked into her concerned chocolate eyes, mirrors of his own. Concern etched her features as she observed him.Her words were like a lifeline, and Harry instinctively took her hand, fingers intertwining as he absently traced comforting circles on her palm.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice soft, "I feel like we haven't talked in days."

A small, sad smile curved her lips as she reached out to brush away a strand of his unruly hair that fell onto his forehead. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"Have I ever told you how important you are to me? How much you mean to me?" He looked at her intensely, his voice earnest and vulnerable. "I know that many times it's difficult for me to express what I feel, but I want you to know that you are one of the most important women in my life. You are the most selfless person I know. Ever since we met six years ago, you are always worrying about me. Always worrying about keeping me alive-"

"That's because you have zero regard for your own safety," she interjected, a watery laugh escaping her lips. "Someone has to worry about you. If there's anyone who has to get out of this war alive, it's you. You deserve to be happy. After everything you've been through, you deserve your happy ending."