Work Text:
July 31, 1996
Harry lay in his bed in the dark of the smallest bedroom of Number 4, sheets clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he listened to the Dursleys laugh at the television downstairs.
Today was his sixteenth birthday, not that there had been any mention of it at all. Just another day trapped at Privet Drive while Vernon shouted about the electricity bill and Petunia complained about the heat.
Harry stared at the ceiling growing more restless by the second. Normal teenagers didn’t live like this.
Normal teenagers did stupid things. Reckless things. They snuck out, got drunk, stole cars because they were angry and sixteen and wanted to feel alive for five minutes.
The thought hit him so hard he sat upright.
Ten minutes later he was crouched beside Vernon’s company Vauxhall in the dark driveway, staring through the window at the keys dangling from the ignition.
Vernon had forgotten them.
For one second Harry just stood there, heart hammering.
This was completely insane.
Then he heard another burst of laughter through the window.
Before he could lose his nerve, Harry yanked open the door and slid into the driver’s seat. The leather burned his legs from the heat trapped inside the car all day.
He turned the key.
“Right,” he muttered. “How hard can this be?”
Very hard, apparently.
The car lurched violently as Harry jammed it into gear. He nearly clipped Petunia’s rose bushes backing out of the driveway and stalled twice turning onto the street.
But then Privet Drive faded away behind him.
Warm summer wind rushed through the open windows. Streetlights flashed across the windshield. Harry’s pulse raced with adrenaline.
He was stealing Vernon’s car.
He was sixteen years old and running away from home.
There was only one place he wanted to go.
Harry killed the engine beneath a streetlamp two roads over from Hermione’s house and sat there gripping the steering wheel.
He’d actually done it.
Stolen Vernon’s car. Driven across half of Surrey. Run away from home.
For a moment, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.
Then reality sank in.
Harry glanced toward the neat row of houses ahead and groaned quietly. “This is mental.”
Still, he climbed out.
The night air was like a warm blanket. Crickets chirped somewhere nearby as Harry scooped a handful of gravel from the side of the road and moved beneath Hermione’s window.
The first pebble tapped softly against the glass.
Nothing happened.
The second hit harder.
A light flicked on immediately.
Harry jumped back as Hermione appeared at the window wearing a loose t-shirt and pajama shorts, her curls fanning out wildly around her shoulders.
She squinted down at him before her eyes adjusted to the dark, widening with alarm. “Harry!?”
He waved awkwardly.
Hermione shoved the window open. “What are you doing here?”
“I ran away.”
She blinked once. “In your uncle’s car?”
“…possibly.”
To Harry’s surprise, Hermione laughed. A warm laugh that made his heart twist in his chest.
Then she leaned out farther, resting her elbows in the windowsill and smiled down at him.
“Happy birthday, Harry.”
Nobody else had said it all day.
Something in Harry’s expression must have changed because Hermione’s face softened instantly.
“Wait there,” she said.
Five minutes later she slipped out the front door carrying sandals in one hand.
“You’re unbelievable,” she informed him while climbing into the passenger seat. “Completely reckless. Probably criminal.”
Harry grinned despite himself. “I think stealing a car qualifies as criminal, yes.”
Harry pulled back onto the road with slightly more confidence than before. Hermione rolled down the window, letting the warm wind whip through her hair as they drove through quiet summer streets beneath the glow of the streetlights.
Eventually they left the neighborhoods behind entirely.
Harry turned onto a narrow country road lined with dark fields until he spotted a gravel overlook above a shallow valley.
“Here.”
Harry parked beside a rickety fence and shut off the engine. Below them, scattered town lights glowed in the distance.
Hermione rested her arms across the dashboard. “So,” she said gently, “are you actually running away?”
Harry shrugged.
“I don’t know.” He tapped the steering wheel absently. “I just… couldn’t stand it anymore.”
Hermione waited quietly.
“It’s my birthday,” Harry muttered. “And I know that sounds stupid because bigger things are happening, but…” He laughed once without humor. “I just wanted one night where I felt normal.”
Hermione gave him an affectionate smile.
“Is that why you brought me here?”
Harry looked over. “What do you mean?”
She gave him an odd look. “Harry. This is where teenagers come to park.”
“…park?”
Hermione went pink immediately.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled, covering her face. “You really don’t know.”
“Hermione.”
“Harry. This is where teenagers go to have sex.”
Harry choked violently on absolutely nothing.
“Hermione!”
“What?” she said defensively, though she was clearly trying not to laugh now. “That’s what teenagers do here!”
Harry stared at her. At the way her hands twisted in her lap, at the way she glanced at him quickly before returning her stare to her feet.
The realization hit Harry all at once.
“Oh…”
She tucked hair behind one ear, still unable to meet his eyes. “Well, honestly, I thought perhaps that was the point.”
“Hermione, we can’t— I mean not that I wouldn’t want to because I think you’re great I just—“ he stammered. “Hermione, what about Ron?”
This time she laughed sincerely, no trace of embarrassment in her tone.
“Harry… how can you not tell…”
“Tell what?”
Hermione looked at him carefully, like she couldn’t believe this conversation was real.
“Harry. Ron enjoys the company of… other wizards.”
Harry snorted before he could stop himself. “Pffft. Who doesn’t?”
“...Romantically.”
There was a long pause.
Then Harry blinked. “Wait.”
Hermione nodded helplessly now, cheeks bright red. “Yes.”
“Ron’s gay?”
“Yes, Harry.”
Harry sat back against the seat, stunned.
“Huh.”
“That’s your reaction?”
“Well, I mean…” Harry scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “It does explain a few things. Krum.”
Hermione burst into laughter again, pressing both hands over her face.
“You are unbelievably oblivious.” She shook her head. “But Harry… it does mean you don’t have to worry about him.”
Harry looked over at her.
“Oh.”
Hermione looked down briefly before meeting his eye again. With intensity this time. “Yes. Oh.”
The car suddenly felt much smaller.
Harry swallowed. “You really meant this whole… parked car thing.”
Hermione gave him a short, flustered nod.
For one second neither of them moved.
Then Harry kissed her.
After that, thinking became considerably less important than Hermione Granger climbing into his lap in the front seat of Vernon Dursley’s company Vauxhall while the heat of the dark summer night pressed in around them.
September 1, 1996
Harry was reclined lazily on the Hogwarts Express seats waiting for the train to pull away. Ron was in the middle of a story about Fred nearly getting banned from Quality Quidditch Supplies when the compartment door suddenly opened then slammed shut.
Hermione stood there gripping the handle hard enough for her knuckles to turn white.
Ron blinked. “Blimey. You look terrifying.”
She ignored him completely.
Her eyes locked onto Harry’s.
Harry’s stomach dropped instantly.
“Hermione?” he said carefully.
She crossed the compartment and sat beside him stiffly, clutching her bag in both hands.
“I’m late.”
Harry frowned. “Late for what?”
Ron looked confused too. “You made the train.”
Hermione closed her eyes briefly like she was gathering strength.
“No,” she said. “I’m late.”
Blank stares.
Hermione made a strangled frustrated noise.
“My period is late!” she burst out. “Harry and I had sex and now my period is late!”
Silence.
Harry stopped breathing entirely.
Ron stared at both of them in utter disbelief.
Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified that she’d actually said it out loud.
Then Ron suddenly doubled over laughing.
Actually laughing.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Oh my God, you absolute idiots.”
“RON!” Hermione snapped, scarlet.
“No, I’m sorry—” Ron wiped tears from his eyes. “Harry, mate, you genuinely have the worst luck of anyone alive.”
Harry looked faint. “I’m going to die.”
“You survive dragons and dark wizards,” Ron gasped. “But one birthday shag in a Vauxhall? That’s what gets you?”
Hermione’s eyes suddenly widened, she pointed accusingly at Harry. “You told him?”
Harry looked sheepish. “You just told him too.”
“That is not the same thing!”
“It sort of is!”
Hermione spluttered in outrage while Ron kept laughing helplessly beside them.
Harry pointed back at him defensively. “Ron’s shagging Malfoy!”
Ron stopped laughing instantly.
“HEY!”
Hermione stared at him in complete shock. “You’re WHAT?”
Harry raised both hands. “Sorry, mate. Seemed only fair.”
Ron looked deeply betrayed. “I told you that in confidence!”
“And Hermione just told you I might’ve got her pregnant in confidence!” Harry shot back.
Hermione stared at Ron in horror. “You’re shagging MALFOY?”
Ron folded his arms defensively. “He’s less of a prick when you get to know him.”
Harry barked out a laugh. “That’s the most disturbing thing anyone’s said in this compartment.”
Ron pointed angrily at him. “Says the bloke who knocked up Hermione in a Vauxhall!”
Harry threw up his hands. “Well, sorry! It’s a lot easier to be responsible when you can’t get Malfoy up the duff—”
The compartment door slid open.
“Not for lack of effort.” Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, looking unbearably pleased with himself.
Ron went violently red.
Harry and Hermione both stared at him in complete horror.
“Meet me in the prefects’ bathroom later, Weasley, if you’d like to give it another shot.”
Hermione gagged slightly.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
She shoved past Draco into the corridor with one hand over her mouth.
Draco looked back at Harry with open amusement. “Well done, Potter. I genuinely can’t believe you’ve impregnated Granger in a Vauxhall.”
Then he glanced at Ron.
“By the way… What’s a Vauxhall?"