Haven
Title: Haven
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,374
Summary: This is supposed to be their haven, a place of safety, but she is beginning to feel imprisoned. There is a distance between them that she aches to close. She just doesn’t know how.
A/N: Originally written for elysium_requiem, for anythingbutgrey's H/Hr ficathon.
This is my December
These are my snow covered trees
This is me pretending
This is all I need
--Linkin Park My December
Hermione walks through the woods, snow crunching softly under her feet. She doesn’t stray too far, and the confinement is beginning to wear thin on her nerves. This is supposed to be their haven, a place of safety, but she is beginning to feel imprisoned - she yearns for freedom, to walk over to the frozen lake beyond the clearing and dip her fingers into the freezing water.
She knows she shouldn’t, so instead she stands still and turns back towards the tent.
Harry’s shadow is dark against the canvas wall, flickering with his movement and the setting sun, and she sighs. Things between them are still on the mend, still somewhat cold and tense and terse. She tries to blame this on Ron, Ron’s departure, Ron leaving them with angry words and bitter sentiments, two broken thirds of a three-part whole.
She knows better. This is not Ron’s fault. If she were honest with herself, she wants to blame Harry, for stubbornly committing to a task he did not have all the directions to, for letting Ron go, for being so unflinchingly loyal to Dumbledore - to everyone.
She knows she won’t, she knows she can’t, so instead she blames herself, for breaking his wand, for closing herself off.
For falling in love with him.
This was something she could no longer repress, could no longer deny. If she was honest with herself, she would admit she’d kept her feelings for her best friend bottled up for entirely too long. Only when she was alone with him for all this time did they finally break the surface and come into the light. She knows that telling him would only make things harder on him, so instead, she holds her feelings back, because this is another boundary she cannot cross. There is a valley between them now that she desperately wants to fill, a distance she aches to close.
She just doesn’t know how.
---
Harry silently holds his hand out for her wand when she walks back into the tent. Hermione acquiesces without a word, placing it in his waiting palm. Her fingers graze his skin, and she shivers with the small contact.
As he walks to the edge of the tent, she sighs, frustrated, and says quietly, “I can’t take this much longer.”
He stills and turns slowly to face her. He runs a hand through his hair. “No one said you had to stay here, Hermione,” he says wearily.
“I’m not talking about the Horcrux hunt. I’m talking about this. Us. There’s a distance between us, Harry. Can’t you feel it?”
“We’re fine, Hermione,” he mumbles, and turns to walk out of the tent.
“No, we’re not!” she says, running over and grabbing his arm. She forces him to look at her. “We haven’t spoken, really spoken in days. We both know something is wrong, but neither of us are doing anything to fix it.”
“What do you want me to say?” he yells, wrenching his arm from her grasp. This is the first real emotion she’s seen from him in days, since she showed him the chapter in Rita Skeeter’s book and reassured him with a touch on the top of his head. She wonders if the memory of that touch is ingrained into his head as deeply as it is in hers. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this? I’m sorry for not trying harder to keep Ron from leaving? I’m sorry for not being a better hero,” he spat the word from between his teeth, “a better friend?”
“I never said that!” she exclaims, her voice rising to meet his. “I never said you had to be a hero, and I never said you weren’t a good friend! You’re still my best friend, Harry, and you still mean more to me than anyone else in the world.” More than you know, she adds in her head.
His shoulders have been tense throughout their entire confrontation, but they sag suddenly, as if a heavy weight has been placed on them. “What do you want from me, Hermione?” he asks, and she can only imagine what he has on his mind.
“I want you to talk to me,” she says in earnest, grasping his shoulders. “I want you to at least pretend I exist. I want you to make an effort to be my friend.”
His eyes narrow. “You haven’t exactly been making an effort either. You’ve been avoiding me, too." She drops her hands from his shoulders as if she's been scalded and stares at him with wide eyes. “Why is that, Hermione?”
She sidesteps the question. “Fine, I’ve been avoiding you.” She juts out her chin defiantly. “What are you going to do about it?” She knows he is goading him on, trying purposely to get a rise out of him, but for some reason, now that she has his attention, she can't seem to stop.
They stare at each other, brown eyes meeting green, literal sparks seeming to fly between them, and for a moment, he is flustered and shocked. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. He seems to be making a decision.
Suddenly, his arms relax and the switch is enough to startle her. He takes a step forward.
“What am I going to do about it?”
Quick as a flash, his lips are on hers, and she gasps and throws her arms around him. His mouth is burning against her own, his arms crushing her to his chest.
She had not expected this. She had wanted this, yes, but never would she have imagined that he wanted her, too. His hands knot in her hair and she grabs onto his shoulders, pulling herself closer.
Just as suddenly as he kisses her, he pulls away, letting go and stepping back as if the very touch of her skin has burned him. She steps back in response, shocked.
"What's wrong?" She asks, as she tries to catch her breath.
He is silent for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair. "We shouldn't be doing this," he says, and his voice is empty. She can tell the words have no meaning, that he doesn't believe them. He is shutting her out again, and she can't, she won't, allow that.
She fights to keep the pain of his sudden rejection from showing as she asks, "Why not?"
His response is simple, but she understands all the same. "It's not safe."
Slowly, she walks towards him, her eyes locked on his the entire time. She puts her hands on his shoulders, then stands on her toes so she can trail open mouthed kisses down his neck. He trembles, his hands clenched at his sides. She slides her fingers slowly down his arms to clasp his hands in hers.
"Sometimes," she murmurs, rocking back down on her heels. "Being safe isn't the most important thing. Being loved... is."
His gaze, which was previously dropped down to their joined hands, is drawn to her face. He stares into her eyes.
She stares back for just a moment before leaning forward and gently pressing her lips to his again.
This kiss is not as desperate as the first. This is slow-moving, and intense, and she feels like she's on fire when his hands tentatively slide under her shirt and along her back. She gasps as he kisses the hollow of her throat, slowly inching his way over to her collar bone. She drags his mouth back to meet hers again, grasping at his lower back to pull him closer.
Slowly, their kisses grow less insistent, until he kisses her one last time, then opens his eyes. He trails a finger down her cheek. She smiles, finding it hard to believe that just a few hours ago, she'd felt trapped, like their haven was a prison.
"I have to go take watch," he says quietly, and she nods, but one of her hands is still clasped in his. Now that there is no distance between them, she doesn't want to let go.
He begins to walk slowly towards the edge of the tent, and she holds on until she can no longer reach him.
As he smiles behind him and steps out of the tent, she whispers, "You're my haven, Harry."
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,374
Summary: This is supposed to be their haven, a place of safety, but she is beginning to feel imprisoned. There is a distance between them that she aches to close. She just doesn’t know how.
A/N: Originally written for elysium_requiem, for anythingbutgrey's H/Hr ficathon.
This is my December
These are my snow covered trees
This is me pretending
This is all I need
--Linkin Park My December
Hermione walks through the woods, snow crunching softly under her feet. She doesn’t stray too far, and the confinement is beginning to wear thin on her nerves. This is supposed to be their haven, a place of safety, but she is beginning to feel imprisoned - she yearns for freedom, to walk over to the frozen lake beyond the clearing and dip her fingers into the freezing water.
She knows she shouldn’t, so instead she stands still and turns back towards the tent.
Harry’s shadow is dark against the canvas wall, flickering with his movement and the setting sun, and she sighs. Things between them are still on the mend, still somewhat cold and tense and terse. She tries to blame this on Ron, Ron’s departure, Ron leaving them with angry words and bitter sentiments, two broken thirds of a three-part whole.
She knows better. This is not Ron’s fault. If she were honest with herself, she wants to blame Harry, for stubbornly committing to a task he did not have all the directions to, for letting Ron go, for being so unflinchingly loyal to Dumbledore - to everyone.
She knows she won’t, she knows she can’t, so instead she blames herself, for breaking his wand, for closing herself off.
For falling in love with him.
This was something she could no longer repress, could no longer deny. If she was honest with herself, she would admit she’d kept her feelings for her best friend bottled up for entirely too long. Only when she was alone with him for all this time did they finally break the surface and come into the light. She knows that telling him would only make things harder on him, so instead, she holds her feelings back, because this is another boundary she cannot cross. There is a valley between them now that she desperately wants to fill, a distance she aches to close.
She just doesn’t know how.
---
Harry silently holds his hand out for her wand when she walks back into the tent. Hermione acquiesces without a word, placing it in his waiting palm. Her fingers graze his skin, and she shivers with the small contact.
As he walks to the edge of the tent, she sighs, frustrated, and says quietly, “I can’t take this much longer.”
He stills and turns slowly to face her. He runs a hand through his hair. “No one said you had to stay here, Hermione,” he says wearily.
“I’m not talking about the Horcrux hunt. I’m talking about this. Us. There’s a distance between us, Harry. Can’t you feel it?”
“We’re fine, Hermione,” he mumbles, and turns to walk out of the tent.
“No, we’re not!” she says, running over and grabbing his arm. She forces him to look at her. “We haven’t spoken, really spoken in days. We both know something is wrong, but neither of us are doing anything to fix it.”
“What do you want me to say?” he yells, wrenching his arm from her grasp. This is the first real emotion she’s seen from him in days, since she showed him the chapter in Rita Skeeter’s book and reassured him with a touch on the top of his head. She wonders if the memory of that touch is ingrained into his head as deeply as it is in hers. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this? I’m sorry for not trying harder to keep Ron from leaving? I’m sorry for not being a better hero,” he spat the word from between his teeth, “a better friend?”
“I never said that!” she exclaims, her voice rising to meet his. “I never said you had to be a hero, and I never said you weren’t a good friend! You’re still my best friend, Harry, and you still mean more to me than anyone else in the world.” More than you know, she adds in her head.
His shoulders have been tense throughout their entire confrontation, but they sag suddenly, as if a heavy weight has been placed on them. “What do you want from me, Hermione?” he asks, and she can only imagine what he has on his mind.
“I want you to talk to me,” she says in earnest, grasping his shoulders. “I want you to at least pretend I exist. I want you to make an effort to be my friend.”
His eyes narrow. “You haven’t exactly been making an effort either. You’ve been avoiding me, too." She drops her hands from his shoulders as if she's been scalded and stares at him with wide eyes. “Why is that, Hermione?”
She sidesteps the question. “Fine, I’ve been avoiding you.” She juts out her chin defiantly. “What are you going to do about it?” She knows he is goading him on, trying purposely to get a rise out of him, but for some reason, now that she has his attention, she can't seem to stop.
They stare at each other, brown eyes meeting green, literal sparks seeming to fly between them, and for a moment, he is flustered and shocked. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. He seems to be making a decision.
Suddenly, his arms relax and the switch is enough to startle her. He takes a step forward.
“What am I going to do about it?”
Quick as a flash, his lips are on hers, and she gasps and throws her arms around him. His mouth is burning against her own, his arms crushing her to his chest.
She had not expected this. She had wanted this, yes, but never would she have imagined that he wanted her, too. His hands knot in her hair and she grabs onto his shoulders, pulling herself closer.
Just as suddenly as he kisses her, he pulls away, letting go and stepping back as if the very touch of her skin has burned him. She steps back in response, shocked.
"What's wrong?" She asks, as she tries to catch her breath.
He is silent for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair. "We shouldn't be doing this," he says, and his voice is empty. She can tell the words have no meaning, that he doesn't believe them. He is shutting her out again, and she can't, she won't, allow that.
She fights to keep the pain of his sudden rejection from showing as she asks, "Why not?"
His response is simple, but she understands all the same. "It's not safe."
Slowly, she walks towards him, her eyes locked on his the entire time. She puts her hands on his shoulders, then stands on her toes so she can trail open mouthed kisses down his neck. He trembles, his hands clenched at his sides. She slides her fingers slowly down his arms to clasp his hands in hers.
"Sometimes," she murmurs, rocking back down on her heels. "Being safe isn't the most important thing. Being loved... is."
His gaze, which was previously dropped down to their joined hands, is drawn to her face. He stares into her eyes.
She stares back for just a moment before leaning forward and gently pressing her lips to his again.
This kiss is not as desperate as the first. This is slow-moving, and intense, and she feels like she's on fire when his hands tentatively slide under her shirt and along her back. She gasps as he kisses the hollow of her throat, slowly inching his way over to her collar bone. She drags his mouth back to meet hers again, grasping at his lower back to pull him closer.
Slowly, their kisses grow less insistent, until he kisses her one last time, then opens his eyes. He trails a finger down her cheek. She smiles, finding it hard to believe that just a few hours ago, she'd felt trapped, like their haven was a prison.
"I have to go take watch," he says quietly, and she nods, but one of her hands is still clasped in his. Now that there is no distance between them, she doesn't want to let go.
He begins to walk slowly towards the edge of the tent, and she holds on until she can no longer reach him.
As he smiles behind him and steps out of the tent, she whispers, "You're my haven, Harry."