FIC: For Love, For Granted
Title: For Love, For Granted
Author: lash_larue
Pairing: Hermione/Lavender
Rating: R
Prompt: Always taken for granted
Contains: Angst
Summary: War also makes strange bedfellows
“Hermione, would you be a lamb and look over my potions essay for me?” Lavender Brown asked, dropping a small scroll of parchment on the table in front of Hermione.
Hermione opened the scroll and took a quick look at it.
“Lavender, there is hardly anything here beyond your name. There’s nothing to look over,” Hermione told her.
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I need help with. You’ll sort of flesh it out a bit for me, won’t you, Hermione?” Lavender smiled at her, and Hermione sighed inwardly.
Of course she would, she always would for Lavender, and of course Lavender knew that quite well.
Hermione had changed since the war; her once firmly-held principles on things like doing one’s own schoolwork had been rendered much less important to her now she knew that everything you believed in could be snatched away from you in an instant.
Bellatrix Lestrange had taught her that, and for once Hermione was not grateful for new knowledge. But she had survived to continue fighting, and her side had mostly won, and Ron had finally stopped acting like such a prat and told her how he felt about her. That had lasted a little while, until Ron realized that for once he was as famous as Harry Potter, and that he no longer had to be scared of talking to girls, (women, by then, even) because they would come and talk to him. Literally crawl into his lap, in point of fact. In the face of all that, Hermione had once again started to look like a bushy-haired bookworm to him. She had faded back into the friend who had surprisingly turned out to be female.
He had made an effort, he had tried to tell her in person that they were done, but in that instant he too had reverted, and after a few red-faced, stammering, moments, she had cut the cord for him.
“I know, Ronald. It’s been over for a while between us. Just go, would you? No hard feelings, I wish you every happiness.” He had made to kiss her goodbye, but she was having none of that, and the hand that had pushed him away was none too gentle.
She had returned to Hogwarts to finish her education mostly because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. The plans she had tentatively made for her future had included Ron, and as disappointed in herself as she was for feeling this way, she was hurt by this rejection, by once again somehow not being enough of a girl, even as she felt relief that he was out of her life.
It was late one night after her return to school that Lavender had found Hermione crying in her bed when the horrors of the war and Malfoy Manor had wriggled back into her mind, barbed worms of pain and terror that she could not banish. Lavender heard her that night because for once Hermione had neglected to cast the spells that ensured her privacy. Lavender had not said a single word, she had simply lain down beside her and held her all through the night, stroking her hair and occasionally softly kissing her brow. And Hermione had allowed her do so without protest, because she was truly in need of comforting. For now she needed to be cared for, to be the protected and not the protector, just for a little while.
And Lavender with her kind heart had sensed that, and given it to her.
In the morning Lavender had smiled at her and gone about her morning routine with no mention of the night’s events, neither had Hermione ever spoken of them.
But…
Hermione had offered to help Lavender with her class work when she saw her frowning over an essay that evening in the common room, and Lavender had gratefully accepted her offer. Those few students who recalled the feud between Lavender and Hermione over Ron Weasley were perhaps a little surprised by what seemed to be a growing friendship between the two, but Ron wasn’t around, and in any case Lavender was off his radar now too. Ron liked older women, and in truth there was still much of the girl about Lavender despite the ravages of the war.
Perhaps that was what ensnared Hermione, that innocence remaining in Lavender, a resilient cheer that she had once thought silliness, but now needed like she needed air to breathe.
“Of course, Lavender,” Hermione answered, “I’ll have it for you by breakfast.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” bubbled Lavender, “you’re the best!” And with that Lavender skipped off to another of the parties that she loved and that Hermione hated so much that even Professor Slughorn had stopped inviting her to them.
In the days that followed Lavender’s act of kindness, Hermione had taken to neglecting her privacy spells on purpose when she felt especially low. In any case, she and Lavender were the only ones in that room, the only returning Gryffindor girls in their year. Interestingly enough, Slytherin was packed, but they were pretty quiet these days.
Hermione came to expect that when she lay there crying that Lavender would come and hold her, and Lavender did. Hermione needed caring for, and Lavender seemed to need someone to care for, and it was very nice for them both.
But it was only in their room, together in Hermione’s bed that she felt that Lavender was really hers, like she truly mattered to Lavender. During the daytime they were perfectly friendly with one another, and they studied together when Lavender bothered to study, which became a more and more infrequent occasion. Lavender found it far more pleasant to have Hermione complete assignments for her, and as it was really nothing for her to do it, and no longer pricked her conscience in the least, Hermione was willing to do so. Hardly seemed cheating at all to her, in point of fact, what difference did it make, really?
What made a difference to Hermione was the night, and Lavender’s arms around her.
Weeks went by, and Lavender never actually asked for help anymore, Hermione expected the brief notes on parchment letting her know what was needed, and by now she could mimic Lavender’s turns of phrase and handwriting well enough to fool even McGonagall. Not that the Headmistress had much time to mark essays anymore.
It had come as a surprise to Hermione, however, the night that Lavender had pressed her lips to Hermione’s, delicately flickered her tongue against them, and as an even bigger surprise when her own mouth opened to accept it, when Lavender’s soft hands had pushed aside their clothing, and her soft voice had at last sounded in the night, guiding and encouraging, teaching Hermione things she had never known she wanted to learn.
They never spoke of that either, and now Hermione expected Lavender’s kisses in the dark, the feel of her fingers inside her, her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, her beautiful hair stroking Hermione and making her body sing and forget all the pain for a time.
Lavender would kiss her in the morning, the taste of them both still on her lips.
“You’re the best, Hermione,” she would whisper before she set about her morning routine.
Hermione would linger abed for a time, once again anonymous, alone, holding the pillow that bore Lavender’s scent, which oddly enough was of roses, and wondering… Wondering, but not really hoping, and completely helpless to do anything about it because whatever this was, it was all that she had, and she had to have it.
Author: lash_larue
Pairing: Hermione/Lavender
Rating: R
Prompt: Always taken for granted
Contains: Angst
Summary: War also makes strange bedfellows
“Hermione, would you be a lamb and look over my potions essay for me?” Lavender Brown asked, dropping a small scroll of parchment on the table in front of Hermione.
Hermione opened the scroll and took a quick look at it.
“Lavender, there is hardly anything here beyond your name. There’s nothing to look over,” Hermione told her.
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I need help with. You’ll sort of flesh it out a bit for me, won’t you, Hermione?” Lavender smiled at her, and Hermione sighed inwardly.
Of course she would, she always would for Lavender, and of course Lavender knew that quite well.
Hermione had changed since the war; her once firmly-held principles on things like doing one’s own schoolwork had been rendered much less important to her now she knew that everything you believed in could be snatched away from you in an instant.
Bellatrix Lestrange had taught her that, and for once Hermione was not grateful for new knowledge. But she had survived to continue fighting, and her side had mostly won, and Ron had finally stopped acting like such a prat and told her how he felt about her. That had lasted a little while, until Ron realized that for once he was as famous as Harry Potter, and that he no longer had to be scared of talking to girls, (women, by then, even) because they would come and talk to him. Literally crawl into his lap, in point of fact. In the face of all that, Hermione had once again started to look like a bushy-haired bookworm to him. She had faded back into the friend who had surprisingly turned out to be female.
He had made an effort, he had tried to tell her in person that they were done, but in that instant he too had reverted, and after a few red-faced, stammering, moments, she had cut the cord for him.
“I know, Ronald. It’s been over for a while between us. Just go, would you? No hard feelings, I wish you every happiness.” He had made to kiss her goodbye, but she was having none of that, and the hand that had pushed him away was none too gentle.
She had returned to Hogwarts to finish her education mostly because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. The plans she had tentatively made for her future had included Ron, and as disappointed in herself as she was for feeling this way, she was hurt by this rejection, by once again somehow not being enough of a girl, even as she felt relief that he was out of her life.
It was late one night after her return to school that Lavender had found Hermione crying in her bed when the horrors of the war and Malfoy Manor had wriggled back into her mind, barbed worms of pain and terror that she could not banish. Lavender heard her that night because for once Hermione had neglected to cast the spells that ensured her privacy. Lavender had not said a single word, she had simply lain down beside her and held her all through the night, stroking her hair and occasionally softly kissing her brow. And Hermione had allowed her do so without protest, because she was truly in need of comforting. For now she needed to be cared for, to be the protected and not the protector, just for a little while.
And Lavender with her kind heart had sensed that, and given it to her.
In the morning Lavender had smiled at her and gone about her morning routine with no mention of the night’s events, neither had Hermione ever spoken of them.
But…
Hermione had offered to help Lavender with her class work when she saw her frowning over an essay that evening in the common room, and Lavender had gratefully accepted her offer. Those few students who recalled the feud between Lavender and Hermione over Ron Weasley were perhaps a little surprised by what seemed to be a growing friendship between the two, but Ron wasn’t around, and in any case Lavender was off his radar now too. Ron liked older women, and in truth there was still much of the girl about Lavender despite the ravages of the war.
Perhaps that was what ensnared Hermione, that innocence remaining in Lavender, a resilient cheer that she had once thought silliness, but now needed like she needed air to breathe.
“Of course, Lavender,” Hermione answered, “I’ll have it for you by breakfast.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” bubbled Lavender, “you’re the best!” And with that Lavender skipped off to another of the parties that she loved and that Hermione hated so much that even Professor Slughorn had stopped inviting her to them.
In the days that followed Lavender’s act of kindness, Hermione had taken to neglecting her privacy spells on purpose when she felt especially low. In any case, she and Lavender were the only ones in that room, the only returning Gryffindor girls in their year. Interestingly enough, Slytherin was packed, but they were pretty quiet these days.
Hermione came to expect that when she lay there crying that Lavender would come and hold her, and Lavender did. Hermione needed caring for, and Lavender seemed to need someone to care for, and it was very nice for them both.
But it was only in their room, together in Hermione’s bed that she felt that Lavender was really hers, like she truly mattered to Lavender. During the daytime they were perfectly friendly with one another, and they studied together when Lavender bothered to study, which became a more and more infrequent occasion. Lavender found it far more pleasant to have Hermione complete assignments for her, and as it was really nothing for her to do it, and no longer pricked her conscience in the least, Hermione was willing to do so. Hardly seemed cheating at all to her, in point of fact, what difference did it make, really?
What made a difference to Hermione was the night, and Lavender’s arms around her.
Weeks went by, and Lavender never actually asked for help anymore, Hermione expected the brief notes on parchment letting her know what was needed, and by now she could mimic Lavender’s turns of phrase and handwriting well enough to fool even McGonagall. Not that the Headmistress had much time to mark essays anymore.
It had come as a surprise to Hermione, however, the night that Lavender had pressed her lips to Hermione’s, delicately flickered her tongue against them, and as an even bigger surprise when her own mouth opened to accept it, when Lavender’s soft hands had pushed aside their clothing, and her soft voice had at last sounded in the night, guiding and encouraging, teaching Hermione things she had never known she wanted to learn.
They never spoke of that either, and now Hermione expected Lavender’s kisses in the dark, the feel of her fingers inside her, her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, her beautiful hair stroking Hermione and making her body sing and forget all the pain for a time.
Lavender would kiss her in the morning, the taste of them both still on her lips.
“You’re the best, Hermione,” she would whisper before she set about her morning routine.
Hermione would linger abed for a time, once again anonymous, alone, holding the pillow that bore Lavender’s scent, which oddly enough was of roses, and wondering… Wondering, but not really hoping, and completely helpless to do anything about it because whatever this was, it was all that she had, and she had to have it.