Estranged 2/?
Author: demosthenes91
Title: Estranged
Rating: R for language, but I expect that might go up...
Pairing H/Hr
Notes: Angsty, post-war, EWE
Part 1
"Keep us apart? But...that doesn't...," he struggled for words. "Why?"
"Oh, Harry," she began, turning away and letting her hand fall from his. A heavy sigh followed. Before she had a chance to say anything, she brought the heel of her palm up to rub at her face, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain.
"Hermione," he leaned forward and down, looking up into her face.
She touched her temple, hissing again and examining the dabs of blood now present on her fingertips. He reached for her cheek, ever so carefully tucking her thick hair behind her ear.
"You're still bleeding."
"It's nothing," she murmured, avoiding his eyes as she reached into her hair and began combing for bits of ceramic left over from the mug. She gasped when he gently touched his thumb and forefinger to her chin, tilting her face up and to the side.
"Episkey," she felt the tingle in her skin as he healed the bleeding cut. With great care he examined her now overheated face, whispering the spell a few more times before releasing her chin. Taking her hand, he drew out one arm then the other, touching his wand to the scrapes along the skin. He set down his wand when he was finished, gently skimming her forearms with his fingertips ensuring he hadn't missed anything.
"Thank you," she blushed, pulling her hands into her lap and staring at them intently.
"Anytime," his voice was deep, filled with sincerity.
An awkward silence filled the air. Another moment followed, then Hermione stood up.
"I should probably clean up," she had been talking about her face, before her gaze turned towards the rest of the room. "Oh," she hesitated, "I should really clean up," she let out a nervous laugh.
Harry stood as well.
"No, let me. Go ahead and, um," he hesitated, then caught her eye and made a harried gesture around his face. She smiled at him, understanding his bizarre indication for freshening up. "I'll take care of this."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I promise, my reparo's much better than you think," he joked.
"Alright then," she looked down at herself, just now noticing the mess of tea all over her clothes. "Erm, would you mind waiting while I grab a quick shower? Seems I'm a bit more of a mess than I realized."
"Not nearly the mess I've been," he mumbled.
"Oh, Harry," she whispered. Throughout their many years together, it was always her that would initiate a hug. But as their eyes locked, he opened his arms and grabbed her up for the second time that day. She held him tightly and he squeezed her just a bit more, kissing the top of her head.
"Go on then, I'll be right here when you're done."
"Thank you," she whispered.
He loosened his grip, and she stepped away from him, carefully maneuvering through the broken glass that littered the room. She closed the bedroom door behind her, and when Harry heard the shower come on, he surveyed the room.
"Right then," he aimed his wand, fixing the French doors first. It only took him two tries before he got them looking completely undamaged. Unfortunately, there were too many individual bits left of the mugs to reform them into anything resembling their original appearance. He gathered up what was left of them and tossed them in the bin.
"Evanesco," he swished his wand at the remaining stains of tea on the carpet. He was about to step onto the patio, when he happened to glance up. Aiming his wand, he removed the tea stains that had sprayed across the ceiling and the walls, along with embedded bits of ceramic. He couldn't help but marvel at the sheer force of magic she must have unleashed to so effectively decimate the innocent stoneware.
On the patio he cleaned off the table, then pushed the chairs back against it. He bent down to pick up the book she'd been reading when he spied Crookshanks hidden next to the planter.
"It's alright, then. You can come out now," he grinned at the cat that eyed him with caution. Harry put the back of his hand near the cat's face, then stroked him along his nose and chin, stopping to scratch behind his ear. Crookshanks leaned into Harry's hand, a small purr growing in his throat. Convinced he had made amends, Harry moved back inside and collapsed on the sofa, only to have Crookshanks settle onto his chest in a warm ball of purring fluff. Lying back, Harry settled a hand on the contented cat, and closed his eyes.
He had been looking for Hermione covertly for little more than a month. At first he felt guilty, feeling that, in fact, he could be making things worse. Given the words of reproach that either of the Weasley women would give him at the mere hint of her name, he'd certainly quelled the idea more often than he cared to admit.
But then Halloween had come to the Burrow.
He'd been sitting with Teddy, laughing at how small features on the infant would change depending on his mood. The baby had been smiling, his hair a violent shade of pink to match his chubby cheeks. Harry scooped him up, pushing up his tiny jumper and blowing raspberries on his belly. Teddy let out a shriek of laughter and Harry smiled at him.
"Ha-weee," the six-month old squealed.
"Did you hear that," Harry grinned, turning to the empty space beside him. It had been Teddy's first word. His name!
His smile faltered, as he realized who he wanted to tell. A dull ache rose in his chest when he remembered that Hermione wasn't next to him, as she always had been.
He'd been thinking about her all day, recalling another Halloween from what seemed a lifetime ago. The terrified look in her eyes when they'd found her in the bathroom, juxtaposed against her sheer bravery as she lied to McGonagall about trying to fight the troll herself. Even then he'd been amazed at the two extremes. Only now that he was older could he truly appreciate everything she was; everything he'd seen in her. In seconds she could go from being the bravest, brilliant, most frightening ally he could ever hope to have, to soft and vulnerable and loving...
Merlin, how he missed her.
It didn't matter that she probably hated him. That she blamed him for what happened to Ron. In that moment, he realized the undeniable sense of need to see her, to hear her voice, to beg for her forgiveness.
Teddy gurgled in his arms, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. He wanted to very much to share this with her - this sense of love and happiness. They'd shared so much misery together, even found strength in it, and he couldn't bear the thought of not being able to have this with her... contentment, hope, joy. She would forever be his best friend, his most loyal and trusted companion, and he knew that, somehow, he'd be able to make her see that, no matter what Molly insisted.
He'd gone back to Grimmauld Place that evening, intent on formulating a plan. Already he'd felt intimidated, realizing that if Hermione really didn't want to be found then he'd have a ridiculously difficult time ahead of him. She had been, after all, the brilliance that kept then hidden from swarms of Death Eaters for so many months. However, he doubted she kept such a covert existence now. Surely she'd be somewhere more comfortable than an ever changing campsite and tent.
His first thought was university.
He knew she wanted to expand her studies, but after everything that had happened, she hadn't honored her enrollment in Stonehenge. He began by sending owls to every magical university he could find (which weren't many). It seemed that just his name was enough to get friendly and informative responses, despite the fact that no one had the news he was hoping for.
Careful to avoid any official Ministry involvement (and to allow Arthur 'plausible deniability') he discreetly asked Kingsley for advice. Despite his heavy workload, the Minister was more than happy to offer his help, remarking on how much he could really use someone as brilliant and trustworthy as Hermione in his employ.
But even with the help of the Unmentionables and their more esoteric methods, he was still without a clue.
In the end, Harry found her through a phone book.
More specifically, he found her parents, who had thankfully taken up the same residence once their memories had been restored. He'd felt silly for overlooking such an obvious link, and as the Christmas holidays approached, he was certain that Hermione would make an appearance.
Although he hated the thought of completely invading her parents' privacy, Harry made frequent visits to their residence, using both his invisibility cloak and Extendable Ears.
Only a couple of days ago he had finally heard her name.
"Is Hermione coming back for the holidays," her father had asked.
"No, I'm afraid not. I think she's still rather distraught over the death of her friend."
"That poor boy..."
"Still, I hate to see her all alone at Christmas. Maybe we should go and visit her. I feel terrible that we've spent to little time with her."
"Dear, please. You know how much she prides herself on her independence. I know you want to comfort her, but we have to let her come to us in her own time."
A fresh wave of guilt passed through Harry. Even her own parents seemed to be in agreement with the Weasleys. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea after all.
"But you didn't read the letter. I can tell, just by her tone... oh, honey. She's... she's still in so much pain."
"She'll be fine, given time."
"I should call her tomorrow."
Her husband moved to comfort her, but Harry had tuned him out.
Letter! Hermione had written her mother a letter. An old-fashioned piece of muggle post, certain to have a return address.
Harry returned much later in the evening, when he was certain that the Grangers were finally asleep. He brought his cloak, prepared to slip into their house, when he felt it. The house had been warded, no doubt by Hermione.
Uncertain as to what would happen if he tried to breach the protection, he struggled to remember the spells and counter spells she had used on their hunt. Taking a deep breath, he focused, recalling the incantations they had used. He muttered the first one he could remember, then slowly approached the barrier. Rather than pressing against him, it enveloped him easily. He smiled, thankful to remember at least one important thing she'd taught him.
Once inside the house, he lit the tip of his wand and began searching. It only took a few minutes to find the home office, and, thankfully, her parents were as neat and methodical as their daughter. There, on top of one of the desks, was Hermione's letter.
And envelope, with return address.
The next morning he'd told Molly and Ginny that he'd be out of town on a mission for Kingsley. They'd both given him proud smiles. He almost felt guilty.
Almost.
He secured a portkey to the south of France, then apparated into the city of Nice. Within an hour he'd located her flat, and used the same counterspell to bypass her wards.
Her place was small, but not terribly so. He walked around, taking it in. Even if he didn't know for certain that this was her home, he'd be able to tell by the belongings. His fingers brushed along the spines of books on her shelves, and he closed his eyes, smiling.
It was as if he could feel the very essence of her in this place, and it soothed him. He felt complete in a way that had been missing for months.
Then finally, seated next to Crookshanks, he waited.
The longer he sat there, the more nervous he became.
When he heard her key in the door, he panicked, donning his cloak for fear that she'd hex him on sight.
She came through the door, groceries in hand, and his heart stopped.
It was her, really her!
And he couldn't move.
He was worried and happy and frightened and thrilled and nauseous all at once.
Before he could collect himself, before he could even breathe, she left the room.
He gulped a breath of air, ready to reveal himself, then froze again as she entered. Before he could finally steel his courage, she'd called him out. He'd come all this way, defying the wishes of his only family, and somehow, through all that, he suddenly felt like the world's biggest coward.
He was terrified by her cold and indifferent reaction to him. She wouldn't even look at him.
And then, when she told him what she believed...what she'd been told by the people they both trusted, he felt gutted. He'd grabbed her up, willing her to feel the faith and trust he had in her, and had never once doubted.
It was only when she began to calm that he finally lost his composure. The full weight and cause of this emptiness he'd been subjected to hit him.
Betrayal. Lies.
How?
Why?
Hermione said they'd felt threatened by her? What did that even mean? He couldn't believe what the Weasleys had said to her - how they truly felt. But if there was one thing he was certain of, it was Hermione. She'd never lie to him, especially about this.
He was lost. Simply lost.
Then when she'd asked about his engagement...
It was true. Molly had been hinting for weeks and weeks now. But how could Hermione possibly know that?
Threatened? Keeping us apart?
"Harry?"
His mind was drifting. He felt a soft hand brushing his forehead, then removing his glasses.
"Hermione," he murmured, trying to open his heavy eyelids. He hadn't realized how dead tired he was.
"I guess all that cleaning must have wiped you out," she joked. He squinted at her blurry form, noting the striking scent of freshly showered Hermione that surrounded her. "I'll bet you must have terrible portkey lag, c'mon then," she offered, pulling his arm to help him off the sofa. Harry let out a soft whoosh of air as Crookshanks vaulted off his chest.
"Did you bring anything with you? A change of clothes or toiletries?"
"No," he mumbled as she dragged him to the bedroom. "Didn't think about it."
"Right then, hang on a bit," she set him on the bed, then began searching through her drawers.
"I use this one when I go to the beach. It's absolutely huge," she placed the bright red t-shirt next to him. "Change, and I'll be right back."
"Hermione, I'm not going to take your bed..."
"Nonsense, just get changed," she commanded, then closed the door behind her.
Harry let out a tired and defeated sigh, before pulling his own shirt off, followed by his shoes and pants. The t-shirt she left him must have been ridiculously large on her, because it fit him loosely, showing just the smallest ribbon of his boxers at mid thigh.
"You decent," she knocked, waiting a moment before entering. She had a warm mug of spiced ginger cider with her.
"Drink a bit of this before you fall asleep. It's good for portkey lag."
"Thanks," he sat up, sipping the drink while she placed his glasses on the nightstand. He set his mug down, and she smiled at him, brushing the hair from his forehead again.
"No worries, we'll talk in the morning. Get some rest."
She went to get up, but he placed his hand over hers.
"Stay," he whispered. "Just... just for a bit."
"Of course," she whispered back, smiling. She went back to brushing her fingers through his scalp and he closed his eyes in contentment.
Tomorrow. There'd be plenty of time to talk tomorrow.
Title: Estranged
Rating: R for language, but I expect that might go up...
Pairing H/Hr
Notes: Angsty, post-war, EWE
Part 1
"Keep us apart? But...that doesn't...," he struggled for words. "Why?"
"Oh, Harry," she began, turning away and letting her hand fall from his. A heavy sigh followed. Before she had a chance to say anything, she brought the heel of her palm up to rub at her face, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain.
"Hermione," he leaned forward and down, looking up into her face.
She touched her temple, hissing again and examining the dabs of blood now present on her fingertips. He reached for her cheek, ever so carefully tucking her thick hair behind her ear.
"You're still bleeding."
"It's nothing," she murmured, avoiding his eyes as she reached into her hair and began combing for bits of ceramic left over from the mug. She gasped when he gently touched his thumb and forefinger to her chin, tilting her face up and to the side.
"Episkey," she felt the tingle in her skin as he healed the bleeding cut. With great care he examined her now overheated face, whispering the spell a few more times before releasing her chin. Taking her hand, he drew out one arm then the other, touching his wand to the scrapes along the skin. He set down his wand when he was finished, gently skimming her forearms with his fingertips ensuring he hadn't missed anything.
"Thank you," she blushed, pulling her hands into her lap and staring at them intently.
"Anytime," his voice was deep, filled with sincerity.
An awkward silence filled the air. Another moment followed, then Hermione stood up.
"I should probably clean up," she had been talking about her face, before her gaze turned towards the rest of the room. "Oh," she hesitated, "I should really clean up," she let out a nervous laugh.
Harry stood as well.
"No, let me. Go ahead and, um," he hesitated, then caught her eye and made a harried gesture around his face. She smiled at him, understanding his bizarre indication for freshening up. "I'll take care of this."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I promise, my reparo's much better than you think," he joked.
"Alright then," she looked down at herself, just now noticing the mess of tea all over her clothes. "Erm, would you mind waiting while I grab a quick shower? Seems I'm a bit more of a mess than I realized."
"Not nearly the mess I've been," he mumbled.
"Oh, Harry," she whispered. Throughout their many years together, it was always her that would initiate a hug. But as their eyes locked, he opened his arms and grabbed her up for the second time that day. She held him tightly and he squeezed her just a bit more, kissing the top of her head.
"Go on then, I'll be right here when you're done."
"Thank you," she whispered.
He loosened his grip, and she stepped away from him, carefully maneuvering through the broken glass that littered the room. She closed the bedroom door behind her, and when Harry heard the shower come on, he surveyed the room.
"Right then," he aimed his wand, fixing the French doors first. It only took him two tries before he got them looking completely undamaged. Unfortunately, there were too many individual bits left of the mugs to reform them into anything resembling their original appearance. He gathered up what was left of them and tossed them in the bin.
"Evanesco," he swished his wand at the remaining stains of tea on the carpet. He was about to step onto the patio, when he happened to glance up. Aiming his wand, he removed the tea stains that had sprayed across the ceiling and the walls, along with embedded bits of ceramic. He couldn't help but marvel at the sheer force of magic she must have unleashed to so effectively decimate the innocent stoneware.
On the patio he cleaned off the table, then pushed the chairs back against it. He bent down to pick up the book she'd been reading when he spied Crookshanks hidden next to the planter.
"It's alright, then. You can come out now," he grinned at the cat that eyed him with caution. Harry put the back of his hand near the cat's face, then stroked him along his nose and chin, stopping to scratch behind his ear. Crookshanks leaned into Harry's hand, a small purr growing in his throat. Convinced he had made amends, Harry moved back inside and collapsed on the sofa, only to have Crookshanks settle onto his chest in a warm ball of purring fluff. Lying back, Harry settled a hand on the contented cat, and closed his eyes.
He had been looking for Hermione covertly for little more than a month. At first he felt guilty, feeling that, in fact, he could be making things worse. Given the words of reproach that either of the Weasley women would give him at the mere hint of her name, he'd certainly quelled the idea more often than he cared to admit.
But then Halloween had come to the Burrow.
He'd been sitting with Teddy, laughing at how small features on the infant would change depending on his mood. The baby had been smiling, his hair a violent shade of pink to match his chubby cheeks. Harry scooped him up, pushing up his tiny jumper and blowing raspberries on his belly. Teddy let out a shriek of laughter and Harry smiled at him.
"Ha-weee," the six-month old squealed.
"Did you hear that," Harry grinned, turning to the empty space beside him. It had been Teddy's first word. His name!
His smile faltered, as he realized who he wanted to tell. A dull ache rose in his chest when he remembered that Hermione wasn't next to him, as she always had been.
He'd been thinking about her all day, recalling another Halloween from what seemed a lifetime ago. The terrified look in her eyes when they'd found her in the bathroom, juxtaposed against her sheer bravery as she lied to McGonagall about trying to fight the troll herself. Even then he'd been amazed at the two extremes. Only now that he was older could he truly appreciate everything she was; everything he'd seen in her. In seconds she could go from being the bravest, brilliant, most frightening ally he could ever hope to have, to soft and vulnerable and loving...
Merlin, how he missed her.
It didn't matter that she probably hated him. That she blamed him for what happened to Ron. In that moment, he realized the undeniable sense of need to see her, to hear her voice, to beg for her forgiveness.
Teddy gurgled in his arms, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. He wanted to very much to share this with her - this sense of love and happiness. They'd shared so much misery together, even found strength in it, and he couldn't bear the thought of not being able to have this with her... contentment, hope, joy. She would forever be his best friend, his most loyal and trusted companion, and he knew that, somehow, he'd be able to make her see that, no matter what Molly insisted.
He'd gone back to Grimmauld Place that evening, intent on formulating a plan. Already he'd felt intimidated, realizing that if Hermione really didn't want to be found then he'd have a ridiculously difficult time ahead of him. She had been, after all, the brilliance that kept then hidden from swarms of Death Eaters for so many months. However, he doubted she kept such a covert existence now. Surely she'd be somewhere more comfortable than an ever changing campsite and tent.
His first thought was university.
He knew she wanted to expand her studies, but after everything that had happened, she hadn't honored her enrollment in Stonehenge. He began by sending owls to every magical university he could find (which weren't many). It seemed that just his name was enough to get friendly and informative responses, despite the fact that no one had the news he was hoping for.
Careful to avoid any official Ministry involvement (and to allow Arthur 'plausible deniability') he discreetly asked Kingsley for advice. Despite his heavy workload, the Minister was more than happy to offer his help, remarking on how much he could really use someone as brilliant and trustworthy as Hermione in his employ.
But even with the help of the Unmentionables and their more esoteric methods, he was still without a clue.
In the end, Harry found her through a phone book.
More specifically, he found her parents, who had thankfully taken up the same residence once their memories had been restored. He'd felt silly for overlooking such an obvious link, and as the Christmas holidays approached, he was certain that Hermione would make an appearance.
Although he hated the thought of completely invading her parents' privacy, Harry made frequent visits to their residence, using both his invisibility cloak and Extendable Ears.
Only a couple of days ago he had finally heard her name.
"Is Hermione coming back for the holidays," her father had asked.
"No, I'm afraid not. I think she's still rather distraught over the death of her friend."
"That poor boy..."
"Still, I hate to see her all alone at Christmas. Maybe we should go and visit her. I feel terrible that we've spent to little time with her."
"Dear, please. You know how much she prides herself on her independence. I know you want to comfort her, but we have to let her come to us in her own time."
A fresh wave of guilt passed through Harry. Even her own parents seemed to be in agreement with the Weasleys. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea after all.
"But you didn't read the letter. I can tell, just by her tone... oh, honey. She's... she's still in so much pain."
"She'll be fine, given time."
"I should call her tomorrow."
Her husband moved to comfort her, but Harry had tuned him out.
Letter! Hermione had written her mother a letter. An old-fashioned piece of muggle post, certain to have a return address.
Harry returned much later in the evening, when he was certain that the Grangers were finally asleep. He brought his cloak, prepared to slip into their house, when he felt it. The house had been warded, no doubt by Hermione.
Uncertain as to what would happen if he tried to breach the protection, he struggled to remember the spells and counter spells she had used on their hunt. Taking a deep breath, he focused, recalling the incantations they had used. He muttered the first one he could remember, then slowly approached the barrier. Rather than pressing against him, it enveloped him easily. He smiled, thankful to remember at least one important thing she'd taught him.
Once inside the house, he lit the tip of his wand and began searching. It only took a few minutes to find the home office, and, thankfully, her parents were as neat and methodical as their daughter. There, on top of one of the desks, was Hermione's letter.
And envelope, with return address.
The next morning he'd told Molly and Ginny that he'd be out of town on a mission for Kingsley. They'd both given him proud smiles. He almost felt guilty.
Almost.
He secured a portkey to the south of France, then apparated into the city of Nice. Within an hour he'd located her flat, and used the same counterspell to bypass her wards.
Her place was small, but not terribly so. He walked around, taking it in. Even if he didn't know for certain that this was her home, he'd be able to tell by the belongings. His fingers brushed along the spines of books on her shelves, and he closed his eyes, smiling.
It was as if he could feel the very essence of her in this place, and it soothed him. He felt complete in a way that had been missing for months.
Then finally, seated next to Crookshanks, he waited.
The longer he sat there, the more nervous he became.
When he heard her key in the door, he panicked, donning his cloak for fear that she'd hex him on sight.
She came through the door, groceries in hand, and his heart stopped.
It was her, really her!
And he couldn't move.
He was worried and happy and frightened and thrilled and nauseous all at once.
Before he could collect himself, before he could even breathe, she left the room.
He gulped a breath of air, ready to reveal himself, then froze again as she entered. Before he could finally steel his courage, she'd called him out. He'd come all this way, defying the wishes of his only family, and somehow, through all that, he suddenly felt like the world's biggest coward.
He was terrified by her cold and indifferent reaction to him. She wouldn't even look at him.
And then, when she told him what she believed...what she'd been told by the people they both trusted, he felt gutted. He'd grabbed her up, willing her to feel the faith and trust he had in her, and had never once doubted.
It was only when she began to calm that he finally lost his composure. The full weight and cause of this emptiness he'd been subjected to hit him.
Betrayal. Lies.
How?
Why?
Hermione said they'd felt threatened by her? What did that even mean? He couldn't believe what the Weasleys had said to her - how they truly felt. But if there was one thing he was certain of, it was Hermione. She'd never lie to him, especially about this.
He was lost. Simply lost.
Then when she'd asked about his engagement...
It was true. Molly had been hinting for weeks and weeks now. But how could Hermione possibly know that?
Threatened? Keeping us apart?
"Harry?"
His mind was drifting. He felt a soft hand brushing his forehead, then removing his glasses.
"Hermione," he murmured, trying to open his heavy eyelids. He hadn't realized how dead tired he was.
"I guess all that cleaning must have wiped you out," she joked. He squinted at her blurry form, noting the striking scent of freshly showered Hermione that surrounded her. "I'll bet you must have terrible portkey lag, c'mon then," she offered, pulling his arm to help him off the sofa. Harry let out a soft whoosh of air as Crookshanks vaulted off his chest.
"Did you bring anything with you? A change of clothes or toiletries?"
"No," he mumbled as she dragged him to the bedroom. "Didn't think about it."
"Right then, hang on a bit," she set him on the bed, then began searching through her drawers.
"I use this one when I go to the beach. It's absolutely huge," she placed the bright red t-shirt next to him. "Change, and I'll be right back."
"Hermione, I'm not going to take your bed..."
"Nonsense, just get changed," she commanded, then closed the door behind her.
Harry let out a tired and defeated sigh, before pulling his own shirt off, followed by his shoes and pants. The t-shirt she left him must have been ridiculously large on her, because it fit him loosely, showing just the smallest ribbon of his boxers at mid thigh.
"You decent," she knocked, waiting a moment before entering. She had a warm mug of spiced ginger cider with her.
"Drink a bit of this before you fall asleep. It's good for portkey lag."
"Thanks," he sat up, sipping the drink while she placed his glasses on the nightstand. He set his mug down, and she smiled at him, brushing the hair from his forehead again.
"No worries, we'll talk in the morning. Get some rest."
She went to get up, but he placed his hand over hers.
"Stay," he whispered. "Just... just for a bit."
"Of course," she whispered back, smiling. She went back to brushing her fingers through his scalp and he closed his eyes in contentment.
Tomorrow. There'd be plenty of time to talk tomorrow.