Harry Potter Fic: it’s the kennedys on halloween
um, 3am. they put a lot of sugar in my coffee today. *bed* work, you know, in a couple hours.
it’s the kennedys on halloween
They're drinking; too much, she breathes, too much and he's laughing at her when she stumbles into the grass.
harry potter. harry. harry/hermione.
deathly hallows. 401 words, pg.
for gracie_in_greek.
.
They're drinking; too much, she breathes, too much and he's laughing at her when she stumbles into the grass.
The party is singing inside, people laughing for life and liberty and such and that; Hermione says something again, like oh parties with a frown that wrinkles her disdain across her mouth.
“Erm,” and your best friends, remember, “okay,” the platonic spread of the two of them fitting between his mind and sensibility as he stumbles. The castle looms and splits the sky, but neither of them look back.
“You’re -”
Hermione slurs a laugh instead, grass stains wet against her knees and her thighs with her skirt skimming over lightly. Her arms stretch out as she drops her back and he thinks, really thinks, this is such a bad idea.
But everybody’s doing something and yes, there are plenty of excuses warranting outs; Ron himself, grinning and bearing it: we’re alive tonight, the two of us and three. Always a drinking song, if anything at all.
He drops next to her, the grass slipping against his neck. He gets a little bit of a laugh, something from her and more from him. Her voice is too thick and maybe, the possibility of getting older is settling around him. The alcohol though, he thinks, oh the bloody alcohol. But words are words and words and he turns to watch her, wiggling his fingers.
"I want to kiss you," he murmurs.
She shakes her head, poking his shoulder. "But you can't."
The unspoken agreement between them is lasting and strange as they haven’t opened any words or vouches from either direction. He’s more than a little forward, beside the color of her hip and how it frames his. His thumb skips across her mouth and she’s curious, flushing as he leans closer or maybe, really, it’s just him.
"I can't,” and his stop opens more of a door than he’ll remember.
He turns on his back, his hand to her cheek, and the music from the castle is faint. The fireworks were earlier and Ginny’s nose in his neck with we’re okay as her reassurance. Funny, he thinks, stark and mad - even she covered weary.
He drops his hand back with her sighing, he's alive, he's alive; there's a course of something and he's turning back slowly, watching her. Her eyes are half-closed, her mouth soft.
"Too bad," she sighs.
He nods.
-
it’s the kennedys on halloween
They're drinking; too much, she breathes, too much and he's laughing at her when she stumbles into the grass.
harry potter. harry. harry/hermione.
deathly hallows. 401 words, pg.
for gracie_in_greek.
.
They're drinking; too much, she breathes, too much and he's laughing at her when she stumbles into the grass.
The party is singing inside, people laughing for life and liberty and such and that; Hermione says something again, like oh parties with a frown that wrinkles her disdain across her mouth.
“Erm,” and your best friends, remember, “okay,” the platonic spread of the two of them fitting between his mind and sensibility as he stumbles. The castle looms and splits the sky, but neither of them look back.
“You’re -”
Hermione slurs a laugh instead, grass stains wet against her knees and her thighs with her skirt skimming over lightly. Her arms stretch out as she drops her back and he thinks, really thinks, this is such a bad idea.
But everybody’s doing something and yes, there are plenty of excuses warranting outs; Ron himself, grinning and bearing it: we’re alive tonight, the two of us and three. Always a drinking song, if anything at all.
He drops next to her, the grass slipping against his neck. He gets a little bit of a laugh, something from her and more from him. Her voice is too thick and maybe, the possibility of getting older is settling around him. The alcohol though, he thinks, oh the bloody alcohol. But words are words and words and he turns to watch her, wiggling his fingers.
"I want to kiss you," he murmurs.
She shakes her head, poking his shoulder. "But you can't."
The unspoken agreement between them is lasting and strange as they haven’t opened any words or vouches from either direction. He’s more than a little forward, beside the color of her hip and how it frames his. His thumb skips across her mouth and she’s curious, flushing as he leans closer or maybe, really, it’s just him.
"I can't,” and his stop opens more of a door than he’ll remember.
He turns on his back, his hand to her cheek, and the music from the castle is faint. The fireworks were earlier and Ginny’s nose in his neck with we’re okay as her reassurance. Funny, he thinks, stark and mad - even she covered weary.
He drops his hand back with her sighing, he's alive, he's alive; there's a course of something and he's turning back slowly, watching her. Her eyes are half-closed, her mouth soft.
"Too bad," she sighs.
He nods.
-