Fic: The Mending Of Things (Hermione/Luna, adult)
Title: The Mending Of Things
Rating: R
Word Count: 5467
Warnings: None
Summary: When Hermione seeks Luna's help for someone else, she gets more than she bargained for.
Disclaimers: None of it's mine; just playing around.
Notes: Written for purple_chalk in the 2009 hpvalensmut exchange. Thanks to florahart for the beta.
Surely by now, they’ve noticed that she’s taking curiously long to make a pot of tea.
Worrying her thumbnail with her teeth, Hermione glances at the door leading back to the sitting room and turns back to the counter, where three cups of tea and a plate of biscuits are arranged precisely on a tray and have been for at least five minutes. She isn’t hiding, exactly; it’s not as if they don’t know she’s in the kitchen. She likes to think of it more as taking a moment to get her bearings.
Hermione has never been much for small talk. Especially not with her parents, even if it’s the only talk they can seem to make anymore.
Sighing, she hops up to sit on the counter, feeling at least a decade younger than her twenty-four years. Before she went and fucked everything up, she used to sit next to the window over the kitchen sink and read, or eat a snack, or watch her father cook, or pepper her mum with questions about this or that or the other thing. She still does it in her own flat sometimes, if she’s waiting for a pot to boil or her laundry to dry. Now, she supposes she’s trying to find some place in this house where she can still feel comfortable.
She hates not being able to really talk to them.
The kitchen door creaks slightly at the hinges as it swings inward, and she glances up to see her father poke his head in, looking about as awkward as she feels. He rubs a hand over his wiry brown hair as he steps into the room. “Alright, poppet? Thought I’d see if you needed any help.”
Hermione’s mouth turns up slightly at the corners. It hasn’t taken him as long to forgive as Mum. “I think I’ve got it. I was about to come back out; I just …”
Thomas frowns. “Yes. I suppose so.”
“Dad,” she hesitates a moment, worrying her thumbnail again, “how is she, really?”
He glances back toward the sitting room. “You should ask her yourself, Hermione. If you’re going to come visit, you should talk about more than the weather and current events.”
Hermione pretends not to have heard that. “Are her migraines any better?”
“Not really,” Thomas sighs. Jane has suffered the occasional migraine since Hermione was ten, and since they came back to England, they’ve got worse. “Still taking pills for the headaches, but they’ve become no less frequent.”
She nods; it’s not anything she didn’t expect to hear. Before she can say anything else, Thomas adds, “I don’t think this … rift, between you, is helping.”
“No,” Hermione looks down. “I’m sure you’re right.”
After a few more awkward moments, Thomas reaches out and passes a hand over her hair. “Well. I’ll just be out there.”
When the door swings shut behind him, Hermione slips off the counter. “Right behind you,” she says, and gathers up the tea tray.
*
Harry broaches the subject later, when they’re making dinner in his and Ron’s flat.
Since she moved out, Hermione makes a point of coming back to eat with them at least a couple times a week. She misses them, and they make salad to humour her, and she loves them more than she’s ever loved anyone, even if she can’t share the same sort of love they have between them.
“So. Erm.” Whenever Harry broaches a subject, it’s always with a battering ram. “How was it?”
Hermione gives a wry smile; even though she rarely wants to talk about it, he always asks. Ron gives her a furtive look as he cuts the cucumber for the salad. “Uncomfortable, as always. I don’t know why I keep going back.”
“Oh.” Always at a loss when it comes to things like this, Harry goes back to cutting potatoes for another batch of chips. “They’re your family. I’d want to see them.”
“Mm,” Hermione drops to her elbows as she leans against the counter and reaches for a slice of cucumber. “I keep hoping it’ll be different. It’s been almost three years since I brought them home.”
“Well, it’s a lot to get over,” Ron offers. At Hermione’s look, he quickly adds, “but I mean, I’m sure they will. Not like your heart wasn’t in the right place.”
“Right,” and she really doesn’t want to talk about this. She puts the slice of cucumber in her mouth and crunches on it.
“I bet Luna could help with the headaches,” Harry says, dumping freshly-fried chips into a basket.
Ron laughed. “You think taking Hermione’s mum to see Luna would be a good idea?” He shook his head. “Thought I was supposed to be the thick one.”
“Prat.” Harry says mildly. “But really -- she made me this stuff, awhile back, that helped me with my sore leg. Doesn’t even hurt when it rains anymore.”
“I know, but,” Ron pauses for long enough to pluck a piping-hot crisp from the basket as Harry sprinkles salt on them. "It's Luna. She's in the dictionary next to 'not normal'. And your mum's -- you know. Ever since ... ow! Fucking hell." Ron breaks off to try and cool his freshly scalded tongue, making Harry snicker. “Need some water now. Anyway, like I was saying … your mum doesn’t exactly trust -“
“-I know what you’re saying,” Hermione says quickly, moving to the sink to pour Ron a glass of water, if only for the excuse not to look at either of them. “I don’t know, Harry … it’s something to think about. “
He shrugs. “Dunno. Can’t hurt, I reckon.”
They’re rubbish at this sort of thing, but she loves them for trying. Besides, at the moment, she’s not so great at it, either.
*
When she gets home, Luna’s there, painting her nails on the sofa in her knickers and a camisole. While she blushes a bit, Hermione’s well used to Luna’s aversion to wearing much of anything around the house. She drops into a chair, bypassing the Quibbler on the coffee table and gently extricating the Sunday edition of the Prophet from under Luna’s heel. “Hello, Luna.”
“Hi Hermione.” Luna looks up, shaking back her curtain of blonde hair so that she can see Hermione. “Long day?” she asks, after a rather uncomfortable moment or two of watching.
“Does it show?” Hermione asks dryly, scanning the front page.
“Yes, sort of,” Luna says matter-of-factly. “Not that you don’t look lovely, but there are shadows, you see. Around your eyes? I have a salve, if you’re interested. It’ll make your skin tingle a bit, but most people actually find that rather pleasant.”
“I’m not. Interested, I mean.” After a second, Hermione shifts uncomfortably. “But thanks.”
Luna shrugs. “Some sleep should take care of it too, you know, but you’ve never been good at that so I thought I’d offer an alternative.”
“Uh.” She doesn’t quite know what to say to that, or when Luna became an expert on her sleeping habits. “Right.”
As far as roommates go, Luna’s better than Hermione expected. Really, they don’t even see much of each other during the week, what with Luna working days at the clinic and Hermione doing mostly night shifts in the reference department at the Magical British Library. She likes managing the department, even if she’s only the night manager for now - it’s the most extensive in Britain, and she’s been trying to get them to adopt a new cataloguing system that she’s going to love implementing. If it ever gets approved.
Anyway, she and Luna spend most of their time as roommates crossing paths, and for the most part, that’s fine with Hermione. It isn’t that she doesn’t like Luna; she would even call her one of her best friends, but they’ve never had a lot in common and conversations can be, well, tiring at times. And Luna has always made her uncomfortable, with the watching, and the knowing things that most people don’t pick up on. But she also has a way of accepting Hermione for exactly who she is, and that’s nice. It’s always been nice. When Harry and Ron became HarryandRon, and Hermione started to feel as if she were in the way, moving seemed the best option. Luna was looking for a place at the time too, and it seemed easy enough.
Hermione reads the paper for awhile, and when she realizes that she’s no longer retaining any of it, she looks over at Luna again, who is humming between blowing at her wet toes. “Do you ever treat Muggles?”
“Occasionally.” Clearly tired of pushing it back to see, Luna scoops up her hair and knots it on top of her head. Weirdly, Hermione notices a tiny clump of red polish that’s caught at the ends. “Many of my ointments and potions work quite well on them, even if it takes a certain sort of Muggle to be receptive. I don’t tell them about the magic, of course.”
“Hm.” Hermione’s pretty sure her mother isn’t the ‘certain sort of Muggle’ to which Luna’s referring. It feels strange to bring this up to Luna, but she continues. “Only, I went to see my mother today. She’s been having headaches - rather bad ones, lately, and nothing she’s trying is helping.”
“Why is she having headaches?”
“I don’t …” Hermione trails off. She does know; at least, she thinks she might, and Luna will know if she lies, which is irritating. “I think it’s stress. I don’t know what to do for her, and furthermore we’re - we haven’t been on the best of terms, for quite some time. I just wondered if you had any experience with that sort of thing.”
“Mother-daughter things? No, not especially,” Luna shakes her head, her eyes on Hermione.
“No. Goodness! I meant headaches. Stress. Not … that. I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For - never mind.” Bloody hell. Why did she bring this up?
“I’d be happy to try, of course,” Luna continues as if nothing happened. “Bring her in, or, I can go to her. Whatever’s easiest.”
“I’ve no idea if she’d even be okay with it. She’s not exactly a fan of magic at the moment.”
“That must be awkward for you, considering,” Luna says simply.
“Yes,” Hermione replies, not feeling like pointing out that it’s pretty much her fault. “Anyway. I’ll talk to her, I suppose. Luna …”
“Hmm?”
Hermione clears her throat. “Well. Thanks.”
Luna’s smile is bright as she gets to her feet. “I made some soup.” She starts to head into the kitchen but turns back, past the coffee table until she’s leant over in front of Hermione, who blinks as she brushes her lips against her temple, then her cheek.
“What - um.” Hermione reddens.
“You looked like you could use it,” Luna says simply, and trots back toward the kitchen, leaving Hermione to fold her legs up into the chair, touching the side of her face.
*
A week later, when Hermione visits again, her father’s at work. Typically, her visits are much further apart, but she’s smart enough to know that if she’s going to get any sort of result, she’ll need to do something different from what she usually does.
Jane answers the door in cream-colored trousers and a dark jumper, her straight brown hair swinging past her jaw. She stands with the door open for what seems an interminable amount of time. “Hermione. This is a surprise.”
“Hello, Mum.” Her hands are folded in front of her to stop herself wringing them. Finally, Jane steps back and opens the storm door, gesturing toward the sitting room.
“Has something happened?”
“Oh no, I’m fine.” Of course her mother would wonder if something was wrong, for her to be back so soon. “I only wanted to check on you; I think we need to talk.”
Jane nods and lowers to the sofa. "Alright."
Hermione takes the loveseat across from the sofa and rests her hands in her lap, her pose mirroring her mother's almost exactly. Her head is full of words and questions and apologies and urges to hug, but she can't really voice any of it, telling herself that her mum wouldn't want to hear it. "I want you to meet a friend of mine," she blurts.
"About what?" Jane asks, blinking.
"Well, your headaches, of course," Hermione explains. And now she's wringing her hands. "I spoke to Dad last week, and he said the migraines aren't improving. My friend, she's what you might call - well, she practices a sort of alternative medicine, and --"
"She's magical, then?" Jane tenses slightly and reaches for a glass of water.
"Um. Yes, technically. But she's really very good, and I think it's worth a try, even if you don't …"
"If I don't…?" Jane prompts.
Hermione puffs out a breath. "I just mean, I know you don't trust me. Don't trust magic, that is, since you found out what I did in Australia." To your memories.
It's a while before Jane speaks again. "I'm not sure what you want me to say. You've apologized for that, many times. I understand why you felt you had to do what you did."
"But you're still angry." It's not a question in Hermione's mind.
"I was," she admits. "You can't blame me for that."
"I know. I don't." Hermione looks away so that her chin doesn't tremble. It’s not as if there hasn’t always been a divide between them, a part of her that her parents would never be able to understand. But since Australia, it’s bigger, harder to cross, and she can't even blame anyone else for it. "I just want things to go back to normal. Will you please just try? Nothing bad will happen to you; I … I promise."
Her mother sips her water, an unreadable expression on her face. "Fine. Who is this friend of yours?"
*
Luna has a moderately impressive potions setup in the third bedroom of their flat, which they've split down the middle so that Hermione can keep a home office of sorts on the other side. Most of what Luna does with it isn't technically allowed by the clinic where she works, so when she's home, she spends quite a bit of time there. Hermione finds her there on her day off, a few hours before she has to leave for her own shift at the library.
"Your mum is lovely," Luna says brightly, by way of a greeting. "You look so much like her. Except for the hair, of course."
"I've never thought we looked very much alike," Hermione says honestly. It's kind of nice to hear it, though.
Luna only smiles. "I don't think she quite knew what to make of me," she adds matter-of-factly. "But she was very polite when I asked her for a lock of hair."
"You …" Hermione trails off, not having considered that. "Oh."
"Well, it's the only way to personalize it, of course," Luna says, as if Hermione is being silly. "Well, that or a fingernail. Did you know her hair is actually blonde, by the way? Some people think color-treated hair isn't good for potions, but I find it works much the same. And most patients aren't usually receptive to giving hair samples from other, non-altered areas."
"You don't say," Hermione says faintly, trying not to imagine how that conversation could have gone.
"Who knows why. It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Luna prattles on, holding a round-bottomed flask up to the light. "Anyway, this one came from her head."
"I hope you don't mind me watching," Hermione says curiously, and steps closer when Luna shakes her head. "When it comes to healing, I'm better with charms than potions. Do you think this will work?"
"It'll get rid of her pain," Luna puts a stopper into the flask and shakes it three times, "and it'll last longer than her pills. But I don't think it'll be more than a temporary fix."
"What do you mean?" she asks, even if she was sort of expecting this answer.
"You're going to need to reconcile with your mum, of course. She misses you. And a potion can't really do anything about that." To her surprise, Luna takes her hand in her free one. It's narrower than her own, softer, and surely less marked with dots of ink, but her grip is sure. "But you know that, I think."
Hermione hesitates, wanting to explain that she tried, that she failed. In the end, she stiffens. It's none of Luna's business. "You don't know anything about my mum."
"Not as much as you," Luna agrees, "that doesn't make me wrong, though."
She pulls her hand back. "Do you know when it will be ready?" she asks politely.
"In one-to-six hours. I'll bring it to you."
"That's fine. Thank you," Hermione adds, leaving Luna humming over her work.
*
She returns from work to a dark flat. Luna must be asleep, or else not home. Hermione's both glad and disappointed not to see her - it's a little too unnerving being around her, having her know things that Hermione's pretty sure she doesn't want her to know. It's alright that Harry and Ron know what she did; they're her family, they share her secrets because she loves them. Luna isn't her family, and she doesn't love her the same way. Still, while it makes her nervous, being able to look at Luna and see understanding in her large grey eyes … well. It's not the worst thing in the world.
There's half of the sandwich Hermione had for lunch still in the fridge, and she finishes it before getting ready for bed. The flat's entirely too quiet and gives her too much time to think, so she gets out of her clothes quickly and slips into bed, hoping that sleep isn't too far away.
She's wide awake when her bedroom door opens and Luna slips inside. "Hermione?"
"Hmm?"
"I figured you might be awake," Luna's voice is closer, and then the mattress dips and Hermione can smell grapefruit and lavender, or something nice like that. "It's positively deafening in here; I'm surprised anyone can get to sleep."
Hermione can't actually hear anything except Luna's voice, so she doesn't have an answer for that. And to ask would lead to one of those tiring conversations, so she peels the covers back and sits up. It's a little disorienting that she can't see anything except the faint sheen on Luna's hair from the moonlight. Not that it isn't nice hair, but still.
"I just wanted to let you know that the potion's ready."
"Oh. Okay." She doesn't know why Luna couldn't have waited until morning to tell her this, but what she does know is that she feels kind of awful about how she left their last conversation considering how much time Luna spent trying to help her. "Thank you. Really."
Luna's hand is on her knee, patting it, and Hermione goes a bit still. "You're welcome. I'd do anything for you, you know."
Hermione can talk anyone's ear off, so it's a bit strange how much time she spends with Luna at a complete loss for words. "Likewise," she says honestly. It's true; Luna is one of her best friends, but saying this sort of thing in the dark, in bed, makes her feel distinctly odd. It's not good or bad, but definitely very odd.
"I wanted to tell you," Hermione says quietly, since it's dark and they're saying Things, and all, "I was rude to you earlier."
"Oh, I know that," Luna says, like Hermione's pointed out the obvious. Which she guesses she has.
"I mean to say that I'm sorry for it," she clarifies. "It was uncalled-for, and ungrateful."
"Oh! Well. Apology accepted, then." Hermione can tell that she's smiling, even if she can't see, and it puts her more at ease.
"Have you ever done something you know was wrong, but that you can't completely regret?"
Luna's quiet a moment. "Yes, I think so."
"That's kind of what this is, for me. What I did, I'd do again in a heartbeat if I had to. It's kind of messed up that I still expect Mum to forgive me for it, and I guess … I guess I just didn't want you to know. Didn't want to talk about it. Or something."
Hermione's heart's beating a little faster with the admission; meanwhile Luna's not saying anything, but her hair’s moving and she's not sure if it's because she's nodding, shaking her head, or what. "Anyway, I want you to know now - because you're good enough to help my mum, and you deserve at least that." She's pretty sure it's not the only reason, but it's not any less true.
Luna finds her hand with hers and lifts it, placing a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. It makes Hermione's pulse jump, and she tells herself that Luna can't see, and so she can't help where her lips land. "Thank you."
"For what?" Hermione whispers.
"Trusting me."
"Okay. What are you doing?" she asks, feeling soft fingertips grazing her face.
"I'm going to kiss you," Luna says quietly, feathering her hand across Hermione's cheekbone, "but I can't see very well, and I didn't want to accidentally kiss something other than your lips."
"You're - going to …" She can't finish the sentence, can't physically finish it, because Luna's lips are on hers, wet and warm, and by the time she pulls back, her breath is gone. "Luna?"
"Don't feel bad about yourself, Hermione." Luna's hands are on her neck now, and her face is only inches away. "Don't. I think you're beautiful."
This is confusing and kind of wonderful, and how did her fingers become clenched in the collar of Luna's shirt? "But I like men. I think." She's always imagined being with men, even if none of them have made her feel like this, and certainly not after just one kiss. And, goodness, Luna's hair is brushing the bare skin on her arm, her thigh.
"So do I. In a general sense," Luna muses, as if discussing their common interest in a rock band or something. "But I've never really understood them, and they don't really understand me."
"Sometimes I don't understand you."
"I understand you. And this." She kisses the corner of Hermione's mouth. "Also, I really like your breasts."
Hermione can't help the nervous laugh that bubbles up from her throat; despite their position, it's the last thing she expected to hear. People don't just say things like that to her; she isn't the sort of girl who hears that a lot. "Oh. Well." And then Luna's hand is on her ribcage, her thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her shirt. "Oh."
"Yes." Luna leans forward and licks at her bottom lip. Hermione sways toward her and kisses her full on the mouth, thinking it's not fair for one of them to be more breathless than the other, and when she pulls back, Luna's gasping, too.
She's thinking about her body, and about how Luna's got one of those bodies that look great walking around the flat in knickers and a bra, and how her body isn't really like that. Then Luna's sliding her tongue between her lips so that all she can do is open her mouth wider and let their tongues find each other. They do, and Luna sucks gently on hers. Goodness.
Luna doesn’t seem to have a problem with Hermione's body, and it's hard to be self-conscious when those soft, narrow hands slip under her shirt and over her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples until she whimpers. She wants to touch now, to know how Luna's body feels and what sort of sounds she'll make. She reaches blindly for whatever she can touch, landing on a hip. A knicker-less one. Luna's hips feel different from her own, slimmer without being boyish. No, Hermione thinks, trailing her hand higher to feel the way it dips in toward her waist, never boyish. Luna's lips have found her way to Hermione's throat, alternating between soft sucks and little humming sounds, and Hermione's damp between her legs, and she hasn't ever felt anything this good.
Always helpful, Luna draws back for long enough to get her sleep shirt off, then Hermione's nightgown, and she doesn't need to tell Hermione to raise her arms. "Yes," Luna says again, pressing Hermione against the mattress and dipping her head to take a nipple into her mouth. Hermione whines and arches her back, her breath coming in short gasps.
Suddenly, Hermione wishes she could see Luna, but she can't remember where her wand is and so her hands will have to do the seeing. She covers Luna's breast with her hand, and it's small; it fits almost perfectly against her palm, and she doesn't think she can say that she doesn't like women, because likes this, really quite a lot. Luna's nipple is peaked, straining against Hermione's palm, so Hermione rubs her thumb against it, wondering how it'll feel against her tongue. She rolls them until they're on their sides, their legs tangling but neither of them caring. She dips her head to run her tongue over the pebbled skin. Luna makes a sound Hermione's sure she's never heard before, but she really wants to hear it again. She kisses over, around, between Luna's breasts, because it makes Luna squirm against her leg, and she's just as damp as Hermione, apparently.
Luna rolls them again so that Hermione's underneath her, her back curved and pressed against the pillows, and Hermione only has a second to register how it feels with their breasts touching, their thighs rubbing, before Luna's fingers are beneath her knickers, moving around and dipping inside. Hermione gasps, loudly. It's only ever been her own fingers down there, and Luna's seem to have a much better idea what's what. She can't say anything, only rocks her hips and runs her hands up Luna's back, wanting more but not knowing quite how to get it.
Luna knows, though; Hermione thinks maybe Luna has always known. She wiggles down Hermione's body and drags her knickers down, and oh - that's definitely her tongue licking, licking things she didn't even know she had, licking fire up her spine. God. Her entire body feels tense, and she's sweating and she knows what's happening, but it's never happened like this. Lips and tongue and firm, perfect pressure. Luna brings those all-knowing fingers back into things, slipping one inside her again and curling it, hitting something amazing as she works her tongue faster, and that's pretty much it. Hermione bucks her hips and comes, pleasure spreading through her limbs and stealing her breath completely.
When she opens her eyes again, Luna's moved back up her body, and this time her lips are wet - from her, Hermione realises, which is … interesting. She feels herself flush with heat again as she returns the kiss and lets Luna guide her fingers between her legs. Not knowing is usually a problem for her, but she's so out of her depth that she lets Luna's fingers move with hers, touching herself as Hermione touches her, and it's not long before she's coming too, squirming and writhing, their hands trapped together against Hermione's thigh.
*
It's no longer dark when Hermione wakes, sprawled on her stomach. In fact, the sun filters through the window and seems to beam directly on her. She doesn’t see Luna, doesn't feel the same warmth against her side that she felt all night, and her gaze slides toward the clock. Nearly time for Luna to leave for work, so that would explain it. For her part, Hermione doesn't much want to get up. She hasn't been asleep very long, and it's a while before she needs to leave.
Of course, there's also the ache between her legs, the tense muscles, the sticky feeling that comes with the completely inappropriate sex she had last night. With Luna. Her eyes fall closed and her entire body flushes as she remembers it, but she can't quite regret it, either.
She hears footsteps in the corridor then, and keeps her eyes closed. She hasn't the faintest idea what to say, and is content to avoid the issue for now. Luna doesn't say anything when she comes in, only moves to the bed and sits there for what feels like a long while. Hermione's almost certain Luna's aware that she isn't actually asleep.
Finally, Luna shifts, and Hermione can feel soft lips against her shoulder blade.
"I think you need to forgive yourself," Luna murmurs against her shoulder, "and talk to your mum. I'll see you later."
Hermione feels the springs uncoil in the mattress, listens to the door close behind Luna, and squeezes her eyes shut against prickling tears that catch her totally off guard.
*
They don't talk again until the end of the week. It's been easy to avoid each other with their schedules, though as the days pass, Hermione’s increasingly sure she's the only one who's been consciously doing so.
The potion, when she took it to her mother, worked quite well, but of course that doesn’t solve everything, just the headache part. The rest of it is more complicated. Hermione doesn’t know whether asking her mum if she wanted to go for a walk was the answer, but it’s probably a start. She didn't refuse, after all, and Hermione had been sure that she would. Luna told her that she was being harder on herself than her parents ever would have been, but she really hadn't believed it until then.
Puzzling over her continuing complicated relationship with her mother leaves her feeling as through thinking about what happened with Luna might make her head explode, so she avoids the issue by avoiding the person. That’s not sustainable indefinitely, but as a stopgap only, it’s relieved a little pressure.
On Saturday evening, she comes home to find Luna puttering around the kitchen and knows the time for avoidance is over. Depositing her bags by the sofa, she walks over and stops in the kitchen doorway. "Hi."
"Hi Hermione," Luna smiles sunnily. Her hair is piled on top of her head again and stuck through with her wand, and Hermione thinks she's beautiful. "I'm making a curry. Would you like some?"
"Yeah, I would," Hermione says, marveling at how easy it is, how easy Luna’s being. "Thank you. Can I help?"
"Cook the rice while I work on the chicken?"
"I think I can handle rice." Hermione stops on her way past Luna, and takes her face in her hands and kisses her soundly. "Oh," Luna flushes faintly, and smiles. "Well. Alright."
Hermione ducks her head and smiles, but before she can lean back in, there's a knock on the door. Luna's blank look tells her that she isn't expecting company either, and Hermione goes to answer the door.
"Mum!" She stares open-mouthed at her mother, who's standing in the corridor holding a plant. "Um. Hi."
"Hello, Hermione." Jane's smile is nervous and hesitant, but it's there, and she's here. And Hermione should really stop staring.
"Come in - please." She steps back and opens the door wider.
"I thought it was long past time I saw where you live." Jane offers the potted cactus, and Hermione accepts it.
"Thank you. This is lovely."
"Something smells good," Jane says, looking around, and it's awkward yet, so awkward, but it's definitely a step.
"We're making curry. Luna and I. You'll stay for dinner, then?"
"I'd like that."
"Good," Hermione smiles, and they walk back to the kitchen as she releases the breath she was holding. "Good."
She puts a pot on to boil and hunts up some rice, smiling as Luna asks her mother where she found such a lovely Aquefolius plant. As she rarely has much to add to that sort of discussion, she’s left to think about how confusing her life has become in such a short time. Things with her mother are so up in the air, and Hermione dislikes being up there in general, not to mention the step she's just taken with Luna feels sort of monumental.
At the moment, though, she's busying herself with the rice and they're chattering behind her, and it sounds kind of good to listen to them both.
End
Rating: R
Word Count: 5467
Warnings: None
Summary: When Hermione seeks Luna's help for someone else, she gets more than she bargained for.
Disclaimers: None of it's mine; just playing around.
Notes: Written for purple_chalk in the 2009 hpvalensmut exchange. Thanks to florahart for the beta.
Surely by now, they’ve noticed that she’s taking curiously long to make a pot of tea.
Worrying her thumbnail with her teeth, Hermione glances at the door leading back to the sitting room and turns back to the counter, where three cups of tea and a plate of biscuits are arranged precisely on a tray and have been for at least five minutes. She isn’t hiding, exactly; it’s not as if they don’t know she’s in the kitchen. She likes to think of it more as taking a moment to get her bearings.
Hermione has never been much for small talk. Especially not with her parents, even if it’s the only talk they can seem to make anymore.
Sighing, she hops up to sit on the counter, feeling at least a decade younger than her twenty-four years. Before she went and fucked everything up, she used to sit next to the window over the kitchen sink and read, or eat a snack, or watch her father cook, or pepper her mum with questions about this or that or the other thing. She still does it in her own flat sometimes, if she’s waiting for a pot to boil or her laundry to dry. Now, she supposes she’s trying to find some place in this house where she can still feel comfortable.
She hates not being able to really talk to them.
The kitchen door creaks slightly at the hinges as it swings inward, and she glances up to see her father poke his head in, looking about as awkward as she feels. He rubs a hand over his wiry brown hair as he steps into the room. “Alright, poppet? Thought I’d see if you needed any help.”
Hermione’s mouth turns up slightly at the corners. It hasn’t taken him as long to forgive as Mum. “I think I’ve got it. I was about to come back out; I just …”
Thomas frowns. “Yes. I suppose so.”
“Dad,” she hesitates a moment, worrying her thumbnail again, “how is she, really?”
He glances back toward the sitting room. “You should ask her yourself, Hermione. If you’re going to come visit, you should talk about more than the weather and current events.”
Hermione pretends not to have heard that. “Are her migraines any better?”
“Not really,” Thomas sighs. Jane has suffered the occasional migraine since Hermione was ten, and since they came back to England, they’ve got worse. “Still taking pills for the headaches, but they’ve become no less frequent.”
She nods; it’s not anything she didn’t expect to hear. Before she can say anything else, Thomas adds, “I don’t think this … rift, between you, is helping.”
“No,” Hermione looks down. “I’m sure you’re right.”
After a few more awkward moments, Thomas reaches out and passes a hand over her hair. “Well. I’ll just be out there.”
When the door swings shut behind him, Hermione slips off the counter. “Right behind you,” she says, and gathers up the tea tray.
*
Harry broaches the subject later, when they’re making dinner in his and Ron’s flat.
Since she moved out, Hermione makes a point of coming back to eat with them at least a couple times a week. She misses them, and they make salad to humour her, and she loves them more than she’s ever loved anyone, even if she can’t share the same sort of love they have between them.
“So. Erm.” Whenever Harry broaches a subject, it’s always with a battering ram. “How was it?”
Hermione gives a wry smile; even though she rarely wants to talk about it, he always asks. Ron gives her a furtive look as he cuts the cucumber for the salad. “Uncomfortable, as always. I don’t know why I keep going back.”
“Oh.” Always at a loss when it comes to things like this, Harry goes back to cutting potatoes for another batch of chips. “They’re your family. I’d want to see them.”
“Mm,” Hermione drops to her elbows as she leans against the counter and reaches for a slice of cucumber. “I keep hoping it’ll be different. It’s been almost three years since I brought them home.”
“Well, it’s a lot to get over,” Ron offers. At Hermione’s look, he quickly adds, “but I mean, I’m sure they will. Not like your heart wasn’t in the right place.”
“Right,” and she really doesn’t want to talk about this. She puts the slice of cucumber in her mouth and crunches on it.
“I bet Luna could help with the headaches,” Harry says, dumping freshly-fried chips into a basket.
Ron laughed. “You think taking Hermione’s mum to see Luna would be a good idea?” He shook his head. “Thought I was supposed to be the thick one.”
“Prat.” Harry says mildly. “But really -- she made me this stuff, awhile back, that helped me with my sore leg. Doesn’t even hurt when it rains anymore.”
“I know, but,” Ron pauses for long enough to pluck a piping-hot crisp from the basket as Harry sprinkles salt on them. "It's Luna. She's in the dictionary next to 'not normal'. And your mum's -- you know. Ever since ... ow! Fucking hell." Ron breaks off to try and cool his freshly scalded tongue, making Harry snicker. “Need some water now. Anyway, like I was saying … your mum doesn’t exactly trust -“
“-I know what you’re saying,” Hermione says quickly, moving to the sink to pour Ron a glass of water, if only for the excuse not to look at either of them. “I don’t know, Harry … it’s something to think about. “
He shrugs. “Dunno. Can’t hurt, I reckon.”
They’re rubbish at this sort of thing, but she loves them for trying. Besides, at the moment, she’s not so great at it, either.
*
When she gets home, Luna’s there, painting her nails on the sofa in her knickers and a camisole. While she blushes a bit, Hermione’s well used to Luna’s aversion to wearing much of anything around the house. She drops into a chair, bypassing the Quibbler on the coffee table and gently extricating the Sunday edition of the Prophet from under Luna’s heel. “Hello, Luna.”
“Hi Hermione.” Luna looks up, shaking back her curtain of blonde hair so that she can see Hermione. “Long day?” she asks, after a rather uncomfortable moment or two of watching.
“Does it show?” Hermione asks dryly, scanning the front page.
“Yes, sort of,” Luna says matter-of-factly. “Not that you don’t look lovely, but there are shadows, you see. Around your eyes? I have a salve, if you’re interested. It’ll make your skin tingle a bit, but most people actually find that rather pleasant.”
“I’m not. Interested, I mean.” After a second, Hermione shifts uncomfortably. “But thanks.”
Luna shrugs. “Some sleep should take care of it too, you know, but you’ve never been good at that so I thought I’d offer an alternative.”
“Uh.” She doesn’t quite know what to say to that, or when Luna became an expert on her sleeping habits. “Right.”
As far as roommates go, Luna’s better than Hermione expected. Really, they don’t even see much of each other during the week, what with Luna working days at the clinic and Hermione doing mostly night shifts in the reference department at the Magical British Library. She likes managing the department, even if she’s only the night manager for now - it’s the most extensive in Britain, and she’s been trying to get them to adopt a new cataloguing system that she’s going to love implementing. If it ever gets approved.
Anyway, she and Luna spend most of their time as roommates crossing paths, and for the most part, that’s fine with Hermione. It isn’t that she doesn’t like Luna; she would even call her one of her best friends, but they’ve never had a lot in common and conversations can be, well, tiring at times. And Luna has always made her uncomfortable, with the watching, and the knowing things that most people don’t pick up on. But she also has a way of accepting Hermione for exactly who she is, and that’s nice. It’s always been nice. When Harry and Ron became HarryandRon, and Hermione started to feel as if she were in the way, moving seemed the best option. Luna was looking for a place at the time too, and it seemed easy enough.
Hermione reads the paper for awhile, and when she realizes that she’s no longer retaining any of it, she looks over at Luna again, who is humming between blowing at her wet toes. “Do you ever treat Muggles?”
“Occasionally.” Clearly tired of pushing it back to see, Luna scoops up her hair and knots it on top of her head. Weirdly, Hermione notices a tiny clump of red polish that’s caught at the ends. “Many of my ointments and potions work quite well on them, even if it takes a certain sort of Muggle to be receptive. I don’t tell them about the magic, of course.”
“Hm.” Hermione’s pretty sure her mother isn’t the ‘certain sort of Muggle’ to which Luna’s referring. It feels strange to bring this up to Luna, but she continues. “Only, I went to see my mother today. She’s been having headaches - rather bad ones, lately, and nothing she’s trying is helping.”
“Why is she having headaches?”
“I don’t …” Hermione trails off. She does know; at least, she thinks she might, and Luna will know if she lies, which is irritating. “I think it’s stress. I don’t know what to do for her, and furthermore we’re - we haven’t been on the best of terms, for quite some time. I just wondered if you had any experience with that sort of thing.”
“Mother-daughter things? No, not especially,” Luna shakes her head, her eyes on Hermione.
“No. Goodness! I meant headaches. Stress. Not … that. I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For - never mind.” Bloody hell. Why did she bring this up?
“I’d be happy to try, of course,” Luna continues as if nothing happened. “Bring her in, or, I can go to her. Whatever’s easiest.”
“I’ve no idea if she’d even be okay with it. She’s not exactly a fan of magic at the moment.”
“That must be awkward for you, considering,” Luna says simply.
“Yes,” Hermione replies, not feeling like pointing out that it’s pretty much her fault. “Anyway. I’ll talk to her, I suppose. Luna …”
“Hmm?”
Hermione clears her throat. “Well. Thanks.”
Luna’s smile is bright as she gets to her feet. “I made some soup.” She starts to head into the kitchen but turns back, past the coffee table until she’s leant over in front of Hermione, who blinks as she brushes her lips against her temple, then her cheek.
“What - um.” Hermione reddens.
“You looked like you could use it,” Luna says simply, and trots back toward the kitchen, leaving Hermione to fold her legs up into the chair, touching the side of her face.
*
A week later, when Hermione visits again, her father’s at work. Typically, her visits are much further apart, but she’s smart enough to know that if she’s going to get any sort of result, she’ll need to do something different from what she usually does.
Jane answers the door in cream-colored trousers and a dark jumper, her straight brown hair swinging past her jaw. She stands with the door open for what seems an interminable amount of time. “Hermione. This is a surprise.”
“Hello, Mum.” Her hands are folded in front of her to stop herself wringing them. Finally, Jane steps back and opens the storm door, gesturing toward the sitting room.
“Has something happened?”
“Oh no, I’m fine.” Of course her mother would wonder if something was wrong, for her to be back so soon. “I only wanted to check on you; I think we need to talk.”
Jane nods and lowers to the sofa. "Alright."
Hermione takes the loveseat across from the sofa and rests her hands in her lap, her pose mirroring her mother's almost exactly. Her head is full of words and questions and apologies and urges to hug, but she can't really voice any of it, telling herself that her mum wouldn't want to hear it. "I want you to meet a friend of mine," she blurts.
"About what?" Jane asks, blinking.
"Well, your headaches, of course," Hermione explains. And now she's wringing her hands. "I spoke to Dad last week, and he said the migraines aren't improving. My friend, she's what you might call - well, she practices a sort of alternative medicine, and --"
"She's magical, then?" Jane tenses slightly and reaches for a glass of water.
"Um. Yes, technically. But she's really very good, and I think it's worth a try, even if you don't …"
"If I don't…?" Jane prompts.
Hermione puffs out a breath. "I just mean, I know you don't trust me. Don't trust magic, that is, since you found out what I did in Australia." To your memories.
It's a while before Jane speaks again. "I'm not sure what you want me to say. You've apologized for that, many times. I understand why you felt you had to do what you did."
"But you're still angry." It's not a question in Hermione's mind.
"I was," she admits. "You can't blame me for that."
"I know. I don't." Hermione looks away so that her chin doesn't tremble. It’s not as if there hasn’t always been a divide between them, a part of her that her parents would never be able to understand. But since Australia, it’s bigger, harder to cross, and she can't even blame anyone else for it. "I just want things to go back to normal. Will you please just try? Nothing bad will happen to you; I … I promise."
Her mother sips her water, an unreadable expression on her face. "Fine. Who is this friend of yours?"
*
Luna has a moderately impressive potions setup in the third bedroom of their flat, which they've split down the middle so that Hermione can keep a home office of sorts on the other side. Most of what Luna does with it isn't technically allowed by the clinic where she works, so when she's home, she spends quite a bit of time there. Hermione finds her there on her day off, a few hours before she has to leave for her own shift at the library.
"Your mum is lovely," Luna says brightly, by way of a greeting. "You look so much like her. Except for the hair, of course."
"I've never thought we looked very much alike," Hermione says honestly. It's kind of nice to hear it, though.
Luna only smiles. "I don't think she quite knew what to make of me," she adds matter-of-factly. "But she was very polite when I asked her for a lock of hair."
"You …" Hermione trails off, not having considered that. "Oh."
"Well, it's the only way to personalize it, of course," Luna says, as if Hermione is being silly. "Well, that or a fingernail. Did you know her hair is actually blonde, by the way? Some people think color-treated hair isn't good for potions, but I find it works much the same. And most patients aren't usually receptive to giving hair samples from other, non-altered areas."
"You don't say," Hermione says faintly, trying not to imagine how that conversation could have gone.
"Who knows why. It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Luna prattles on, holding a round-bottomed flask up to the light. "Anyway, this one came from her head."
"I hope you don't mind me watching," Hermione says curiously, and steps closer when Luna shakes her head. "When it comes to healing, I'm better with charms than potions. Do you think this will work?"
"It'll get rid of her pain," Luna puts a stopper into the flask and shakes it three times, "and it'll last longer than her pills. But I don't think it'll be more than a temporary fix."
"What do you mean?" she asks, even if she was sort of expecting this answer.
"You're going to need to reconcile with your mum, of course. She misses you. And a potion can't really do anything about that." To her surprise, Luna takes her hand in her free one. It's narrower than her own, softer, and surely less marked with dots of ink, but her grip is sure. "But you know that, I think."
Hermione hesitates, wanting to explain that she tried, that she failed. In the end, she stiffens. It's none of Luna's business. "You don't know anything about my mum."
"Not as much as you," Luna agrees, "that doesn't make me wrong, though."
She pulls her hand back. "Do you know when it will be ready?" she asks politely.
"In one-to-six hours. I'll bring it to you."
"That's fine. Thank you," Hermione adds, leaving Luna humming over her work.
*
She returns from work to a dark flat. Luna must be asleep, or else not home. Hermione's both glad and disappointed not to see her - it's a little too unnerving being around her, having her know things that Hermione's pretty sure she doesn't want her to know. It's alright that Harry and Ron know what she did; they're her family, they share her secrets because she loves them. Luna isn't her family, and she doesn't love her the same way. Still, while it makes her nervous, being able to look at Luna and see understanding in her large grey eyes … well. It's not the worst thing in the world.
There's half of the sandwich Hermione had for lunch still in the fridge, and she finishes it before getting ready for bed. The flat's entirely too quiet and gives her too much time to think, so she gets out of her clothes quickly and slips into bed, hoping that sleep isn't too far away.
She's wide awake when her bedroom door opens and Luna slips inside. "Hermione?"
"Hmm?"
"I figured you might be awake," Luna's voice is closer, and then the mattress dips and Hermione can smell grapefruit and lavender, or something nice like that. "It's positively deafening in here; I'm surprised anyone can get to sleep."
Hermione can't actually hear anything except Luna's voice, so she doesn't have an answer for that. And to ask would lead to one of those tiring conversations, so she peels the covers back and sits up. It's a little disorienting that she can't see anything except the faint sheen on Luna's hair from the moonlight. Not that it isn't nice hair, but still.
"I just wanted to let you know that the potion's ready."
"Oh. Okay." She doesn't know why Luna couldn't have waited until morning to tell her this, but what she does know is that she feels kind of awful about how she left their last conversation considering how much time Luna spent trying to help her. "Thank you. Really."
Luna's hand is on her knee, patting it, and Hermione goes a bit still. "You're welcome. I'd do anything for you, you know."
Hermione can talk anyone's ear off, so it's a bit strange how much time she spends with Luna at a complete loss for words. "Likewise," she says honestly. It's true; Luna is one of her best friends, but saying this sort of thing in the dark, in bed, makes her feel distinctly odd. It's not good or bad, but definitely very odd.
"I wanted to tell you," Hermione says quietly, since it's dark and they're saying Things, and all, "I was rude to you earlier."
"Oh, I know that," Luna says, like Hermione's pointed out the obvious. Which she guesses she has.
"I mean to say that I'm sorry for it," she clarifies. "It was uncalled-for, and ungrateful."
"Oh! Well. Apology accepted, then." Hermione can tell that she's smiling, even if she can't see, and it puts her more at ease.
"Have you ever done something you know was wrong, but that you can't completely regret?"
Luna's quiet a moment. "Yes, I think so."
"That's kind of what this is, for me. What I did, I'd do again in a heartbeat if I had to. It's kind of messed up that I still expect Mum to forgive me for it, and I guess … I guess I just didn't want you to know. Didn't want to talk about it. Or something."
Hermione's heart's beating a little faster with the admission; meanwhile Luna's not saying anything, but her hair’s moving and she's not sure if it's because she's nodding, shaking her head, or what. "Anyway, I want you to know now - because you're good enough to help my mum, and you deserve at least that." She's pretty sure it's not the only reason, but it's not any less true.
Luna finds her hand with hers and lifts it, placing a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. It makes Hermione's pulse jump, and she tells herself that Luna can't see, and so she can't help where her lips land. "Thank you."
"For what?" Hermione whispers.
"Trusting me."
"Okay. What are you doing?" she asks, feeling soft fingertips grazing her face.
"I'm going to kiss you," Luna says quietly, feathering her hand across Hermione's cheekbone, "but I can't see very well, and I didn't want to accidentally kiss something other than your lips."
"You're - going to …" She can't finish the sentence, can't physically finish it, because Luna's lips are on hers, wet and warm, and by the time she pulls back, her breath is gone. "Luna?"
"Don't feel bad about yourself, Hermione." Luna's hands are on her neck now, and her face is only inches away. "Don't. I think you're beautiful."
This is confusing and kind of wonderful, and how did her fingers become clenched in the collar of Luna's shirt? "But I like men. I think." She's always imagined being with men, even if none of them have made her feel like this, and certainly not after just one kiss. And, goodness, Luna's hair is brushing the bare skin on her arm, her thigh.
"So do I. In a general sense," Luna muses, as if discussing their common interest in a rock band or something. "But I've never really understood them, and they don't really understand me."
"Sometimes I don't understand you."
"I understand you. And this." She kisses the corner of Hermione's mouth. "Also, I really like your breasts."
Hermione can't help the nervous laugh that bubbles up from her throat; despite their position, it's the last thing she expected to hear. People don't just say things like that to her; she isn't the sort of girl who hears that a lot. "Oh. Well." And then Luna's hand is on her ribcage, her thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her shirt. "Oh."
"Yes." Luna leans forward and licks at her bottom lip. Hermione sways toward her and kisses her full on the mouth, thinking it's not fair for one of them to be more breathless than the other, and when she pulls back, Luna's gasping, too.
She's thinking about her body, and about how Luna's got one of those bodies that look great walking around the flat in knickers and a bra, and how her body isn't really like that. Then Luna's sliding her tongue between her lips so that all she can do is open her mouth wider and let their tongues find each other. They do, and Luna sucks gently on hers. Goodness.
Luna doesn’t seem to have a problem with Hermione's body, and it's hard to be self-conscious when those soft, narrow hands slip under her shirt and over her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples until she whimpers. She wants to touch now, to know how Luna's body feels and what sort of sounds she'll make. She reaches blindly for whatever she can touch, landing on a hip. A knicker-less one. Luna's hips feel different from her own, slimmer without being boyish. No, Hermione thinks, trailing her hand higher to feel the way it dips in toward her waist, never boyish. Luna's lips have found her way to Hermione's throat, alternating between soft sucks and little humming sounds, and Hermione's damp between her legs, and she hasn't ever felt anything this good.
Always helpful, Luna draws back for long enough to get her sleep shirt off, then Hermione's nightgown, and she doesn't need to tell Hermione to raise her arms. "Yes," Luna says again, pressing Hermione against the mattress and dipping her head to take a nipple into her mouth. Hermione whines and arches her back, her breath coming in short gasps.
Suddenly, Hermione wishes she could see Luna, but she can't remember where her wand is and so her hands will have to do the seeing. She covers Luna's breast with her hand, and it's small; it fits almost perfectly against her palm, and she doesn't think she can say that she doesn't like women, because likes this, really quite a lot. Luna's nipple is peaked, straining against Hermione's palm, so Hermione rubs her thumb against it, wondering how it'll feel against her tongue. She rolls them until they're on their sides, their legs tangling but neither of them caring. She dips her head to run her tongue over the pebbled skin. Luna makes a sound Hermione's sure she's never heard before, but she really wants to hear it again. She kisses over, around, between Luna's breasts, because it makes Luna squirm against her leg, and she's just as damp as Hermione, apparently.
Luna rolls them again so that Hermione's underneath her, her back curved and pressed against the pillows, and Hermione only has a second to register how it feels with their breasts touching, their thighs rubbing, before Luna's fingers are beneath her knickers, moving around and dipping inside. Hermione gasps, loudly. It's only ever been her own fingers down there, and Luna's seem to have a much better idea what's what. She can't say anything, only rocks her hips and runs her hands up Luna's back, wanting more but not knowing quite how to get it.
Luna knows, though; Hermione thinks maybe Luna has always known. She wiggles down Hermione's body and drags her knickers down, and oh - that's definitely her tongue licking, licking things she didn't even know she had, licking fire up her spine. God. Her entire body feels tense, and she's sweating and she knows what's happening, but it's never happened like this. Lips and tongue and firm, perfect pressure. Luna brings those all-knowing fingers back into things, slipping one inside her again and curling it, hitting something amazing as she works her tongue faster, and that's pretty much it. Hermione bucks her hips and comes, pleasure spreading through her limbs and stealing her breath completely.
When she opens her eyes again, Luna's moved back up her body, and this time her lips are wet - from her, Hermione realises, which is … interesting. She feels herself flush with heat again as she returns the kiss and lets Luna guide her fingers between her legs. Not knowing is usually a problem for her, but she's so out of her depth that she lets Luna's fingers move with hers, touching herself as Hermione touches her, and it's not long before she's coming too, squirming and writhing, their hands trapped together against Hermione's thigh.
*
It's no longer dark when Hermione wakes, sprawled on her stomach. In fact, the sun filters through the window and seems to beam directly on her. She doesn’t see Luna, doesn't feel the same warmth against her side that she felt all night, and her gaze slides toward the clock. Nearly time for Luna to leave for work, so that would explain it. For her part, Hermione doesn't much want to get up. She hasn't been asleep very long, and it's a while before she needs to leave.
Of course, there's also the ache between her legs, the tense muscles, the sticky feeling that comes with the completely inappropriate sex she had last night. With Luna. Her eyes fall closed and her entire body flushes as she remembers it, but she can't quite regret it, either.
She hears footsteps in the corridor then, and keeps her eyes closed. She hasn't the faintest idea what to say, and is content to avoid the issue for now. Luna doesn't say anything when she comes in, only moves to the bed and sits there for what feels like a long while. Hermione's almost certain Luna's aware that she isn't actually asleep.
Finally, Luna shifts, and Hermione can feel soft lips against her shoulder blade.
"I think you need to forgive yourself," Luna murmurs against her shoulder, "and talk to your mum. I'll see you later."
Hermione feels the springs uncoil in the mattress, listens to the door close behind Luna, and squeezes her eyes shut against prickling tears that catch her totally off guard.
*
They don't talk again until the end of the week. It's been easy to avoid each other with their schedules, though as the days pass, Hermione’s increasingly sure she's the only one who's been consciously doing so.
The potion, when she took it to her mother, worked quite well, but of course that doesn’t solve everything, just the headache part. The rest of it is more complicated. Hermione doesn’t know whether asking her mum if she wanted to go for a walk was the answer, but it’s probably a start. She didn't refuse, after all, and Hermione had been sure that she would. Luna told her that she was being harder on herself than her parents ever would have been, but she really hadn't believed it until then.
Puzzling over her continuing complicated relationship with her mother leaves her feeling as through thinking about what happened with Luna might make her head explode, so she avoids the issue by avoiding the person. That’s not sustainable indefinitely, but as a stopgap only, it’s relieved a little pressure.
On Saturday evening, she comes home to find Luna puttering around the kitchen and knows the time for avoidance is over. Depositing her bags by the sofa, she walks over and stops in the kitchen doorway. "Hi."
"Hi Hermione," Luna smiles sunnily. Her hair is piled on top of her head again and stuck through with her wand, and Hermione thinks she's beautiful. "I'm making a curry. Would you like some?"
"Yeah, I would," Hermione says, marveling at how easy it is, how easy Luna’s being. "Thank you. Can I help?"
"Cook the rice while I work on the chicken?"
"I think I can handle rice." Hermione stops on her way past Luna, and takes her face in her hands and kisses her soundly. "Oh," Luna flushes faintly, and smiles. "Well. Alright."
Hermione ducks her head and smiles, but before she can lean back in, there's a knock on the door. Luna's blank look tells her that she isn't expecting company either, and Hermione goes to answer the door.
"Mum!" She stares open-mouthed at her mother, who's standing in the corridor holding a plant. "Um. Hi."
"Hello, Hermione." Jane's smile is nervous and hesitant, but it's there, and she's here. And Hermione should really stop staring.
"Come in - please." She steps back and opens the door wider.
"I thought it was long past time I saw where you live." Jane offers the potted cactus, and Hermione accepts it.
"Thank you. This is lovely."
"Something smells good," Jane says, looking around, and it's awkward yet, so awkward, but it's definitely a step.
"We're making curry. Luna and I. You'll stay for dinner, then?"
"I'd like that."
"Good," Hermione smiles, and they walk back to the kitchen as she releases the breath she was holding. "Good."
She puts a pot on to boil and hunts up some rice, smiling as Luna asks her mother where she found such a lovely Aquefolius plant. As she rarely has much to add to that sort of discussion, she’s left to think about how confusing her life has become in such a short time. Things with her mother are so up in the air, and Hermione dislikes being up there in general, not to mention the step she's just taken with Luna feels sort of monumental.
At the moment, though, she's busying herself with the rice and they're chattering behind her, and it sounds kind of good to listen to them both.
End