your heartbeat was my favorite lullaby.
your heartbeat was my favorite lullaby. harry potter. harry/hermione. pg. 606 words. There are things that go unspoken that hold them all together. This has always been one of them.
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Don’t forget, she truly loves Ron. She has invested too many hours into his character, shaping them both, building them bit by bit into the people they are now.
But, oh, Harry is something else.
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After the war, there is life. Funny how that happens.
-
She has loved them both for seven long years - when they were young and stubborn and silly.
Before this, this tent and half-reality where Harry and her sleep in the same bed to keep each other warm, she remembers complaining about her hair. Ridiculous, really.
Three muggles died today, she learned. Harry holds her hand when she cries.
-
Hormones can lead to all sorts of chemical imbalances, cause rash decision and action without fully realized and logical thoughts behind them. She read that somewhere. Harry brushes his hand against hers, drinks half her pumpkin juice and grins wryly.
“I mean, really Harry,” she sighs.
“Love me anyways?”
Both of their smiles falter, and Hermione has to sit on her hands.
Down the table, Ron eats sausages by himself.
-
Ginny gets married first, of course.
The ring blinds Hermione at the dinner table, Ginny’s hand placed on top of Harry’s and she wonders whose idea it was. You never know with Ginny, she rationalizes.
Later, she pulls Harry into the kitchen with her while Ron and Ginny bicker over something.
She’s elbow deep in suds because she refuses to do dishes with a wand. Harry rolls up his sleeves and starts washing a dish, nudges her with his shoulder and a plate slips out of her hand.
“Are you sure this a good idea? You can wait, you know,” she whispers like a secret and Harry dries a steak knife before answering.
“This is something that will be good for everyone,” he answers. He pauses for another second and then - “I just want to start living again, ‘Mione.”
She rests her head on his shoulder for just a moment before Ron and Ginny come in yelling about the Cannons.
“’Mione, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just use your bloody wand!” Ron exclaims in a huff before storming out.
“Don’t listen to him,” Ginny responds almost automatically with a casual hand wave, “He’s just upset about his poor logic and even worse team.”
Her hand rests comfortably in the crook of Harry’s elbow; Hermione waves her wand quickly and goes to find Ron.
-
There are worse things than being in love with two people, that much she knows.
Ron’s arm lays heavy across her stomach, his loud snore echoing in her ear and she doesn’t think she has any regrets.
She can’t imagine a life without Ron, but she can easily imagine a life with Harry.
These are the moments she wishes they’d stayed young, before they were split up by human emotions and things like love, when they always walked in step and ate meals together and when they would sometimes sleep in the same bed if she was scared.
Her daughter cries from the other room, and Hermione hopes she doesn’t make the same mistakes.
-
In the end, they’re the last standing from a generation of soldiers.
She doesn’t know when she got so old, when her bones started aching and her tongue tripped over spells she’s long perfected. Harry brings her a cup of tea on the porch and slowly sits down next to her. He sets his hand on hers and she only thinks about Ron once.
“Oh, Harry-” she chokes out, but forgets what else she was going to say.
-
-
Don’t forget, she truly loves Ron. She has invested too many hours into his character, shaping them both, building them bit by bit into the people they are now.
But, oh, Harry is something else.
-
After the war, there is life. Funny how that happens.
-
She has loved them both for seven long years - when they were young and stubborn and silly.
Before this, this tent and half-reality where Harry and her sleep in the same bed to keep each other warm, she remembers complaining about her hair. Ridiculous, really.
Three muggles died today, she learned. Harry holds her hand when she cries.
-
Hormones can lead to all sorts of chemical imbalances, cause rash decision and action without fully realized and logical thoughts behind them. She read that somewhere. Harry brushes his hand against hers, drinks half her pumpkin juice and grins wryly.
“I mean, really Harry,” she sighs.
“Love me anyways?”
Both of their smiles falter, and Hermione has to sit on her hands.
Down the table, Ron eats sausages by himself.
-
Ginny gets married first, of course.
The ring blinds Hermione at the dinner table, Ginny’s hand placed on top of Harry’s and she wonders whose idea it was. You never know with Ginny, she rationalizes.
Later, she pulls Harry into the kitchen with her while Ron and Ginny bicker over something.
She’s elbow deep in suds because she refuses to do dishes with a wand. Harry rolls up his sleeves and starts washing a dish, nudges her with his shoulder and a plate slips out of her hand.
“Are you sure this a good idea? You can wait, you know,” she whispers like a secret and Harry dries a steak knife before answering.
“This is something that will be good for everyone,” he answers. He pauses for another second and then - “I just want to start living again, ‘Mione.”
She rests her head on his shoulder for just a moment before Ron and Ginny come in yelling about the Cannons.
“’Mione, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just use your bloody wand!” Ron exclaims in a huff before storming out.
“Don’t listen to him,” Ginny responds almost automatically with a casual hand wave, “He’s just upset about his poor logic and even worse team.”
Her hand rests comfortably in the crook of Harry’s elbow; Hermione waves her wand quickly and goes to find Ron.
-
There are worse things than being in love with two people, that much she knows.
Ron’s arm lays heavy across her stomach, his loud snore echoing in her ear and she doesn’t think she has any regrets.
She can’t imagine a life without Ron, but she can easily imagine a life with Harry.
These are the moments she wishes they’d stayed young, before they were split up by human emotions and things like love, when they always walked in step and ate meals together and when they would sometimes sleep in the same bed if she was scared.
Her daughter cries from the other room, and Hermione hopes she doesn’t make the same mistakes.
-
In the end, they’re the last standing from a generation of soldiers.
She doesn’t know when she got so old, when her bones started aching and her tongue tripped over spells she’s long perfected. Harry brings her a cup of tea on the porch and slowly sits down next to her. He sets his hand on hers and she only thinks about Ron once.
“Oh, Harry-” she chokes out, but forgets what else she was going to say.
-