i spent all i had to get it back
If Heart Shaped World was my love letter to the books, this is my love letter to the movies.
[Potter, 'Sigh No More']
love it will not betray you
dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
It’s a random Friday night.
She, for once, is not revising in the library and it is one of his rare weekends in town. The three of them meet in Diagon Alley for a late dinner; afterwards, she has drinks with Neville and Luna in Soho, while Harry and Ron meet Draco at the Leaky Cauldron. She doesn’t expect to see him until the next morning, but they run into each other in the kitchen, both looking for a cup of tea before bed.
She grins at him as he wanders in, hands scratching through his hair.
‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ he answers, sinking down in a chair. ‘Neville and Luna okay?’
She hums in the back of her throat, adding sugar to his cup and milk to hers. ‘Neville says he’s ready to come back and,’ she says, looking over her shoulder at him before turning around completely, ‘I think Luna agrees.’
Harry laughs, nodding his thanks when she hands him his tea. ‘It has been almost two years,’ he says. ‘Reckon we’re supposed to know he’s taking Madame Sprout’s place?’
She grins at him, lifting a shoulder as she sits down across from him. ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to discuss it yet, but-‘
‘Everyone knows,’ he finishes for her. ‘Even Gin was asking about it in her last letter.’
She nods, but doesn’t reply, closing her eyes and sipping her tea. When she opens her eyes, he is studying her.
‘You okay?’ he says. ‘You look-‘
She laughs, propping her head in her hand. ‘I’m fine, Harry. Just revising my latest article, so I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.’
‘Not-‘
‘-no,’ she cuts him off, shaking her head. ‘Not like…after. Just normal tired.’
He nods. ‘Good. And speaking of, I think I’m turning in for the night.’
She indicates her empty cup, standing up with him. They silently put their cups in the sink and negotiate the stairs together.
She pauses at the landing before heading to her room.
‘You’re here all weekend, right? Fancy just…I don’t know, laying around or going to see a show tomorrow? Having a do-nothing day? My head is about done in from this article.’
‘Absolutely,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘I’m about done in myself, so nothing sounds perfect.’
‘Are you-‘
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just…tired,’ he says.
She laughs quietly, still peering worriedly at the bruising under his eyes and the dark shadow along his jaw. ‘Got it. See you tomorrow,’ she murmurs, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
And something, something about this time is different - from the way she leans in, to the way he turns his head. It’s different in the way she clutches the bottom hem of his shirt for balance and different in the way he catches her eye beforehand. Something, everything is different to the hundreds of times they’d done this in the past two years, standing in this exact spot.
She turns her head and he turns his and he catches the corner of her lips with his, and, suddenly, they are kissing breathlessly. They are kissing breathlessly and stumbling into her room and his arms are snaking around her waist and her arms are clutching at his shoulders and then she’s asking him if they’re really…are they really…
‘We’re really going to do this?’
Her voice is laughing, disbelieving. She can’t help the shiver that runs through her as his hands run up her back; his fingers catching in her shirt, his fingertips skimming her skin.
He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the green a ring around his blown pupils. ‘I should think so,’ he says, leaning in to kiss her again. ‘Finally. God…finally.’
She hums in the back of her throat, her arms twining closer around his shoulders, hands sliding into his hair. His mad, brilliant hair that seems to grow straight up in the back; his mad, brilliant hair that she has always, always (and, ohgod, she can finally admit this to herself) wanted to tangle her hands in, to brush back from his forehead, to slide her fingers through. His lips are moving against hers, he tastes of the tea they just drank and harryharryharry; their noses are brushing and she can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of her, joy welling up and spilling over with nowhere else to go.
He sighs as he pulls away, his hands coming up to frame her face. ‘This is going to go smashingly, if you can’t stop laughing at me,’ he says, one corner of his mouth turning up.
She smiles at him, then presses a kiss to the hinge of his jaw and her lips catch on the stubble there. ‘Not you,’ she says, lips moving against his skin. She can feel a shudder run up his back and her hands tighten in the back of his shirt. ‘I’m laughing at…this. At us. At how ridiculously, ridiculously happy I am right now. I just…Harry-‘
She can feel him grin against her temple. ‘I know,’ he says, his voice low, rough; his breath warm against her ear. ‘God, Hermione, I know,’ he repeats. ‘Can you believe-‘
‘No. Yes,’ she says, smiling, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. ‘I really think you should kiss me again.’
He huffs a short laugh and turns his head, catching her bottom lip between his. She feels heat pool in her stomach, her thighs and wraps herself more firmly around him. Her tongue is in his mouth, sliding alongside his and ohMerlinohGod why had they never done this before? Why had she never thought of this before? Wasn’t she supposed to be brilliant? She thinks of all the time they wasted, all the years they could have spent doing this and she wants to cry.
She thinks of all the years they could have been doing this and she thinks of always, always wanting to wrap herself around him like this, hands tangled in his hair; she thinks of Harry saying, ‘Finally. God, finally’ and she pulls back.
He groans deep in his chest, chasing his lips with hers, but she puts her hands on his shoulders, shoving him back.
‘Finally?’ she says, her breath coming out in pants. He looks…he looks so good, his mouth is swollen and wet and his eyes are heavy-lidded with his pupils blown, trained on her lips. ‘What the hell does that mean?’
He eyes shoot up to hers, incredulously. ‘Hermione, you honestly want to do this now?’ he says, drawing her closer, hands wandering up her spine again.
‘Yes,’ she says, her voice sounding like it’s coming from very far away, staring at his lips. Her arms seem to be acting independently of her body, twining around his shoulders, hands clutching convulsively in the fabric of his shirt.
‘I mean finally,’ he says, whispering, lips brushing the shell of her ear. ‘Hermione, you must know…you must…’
She finds herself, nodding, agreeing before she’s even really thought about it.
Because…because she had. She had. She thinks she has always known and the only thing she can feel right now is absolute, total relief.
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘yes.’ She can feel his pulse beating solidly, wildly under her lips and she feels a mad grin steal across her face. She buries her face in his shoulder and breaths in deeply. ‘Harry.’
He exhales through his nose, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. He turns his face towards hers, nose dragging along the bridge of her cheek. He drops kisses along his way; kissing the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, rubbing his nose along hers.
‘Hermione.’
Her ‘Harry’ is lost against his lips; the kiss starts sweet but turns deep and wet, fast, as she licks into his mouth. Harry starts sucking on her tongue and, suddenly, she’s not thinking at all. All she can feel, all she can focus on is trying to climb into his skin. His hands are…they’re, they’re everywhere; skimming her sides and down her pants and gripping her hips, her thighs, hoisting her up his body and staggering against the wall.
She can’t stop the moan that runs wild as she rocks down on to him. He’s right there, hot and hard against her and she feels crazy with it.
She has never, never felt like this. She never thought she could feel like this. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, like it’s stretched too thin over her bones, her heart banging against her ribcage, in counterpoint to his own; she feels like she could quite happily climb inside his mouth and live there. Her breath is coming out in short, erratic bursts; her arms and legs are wrapping around him, clutching him convulsively, as if she can pull him to her, fuse them together. She has never been this turned on or this…happy.
She has never been this happy.
*
but i will hold on hope
and i won’t let you choke
She breathes a sigh of relief as the train pulls from the station; the metal and brick and glass of King’s Cross sliding away. She thinks of her childish fancy - the world was moving around her while she stayed standing. She used to think it was presumptuous, the world rushing to meet her. Now, now she wonders; was it really the world rushing to meet her, or was she herself standing still as everything, everyone else went on around her?
She’s slumped against the seat, her head tilted back, and she’s straining to see sky between the grey buildings. It’s something she’s found herself doing for months, all summer, ever since that moment on the bridge at Hogwarts. She thought she’d gladly put away everything from last year, shove it down, back, lock it in trunks in her mind and be the better for it.
It wasn’t until weeks later, insomnia stalking her, that her mother mentioned it, asked why she kept disappearing outside, or looking longingly out the window. There was a cup of tea, warm in her hands and the glass of the window was cool against her temple. Her mum looked worried, brows drawn together and she’d shaken her head, herself, said, ‘No reason. Just…can’t believe it’s all over.’ Her mum hadn’t looked convinced, but let it go, simply kissed her on the top of her head before heading upstairs.
She’d thought about it, then; she thinks about it now, even though she tries not to. She feels her left forearm, a phantom throb and squelches the urge to press down, to trace her fingers over the word. She can feel Ron beside her, his body a line of heat down her side.
She can hear the others, faintly, laughing slightly.
‘I can’t believe Malfoy is coming back,’ Ginny says. ‘I couldn’t believe when I saw him on the platform.’
Ron snickers, leaning back and settling against Hermione. ‘You and me both. I can’t imagine what he thinks he’s doing.’
‘And what about Rita Skeeter? She can’t honestly think that any of us will ever speak to her,’ Ginny says; then her voice turns sly. ‘Of course, she’s no match for Neville.’
Neville’s voice is muffled, his head buried in his hands, when he answers. ‘I can’t believe I-‘
‘Indeed,’ Ginny says, giggling. ‘No need to take her head off.’
Ron laughs, leaning away from Hermione a bit to nudge Neville with his elbow. ‘Exactly, Neville,’ he says, voice low, with laughter running through it. ‘We all know you’re a superhero now; you don’t need to give us a practical demonstration all the time.’
‘Oh, stuff it,’ Neville says, but before he can say more, Harry interrupts.
‘Leave it,’ he says, his voice muffled. Hermione turns her head towards him and he’s standing on the seat across from hers, digging around in his trunk with one hand. One arm is braced on the rail for balance and the other is stretched, searching in his open trunk. ‘She’s apparently decided to do nothing but follow us around until we die. Better get used to it.’
Ron smirks. ‘Or we could just casually mention it to Fred and George-‘
And suddenly, all the air has been sucked out of the cabin, out of the train. Out of the world.
Sometimes…sometimes last spring feels like a lifetime ago. Sometimes it feels like yesterday. And, sometimes, when they’re all together, all laughing, all pretending to be the children they never were…those times, they can fool themselves into believing it never happened at all.
Then someone mentions Fred. Or Remus. Or Snape. Or Colin. Or Lavender. Or Tonks. Or or or.
That’s when she wonders if they’ll ever actually…she doesn’t even know. She doesn’t think getting over it is an option and she doesn’t think she ever wants to; the last year, the last two years, the last three, four, five years have been terrible and brilliant and everything, everything they’ve been through has been so, so worth it.
She wishes she’d never seen her parents’ faces as she lifted the spell, had to watch as they struggled to grasp what had happened, what she’d done to keep them safe. She wishes she’d never seen her best friend in excruciating pain, or so filled with rage that it bled into the world around them, poisoned them all, or grasped his hand, finally seeing his parents’ grave on a frigid Christmas Eve. She wishes they’d figured out the Deathly Hallows without going to Mr Lovegood. She wishes they’d discovered how to kill the Horcruxes months before they did, months before it could turn them all into terrible people, to leach all warmth from them and leave them numb.
She wishes…she wishes a lot of things, but she doesn’t regret anything.
So she grabs Ron’s hand and laces their fingers together. Harry drops down to his seat, not wrapping an arm around Ginny or holding her hand, but sitting so closely that there is no daylight between them. Luna is resting her head on Neville’s shoulder.
Maybe they just have to learn to live with it; she thinks they’ve probably been doing that all along and it’s served them well so far.
She says, her voice loud in the profound silence, ‘George probably would have some creative ways to get her off our backs.’
No one says anything and she looks back out the window, again searching for bits of the sky between the grey. She feels a foot nudge hers and when she looks up, Harry is staring at her. He’s not smiling and he doesn’t say anything, but he looks at her steadily and his foot stays pressed up against hers.
It’s not better and it’s not okay, but it’s what they’ve got.
*
and i’ll find strength in pain
and i will change my ways
‘Does anyone else feel slightly ridiculous? Has everyone else felt ridiculous for a month now, like I have?’
Ron’s voice is raised, loud to be heard over the din of the Halloween Feast.
‘What do you mean?’ Neville says, sounding distracted. He’s looking over his shoulder, at Luna; Hermione sees her give him a wave and she smiles to herself.
‘Everyone remembers last year, right?’ Ron asks, looking around the table, his fork clenched in his hand. Harry carries on eating as if he can’t hear him and Ginny raises her eyebrow as she takes a drink.
Hermione rolls her eyes and says, ‘Put your fork down, at least. You look like you’re going to stab someone.’
Harry snorts as Ron sighs, setting his fork down carefully, staring at Hermione all the while. ‘Thanks, Mum. But - honestly.’
‘We can’t give you an answer if you won’t tell us what you’re on about,’ Neville says, finally turning around.
‘I’m on about the fact that we…fought a war and bloody well saved the world and here we are, back at school,’ Ron bellows, throwing his arms out. ‘It’s totally ridiculous.’
Ginny laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘Were you expecting it to be parades and virgins falling at your feet?’
Ron wrinkles his nose, one side of his mouth twisted up. ‘Of course not,’ he says, though Hermione can see his ears turn slightly pink. ‘I just. I don’t know.’
‘I guess it is a bit weird,’ Harry says, shrugging. ‘But I, for one, am kind-of enjoying it.’
Ginny grins at him, leaning forward for a quick kiss. Hermione keeps looking at Ron, a hand propping her chin up. ‘We talked about this, if you’ll remember. But you know what is really strange?’ she says, continuing before anyone has a chance to say anything. ‘That we’re sitting here and Luna’s with Ravenclaw.’
‘Hermione’s right, you know.’
She jolts at Luna’s voice; she didn’t see her coming up behind Neville as she spoke to Ron. Hermione looks up to greet her, but her voice dies in her throat.
Luna’s not alone. She has a death grip on the Draco Malfoy’s sleeve while he twitches uncomfortably at her side. As she looks at them, Hermione has the rather hysterical thought that they look very…blond.
A hush falls over the entire table as they all turn to stare at the pair.
Harry’s the first one to recover his voice. ‘Er…hi, Luna,’ he says, though he sounds strangled. ‘Malfoy.’
‘Potter,’ he says, nodding stiffly. ‘Granger. Weasleys.’
‘Hello, Draco,’ Neville says, propping one elbow on the table to look at them both. As Hermione looks at him, the urge to giggle hysterically grows, remembering round little Neville being absolutely petrified, clutching a broomstick and looking at him now, long and lean and utterly unconcerned.
‘Longbottom.’
They all stare at each other for a moment, Hermione’s mouth opening and closing on several sentences before Luna tuts, sitting down beside Neville and yanking Draco down to sit beside her. ‘I, too, thought it was odd that everyone just went back to their houses. So I’ve decided to come eat with you.’
‘Tuck in,’ Neville says, grinning and pushing a glass of pumpkin juice towards her.
‘Thank you, Neville,’ Luna says, looking around at them all. ‘I also decided to bring Draco.’
‘Lovely,’ Ginny says, darkly. Hermione sees Harry elbow her and shoot her a look underneath his eyebrows.
‘Yes,’ Hermione says, shrilly, even though she agrees with Ginny. ‘Yes, it’s lovely.’
It’s not until a couple of hours later that she feels like herself again, like her whole body has exhaled and the tension has just melted away. ‘That was, I think, the strangest hour of my life,’ she mutters to Harry, as they wander back to the common room.
Neville is walking Luna back to Ravenclaw and Ron and Ginny are up ahead, arguing about…something. Hermione hadn’t really been paying attention when they’d left the Great Hall, still feeling strange and disconnected from everything. Seeing Draco Malfoy sitting amongst them, clearly uncomfortable but resolutely eating and replying politely when spoken to had felt like an out-of-body experience.
Harry bumps her shoulder, grinning at her. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and can feel herself smile back, automatic. She thinks about walking the length of Gringotts, feeling like it was the plank; stomach clenching and wild hair in her face. ‘Okay,’ she says, shooting him a look. ‘Maybe not the strangest, but still.’
Harry laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘They both had a point, though.’
She sighs, bumping into him and dropping her head on his shoulder briefly. ‘Of course they do, Harry. I feel ill sometimes about last year and now…well, Ron said it. We’re just back at school. However…’
‘…Ginny was right too,’ he says, smiling. ‘And you were as well, yelling at us this summer that we needed to come back, to get our NEWTs.’
She nods, wrapping a hand around his elbow. ‘I guess we just figure out a way to…’
‘To get on with it without forgetting? To always remember it, but still…’ he trails off lamely, shrugging.
She huffs a laugh, squeezing his arm. ‘And then for our next trick…’
He snorts. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well,’ she says, slowly, a grin growing on her face. ‘We did just have our first ever Potter/Granger/Weasley/Malfoy/Longbottom/Lovegood dinner. And no one lost a extremity or got a Bat-Bogey hex or bled on the table, so-‘
‘-anything’s possible,’ he finishes for her. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
*
you’ll be happy and wholesome again
when the city clears and sun ascends
The common room has been empty for hours, the others trickling away as she sat with her books and parchment at the table nearest the fire. She’d finally quit an hour ago, her eyes aching and gritty.
The couch is comfortable, soft beneath her; the warmth of the fire and being here, being home, knowing her friends, her family were safe and around her…all of these things should make it easy for her to rest. But the thought of climbing the stairs, of lying in her bed makes it feel as if ants are crawling under her skin.
It still feels strange, months later, to be sleeping on a bed and not a cot, to feel warm; to feel safe, without the constant worry about wards plaguing her every moment.
To not hear his breathing as she sinks into sleep.
Her eyes are closed and she’s not expecting his voice when it comes, soft and so very near.
‘How long did you know?’
She turns her head towards him, her nose almost brushing his ear as she shifts on to her side. He’s sitting on the floor, hands hooked over his drawn-up knees and head tilted back on the couch. Neither of them moves away.
‘How long did I know what?
He smiles slightly and she can feel an answering grin tug at her lips. In spite of the hour, her aching limbs, her body’s call for sleep, she’s helpless in the face of her happiness that he’s here, he’s breathing, he’s smiling and no one, for once, for the first time ever, is trying to kill him. She reaches out and lays her hand on his neck, her fingers unerringly finding the pulse beating there. ‘Hermione,’ he says, his eyes closing. ‘Come on.’
She sighs, her breath ruffling his hair slightly.
‘I think…I suspected from that first afternoon you told us about the Horcruxes,’ she says, closing her eyes and seeing him that afternoon, up on the tower. His eyes, wide but shuttered, his hand hovering over hers; the way she backed away, withdrew her hand even though she wanted to grab hold and never let go. It still makes her chest feel small and tight. ‘The more I thought about it that summer, the more sense it made. Your scar and why you could sense him and why you could speak Parseltongue…’
He says nothing, just hums in the back of his throat. She can feel the vibration in the pads of her fingers.
‘And Dumbledore himself told you,’ she says, drawing a breath and then rushing on before he can say anything, ‘Not…after, not at the end, but long before that. Second year. When he told you that he thought Voldemort had transferred some of his powers to you that night.’
He says nothing, but when she opens her eyes, he’s grinning. He turns his head toward her, trapping her hand between his shoulder and jaw. ‘Only you, Hermione.’
She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Only me, what?’
‘You’re just…you’re brilliant,’ he says, laughing. ‘Still. Always. Absolutely brilliant.’
She smiles back, helplessly. ‘Harry, I told you - I’m not brilliant; I’m just-‘
‘-highly logical,’ he finishes with her, turning his head back and still laughing. ‘Yes, I remember. However, I say you’re brilliant and you have to listen to me, you know.’
‘I do?’ she says, closing her eyes again, drawing her hand back and tucking it underneath her chin. She can feel sleep trying to drag her under. ‘Why’s that?’
‘I’m the savior of the wizarding world,’ he says; his words are slurred and his voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. ‘What I say goes.’
She snorts, rolling forward slightly and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. ‘Night, Harry.’
She wakes up the next morning with a crick in her neck and one arm dragging the floor; Harry has drooled on the couch right beside her and his glasses are dangling off of one ear. The fire has gone out and she can feel a chill in her bones.
It’s the best night of sleep she’s had in months.
*
don’t leave me alone at this time
for i’m afraid of what i will discover inside
‘You would have gone with him, wouldn’t you?’
‘Hmm?’ she says, less words and more a hum in the back of her throat. ‘What’s that?’
When she looks up, Ron’s eyes are open, genuinely curious. His face is relaxed and so are his hands; they are resting on the table, homework spread between them. But something…something in his voice gives her pause, makes her lay down her quill and study him.
‘You would have gone with him, wouldn’t you?’ he repeats, his expression not changing.
She wants to feign incomprehension, to say ‘what? What are you talking about?’; to pretend like she doesn’t know the what, the where, the when, the who.
The who, especially.
He can see that she knows exactly what he’s talking about and simply raises an eyebrow.
She looks at him for another moment, then answers, her voice sure.
‘Yes.’
He smiles slightly, running a hand through his hair. When he replies, his voice is low, almost disbelieving. ‘You would have, wouldn’t you? You would have walked into certain death with him.’
‘Yes,’ she says again. She doesn’t know what he wants to hear; she opts for the truth. ‘He’s…he’s my best friend.’
‘Your best friend,’ he repeats, sighing. ‘Do you think that’s normal behavior for best friends?’
She narrows her eyes and draws in a breath. She can feel her palms start to itch and her throat tighten. She will not have this fight, again. ‘I don’t know, Ron,’ she says, her voice gaining strength with every word. ‘I do, however, think it’s incredibly normal behavior for Harry and me and since he’s the only best friend I’ve ever had…’
He looks up at that, his hands clenching. ‘The only best friend you’ve ever had?’
‘Yes,’ she says, her voice still calm and sure, her gaze not wavering. ‘I…Harry and I understand each other in a…he has always been my best friend and you know that. Merlin, Ron, you…how many times have you yourself…I mean. I love you, but…Ron. You and I have never been like Harry and I. Or you and Harry, come to that.’
He sighs and nods, but looks like he hates himself for doing so. ‘I suppose. You’ve got to admit, though; that’s extremely…loyal, Hermione,’ he says, swallowing thickly.
She shrugs. ‘Barring some prat-like adolescent angst and a…a piece of a dark wizard’s soul infecting you,’ she says, stumbling over the words and smiling slightly, ‘you’re pretty loyal as well.’
‘Not like you, though,’ he says, smiling back, though his face is still tight. ‘Now that I think about it, I’m surprised you let him go. Actually-‘
‘-you heard him, Ron,’ she interrupts, looking down and picking up her quill again. ‘That day. I knew. I mean, I suspected. So.’
‘How long…how long did you suspect?’
She doesn’t know why she can feel tears start to burn at the back of her eyes, Ron’s guileless eyes looking at her. She doesn’t know why it’s now, at this time, that she thinks about it, that her mind spins back; she doesn’t know why it’s now, not several weeks ago, whispering close with Harry in the middle of the night.
She’d known, absolutely known, from that first day on the Astronomy Tower; hearing Harry talk about the Horcruxes and looking at his scar, swallowing against the bile in her throat when he passed her the locket. That was the moment when the frantic whine of ‘nononononono’ had begun - the same frantic whine that was a constant companion in the back of her mind until almost a year later, until that day, that moment on the stairs, his eyes locked on hers. Hearing him say it, confirm it and having no plan, no way to help; she still feels like she failed him absolutely. Tears threaten, but she pushes them back resolutely, ignores the burning in her nose and answers Ron, impatiently, ‘I think I knew from that first day he told us about the Horcruxes.’
He doesn’t say anything for a moment; she can feel his gaze on the top of her head as she finds where she left off in her essay.
‘So…all last year, when-‘
‘-when I was frantically trying to keep us all alive?’ she says, shortly, head still down. ‘Yes.’
‘And you never said anything.’
‘What was I supposed to say, Ron?’ she says, looking up again.
‘Yeah,’ he says, quickly, lowering his eyes. ‘Yeah. You’re…I don’t even know why I brought it up. Stupid of me, really. Come on - we should get going to dinner.’
‘I can’t,’ she says, gesturing to the mess in front of her. ‘I have-‘
‘-papers and exams and and and,’ he says, flicking his wand and all of their books close up and slide into their respective bags.
‘Ron! What are you-‘
‘Useful little spell, isn’t it?’ he says, gripping her hand and dragging her out of her seat. ‘Learned it when my bookworm girlfriend convinced me to come back to school for another year.’
Hermione rolls her eyes, but slings her bag across herself and tightens her hold on his hand. ‘You’ll thank me one day.’
‘I’ll remind you of that when I’m whinging about exams,’ he says, grinning at her. ‘Wonder if Luna’s going to inflict Malfoy on us again this evening?’
*
so tell me now, where was my fault
in loving you with my whole heart
Looking at them, she thinks enduring the yelling from Mrs Weasley and the disappointed looks from her parents were worth it.
Number 7 looks better than she’s ever seen it, with fire crackling in the grate, a tree in front of the window and her two best friends sitting at a table opposite. The couch into which she’s curled is deep and squashy, her cup of tea is sweet and hot, and she can’t help a sigh that escapes as she rests her head on the back, watching Ron and Harry lean over a chess board.
They just had dinner with her parents and she’s sure tomorrow at the Burrow will be full of laughter and good things to eat and hysteria when the presents are unwrapped. She can’t wait to see Harry’s face when he sees Moody’s old journals or Ron’s when he opens the season tickets to the Cannons.
But occasionally, sometimes (most times, if she’s honest with herself) she just wants the quiet and calm silence of the three of them. Ever since last summer, they’ve been unable to go anywhere in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade without being stared at or accosted and even at school, where they are a sight common enough that no one eyes them side-long or stares avidly, they are constantly surrounded by people.
She has always preferred their company over everyone else’s and she thinks that months spent in a tent actually exacerbated that urge instead of lessening it.
Those months were terrible but she finds herself thinking about them a lot. More than she should, she thinks, it’s almost certainly unhealthy in the way that she almost…longs for them. As the thought crosses her mind, she hurriedly stands up, stretching her arms over her head.
‘Think I’m heading up,’ she says, hooking a thumb over her shoulder even though neither of them looks at her.
Ron grunts, still squinting at the chess board. She smiles and drops a kiss on to his temple, running her hand through the hair at the back of his neck. Harry is staring at her, his brows drawn together. He opens his mouth, but she shakes her head.
‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘Just tired.’
Hours later, she is still awake, curled up in the window seat, watching the snow fall, the silence settled in her bones.
She sighs, her breath fogging the glass briefly before she stands up.
The hallway is dark, but she can see light still spilling from the sitting room and can hear the fire still crackling. When she pokes her head in, Harry is lying on the floor on his back, left leg crossed over his right and his head under the tree.
‘Erm,’ she says, edging into the room. ‘You…okay?’
He laughs and waggles his left foot in greeting. ‘I’m brilliant. Care to join me?’
‘I’d be delighted,’ she says, laying down and scotching back. She turns her head towards him as she gets level. He’s smiling at her but she can’t see his eyes, the lights of the tree reflecting off his glasses.
‘Was that sarcasm?’ he asks, voice going for serious but landing on incredibly fond.
She grins at him, reaching down and grabbing his hand. ‘Never.’
He hums, his head turning back and closing his eyes.
‘So…’ she draws out, still watching him. ‘Any particular reason you’re still awake?’
He sighs, squeezing her hand. ‘Not really,’ he says. ‘Of course, I could ask you the same thing.’
She closes her eyes, her mouth turning up. ‘Not tired.’
When he doesn’t reply, she opens her eyes to find him staring at her, his mouth pulled down into a frown. ‘Why are you lying to me, Hermione?’
She feels her throat seize up at that, both the question and his tone. She bites her lip, staring at the branches above them.
‘At this particular moment, I’m not tired,’ she says, slowly.
‘But…’
‘But,’ she says, cutting her eyes towards him. ‘I’m exhausted, Harry. Absolutely, totally exhausted. I don’t remember the last full night of sleep I had.’
He sighs, rolling to his side and moving closer to her, not letting go of her hand. ‘I don’t…I mean. You know, if you were having nightmares caused by part of a dark lord’s soul embedded in you, then I’m your guy, but-‘
She can’t keep the hysterical giggle in at that, the laughs coming out high and breathless. He’s smiling at her, but his brow is still furrowed and she feels that urge, the one that’s been plaguing her since she saw him roll out of Hagrid’s arms come over her.
She wants to run her hands over every part of him, feel his pulse beating under her hands; to let go of this knot of fear and anxiety and furious love the feels like a living thing under her ribcage. She wants to hold his hand and just…release it, let it go, to feel her chest crack open and bleed out the poison coursing through her, weighing her down.
For some reason, this night, she does.
She feels the giggles turn to sobs before she can stop them and as much as she wants it, she is terrified to let it go. She has lived with this breathless worry for most of her life.
She doesn’t know who she is without it.
Harry doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding her hand while she sobs. Heaving, loud sobs that shake her, that seem to come from the bottom of her toes, that make her curl on to her side and into herself.
She doesn’t know how long they stay there like that; she only knows she feels weightless and spent when it’s over. She’s still curled on to her side, one hand gripping Harry’s like a lifeline, the other clenched into a fist under her chin. She must look appalling, nose running and eyes bloodshot, tears matting her hair and her eyelashes sticking together.
‘Thanks,’ she says, softly, unclenching her hand and trying, futilely, to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He says nothing for a moment, his hand coming up and thumbing away wetness under her eyes. She can’t see any curiosity on his face, no questions forthcoming, but she still wants to…
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.
‘Do you remember what we were doing exactly one year ago?’
He clears his throat. ‘Bathilda, you mean? Or…before that?’
‘Before that,’ she says, eyes still closed. ‘I was…when we…I was standing there, petrified that…that I would have to…visit you there. That we wouldn’t, that I wouldn’t and, Harry, I don’t…I don’t…’
She pauses and bites her lip, drawing in a breath. The words feel heavy and her tongue is thick in her mouth; she feels wretched and short of breath and still so, so guilty for not having any way to save him.
‘I also…Harry, I knew… I knew about you and I was…I wasn’t doing everything I could because I was trying so hard to pretend, to pretend it wasn’t true and I faile-,‘ she says, sobbing around the words.
‘Hermione,’ he interrupts, scooting closer and cupping her face. His voice is low, but firm; at the tone, her eyes fly open.
He’s staring at her, tears standing in his eyes as well. ‘Hermione, stop. The only thing you have ever been is amazing. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, you could have done. You get that, right?’ he says, eyes wide. ‘Even Dumbledore saw that was the only way.’
She sniffs, nodding her head slightly.
‘Also, I get it. I do,’ he says, smiling slightly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
‘Yeah,’ she breathes, sniffing again and attempting a smile. ‘Okay.’
‘I mean it,’ he says, voice low, just enough for her to hear. ‘I knew that I might…that I might not make it, but you? I couldn’t even let myself…’
She squeezes his hand.
‘But we’re both…all three of us,’ he amends, eyes still locked on hers. ‘We’re still here.’
She nods and closes her eyes, scooting forward, leaning her forehead against his. She can feel his breath on her cheek and it calms her, lulls her slightly.
All he said is true, she knows that; however, there is another part that he’s not saying and she knows that too.
They are still here, all three of them; it’s wonderful and unbelievable and everything she ever wanted, but. But.
Now what?
part ii
Hermione. And Harry - And I need to know how to live my life as it's meant to be.
Thanks to Ariana and Libbie for reading this over; they made sure it made sense in the world, rather than just in my head. Title and summary and all scene breaks taken from Mumford & Sons 'Sigh No More', which is H/H in the winter (as opposed to Chris Isaak's 'Heart Shaped World' - which is H/H in the summer) for me.
This is also absolute wish-fulfillment. *g*
[Potter, 'Sigh No More']
love it will not betray you
dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
It’s a random Friday night.
She, for once, is not revising in the library and it is one of his rare weekends in town. The three of them meet in Diagon Alley for a late dinner; afterwards, she has drinks with Neville and Luna in Soho, while Harry and Ron meet Draco at the Leaky Cauldron. She doesn’t expect to see him until the next morning, but they run into each other in the kitchen, both looking for a cup of tea before bed.
She grins at him as he wanders in, hands scratching through his hair.
‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ he answers, sinking down in a chair. ‘Neville and Luna okay?’
She hums in the back of her throat, adding sugar to his cup and milk to hers. ‘Neville says he’s ready to come back and,’ she says, looking over her shoulder at him before turning around completely, ‘I think Luna agrees.’
Harry laughs, nodding his thanks when she hands him his tea. ‘It has been almost two years,’ he says. ‘Reckon we’re supposed to know he’s taking Madame Sprout’s place?’
She grins at him, lifting a shoulder as she sits down across from him. ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to discuss it yet, but-‘
‘Everyone knows,’ he finishes for her. ‘Even Gin was asking about it in her last letter.’
She nods, but doesn’t reply, closing her eyes and sipping her tea. When she opens her eyes, he is studying her.
‘You okay?’ he says. ‘You look-‘
She laughs, propping her head in her hand. ‘I’m fine, Harry. Just revising my latest article, so I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.’
‘Not-‘
‘-no,’ she cuts him off, shaking her head. ‘Not like…after. Just normal tired.’
He nods. ‘Good. And speaking of, I think I’m turning in for the night.’
She indicates her empty cup, standing up with him. They silently put their cups in the sink and negotiate the stairs together.
She pauses at the landing before heading to her room.
‘You’re here all weekend, right? Fancy just…I don’t know, laying around or going to see a show tomorrow? Having a do-nothing day? My head is about done in from this article.’
‘Absolutely,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘I’m about done in myself, so nothing sounds perfect.’
‘Are you-‘
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just…tired,’ he says.
She laughs quietly, still peering worriedly at the bruising under his eyes and the dark shadow along his jaw. ‘Got it. See you tomorrow,’ she murmurs, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
And something, something about this time is different - from the way she leans in, to the way he turns his head. It’s different in the way she clutches the bottom hem of his shirt for balance and different in the way he catches her eye beforehand. Something, everything is different to the hundreds of times they’d done this in the past two years, standing in this exact spot.
She turns her head and he turns his and he catches the corner of her lips with his, and, suddenly, they are kissing breathlessly. They are kissing breathlessly and stumbling into her room and his arms are snaking around her waist and her arms are clutching at his shoulders and then she’s asking him if they’re really…are they really…
‘We’re really going to do this?’
Her voice is laughing, disbelieving. She can’t help the shiver that runs through her as his hands run up her back; his fingers catching in her shirt, his fingertips skimming her skin.
He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the green a ring around his blown pupils. ‘I should think so,’ he says, leaning in to kiss her again. ‘Finally. God…finally.’
She hums in the back of her throat, her arms twining closer around his shoulders, hands sliding into his hair. His mad, brilliant hair that seems to grow straight up in the back; his mad, brilliant hair that she has always, always (and, ohgod, she can finally admit this to herself) wanted to tangle her hands in, to brush back from his forehead, to slide her fingers through. His lips are moving against hers, he tastes of the tea they just drank and harryharryharry; their noses are brushing and she can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of her, joy welling up and spilling over with nowhere else to go.
He sighs as he pulls away, his hands coming up to frame her face. ‘This is going to go smashingly, if you can’t stop laughing at me,’ he says, one corner of his mouth turning up.
She smiles at him, then presses a kiss to the hinge of his jaw and her lips catch on the stubble there. ‘Not you,’ she says, lips moving against his skin. She can feel a shudder run up his back and her hands tighten in the back of his shirt. ‘I’m laughing at…this. At us. At how ridiculously, ridiculously happy I am right now. I just…Harry-‘
She can feel him grin against her temple. ‘I know,’ he says, his voice low, rough; his breath warm against her ear. ‘God, Hermione, I know,’ he repeats. ‘Can you believe-‘
‘No. Yes,’ she says, smiling, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. ‘I really think you should kiss me again.’
He huffs a short laugh and turns his head, catching her bottom lip between his. She feels heat pool in her stomach, her thighs and wraps herself more firmly around him. Her tongue is in his mouth, sliding alongside his and ohMerlinohGod why had they never done this before? Why had she never thought of this before? Wasn’t she supposed to be brilliant? She thinks of all the time they wasted, all the years they could have spent doing this and she wants to cry.
She thinks of all the years they could have been doing this and she thinks of always, always wanting to wrap herself around him like this, hands tangled in his hair; she thinks of Harry saying, ‘Finally. God, finally’ and she pulls back.
He groans deep in his chest, chasing his lips with hers, but she puts her hands on his shoulders, shoving him back.
‘Finally?’ she says, her breath coming out in pants. He looks…he looks so good, his mouth is swollen and wet and his eyes are heavy-lidded with his pupils blown, trained on her lips. ‘What the hell does that mean?’
He eyes shoot up to hers, incredulously. ‘Hermione, you honestly want to do this now?’ he says, drawing her closer, hands wandering up her spine again.
‘Yes,’ she says, her voice sounding like it’s coming from very far away, staring at his lips. Her arms seem to be acting independently of her body, twining around his shoulders, hands clutching convulsively in the fabric of his shirt.
‘I mean finally,’ he says, whispering, lips brushing the shell of her ear. ‘Hermione, you must know…you must…’
She finds herself, nodding, agreeing before she’s even really thought about it.
Because…because she had. She had. She thinks she has always known and the only thing she can feel right now is absolute, total relief.
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘yes.’ She can feel his pulse beating solidly, wildly under her lips and she feels a mad grin steal across her face. She buries her face in his shoulder and breaths in deeply. ‘Harry.’
He exhales through his nose, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. He turns his face towards hers, nose dragging along the bridge of her cheek. He drops kisses along his way; kissing the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, rubbing his nose along hers.
‘Hermione.’
Her ‘Harry’ is lost against his lips; the kiss starts sweet but turns deep and wet, fast, as she licks into his mouth. Harry starts sucking on her tongue and, suddenly, she’s not thinking at all. All she can feel, all she can focus on is trying to climb into his skin. His hands are…they’re, they’re everywhere; skimming her sides and down her pants and gripping her hips, her thighs, hoisting her up his body and staggering against the wall.
She can’t stop the moan that runs wild as she rocks down on to him. He’s right there, hot and hard against her and she feels crazy with it.
She has never, never felt like this. She never thought she could feel like this. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, like it’s stretched too thin over her bones, her heart banging against her ribcage, in counterpoint to his own; she feels like she could quite happily climb inside his mouth and live there. Her breath is coming out in short, erratic bursts; her arms and legs are wrapping around him, clutching him convulsively, as if she can pull him to her, fuse them together. She has never been this turned on or this…happy.
She has never been this happy.
*
but i will hold on hope
and i won’t let you choke
She breathes a sigh of relief as the train pulls from the station; the metal and brick and glass of King’s Cross sliding away. She thinks of her childish fancy - the world was moving around her while she stayed standing. She used to think it was presumptuous, the world rushing to meet her. Now, now she wonders; was it really the world rushing to meet her, or was she herself standing still as everything, everyone else went on around her?
She’s slumped against the seat, her head tilted back, and she’s straining to see sky between the grey buildings. It’s something she’s found herself doing for months, all summer, ever since that moment on the bridge at Hogwarts. She thought she’d gladly put away everything from last year, shove it down, back, lock it in trunks in her mind and be the better for it.
It wasn’t until weeks later, insomnia stalking her, that her mother mentioned it, asked why she kept disappearing outside, or looking longingly out the window. There was a cup of tea, warm in her hands and the glass of the window was cool against her temple. Her mum looked worried, brows drawn together and she’d shaken her head, herself, said, ‘No reason. Just…can’t believe it’s all over.’ Her mum hadn’t looked convinced, but let it go, simply kissed her on the top of her head before heading upstairs.
She’d thought about it, then; she thinks about it now, even though she tries not to. She feels her left forearm, a phantom throb and squelches the urge to press down, to trace her fingers over the word. She can feel Ron beside her, his body a line of heat down her side.
She can hear the others, faintly, laughing slightly.
‘I can’t believe Malfoy is coming back,’ Ginny says. ‘I couldn’t believe when I saw him on the platform.’
Ron snickers, leaning back and settling against Hermione. ‘You and me both. I can’t imagine what he thinks he’s doing.’
‘And what about Rita Skeeter? She can’t honestly think that any of us will ever speak to her,’ Ginny says; then her voice turns sly. ‘Of course, she’s no match for Neville.’
Neville’s voice is muffled, his head buried in his hands, when he answers. ‘I can’t believe I-‘
‘Indeed,’ Ginny says, giggling. ‘No need to take her head off.’
Ron laughs, leaning away from Hermione a bit to nudge Neville with his elbow. ‘Exactly, Neville,’ he says, voice low, with laughter running through it. ‘We all know you’re a superhero now; you don’t need to give us a practical demonstration all the time.’
‘Oh, stuff it,’ Neville says, but before he can say more, Harry interrupts.
‘Leave it,’ he says, his voice muffled. Hermione turns her head towards him and he’s standing on the seat across from hers, digging around in his trunk with one hand. One arm is braced on the rail for balance and the other is stretched, searching in his open trunk. ‘She’s apparently decided to do nothing but follow us around until we die. Better get used to it.’
Ron smirks. ‘Or we could just casually mention it to Fred and George-‘
And suddenly, all the air has been sucked out of the cabin, out of the train. Out of the world.
Sometimes…sometimes last spring feels like a lifetime ago. Sometimes it feels like yesterday. And, sometimes, when they’re all together, all laughing, all pretending to be the children they never were…those times, they can fool themselves into believing it never happened at all.
Then someone mentions Fred. Or Remus. Or Snape. Or Colin. Or Lavender. Or Tonks. Or or or.
That’s when she wonders if they’ll ever actually…she doesn’t even know. She doesn’t think getting over it is an option and she doesn’t think she ever wants to; the last year, the last two years, the last three, four, five years have been terrible and brilliant and everything, everything they’ve been through has been so, so worth it.
She wishes she’d never seen her parents’ faces as she lifted the spell, had to watch as they struggled to grasp what had happened, what she’d done to keep them safe. She wishes she’d never seen her best friend in excruciating pain, or so filled with rage that it bled into the world around them, poisoned them all, or grasped his hand, finally seeing his parents’ grave on a frigid Christmas Eve. She wishes they’d figured out the Deathly Hallows without going to Mr Lovegood. She wishes they’d discovered how to kill the Horcruxes months before they did, months before it could turn them all into terrible people, to leach all warmth from them and leave them numb.
She wishes…she wishes a lot of things, but she doesn’t regret anything.
So she grabs Ron’s hand and laces their fingers together. Harry drops down to his seat, not wrapping an arm around Ginny or holding her hand, but sitting so closely that there is no daylight between them. Luna is resting her head on Neville’s shoulder.
Maybe they just have to learn to live with it; she thinks they’ve probably been doing that all along and it’s served them well so far.
She says, her voice loud in the profound silence, ‘George probably would have some creative ways to get her off our backs.’
No one says anything and she looks back out the window, again searching for bits of the sky between the grey. She feels a foot nudge hers and when she looks up, Harry is staring at her. He’s not smiling and he doesn’t say anything, but he looks at her steadily and his foot stays pressed up against hers.
It’s not better and it’s not okay, but it’s what they’ve got.
*
and i’ll find strength in pain
and i will change my ways
‘Does anyone else feel slightly ridiculous? Has everyone else felt ridiculous for a month now, like I have?’
Ron’s voice is raised, loud to be heard over the din of the Halloween Feast.
‘What do you mean?’ Neville says, sounding distracted. He’s looking over his shoulder, at Luna; Hermione sees her give him a wave and she smiles to herself.
‘Everyone remembers last year, right?’ Ron asks, looking around the table, his fork clenched in his hand. Harry carries on eating as if he can’t hear him and Ginny raises her eyebrow as she takes a drink.
Hermione rolls her eyes and says, ‘Put your fork down, at least. You look like you’re going to stab someone.’
Harry snorts as Ron sighs, setting his fork down carefully, staring at Hermione all the while. ‘Thanks, Mum. But - honestly.’
‘We can’t give you an answer if you won’t tell us what you’re on about,’ Neville says, finally turning around.
‘I’m on about the fact that we…fought a war and bloody well saved the world and here we are, back at school,’ Ron bellows, throwing his arms out. ‘It’s totally ridiculous.’
Ginny laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘Were you expecting it to be parades and virgins falling at your feet?’
Ron wrinkles his nose, one side of his mouth twisted up. ‘Of course not,’ he says, though Hermione can see his ears turn slightly pink. ‘I just. I don’t know.’
‘I guess it is a bit weird,’ Harry says, shrugging. ‘But I, for one, am kind-of enjoying it.’
Ginny grins at him, leaning forward for a quick kiss. Hermione keeps looking at Ron, a hand propping her chin up. ‘We talked about this, if you’ll remember. But you know what is really strange?’ she says, continuing before anyone has a chance to say anything. ‘That we’re sitting here and Luna’s with Ravenclaw.’
‘Hermione’s right, you know.’
She jolts at Luna’s voice; she didn’t see her coming up behind Neville as she spoke to Ron. Hermione looks up to greet her, but her voice dies in her throat.
Luna’s not alone. She has a death grip on the Draco Malfoy’s sleeve while he twitches uncomfortably at her side. As she looks at them, Hermione has the rather hysterical thought that they look very…blond.
A hush falls over the entire table as they all turn to stare at the pair.
Harry’s the first one to recover his voice. ‘Er…hi, Luna,’ he says, though he sounds strangled. ‘Malfoy.’
‘Potter,’ he says, nodding stiffly. ‘Granger. Weasleys.’
‘Hello, Draco,’ Neville says, propping one elbow on the table to look at them both. As Hermione looks at him, the urge to giggle hysterically grows, remembering round little Neville being absolutely petrified, clutching a broomstick and looking at him now, long and lean and utterly unconcerned.
‘Longbottom.’
They all stare at each other for a moment, Hermione’s mouth opening and closing on several sentences before Luna tuts, sitting down beside Neville and yanking Draco down to sit beside her. ‘I, too, thought it was odd that everyone just went back to their houses. So I’ve decided to come eat with you.’
‘Tuck in,’ Neville says, grinning and pushing a glass of pumpkin juice towards her.
‘Thank you, Neville,’ Luna says, looking around at them all. ‘I also decided to bring Draco.’
‘Lovely,’ Ginny says, darkly. Hermione sees Harry elbow her and shoot her a look underneath his eyebrows.
‘Yes,’ Hermione says, shrilly, even though she agrees with Ginny. ‘Yes, it’s lovely.’
It’s not until a couple of hours later that she feels like herself again, like her whole body has exhaled and the tension has just melted away. ‘That was, I think, the strangest hour of my life,’ she mutters to Harry, as they wander back to the common room.
Neville is walking Luna back to Ravenclaw and Ron and Ginny are up ahead, arguing about…something. Hermione hadn’t really been paying attention when they’d left the Great Hall, still feeling strange and disconnected from everything. Seeing Draco Malfoy sitting amongst them, clearly uncomfortable but resolutely eating and replying politely when spoken to had felt like an out-of-body experience.
Harry bumps her shoulder, grinning at her. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and can feel herself smile back, automatic. She thinks about walking the length of Gringotts, feeling like it was the plank; stomach clenching and wild hair in her face. ‘Okay,’ she says, shooting him a look. ‘Maybe not the strangest, but still.’
Harry laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘They both had a point, though.’
She sighs, bumping into him and dropping her head on his shoulder briefly. ‘Of course they do, Harry. I feel ill sometimes about last year and now…well, Ron said it. We’re just back at school. However…’
‘…Ginny was right too,’ he says, smiling. ‘And you were as well, yelling at us this summer that we needed to come back, to get our NEWTs.’
She nods, wrapping a hand around his elbow. ‘I guess we just figure out a way to…’
‘To get on with it without forgetting? To always remember it, but still…’ he trails off lamely, shrugging.
She huffs a laugh, squeezing his arm. ‘And then for our next trick…’
He snorts. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well,’ she says, slowly, a grin growing on her face. ‘We did just have our first ever Potter/Granger/Weasley/Malfoy/Longbottom/Lovegood dinner. And no one lost a extremity or got a Bat-Bogey hex or bled on the table, so-‘
‘-anything’s possible,’ he finishes for her. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
*
you’ll be happy and wholesome again
when the city clears and sun ascends
The common room has been empty for hours, the others trickling away as she sat with her books and parchment at the table nearest the fire. She’d finally quit an hour ago, her eyes aching and gritty.
The couch is comfortable, soft beneath her; the warmth of the fire and being here, being home, knowing her friends, her family were safe and around her…all of these things should make it easy for her to rest. But the thought of climbing the stairs, of lying in her bed makes it feel as if ants are crawling under her skin.
It still feels strange, months later, to be sleeping on a bed and not a cot, to feel warm; to feel safe, without the constant worry about wards plaguing her every moment.
To not hear his breathing as she sinks into sleep.
Her eyes are closed and she’s not expecting his voice when it comes, soft and so very near.
‘How long did you know?’
She turns her head towards him, her nose almost brushing his ear as she shifts on to her side. He’s sitting on the floor, hands hooked over his drawn-up knees and head tilted back on the couch. Neither of them moves away.
‘How long did I know what?
He smiles slightly and she can feel an answering grin tug at her lips. In spite of the hour, her aching limbs, her body’s call for sleep, she’s helpless in the face of her happiness that he’s here, he’s breathing, he’s smiling and no one, for once, for the first time ever, is trying to kill him. She reaches out and lays her hand on his neck, her fingers unerringly finding the pulse beating there. ‘Hermione,’ he says, his eyes closing. ‘Come on.’
She sighs, her breath ruffling his hair slightly.
‘I think…I suspected from that first afternoon you told us about the Horcruxes,’ she says, closing her eyes and seeing him that afternoon, up on the tower. His eyes, wide but shuttered, his hand hovering over hers; the way she backed away, withdrew her hand even though she wanted to grab hold and never let go. It still makes her chest feel small and tight. ‘The more I thought about it that summer, the more sense it made. Your scar and why you could sense him and why you could speak Parseltongue…’
He says nothing, just hums in the back of his throat. She can feel the vibration in the pads of her fingers.
‘And Dumbledore himself told you,’ she says, drawing a breath and then rushing on before he can say anything, ‘Not…after, not at the end, but long before that. Second year. When he told you that he thought Voldemort had transferred some of his powers to you that night.’
He says nothing, but when she opens her eyes, he’s grinning. He turns his head toward her, trapping her hand between his shoulder and jaw. ‘Only you, Hermione.’
She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Only me, what?’
‘You’re just…you’re brilliant,’ he says, laughing. ‘Still. Always. Absolutely brilliant.’
She smiles back, helplessly. ‘Harry, I told you - I’m not brilliant; I’m just-‘
‘-highly logical,’ he finishes with her, turning his head back and still laughing. ‘Yes, I remember. However, I say you’re brilliant and you have to listen to me, you know.’
‘I do?’ she says, closing her eyes again, drawing her hand back and tucking it underneath her chin. She can feel sleep trying to drag her under. ‘Why’s that?’
‘I’m the savior of the wizarding world,’ he says; his words are slurred and his voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. ‘What I say goes.’
She snorts, rolling forward slightly and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. ‘Night, Harry.’
She wakes up the next morning with a crick in her neck and one arm dragging the floor; Harry has drooled on the couch right beside her and his glasses are dangling off of one ear. The fire has gone out and she can feel a chill in her bones.
It’s the best night of sleep she’s had in months.
*
don’t leave me alone at this time
for i’m afraid of what i will discover inside
‘You would have gone with him, wouldn’t you?’
‘Hmm?’ she says, less words and more a hum in the back of her throat. ‘What’s that?’
When she looks up, Ron’s eyes are open, genuinely curious. His face is relaxed and so are his hands; they are resting on the table, homework spread between them. But something…something in his voice gives her pause, makes her lay down her quill and study him.
‘You would have gone with him, wouldn’t you?’ he repeats, his expression not changing.
She wants to feign incomprehension, to say ‘what? What are you talking about?’; to pretend like she doesn’t know the what, the where, the when, the who.
The who, especially.
He can see that she knows exactly what he’s talking about and simply raises an eyebrow.
She looks at him for another moment, then answers, her voice sure.
‘Yes.’
He smiles slightly, running a hand through his hair. When he replies, his voice is low, almost disbelieving. ‘You would have, wouldn’t you? You would have walked into certain death with him.’
‘Yes,’ she says again. She doesn’t know what he wants to hear; she opts for the truth. ‘He’s…he’s my best friend.’
‘Your best friend,’ he repeats, sighing. ‘Do you think that’s normal behavior for best friends?’
She narrows her eyes and draws in a breath. She can feel her palms start to itch and her throat tighten. She will not have this fight, again. ‘I don’t know, Ron,’ she says, her voice gaining strength with every word. ‘I do, however, think it’s incredibly normal behavior for Harry and me and since he’s the only best friend I’ve ever had…’
He looks up at that, his hands clenching. ‘The only best friend you’ve ever had?’
‘Yes,’ she says, her voice still calm and sure, her gaze not wavering. ‘I…Harry and I understand each other in a…he has always been my best friend and you know that. Merlin, Ron, you…how many times have you yourself…I mean. I love you, but…Ron. You and I have never been like Harry and I. Or you and Harry, come to that.’
He sighs and nods, but looks like he hates himself for doing so. ‘I suppose. You’ve got to admit, though; that’s extremely…loyal, Hermione,’ he says, swallowing thickly.
She shrugs. ‘Barring some prat-like adolescent angst and a…a piece of a dark wizard’s soul infecting you,’ she says, stumbling over the words and smiling slightly, ‘you’re pretty loyal as well.’
‘Not like you, though,’ he says, smiling back, though his face is still tight. ‘Now that I think about it, I’m surprised you let him go. Actually-‘
‘-you heard him, Ron,’ she interrupts, looking down and picking up her quill again. ‘That day. I knew. I mean, I suspected. So.’
‘How long…how long did you suspect?’
She doesn’t know why she can feel tears start to burn at the back of her eyes, Ron’s guileless eyes looking at her. She doesn’t know why it’s now, at this time, that she thinks about it, that her mind spins back; she doesn’t know why it’s now, not several weeks ago, whispering close with Harry in the middle of the night.
She’d known, absolutely known, from that first day on the Astronomy Tower; hearing Harry talk about the Horcruxes and looking at his scar, swallowing against the bile in her throat when he passed her the locket. That was the moment when the frantic whine of ‘nononononono’ had begun - the same frantic whine that was a constant companion in the back of her mind until almost a year later, until that day, that moment on the stairs, his eyes locked on hers. Hearing him say it, confirm it and having no plan, no way to help; she still feels like she failed him absolutely. Tears threaten, but she pushes them back resolutely, ignores the burning in her nose and answers Ron, impatiently, ‘I think I knew from that first day he told us about the Horcruxes.’
He doesn’t say anything for a moment; she can feel his gaze on the top of her head as she finds where she left off in her essay.
‘So…all last year, when-‘
‘-when I was frantically trying to keep us all alive?’ she says, shortly, head still down. ‘Yes.’
‘And you never said anything.’
‘What was I supposed to say, Ron?’ she says, looking up again.
‘Yeah,’ he says, quickly, lowering his eyes. ‘Yeah. You’re…I don’t even know why I brought it up. Stupid of me, really. Come on - we should get going to dinner.’
‘I can’t,’ she says, gesturing to the mess in front of her. ‘I have-‘
‘-papers and exams and and and,’ he says, flicking his wand and all of their books close up and slide into their respective bags.
‘Ron! What are you-‘
‘Useful little spell, isn’t it?’ he says, gripping her hand and dragging her out of her seat. ‘Learned it when my bookworm girlfriend convinced me to come back to school for another year.’
Hermione rolls her eyes, but slings her bag across herself and tightens her hold on his hand. ‘You’ll thank me one day.’
‘I’ll remind you of that when I’m whinging about exams,’ he says, grinning at her. ‘Wonder if Luna’s going to inflict Malfoy on us again this evening?’
*
so tell me now, where was my fault
in loving you with my whole heart
Looking at them, she thinks enduring the yelling from Mrs Weasley and the disappointed looks from her parents were worth it.
Number 7 looks better than she’s ever seen it, with fire crackling in the grate, a tree in front of the window and her two best friends sitting at a table opposite. The couch into which she’s curled is deep and squashy, her cup of tea is sweet and hot, and she can’t help a sigh that escapes as she rests her head on the back, watching Ron and Harry lean over a chess board.
They just had dinner with her parents and she’s sure tomorrow at the Burrow will be full of laughter and good things to eat and hysteria when the presents are unwrapped. She can’t wait to see Harry’s face when he sees Moody’s old journals or Ron’s when he opens the season tickets to the Cannons.
But occasionally, sometimes (most times, if she’s honest with herself) she just wants the quiet and calm silence of the three of them. Ever since last summer, they’ve been unable to go anywhere in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade without being stared at or accosted and even at school, where they are a sight common enough that no one eyes them side-long or stares avidly, they are constantly surrounded by people.
She has always preferred their company over everyone else’s and she thinks that months spent in a tent actually exacerbated that urge instead of lessening it.
Those months were terrible but she finds herself thinking about them a lot. More than she should, she thinks, it’s almost certainly unhealthy in the way that she almost…longs for them. As the thought crosses her mind, she hurriedly stands up, stretching her arms over her head.
‘Think I’m heading up,’ she says, hooking a thumb over her shoulder even though neither of them looks at her.
Ron grunts, still squinting at the chess board. She smiles and drops a kiss on to his temple, running her hand through the hair at the back of his neck. Harry is staring at her, his brows drawn together. He opens his mouth, but she shakes her head.
‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘Just tired.’
Hours later, she is still awake, curled up in the window seat, watching the snow fall, the silence settled in her bones.
She sighs, her breath fogging the glass briefly before she stands up.
The hallway is dark, but she can see light still spilling from the sitting room and can hear the fire still crackling. When she pokes her head in, Harry is lying on the floor on his back, left leg crossed over his right and his head under the tree.
‘Erm,’ she says, edging into the room. ‘You…okay?’
He laughs and waggles his left foot in greeting. ‘I’m brilliant. Care to join me?’
‘I’d be delighted,’ she says, laying down and scotching back. She turns her head towards him as she gets level. He’s smiling at her but she can’t see his eyes, the lights of the tree reflecting off his glasses.
‘Was that sarcasm?’ he asks, voice going for serious but landing on incredibly fond.
She grins at him, reaching down and grabbing his hand. ‘Never.’
He hums, his head turning back and closing his eyes.
‘So…’ she draws out, still watching him. ‘Any particular reason you’re still awake?’
He sighs, squeezing her hand. ‘Not really,’ he says. ‘Of course, I could ask you the same thing.’
She closes her eyes, her mouth turning up. ‘Not tired.’
When he doesn’t reply, she opens her eyes to find him staring at her, his mouth pulled down into a frown. ‘Why are you lying to me, Hermione?’
She feels her throat seize up at that, both the question and his tone. She bites her lip, staring at the branches above them.
‘At this particular moment, I’m not tired,’ she says, slowly.
‘But…’
‘But,’ she says, cutting her eyes towards him. ‘I’m exhausted, Harry. Absolutely, totally exhausted. I don’t remember the last full night of sleep I had.’
He sighs, rolling to his side and moving closer to her, not letting go of her hand. ‘I don’t…I mean. You know, if you were having nightmares caused by part of a dark lord’s soul embedded in you, then I’m your guy, but-‘
She can’t keep the hysterical giggle in at that, the laughs coming out high and breathless. He’s smiling at her, but his brow is still furrowed and she feels that urge, the one that’s been plaguing her since she saw him roll out of Hagrid’s arms come over her.
She wants to run her hands over every part of him, feel his pulse beating under her hands; to let go of this knot of fear and anxiety and furious love the feels like a living thing under her ribcage. She wants to hold his hand and just…release it, let it go, to feel her chest crack open and bleed out the poison coursing through her, weighing her down.
For some reason, this night, she does.
She feels the giggles turn to sobs before she can stop them and as much as she wants it, she is terrified to let it go. She has lived with this breathless worry for most of her life.
She doesn’t know who she is without it.
Harry doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding her hand while she sobs. Heaving, loud sobs that shake her, that seem to come from the bottom of her toes, that make her curl on to her side and into herself.
She doesn’t know how long they stay there like that; she only knows she feels weightless and spent when it’s over. She’s still curled on to her side, one hand gripping Harry’s like a lifeline, the other clenched into a fist under her chin. She must look appalling, nose running and eyes bloodshot, tears matting her hair and her eyelashes sticking together.
‘Thanks,’ she says, softly, unclenching her hand and trying, futilely, to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He says nothing for a moment, his hand coming up and thumbing away wetness under her eyes. She can’t see any curiosity on his face, no questions forthcoming, but she still wants to…
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.
‘Do you remember what we were doing exactly one year ago?’
He clears his throat. ‘Bathilda, you mean? Or…before that?’
‘Before that,’ she says, eyes still closed. ‘I was…when we…I was standing there, petrified that…that I would have to…visit you there. That we wouldn’t, that I wouldn’t and, Harry, I don’t…I don’t…’
She pauses and bites her lip, drawing in a breath. The words feel heavy and her tongue is thick in her mouth; she feels wretched and short of breath and still so, so guilty for not having any way to save him.
‘I also…Harry, I knew… I knew about you and I was…I wasn’t doing everything I could because I was trying so hard to pretend, to pretend it wasn’t true and I faile-,‘ she says, sobbing around the words.
‘Hermione,’ he interrupts, scooting closer and cupping her face. His voice is low, but firm; at the tone, her eyes fly open.
He’s staring at her, tears standing in his eyes as well. ‘Hermione, stop. The only thing you have ever been is amazing. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, you could have done. You get that, right?’ he says, eyes wide. ‘Even Dumbledore saw that was the only way.’
She sniffs, nodding her head slightly.
‘Also, I get it. I do,’ he says, smiling slightly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
‘Yeah,’ she breathes, sniffing again and attempting a smile. ‘Okay.’
‘I mean it,’ he says, voice low, just enough for her to hear. ‘I knew that I might…that I might not make it, but you? I couldn’t even let myself…’
She squeezes his hand.
‘But we’re both…all three of us,’ he amends, eyes still locked on hers. ‘We’re still here.’
She nods and closes her eyes, scooting forward, leaning her forehead against his. She can feel his breath on her cheek and it calms her, lulls her slightly.
All he said is true, she knows that; however, there is another part that he’s not saying and she knows that too.
They are still here, all three of them; it’s wonderful and unbelievable and everything she ever wanted, but. But.
Now what?
part ii
Hermione. And Harry - And I need to know how to live my life as it's meant to be.
Thanks to Ariana and Libbie for reading this over; they made sure it made sense in the world, rather than just in my head. Title and summary and all scene breaks taken from Mumford & Sons 'Sigh No More', which is H/H in the winter (as opposed to Chris Isaak's 'Heart Shaped World' - which is H/H in the summer) for me.
This is also absolute wish-fulfillment. *g*