Fic: Loving Harry Potter
Title: Loving Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This fic is dedicated to tome_raider with much love for all of her encouragement and support, and because she loves Harry/Hermione as much as I do. Thanks to cheeringcharm for looking over the first draft I did more than two years ago and offering a few pointers.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The sound of someone knocking rather loudly on her door awoke Hermione from her sleep with a start. Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she rose off the couch where she’d fallen asleep, a scarlet blanket thrown over her legs, and patted her orange-and-white kitten on the head as the small furry ball of fluff lifted her head up to glance at her Mummy, wondering what had disturbed them from their slumber.
Hermione stumbled in the candlelight towards the knocking, which got louder as she got closer to the door. Stifling a yawn, she undid the bolts and pulled the door open to find a bruised and bleeding Harry leaning heavily on the doorframe.
“Harry!” she cried, stepping forward to brace her body against his for support. He sagged against her, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
“Sorry I woke you,” he murmured quietly as she led him into her flat and placed him against the wall while she locked the door again. “I know it’s late.”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “I’ve been worried sick about you!” Harry’s job as an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic had Hermione worried sick when he was out on a mission. He nearly always returned at odd hours, battered, bruised and bleeding, and sometimes with a broken bone here and there. Hermione had long since ceased questioning why he simply didn’t use the Ministry’s medical staff like all his colleagues did; when she’d first asked him years previously, Harry had said he knew she could do as good a job as any trainee Healer. Hermione had become so alarmed at the severity of some of Harry’s injuries that she’d taken a special course and was now a fully qualified Healer who knew how to cast all the correct spells and brew the right potions to heal him as quickly as any other Healer could.
Hermione thought it also had something to do with the fact that despite the fact he worked for the good of the wizarding world, there were very few people that Harry truly trusted.
She half dragged, half carried him into the large bathroom and sat him on the stool she kept especially for occasions such as this, and then dug through one of her cupboards to gather up all the equipment she would need to fix his injuries. Her arms full, she placed everything on the counter beside his stool. Harry had taken off his glasses and was slowly rubbing his temples.
“Headache?” she asked softly.
Harry nodded once. “Got hit on the back of the head.”
Hermione brought a hand up and weaved her fingers through his hair, softly probing for a lump. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to press softly but was unsuccessful in locating any lump.
“I can’t feel anything,” she said quietly. Harry answered by bringing his hand up and placing it over hers, then guiding her to a spot near the base of his neck. “Ouch,” Hermione said in sympathy as she ran her fingertips over the egg-sized lump on his head. “That must have hurt.”
“It did,” Harry said with a wry smile in spite of the situation.
“What else?”
“I think I might have broken a rib.” Harry shifted on the stool and winced as he moved the wrong way.
“Stay still for a minute.” Her voice was soft but commanding, and Harry did as he was told while Hermione undid the buttons of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. She eased it down and examined his torso, moving around in a circle to ascertain the extent of his injuries. “You’ve got a few large bruises forming on your back.” Harry could hear the anxiousness in her voice as she came back around to his front. “Does it hurt when I press here?” She gently placed her hand on his torso and pushed her fingertips against his cool, bare skin.
Harry shook his head. “No.”
Hermione moved her hand and pushed again, and Harry’s responding groan told her she’d hit a sensitive spot. “Sorry,” she said, biting her lip. She examined him for a few more moments and then leaned over to grab the washcloth out of the bowl of water she had on the side. “I think you’re just badly bruised. Here, let me clean you up a bit so I can see if there’s anything else that needs immediate attention.”
She dipped the washcloth in the warm water and washed his face, which was covered in dirt. Once she’d cleaned him up a bit, Hermione saw he had a few cuts and that his cheek had a small gash in it. Harry winced a few times when she hit a particularly painful spot, but for the most part kept still. Ten minutes later, he was a lot cleaner than he had been when he’d arrived.
“Do you want a cup of tea or something cold?”
“Something cold, please.”
Hermione grabbed some pumpkin juice from the fridge and poured them both a glass, adding ice. Harry smiled gratefully and slid his glasses back on his nose as she handed him the glass. He examined her as he sipped the cold liquid. Her hair looked adorably mussed as it framed her face; although she had grey smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep, Harry couldn’t think of a time where Hermione had looked more beautiful that she did at that moment, standing with him in her bathroom at two in the morning. Something stirred inside him, feelings he knew he’d had for a long time but had always kept carefully hidden.
“Hermione?”
She looked up at him over the rim of her glass. “Yes?”
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
She smiled at him and placed her glass on the counter, then watched as he followed suit. “You’re very welcome.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead, kissing him gently. “Even if it is two in the morning.” Hermione rested her forehead against Harry’s, just grateful he was alive and close enough for her to touch. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said in a tone so low it could pass as a whisper. She brought her hand up and laid it carefully on his cheek, stroking his skin softly with her thumb. “I worry about you,” she said, unable to keep her anxiety out of her voice.
“I know you do, but I’m fine, really. Just a few cuts and bruises, that’s all.” Harry tried to smile but it was more of a painful grimace. “I couldn’t come to anyone else.”
“I know.” She smiled at him and he smiled back; she then placed a finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Leaning over, she kissed his lips. It was a chaste kiss, one they exchanged every time they found themselves in this situation, Harry sitting in Hermione’s bathroom in the early hours of the morning while she cleaned him up. They held the kiss for a few seconds, then Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and Harry pulled her closer to him carefully, hugging her as tightly as he could manage. She ran her fingers through his hair, careful not to touch the lump as he kissed her shoulder. They stayed in their embrace for a few minutes, both feeling like there was no better place in the world for them to be than where they were at that moment.
“You going to stay?”
Harry nodded. “I don’t think I could make it home now. I want to take a shower first though, I feel pretty horrible.”
“There’s a towel on the shelf and you have a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers in my top dresser drawer.” She smiled at him one last time and disappeared into her bedroom.
Harry waited a few moments then hauled himself off the stool and slowly shuffled into Hermione’s bedroom. She already lay in bed, confined to the left side so he could have the other; even though she had a spare bedroom in her flat, there was no question of him sleeping in it. Her eyes were closed but he doubted she was asleep. She always waited until he joined her so they could talk about his latest mission - well, as much as he was allowed to, anyway - and he could assure her that his injuries were minor and would heal. Once comforted that he really was going to be okay, Hermione would eventually drift off to sleep, making sure she was touching Harry in some way, as a reassurance he was still there. They often fell asleep with their joined hands resting between them, fingers curled tightly together.
Being as quiet as possible, Harry gathered his clean clothes and made his way into the bathroom, shutting the door so as not to disturb Hermione. He grabbed a clean towel and turned the taps on, having the water as hot as he could stand. The heat made his body ache for a few moments, but his muscles soon relaxed and he washed himself properly. After staying in long enough to be doing a passable impression of a prune, he shut off the water and towelled himself dry, then slipped his boxers and t-shirt on after examining his bruised body in the mirror.
Hermione was curled up on her side facing the bathroom when Harry came out, her eyes still closed. Thinking she was asleep, he carefully pulled back the covers and climbed in as quietly as he could.
“Feel better?” her voice came from the dark.
“A lot, thanks. Still a little stiff.”
“You’ll feel a lot worse in the morning.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” He heard her chuckle, and he couldn’t help but smile at her, even though she couldn’t see him. Harry pulled himself onto his side, facing Hermione, and his hand instinctively reached out for hers, which met him halfway. They laced their fingers together, the familiar gesture comforting.
“You should sleep, love,” Harry said softly. “There’s nothing to tell you that can’t wait until tomorrow. You looked tired when you answered the door.”
Hermione yawned in response. “I am tired, I haven’t been sleeping well.” She didn’t need to elaborate why; they both already knew. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow.” She snuggled a bit closer to him and Harry propped himself up so he could kiss her cheek.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispered in her ear, but Hermione was already asleep.
~*~
Harry woke first, despite having had less sleep than Hermione, and he watched her quietly for a few moments; his eyes took in her brown bushy hair, which was spread over her pillow like a fan, the light smattering of freckles she had across the bridge of her nose, and her skin, which he knew was soft to the touch. He leaned over and kissed her cheek very gently, his lips lingering for a few moments, and when he heard a soft ‘miaow’, he turned to the foot of the bed to find Pumpkin on it, staring at him with her big, blue eyes - the very eyes that had made him pick her out of all of the kittens at the pet store.
Harry got out of bed and had a quick shower, then dressed in the spare clean clothes he always left at Hermione’s and picked Pumpkin up, fitting her easily into the palm of his hand as she was just ten weeks old. He lifted her up and kissed the top of her head affectionately as she purred. “Come on, sweet girl,” he said. “Let’s get you some breakfast and then we’ll work on Mummy’s.”
Once Pumpkin was fed and watered, Harry went through Hermione’s fridge to see what was on offer, but finding nothing to his liking he decided to go to the corner grocery store and bakery so he could make a big breakfast. Pumpkin rubbed up against his leg as he attempted to leave, so he tucked her inside his jacket and took her with him, and together they picked up some bacon to go with the eggs in Hermione’s fridge, sausages, muffins and pineapple juice, which Harry was somewhat fond of. When he got back to Hermione’s flat he checked in on her to see she was still sleeping soundly, and decided to read the papers which had arrived by owl before starting breakfast so Hermione could have a bit of a lie in.
It took Harry half an hour to make it through every single newspaper Hermione had a subscription to, so once he was done he started breakfast, as familiar with her kitchen as he was with his own. Whistling as he deftly cooked up two big breakfasts, he dug out Hermione’s large silver tray and placed their plates on it, along with a plate full of muffins, two small jugs each holding a juice (one pumpkin, one pineapple), and a pot of tea with two teacups. Pumpkin decided to hitch a ride on the tray as well, so it was with care that Harry levitated it and floated it along in front of him. Once he had put it down safely, he placed the kitten on the bed and gently shook Hermione awake.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said softly, smiling as Hermione came out of slumber. She sat up, blinking rapidly, and looked around the room.
“What time is it?”
“Just after ten. I made you breakfast.” Hermione rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn, and gasped when she caught sight of the tray.
“You cooked all of that?”
“Well, not all by myself, no,” Harry said with a grin. “I had help from this pretty girl.” He picked Pumpkin up and stroked her softly, and Hermione smiled.
“Did you help Uncle Harry with breakfast?” Hermione took the kitten from Harry and kissed her head. Harry had shown up late one afternoon with Pumpkin a month ago, despite the fact that Hermione had sworn never to have another pet after losing Crookshanks to old age six months previously. But she’d fallen in love with the little orange furball as soon as Harry had placed her tiny body in Hermione’s hands, and strongly suspected Harry was as in love with her cat as she was.
She put Pumpkin down and sat up as Harry transfigured one of the many books on her side table into a small tray for her, then settled next to her and did the same for himself. They chattered all the way through breakfast, which was absolutely delicious (no surprise, as everything Harry cooked was tasty) and then Hermione tentatively asked the question she’d been dreading having to ask.
“How long are you back for?” she said in a small voice, fingers plucking at her coverlet.
Harry sighed and put his tray and empty plate aside, then leaned back into the pillows upon which he was propped. “I don’t know, yet. A few days at the least.” He moved awkwardly and must have hit a sore spot if the groan he let out was anything to go by.
Hermione studied him thoughtfully. “Take your shirt and jeans off,” she instructed, rising up off the bed and into the bathroom. Harry complied, stripping down to his boxers. “Lie down,” she said briskly, arms laden with a wicker basket full of bottles and tubes.
Harry smiled and did as he was told, moving to the centre of the bed and lying on his belly. Hermione climbed on the bed and straddled his hips, running her fingers all over his back as she examined his bruises. “Is there anywhere that doesn’t hurt?” she asked, and Harry laughed, despite his injuries.
“I’ll be fine. They’ll heal.”
Hermione made a noise that told Harry she doubted it, before leaning into the basket she’d placed next to her on the bed and taking out a purple jar. Unscrewing the lid, she placed a generous dollop of the pale green salve onto one of Harry’s bruises, and he jerked slightly from the cold of it on his skin.
“Stay still,” Hermione chided him softly, and then her fingertips were there, on his shoulders, on his bare skin, lightly and carefully massaging the healing salve into the bruise to heal it, and Harry wondered if there was any place on Earth he’d rather be than right where he was, and he quickly decided that he didn’t think so. He closed his eyes as Hermione’s fingers worked their magic, relaxing completely for the first time in many weeks.
Hermione was careful not to hurt him as she started from the top and worked her way down, using the various creams and oils she’d personally made to ease the pain she knew he must be in. Harry sighed appreciatively a few times but otherwise stayed silent, his head resting on his arms as he let Hermione do what she did every time he returned home from a mission. Once she was done with his back, she rose up and instructed him to turn over, but when he failed to comply she leaned over to look at him, only to find he’d fallen asleep. With a smile, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek, took his glasses off and placed them on the bedside table, picked Pumpkin up and closed the door behind her.
~*~
It was dusk when Harry awoke, looking around and wondering for a few moments where he was. He relaxed when he realised he was still at Hermione’s and must have fallen asleep while she was giving him a massage. He carefully picked himself up off the bed and stretched, wincing a few times as he moved, but he felt a lot better than he had when he’d turned up on her doorstep at two that morning.
Harry had no sooner stepped into the hallway when he was attacked by a small orange blur, who purred louder than a kitten should have been able to and rubbed up against his legs. “Hey, pretty girl,” he said, bending over to pick her up. “Did you miss me?” She rubbed her face against his in response, and he grinned as he stepped into the lounge room, where he found Hermione curled up on the lounge with a book.
“Harry!” she exclaimed, rising up off the lounge fluidly. “How are you feeling?”
“A little embarrassed, actually,” he replied, feeling his cheeks burn a little. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep before.”
Hermione waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re exhausted. How do you feel now?”
“Much better,” he said honestly. “Not quite as sore as this morning.”
“Good. I’m running low on one of the salves, actually, so I’ll have to top it up.”
“They work wonders, whatever it is you use.”
“Of course they do, I made them,” Hermione said smugly, and she kissed his cheek. “I’ve made a casserole for dinner, so just let me know when you’re hungry and we can eat.”
Harry placed Pumpkin on the lounge and realised that he was starving. “Now would be great, actually.”
“It won’t take long, just needs to be heated up. Come into the kitchen and I’ll grab you a drink. You want a wine?”
“I’d love a wine.” He followed her into the kitchen as watched as she poured them both a white wine.
“Are you planning to stay here tonight or will you head home?” Something in Hermione’s voice made Harry pause before answering.
“I’d like to stay, if that’s okay with you.” He saw the relief in her eyes as she breathed out, and once again, the feelings he’d long been hiding rose to the surface. She came over to him to hand him his wine, and instead of thinking about it, Harry acted on impulse and pulled her into his arms, then kissed her before she could ask what he was doing.
This wasn’t a friendly peck on the mouth, nor was it even the kisses they exchanged in the wee hours of the morning when he’d come to her, bloodied and bruised. This was a real kiss, the kind of kiss he’d wanted to give her for years, hot and wet with tongues and teeth. Hermione still held a glass of wine in each hand so she couldn’t either pull him closer or push him away, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure which of the two actions she would take, so he pulled away and took the glasses from her, placing them on the table behind him, and then turned back to where she stood. He took in her open mouth and wide eyes and look of wonder on her face, and then kissed her again, nibbling on her bottom lip and this time giving her ample opportunity to push him away... but she didn’t. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and kissed him back.
Once he was sure she wasn’t going to back away, Harry let go of her waist and pulled Hermione’s shirt out of her jeans so he could touch her properly. He slowly trailed his fingertips over the small of her back, her hips, and her tummy, making her moan into his mouth and kiss him even harder. Her skin was so soft, so warm, and Harry was quite sure in that moment that he could spend the rest of his life touching her, kissing her, just being with her.
“Wow,” Hermione managed when they finally separated. She stared at him for a few long moments, catching her breath. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Harry grinned, his hands still underneath her shirt, caressing her back. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, actually.”
“Oh? Why didn’t you say so, then?”
“I didn’t know if you’d hit me or kiss me back.”
To his dismay, Hermione’s eyes shimmered with tears. “Oh, Harry,” she said softly. “You know I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Harry said. “I always have.”
Hermione understood what he was saying, could see it in his eyes. She did love him, that was true, but was she in love with him? There was a difference, of which Hermione was quite aware, and as she stood there in Harry’s arms, she wondered if perhaps somewhere along the way the love she’d always felt for him had changed, grown into something deeper without her even realising it. Because Hermione Granger had never really stopped to question the love she felt for Harry Potter -- it was something that was just there. Something that came as naturally to her as breathing. Loving Harry Potter was very easy, because he was a man for whom her love was endless. Nothing he could ever do would make Hermione stop loving him, and with a sigh, everything fell into place. Hermione Granger could live without Harry Potter in her life, but she didn’t ever want to.
Without a word, without grandiose declarations or dramatic tears, Hermione placed her arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him.
~*~
Five years later
Harry hissed as Hermione’s fingers brushed against a rapidly purpling bruise on his right side, and Hermione murmured an apology as she slathered a healing balm over it. It was three o’clock in the morning and just as she always had, Hermione was once again patching Harry up after his return from a mission in Germany. He’d been gone for ten days, ten long days in which she’d had to sleep without him and try not to think about the fact he might be, at that very moment, very badly hurt. It had been bad enough trying not to worry when the biggest role he’d played in her life had been as her best friend, but now that he was also her husband made it a hundred times worse.
Harry brought his left hand up, gold ring glinting in the mirror, and smoothed it over her slightly rounded belly, where their child grew within her. Harry hated every time he’d had to leave her, especially from the moment he’d found out she was pregnant, and prior to this most recent mission he’d made a decision he’d yet to share with his wife, but now seemed as good a time as any.
“You won’t have to do this anymore, you know,” he said as caressed her tummy.
Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, a small smile curving her lips. “Oh? Found yourself another wife to fix you up?”
Harry laughed, and then cursed himself for moving. “Absolutely, because you’d be perfectly all right with that.” He rolled his eyes at her grin. “I quit.”
The grin slid off her face. “You quit? What do you mean, you quit?”
“I quit. I’m no longer an Unspeakable.”
Hermione was silent, her mouth moving but no words coming out. “Why?” she finally managed. “I thought you liked your work.”
“I do,” Harry confessed. “But I love you. I hate having to leave you, make you worry about me while I’m gone. And now you’re pregnant, I need to be here, with you. Nothing is more important to me than you and the baby. I’ve been Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic for a long time. Now, I just want to be Harry. Hermione’s husband and Junior’s Dad.” Hermione had barely let him finish talking before she threw her arms around his neck and cried, and he held her gingerly, trying to ignore the shooting pain that coursed through his body. “Love, you’re hurting me,” he eventually said, and she immediately let him go.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, sniffing. “I’m just so happy, Harry. Now we can do the nursery together, and you can come to the Healer with me, and...” Harry listened as his wife listed all the things they could now do together, and one look at her face told him he’d made the right decision. He only wished he’d done it sooner.
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This fic is dedicated to tome_raider with much love for all of her encouragement and support, and because she loves Harry/Hermione as much as I do. Thanks to cheeringcharm for looking over the first draft I did more than two years ago and offering a few pointers.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The sound of someone knocking rather loudly on her door awoke Hermione from her sleep with a start. Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she rose off the couch where she’d fallen asleep, a scarlet blanket thrown over her legs, and patted her orange-and-white kitten on the head as the small furry ball of fluff lifted her head up to glance at her Mummy, wondering what had disturbed them from their slumber.
Hermione stumbled in the candlelight towards the knocking, which got louder as she got closer to the door. Stifling a yawn, she undid the bolts and pulled the door open to find a bruised and bleeding Harry leaning heavily on the doorframe.
“Harry!” she cried, stepping forward to brace her body against his for support. He sagged against her, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
“Sorry I woke you,” he murmured quietly as she led him into her flat and placed him against the wall while she locked the door again. “I know it’s late.”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “I’ve been worried sick about you!” Harry’s job as an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic had Hermione worried sick when he was out on a mission. He nearly always returned at odd hours, battered, bruised and bleeding, and sometimes with a broken bone here and there. Hermione had long since ceased questioning why he simply didn’t use the Ministry’s medical staff like all his colleagues did; when she’d first asked him years previously, Harry had said he knew she could do as good a job as any trainee Healer. Hermione had become so alarmed at the severity of some of Harry’s injuries that she’d taken a special course and was now a fully qualified Healer who knew how to cast all the correct spells and brew the right potions to heal him as quickly as any other Healer could.
Hermione thought it also had something to do with the fact that despite the fact he worked for the good of the wizarding world, there were very few people that Harry truly trusted.
She half dragged, half carried him into the large bathroom and sat him on the stool she kept especially for occasions such as this, and then dug through one of her cupboards to gather up all the equipment she would need to fix his injuries. Her arms full, she placed everything on the counter beside his stool. Harry had taken off his glasses and was slowly rubbing his temples.
“Headache?” she asked softly.
Harry nodded once. “Got hit on the back of the head.”
Hermione brought a hand up and weaved her fingers through his hair, softly probing for a lump. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to press softly but was unsuccessful in locating any lump.
“I can’t feel anything,” she said quietly. Harry answered by bringing his hand up and placing it over hers, then guiding her to a spot near the base of his neck. “Ouch,” Hermione said in sympathy as she ran her fingertips over the egg-sized lump on his head. “That must have hurt.”
“It did,” Harry said with a wry smile in spite of the situation.
“What else?”
“I think I might have broken a rib.” Harry shifted on the stool and winced as he moved the wrong way.
“Stay still for a minute.” Her voice was soft but commanding, and Harry did as he was told while Hermione undid the buttons of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. She eased it down and examined his torso, moving around in a circle to ascertain the extent of his injuries. “You’ve got a few large bruises forming on your back.” Harry could hear the anxiousness in her voice as she came back around to his front. “Does it hurt when I press here?” She gently placed her hand on his torso and pushed her fingertips against his cool, bare skin.
Harry shook his head. “No.”
Hermione moved her hand and pushed again, and Harry’s responding groan told her she’d hit a sensitive spot. “Sorry,” she said, biting her lip. She examined him for a few more moments and then leaned over to grab the washcloth out of the bowl of water she had on the side. “I think you’re just badly bruised. Here, let me clean you up a bit so I can see if there’s anything else that needs immediate attention.”
She dipped the washcloth in the warm water and washed his face, which was covered in dirt. Once she’d cleaned him up a bit, Hermione saw he had a few cuts and that his cheek had a small gash in it. Harry winced a few times when she hit a particularly painful spot, but for the most part kept still. Ten minutes later, he was a lot cleaner than he had been when he’d arrived.
“Do you want a cup of tea or something cold?”
“Something cold, please.”
Hermione grabbed some pumpkin juice from the fridge and poured them both a glass, adding ice. Harry smiled gratefully and slid his glasses back on his nose as she handed him the glass. He examined her as he sipped the cold liquid. Her hair looked adorably mussed as it framed her face; although she had grey smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep, Harry couldn’t think of a time where Hermione had looked more beautiful that she did at that moment, standing with him in her bathroom at two in the morning. Something stirred inside him, feelings he knew he’d had for a long time but had always kept carefully hidden.
“Hermione?”
She looked up at him over the rim of her glass. “Yes?”
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
She smiled at him and placed her glass on the counter, then watched as he followed suit. “You’re very welcome.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead, kissing him gently. “Even if it is two in the morning.” Hermione rested her forehead against Harry’s, just grateful he was alive and close enough for her to touch. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said in a tone so low it could pass as a whisper. She brought her hand up and laid it carefully on his cheek, stroking his skin softly with her thumb. “I worry about you,” she said, unable to keep her anxiety out of her voice.
“I know you do, but I’m fine, really. Just a few cuts and bruises, that’s all.” Harry tried to smile but it was more of a painful grimace. “I couldn’t come to anyone else.”
“I know.” She smiled at him and he smiled back; she then placed a finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Leaning over, she kissed his lips. It was a chaste kiss, one they exchanged every time they found themselves in this situation, Harry sitting in Hermione’s bathroom in the early hours of the morning while she cleaned him up. They held the kiss for a few seconds, then Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and Harry pulled her closer to him carefully, hugging her as tightly as he could manage. She ran her fingers through his hair, careful not to touch the lump as he kissed her shoulder. They stayed in their embrace for a few minutes, both feeling like there was no better place in the world for them to be than where they were at that moment.
“You going to stay?”
Harry nodded. “I don’t think I could make it home now. I want to take a shower first though, I feel pretty horrible.”
“There’s a towel on the shelf and you have a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers in my top dresser drawer.” She smiled at him one last time and disappeared into her bedroom.
Harry waited a few moments then hauled himself off the stool and slowly shuffled into Hermione’s bedroom. She already lay in bed, confined to the left side so he could have the other; even though she had a spare bedroom in her flat, there was no question of him sleeping in it. Her eyes were closed but he doubted she was asleep. She always waited until he joined her so they could talk about his latest mission - well, as much as he was allowed to, anyway - and he could assure her that his injuries were minor and would heal. Once comforted that he really was going to be okay, Hermione would eventually drift off to sleep, making sure she was touching Harry in some way, as a reassurance he was still there. They often fell asleep with their joined hands resting between them, fingers curled tightly together.
Being as quiet as possible, Harry gathered his clean clothes and made his way into the bathroom, shutting the door so as not to disturb Hermione. He grabbed a clean towel and turned the taps on, having the water as hot as he could stand. The heat made his body ache for a few moments, but his muscles soon relaxed and he washed himself properly. After staying in long enough to be doing a passable impression of a prune, he shut off the water and towelled himself dry, then slipped his boxers and t-shirt on after examining his bruised body in the mirror.
Hermione was curled up on her side facing the bathroom when Harry came out, her eyes still closed. Thinking she was asleep, he carefully pulled back the covers and climbed in as quietly as he could.
“Feel better?” her voice came from the dark.
“A lot, thanks. Still a little stiff.”
“You’ll feel a lot worse in the morning.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” He heard her chuckle, and he couldn’t help but smile at her, even though she couldn’t see him. Harry pulled himself onto his side, facing Hermione, and his hand instinctively reached out for hers, which met him halfway. They laced their fingers together, the familiar gesture comforting.
“You should sleep, love,” Harry said softly. “There’s nothing to tell you that can’t wait until tomorrow. You looked tired when you answered the door.”
Hermione yawned in response. “I am tired, I haven’t been sleeping well.” She didn’t need to elaborate why; they both already knew. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow.” She snuggled a bit closer to him and Harry propped himself up so he could kiss her cheek.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispered in her ear, but Hermione was already asleep.
~*~
Harry woke first, despite having had less sleep than Hermione, and he watched her quietly for a few moments; his eyes took in her brown bushy hair, which was spread over her pillow like a fan, the light smattering of freckles she had across the bridge of her nose, and her skin, which he knew was soft to the touch. He leaned over and kissed her cheek very gently, his lips lingering for a few moments, and when he heard a soft ‘miaow’, he turned to the foot of the bed to find Pumpkin on it, staring at him with her big, blue eyes - the very eyes that had made him pick her out of all of the kittens at the pet store.
Harry got out of bed and had a quick shower, then dressed in the spare clean clothes he always left at Hermione’s and picked Pumpkin up, fitting her easily into the palm of his hand as she was just ten weeks old. He lifted her up and kissed the top of her head affectionately as she purred. “Come on, sweet girl,” he said. “Let’s get you some breakfast and then we’ll work on Mummy’s.”
Once Pumpkin was fed and watered, Harry went through Hermione’s fridge to see what was on offer, but finding nothing to his liking he decided to go to the corner grocery store and bakery so he could make a big breakfast. Pumpkin rubbed up against his leg as he attempted to leave, so he tucked her inside his jacket and took her with him, and together they picked up some bacon to go with the eggs in Hermione’s fridge, sausages, muffins and pineapple juice, which Harry was somewhat fond of. When he got back to Hermione’s flat he checked in on her to see she was still sleeping soundly, and decided to read the papers which had arrived by owl before starting breakfast so Hermione could have a bit of a lie in.
It took Harry half an hour to make it through every single newspaper Hermione had a subscription to, so once he was done he started breakfast, as familiar with her kitchen as he was with his own. Whistling as he deftly cooked up two big breakfasts, he dug out Hermione’s large silver tray and placed their plates on it, along with a plate full of muffins, two small jugs each holding a juice (one pumpkin, one pineapple), and a pot of tea with two teacups. Pumpkin decided to hitch a ride on the tray as well, so it was with care that Harry levitated it and floated it along in front of him. Once he had put it down safely, he placed the kitten on the bed and gently shook Hermione awake.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said softly, smiling as Hermione came out of slumber. She sat up, blinking rapidly, and looked around the room.
“What time is it?”
“Just after ten. I made you breakfast.” Hermione rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn, and gasped when she caught sight of the tray.
“You cooked all of that?”
“Well, not all by myself, no,” Harry said with a grin. “I had help from this pretty girl.” He picked Pumpkin up and stroked her softly, and Hermione smiled.
“Did you help Uncle Harry with breakfast?” Hermione took the kitten from Harry and kissed her head. Harry had shown up late one afternoon with Pumpkin a month ago, despite the fact that Hermione had sworn never to have another pet after losing Crookshanks to old age six months previously. But she’d fallen in love with the little orange furball as soon as Harry had placed her tiny body in Hermione’s hands, and strongly suspected Harry was as in love with her cat as she was.
She put Pumpkin down and sat up as Harry transfigured one of the many books on her side table into a small tray for her, then settled next to her and did the same for himself. They chattered all the way through breakfast, which was absolutely delicious (no surprise, as everything Harry cooked was tasty) and then Hermione tentatively asked the question she’d been dreading having to ask.
“How long are you back for?” she said in a small voice, fingers plucking at her coverlet.
Harry sighed and put his tray and empty plate aside, then leaned back into the pillows upon which he was propped. “I don’t know, yet. A few days at the least.” He moved awkwardly and must have hit a sore spot if the groan he let out was anything to go by.
Hermione studied him thoughtfully. “Take your shirt and jeans off,” she instructed, rising up off the bed and into the bathroom. Harry complied, stripping down to his boxers. “Lie down,” she said briskly, arms laden with a wicker basket full of bottles and tubes.
Harry smiled and did as he was told, moving to the centre of the bed and lying on his belly. Hermione climbed on the bed and straddled his hips, running her fingers all over his back as she examined his bruises. “Is there anywhere that doesn’t hurt?” she asked, and Harry laughed, despite his injuries.
“I’ll be fine. They’ll heal.”
Hermione made a noise that told Harry she doubted it, before leaning into the basket she’d placed next to her on the bed and taking out a purple jar. Unscrewing the lid, she placed a generous dollop of the pale green salve onto one of Harry’s bruises, and he jerked slightly from the cold of it on his skin.
“Stay still,” Hermione chided him softly, and then her fingertips were there, on his shoulders, on his bare skin, lightly and carefully massaging the healing salve into the bruise to heal it, and Harry wondered if there was any place on Earth he’d rather be than right where he was, and he quickly decided that he didn’t think so. He closed his eyes as Hermione’s fingers worked their magic, relaxing completely for the first time in many weeks.
Hermione was careful not to hurt him as she started from the top and worked her way down, using the various creams and oils she’d personally made to ease the pain she knew he must be in. Harry sighed appreciatively a few times but otherwise stayed silent, his head resting on his arms as he let Hermione do what she did every time he returned home from a mission. Once she was done with his back, she rose up and instructed him to turn over, but when he failed to comply she leaned over to look at him, only to find he’d fallen asleep. With a smile, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek, took his glasses off and placed them on the bedside table, picked Pumpkin up and closed the door behind her.
~*~
It was dusk when Harry awoke, looking around and wondering for a few moments where he was. He relaxed when he realised he was still at Hermione’s and must have fallen asleep while she was giving him a massage. He carefully picked himself up off the bed and stretched, wincing a few times as he moved, but he felt a lot better than he had when he’d turned up on her doorstep at two that morning.
Harry had no sooner stepped into the hallway when he was attacked by a small orange blur, who purred louder than a kitten should have been able to and rubbed up against his legs. “Hey, pretty girl,” he said, bending over to pick her up. “Did you miss me?” She rubbed her face against his in response, and he grinned as he stepped into the lounge room, where he found Hermione curled up on the lounge with a book.
“Harry!” she exclaimed, rising up off the lounge fluidly. “How are you feeling?”
“A little embarrassed, actually,” he replied, feeling his cheeks burn a little. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep before.”
Hermione waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re exhausted. How do you feel now?”
“Much better,” he said honestly. “Not quite as sore as this morning.”
“Good. I’m running low on one of the salves, actually, so I’ll have to top it up.”
“They work wonders, whatever it is you use.”
“Of course they do, I made them,” Hermione said smugly, and she kissed his cheek. “I’ve made a casserole for dinner, so just let me know when you’re hungry and we can eat.”
Harry placed Pumpkin on the lounge and realised that he was starving. “Now would be great, actually.”
“It won’t take long, just needs to be heated up. Come into the kitchen and I’ll grab you a drink. You want a wine?”
“I’d love a wine.” He followed her into the kitchen as watched as she poured them both a white wine.
“Are you planning to stay here tonight or will you head home?” Something in Hermione’s voice made Harry pause before answering.
“I’d like to stay, if that’s okay with you.” He saw the relief in her eyes as she breathed out, and once again, the feelings he’d long been hiding rose to the surface. She came over to him to hand him his wine, and instead of thinking about it, Harry acted on impulse and pulled her into his arms, then kissed her before she could ask what he was doing.
This wasn’t a friendly peck on the mouth, nor was it even the kisses they exchanged in the wee hours of the morning when he’d come to her, bloodied and bruised. This was a real kiss, the kind of kiss he’d wanted to give her for years, hot and wet with tongues and teeth. Hermione still held a glass of wine in each hand so she couldn’t either pull him closer or push him away, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure which of the two actions she would take, so he pulled away and took the glasses from her, placing them on the table behind him, and then turned back to where she stood. He took in her open mouth and wide eyes and look of wonder on her face, and then kissed her again, nibbling on her bottom lip and this time giving her ample opportunity to push him away... but she didn’t. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, and kissed him back.
Once he was sure she wasn’t going to back away, Harry let go of her waist and pulled Hermione’s shirt out of her jeans so he could touch her properly. He slowly trailed his fingertips over the small of her back, her hips, and her tummy, making her moan into his mouth and kiss him even harder. Her skin was so soft, so warm, and Harry was quite sure in that moment that he could spend the rest of his life touching her, kissing her, just being with her.
“Wow,” Hermione managed when they finally separated. She stared at him for a few long moments, catching her breath. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Harry grinned, his hands still underneath her shirt, caressing her back. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, actually.”
“Oh? Why didn’t you say so, then?”
“I didn’t know if you’d hit me or kiss me back.”
To his dismay, Hermione’s eyes shimmered with tears. “Oh, Harry,” she said softly. “You know I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Harry said. “I always have.”
Hermione understood what he was saying, could see it in his eyes. She did love him, that was true, but was she in love with him? There was a difference, of which Hermione was quite aware, and as she stood there in Harry’s arms, she wondered if perhaps somewhere along the way the love she’d always felt for him had changed, grown into something deeper without her even realising it. Because Hermione Granger had never really stopped to question the love she felt for Harry Potter -- it was something that was just there. Something that came as naturally to her as breathing. Loving Harry Potter was very easy, because he was a man for whom her love was endless. Nothing he could ever do would make Hermione stop loving him, and with a sigh, everything fell into place. Hermione Granger could live without Harry Potter in her life, but she didn’t ever want to.
Without a word, without grandiose declarations or dramatic tears, Hermione placed her arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him.
~*~
Five years later
Harry hissed as Hermione’s fingers brushed against a rapidly purpling bruise on his right side, and Hermione murmured an apology as she slathered a healing balm over it. It was three o’clock in the morning and just as she always had, Hermione was once again patching Harry up after his return from a mission in Germany. He’d been gone for ten days, ten long days in which she’d had to sleep without him and try not to think about the fact he might be, at that very moment, very badly hurt. It had been bad enough trying not to worry when the biggest role he’d played in her life had been as her best friend, but now that he was also her husband made it a hundred times worse.
Harry brought his left hand up, gold ring glinting in the mirror, and smoothed it over her slightly rounded belly, where their child grew within her. Harry hated every time he’d had to leave her, especially from the moment he’d found out she was pregnant, and prior to this most recent mission he’d made a decision he’d yet to share with his wife, but now seemed as good a time as any.
“You won’t have to do this anymore, you know,” he said as caressed her tummy.
Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, a small smile curving her lips. “Oh? Found yourself another wife to fix you up?”
Harry laughed, and then cursed himself for moving. “Absolutely, because you’d be perfectly all right with that.” He rolled his eyes at her grin. “I quit.”
The grin slid off her face. “You quit? What do you mean, you quit?”
“I quit. I’m no longer an Unspeakable.”
Hermione was silent, her mouth moving but no words coming out. “Why?” she finally managed. “I thought you liked your work.”
“I do,” Harry confessed. “But I love you. I hate having to leave you, make you worry about me while I’m gone. And now you’re pregnant, I need to be here, with you. Nothing is more important to me than you and the baby. I’ve been Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic for a long time. Now, I just want to be Harry. Hermione’s husband and Junior’s Dad.” Hermione had barely let him finish talking before she threw her arms around his neck and cried, and he held her gingerly, trying to ignore the shooting pain that coursed through his body. “Love, you’re hurting me,” he eventually said, and she immediately let him go.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, sniffing. “I’m just so happy, Harry. Now we can do the nursery together, and you can come to the Healer with me, and...” Harry listened as his wife listed all the things they could now do together, and one look at her face told him he’d made the right decision. He only wished he’d done it sooner.