August | Hermione Granger x OFC

Chapter 113

i think i've forgotten how to write fluff😭 actually i think i've forgotten how to write full stop😭

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Things between Robyn and Hermione were going to be different. Of course they were. Despite falling asleep together, it was clear they weren't quite sure of the other's boundaries, weren't quite sure what, exactly, the other was thinking, what the other wanted (Hermione had asked to hold Robyn's hand, for Merlin's sake).

There was a lack of understanding, and, perhaps, a lack of trust.

But that didn't stop Robyn from pushing herself as close to Hermione's sleeping form as possible. Sue her, she hadn't seen the girl in six months (through the window of Grimmauld place didn't count, nor did Bill and Fleur's wedding, nor did the whole Obliviate thing, because, well, she couldn't remember it, could she?), and who knows how many more opportunities she'd have to get close to the girl she loved.

Yes, loved. The girl she loved and the girl she was in love with and the girl she would always love. And be in love with. Past, present, and future.

Robyn had experienced a lot of conflict in her short life – inner and outer. But there was one thing she knew for certain: that, even after their time apart, even after losing their rhythm and their innocent happiness and even some trust, she still—

Hermione mumbled sleepily, her eyelashes fluttering slightly, her eyebrows furrowing for a second, her—

Oh Gods, she scrunched her nose.

Robyn forced herself to stay quiet. To not boop Hermione's nose. To not squeal girlishly like a lovesick teenager. She was not a lovesick teenager. She was a teenager in love. Not the same thing.

Hermione hummed in what Robyn hoped was satisfaction and hugged her tighter, dancing her fingers across Robyn's upper back lazily.

Robyn's breath hitched. Like a lovesick teenager.

Yes, after everything, there was no denying it: Robyn still had very strong feelings for one Hermione Granger.

With that in mind, she dozed back to sleep.

When she woke up, the bed felt much colder. Because Hermione was gone. Very unfortunate.

"Wait, do you mind if I talk to you?" said the girl's familiar voice from across the tent. She was talking to Harry, no doubt. And Robyn knew she should probably let them know she was awake and listening, knew that that would be the ethical thing to do, but...she couldn't exactly call herself the most ethical person in the world, could she?

"No," replied Harry.

"Harry, you wanted to know who that man in the picture was. Well...I've got the book."

Harry sounded stunned as he stuttered, "Where- how—?"

"It was in Bathilda's sitting room, just lying there. This note was sticking out the top of it. 'Dear Bally, thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it. Rita'. I think it must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn't in any fit state to read it?"

"No, she probably wasn't."

A beat passed.

"You're still really angry at me, aren't you? For breaking your wand?" said Hermione after the few moments of silence, and Robyn knew her well enough to know she was on the verge of tears. She went to sit up, to head over and comfort the girl, but Harry's response was hasty, albeit quiet.