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Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category:
F/M
Fandom:
Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship:
Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Characters:
Harry PotterHermione GrangerRon WeasleyGinny Weasley
Additional Tags:
Harry Potter Epilogue CompliantSlow BurnHeavy AngstEmotional InfidelityExtramarital AffairsInfidelityMental Health IssuesTraumaSuicidal ThoughtsDepressionThoughts of Self-harmAlcohol Abuse/AlcoholismImplied/Referenced Child AbusePoliticsMuggle/Wizard RelationsRacismMisogynyAuror Harry PotterMinistry of Magic Employee Hermione GrangerPOV Harry PotterOriginal Character(s)No Ron Weasley BashingNo Ginny Weasley BashingPost-War
Language:
English
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Published:2022-04-04Updated:2022-06-25Words:410,505Chapters:51/52Comments:233Kudos:1,783Bookmarks:411Hits:81,791
Unlike a Sister
madharmony
Chapter 5: The Forest of Dean
Chapter Text
"Where are we?" he asked, peering around at a fresh mass of trees as Hermione opened the beaded bag and began tugging out tent poles.
"The Forest of Dean," she said. "I came camping here once with my mum and dad."
Here too snow lay on the trees all around and it was bitterly cold, but they were at least protected from the wind.
- Chapter Nineteen: The Silver Doe, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Hermione.
Harry lurched towards the cell door.
"Harry," Lakey said, voice hard. "Wait for me in the hall, please."
He glanced at the DMLE director, fully intending to ignore him and go after her. But, he relented and sulked into the corridor.
Lakey muttered something to Callahan. There was shuffling and Lakey's next words were for Anne. "Can I expect a report tomorrow? Noon at the latest?"
"Yes," the slight woman said. "It won't take long. I did a thorough review. He wasn't under the Imperious."
Harry closed his eyes and cursed softly, his last hope that a closeted blood supremacist hadn't infiltrated the AD dying like a weak flame.
Lakey and Annie stepped into the hall. She directed her wand at the cell door and it swung on its hinges. A low click confirmed it was sealed.
"Contact me if you have any problems," Lakey said to her. "I look forward to the full report."
"Happy to help, Director." She turned to Harry. "And goodbye." She hesitated upon seeing his darkened expression. "Please don't hesitate to call on me, Harry, should you need me. I can always make time for your cases..."
She reached down and fleetingly squeezed his hand before disapparating. Once she'd gone, Harry turned on Lakey.
"Well, what is it?"
"There's no need to be cool, Harry," the director said levelly, placing a large hand on his shoulder and guiding him towards the exit. "I've a favor to ask. I'd like you to speak to Hermione. This case will get to her, if she's not careful. To an outside observer she probably seems perfectly fine, but you and I know her better than that."
Lakey stopped before they reached the outer corridor.
"I'm giving her the rest of the day off," he said. "Why don't you two go to lunch? I've known you nearly as long as I've known her and you've had your own struggles controlling your emotions in situations like this. From what I've heard, Hermione was usually the one who calmed you down. Can you do the same for her?"
Harry nodded, staring at the ground. He still felt strangely panicky.
"Good man," Lakey said, relieved. "This case is going to be important-not just for Hermione, but for the Ministry. We pushed through a lot of reforms after the war. Now we're in the backlash. People think we took things too far." He rubbed at his beard tiredly. "You and I both know there's still plenty of hostility towards Muggles and Muggle-borns in this country. This case will serve as a precedent in the years to come, I know it."
Finally, Harry voiced the fear that had been coiling in his chest since morning.
"John, do you...do you worry you're putting a target on Hermione's back? She's an incredible prosecutor, we both know that. But to put her out in the open on this case? When she's a Muggle-born? When the public mood could easily tip in Callahan's favor?"
Lakey gave him a searching look. "I'm surprised to hear you worry about the politics of a case. You've supported her more controversial ones in the past."
"They were not like this," he said lowly. "This is an Auror, a respected Auror. Like it or not, Callahan didn't say anything in his interrogation that a lot of wizards don't already believe. And with the causes Hermione's championed-exchange programmes, intergovernmental consultations, not to mention house-elf liberation-they haven't always been well-received..."
Harry wasn't sure why he was talking like this.
"Harry," said Lakey firmly, "this sort of change isn't easy, but that doesn't mean we stop fighting for it, does it? I'll be damned if I sideline any counselor in my department for fear of the politics of a situation. That includes Hermione. She's more than capable of defending herself."
But then, the older wizard's eyes trailed to the ground. "She wasn't my first choice for this case, though. I was planning to take lead myself, but she insisted. This is the one she's been waiting for. It's unfortunate it deals so directly with your Department."
"I don't care about that," he said viciously. "I care about her. I won't see her pilloried in the media. She's given too much to have it spat back in her face..."
Lakey grinned. "You shouldn't worry about Hermione's popularity, Harry. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been unpopular for a very long time. As Hermione rises in the ranks, she'll undoubtedly face criticism. Let that be her choice. Besides," he said, turning towards the exit, "Minister Shacklebolt is behind us on this. With your support too, Hermione might not face much of a backlash."
Harry nodded faintly, quieted for now.
"So, take her to lunch," said Lakey. "Help her relax. Your Department can manage without you for a day?"
He nodded. "I thought we'd be gone much later than this. I left instructions with my staff."
"Wonderful," Lakey beamed, back to his jovial self as he and Harry approached the desk with the two young counselors. "A little...perspective is all Hermione needs right now."
Harry found her outside. She was sitting on a bench, arms wrapped around her middle. The air was crisp with the onset of autumn, the leaves already changing in surrounding hillsides, though the grass was a deep, luxuriant green.
"Hey," he said as he approached.
She turned and put on a tight smile. "Hey."
He sat down next to her and released a long sigh.
"I'm sorry for storming out," she said after a pause. "I reckoned there was no point talking to him just then."
"You were fine."
Another closed-lip smile. "Where's John?"
"He disapparated five minutes ago. He said you have the rest of the day off and suggested we get lunch."
"Did he, now?" she smiled faintly, but more genuine this time. "A day off. What's that?"
He grinned, but proceeded cautiously. "I'm not sure, but fancy a walk towards town? We could find a pub and take it easy the rest of the day."
She looked at him, brow quirked, and he knew that she knew exactly what he was playing at. It didn't help that Harry was treating her like a horse about to throw its rider.
"You don't need to worry about me, Harry," she said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I'm fine. I just needed some air."
"Okay," said Harry slowly, "but we still got to eat."
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
"All right," she relented. "If I went home now I'd probably just do paperwork and eat mint chocolate ice cream out of a tub."
Harry laughed. He stood and offered her his hand.
Harry and Hermione easily found the main street leading into the town centre. Her hand tucked in his arm, they leaned into each other in the bracing wind. Stonehouse was a working-class hamlet with row houses lining both sides of the street, little flower boxes under each window. As they came upon the commercial area, they passed Muggle shops selling clothes, groceries, electronics, and liquor. Finding a pub that was open early, they stepped gratefully inside. There were only three other customers-a teenage couple and an alcoholic at the bar.
"Two?" a large woman wearing heavy eyeliner asked Harry and Hermione.
"Yes, thanks," said Harry.
"Booth or bar?"
"Bar, please," said Hermione briskly.
Harry raised his eyebrows slightly and the waitress led them to the brightly-polished bartop, seating them far from the drunk.
"We've specials t'day," she said in a thick West Country accent. "Squash soup and we've a roas' with side potatoes and greens. Anythin' from the bar?"
"Scotch and soda," said Hermione, taking a cardboard coaster from a stack near her elbow.
The waitress turned to Harry.
"Oh, er-whisky neat, please."
When she'd gone, Harry looked askance at Hermione.
"It's eleven thirty."
She shrugged. "The special sounded good, didn't it?"
They spent their lunch in easy conversation, delicately skirting anything related to the Callahan case. They talked about the children at Hogwarts, Hugo and Lily, Ginny and Ron. Harry barely noticed the minutes slip by, though his slow inebriation was helping with that. After his first drink, he ordered another followed by a pint. Hermione stuck to her choice but also ordered two more.
Two hours later, Harry wasn't feeling particularly drunk-the lamb roast had helped-but Hermione was undeniably tipsy. She laughed loudly at the smallest things and their waitress was shooting dirty looks in their direction. The regular clientele was coming in.
Harry paid the bill and, wrapping his hand around her waist, guided her to the door. When she stumbled over the threshold, she released a most un-Hermione-like giggle and slapped her hand over her mouth. Then, she ambled away, staring fixedly at a bicycle stand.
"You all right?" he said, coming up behind her.
"Fine," she said dazedly. "We drank too much, didn't we?"
He chuckled. "Don't know what you're talking about. I feel fine. You on the other hand, miss..."
She giggled again and it seemed laughter was enough to unsteady her as she slipped sideways. Harry grabbed her waist again, pulling her to him before she could trip over the bicycle stand, too.
"Sorry," she whispered into his jacket.
"You need to be careful," he said, trying to sound stern but he couldn't keep the smile from his voice.
"Yessir," she said with mock seriousness. "You're drunk too, though! Your face is red!"
Indeed, Harry felt very warm. He looked down at her, her face close to his, and saw that her cheeks were pink with cold, her eyes startlingly bright. The same brown eyes, but, somehow, interestingly deeper.
He shook his head.
"Aeration spell, then?"
"Unf." She pushed her face further into his jacket.
Harry laughed. "Yeah. Probably for the best."
Once he was sure no Muggles were looking, he pulled her into an alleyway between two shops. Hermione giggled again as Harry pushed her up against the wall. But, when he removed his wand, she groaned.
"God, Harry. Do we really?"
"Shut up," he said, fumbling. "I can't carry you down the street, can I?"
"Sure you can, you bastard..."
"Look," he said, biting back a smile. "I won't make it strong, all right? Just enough so you can walk again."
"Fine," she sighed dramatically, squaring her shoulders.
He pointed his wand at her and she squeezed her eyes shut as a gush of air hit her in the chest. Harry had performed and received aeration spells many times, especially in his youth. It felt like ice water being poured on your brain, running down until it reached your toes. It diluted the alcohol in the bloodstream.
She shivered hard against him and opened her eyes.
"Better?"
She nodded, eyes already more lucid. "Depends on your definition, but sure."
She looked down at the odd placement of their bodies, and following her eyes, he stepped back hastily. Once he'd put away his wand, they reemerged into the sunshine of the main thoroughfare.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Two."
"What're we supposed to do with the rest of my day off?"
"I dunno," he grinned. "Doubt there's much to do here."
She nodded, but seemed content to keep walking, hand tucked in his elbow.
"I've an idea," said Harry after moment. "If you're up for it."
She looked at him curiously.
"We're near the Welsh border, I think. That means the Forest of Dean. Remember it?"
"The Forest of Dean?" she said slowly, as though she hadn't thought the words in years. "Was that...one of our camping sites?"
He nodded. "It's where we found the sword. Where Ron found us again."
"Right," she said, but she didn't sound overly keen. "What would we do there?"
He shrugged. "Walk, I suppose. It was pretty, even in winter. It's probably great now."
"True."
"So, yes?" he said, holding out his hand.
"Yes," she grinned, taking it.
"Give me a second to remember..."
And the moment the copse of trees, silver capillaries against a leaden sky, reformed in his mind like a long-forgotten dream, they were whipped into the air.
They landed in a clearing. The ground was a mosaic of leaves and the air was warm, warmer than where they'd come from at least. The sun through the canopy cast an aurelian glow over everything-luminous and sheltered at once.
"Oh," Hermione breathed, dropping his hand. "I wasn't really picturing it. I-I came here with my parents once..."
As though drawn forward by some buried instinct, she walked to almost the exact spot where their tent stood nineteen years ago. Kneeling down, she let her fingers graze the leaves, as though expecting to find some remnant of their forgotten fire.
Harry walked to a large tree, an oak he thought he remembered sitting against in much darker days. He didn't even have a wand, then. Hermione's had been stuffed into his jacket. Placing his hand on the bark, he looked towards the trees leading down into a depression. It was there he'd first seen the silver doe...
Then, as if memories lie in wait in the objects of our past, Harry felt himself pulled forward by a shadow of a memory. He was seventeen again-desperate, confused-grasping for something, anything that could release him from the dead-ends and endless searching, the aching awareness that they had accomplished nothing...
"Hermione?" he called out, surprised to hear his voice shake.
"What is it?" Her feet crashed through the leaves and she took his arm a second later. "What's wrong?"
Her touch seemed to release him from whatever force had held him. He blinked before turning to her worried face.
"It's...nothing," he said, slightly embarrassed. "Do you-er-want to see where Ron and I found the sword?"
She nodded, still watching him closely. "I never actually saw where you found it."
He led her down into the trees, working off muscle memory. After a half hour and a few wrong turns, he caught sight of a brilliant pool in the distance.
"Oh," Hermione whispered again as she stepped into the clearing, turning in a small circle. "It's...incredible."
It was full of light.
The pool's surface shone like molten gold and the leaves of some species of tree had turned completely yellow, adding to the effect.
Harry followed Hermione to the edge of the pond and they both looked down into its depths. He could see the brownish kelp swaying at the bottom, minnows darting near the surface. Looking up at the trees, he tried to remember how it had all looked. At the time, he'd been sure someone was watching him just out of sight as he contemplated his retrieval of the sword.
"It was down there?"
"At the bottom," he answered. "Snape's patronus led me here and disappeared. I saw the sword through the ice and tried to summon it, but that didn't work."
"What did you do?"
"I realized I'd have to swim to it. So, I took off my clothes and went in-"
"Oh, Harry! You didn't!"
"It was pretty bad," he chuckled. "I could hardly breathe, it was so cold. I almost got to it, but the locket started choking me. I think it knew it was close to the thing that would destroy it."
"And then?"
"Ron was suddenly there," Harry grinned. "He pulled me and the sword out."
Hermione smiled. "What did Ron say, then?"
"Something about my being mental. I was just shocked to see him, grateful. Plus, we had the sword."
Harry turned from the pool, his memory-a leadline in a cave-pulling him forward again. He stopped next to a large slab of rock sticking out from the leaf-strewn ground.
"It was here," he said, feeling Hermione coming up behind him, "where Ron stabbed the locket."
Harry knelt next to the stone. He might've been imagining it, but he thought he saw a thin, white line on the stone's black surface. Perhaps the sort of line made by a slashing sword...
He traced the groove with his fingers.
"And he just stabbed it and it was done?" she asked.
"It wasn't that simple," he said faintly, lowering himself to the rock. "Something happened before."
She sat beside him. "What?"
Harry's mind hadn't got that far ahead and the details flooded back. With a surge of warmth, he felt himself flush and he glanced at Hermione, who watched him patiently.
"The-er-locket...it tried to tempt Ron."
"Tempt? What d'you mean?"
"It tried to get Ron not to destroy it," he said haltingly, running his palms over his thighs. "Ron was the one holding the sword, right, ready to smash it. The locket tried to get inside his head...it said things."
"What things? Could you hear?"
Harry swallowed and nodded. "Yeah...yeah, I could. It said awful things...that his parents didn't love him, that he was second best..."
He glanced at her again-the small groove between her brows, the reflected gold of her eyes. The same eyes, eyes he knew so well...
Harry could've said nothing else, but instead...he said the truth:
"It showed him you and me."
"You and me?" she repeated blankly. "Why?"
"I dunno," he said and the next words came in a rush. "Two versions of us came out of the locket. I think we goaded him...said you and I were a couple or something...and, at some point, we kissed. Ron pulled himself together and stabbed the thing. That was it."
Her eyes were exceptionally wide. Harry's face burned like the surface of the molten pool.
After what felt an endless moment, Hermione blinked and released a soft breath.
"Why...why didn't either of you tell me about this?"
"I dunno," he said again, wishing desperately she'd stop looking at him like that. "It didn't seem important when we got back to camp. Ron was back and the horcrux was destroyed. What the locket showed Ron didn't seem to matter-"
"But what it showed him..." Hermione murmured. "Does that...does that mean Ron thought something was going on between us?"
"I'm not sure," he said tightly, studying his shoes. "Maybe."
Her stunned expression finally broke and she laughed uncertainly. "But why would he think that? Had we ever done anything to make him think you and I were...romantically inclined?"
Harry shook his head. "It was an irrational fear."
She nodded slowly. "I mean...we both know Ron's been insecure about you in the past-what with Quidditch and your inheritance and all..There was your fight after the Goblet of Fire..."
He nodded, grimacing. He didn't like remembering all that. He and Ron were not the same people anymore.
"But, when it comes to you and me," she said slowly, "there was no reason for him to think that. No one ever saw us as more than just friends..."
Again, Harry could've said nothing. Nothing at all and it would've been done. Forgotten. But it was her tone, the implication it carried. That the idea of them-him and her-was impossible, laughable. In some odd way...that bothered him and, in the next moment, he felt his mouth shape around the words:
"I don't know if that's true."
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, there were times people thought we were a couple. Like after Rita Skeeter's article, remember?"
"Oh, right," she cringed, embarrassed she'd forgotten. Then, inexplicably, she smiled widely.
"That reminds me...I never told you this but Cho Chang actually came up to me one day in fifth year and said she didn't like how I was 'monopolizing' your time. I always remember she used that word: monopolizing. Like I'd taken something that belonged to her..."
Harry felt himself grin. He would've liked very much to have been present for that conversation. But her words reminded him of another example.
"I reckon that went both ways because Krum confronted me once about you. I had to assure him we were just friends," he chuckled. "He was very relieved."
"Really?" said Hermione, her voice pitching higher and, for the briefest moment, Harry caught a glimpse the pretty girl in blue robes on Viktor Krum's arm twenty-three years ago. "He never told me that. That's hilarious."
Harry shrugged.
"But those were people we were dating," she said reasonably. "They were bound to jump to conclusions. Though I wonder why Viktor didn't ask Ron the same thing..."
"Maybe because you two were fighting so much?"
She grinned. "Well, that hasn't changed."
"But actually it was more than just them," Harry started, remembering another instance. "Dumbledore asked me if we were dating in our sixth year. That came out of nowhere."
"Really? Dumbledore?"
"Dumbledore."
"That's so odd," she whispered.
They sat in silence for a long moment, Harry furtively pressing a cool hand to his burning neck. He was casting about for something different to discuss when she spoke again.
"I suppose," she said softly, staring off at the pool, "his insecurities about you combined with the rumors about us could've led Ron to see us in the locket..."
"It's a fair guess."
"He's never mentioned any of this."
Her voice was quiet and, he thought, just a little sad. But then, she turned back to him.
"So," she grinned mischievously, "we snogged right here?"
He laughed, awkward, but felt a surge of relief that she could see the humor in all of it.
"Yeah," he smiled. "Did I mention we were naked?"
"Oh god!" She buried her face in her hands.
He laughed again and nudged her with his knee.
"C'mon. It wasn't real."
"I know," she said, lifting her face, now beet red. "Still embarrassing though."
He nodded, grinning faintly at his shoes.
"You know," Hermione said after a moment, "I don't think we've ever kissed."
Harry's head snapped up and, quite unbidden, his eyes flew to her lips. "What?"
"I don't think we have," she said, brows drawing together like she was trying to recall the ingredients for Felix Felicis. "Not even on New Year's. No wonder I find it hard to picture..."
He gave her a half-smile. "What? Us going at it naked?"
She pressed her lips together, mortified again. "Yes. That."
He watched her. Or, at least watched her lips a moment longer.
"We could try it now."
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"We never have. What better place than this?" he smiled, gesturing to the stone. "The site of our...evil snog nineteen years ago."
She laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners and, very much out of nowhere, Harry felt another wash of heat touch his face.
"Well, in that case, I guess we have to!"
He smiled and looked away. "No, it's all right. I was just joking."
"C'mon, Harry," she said, tugging at his arm "What are we? Twelve? We can handle a kiss between friends."
Her touch sent a very strange ache through his chest, both warm and cold at once.
He looked at her. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, yeah," she said, eyes glinting with mirth. "Just do it."
The strange ache sharpened as she turned to face him on the stone. Their knees touched and she placed a steadying palm on the black, warm surface of the rock. As though surrendering to current, he felt himself mirror her movements until they faced one another on the stone. He leaned forward.
"Hermione," he warned, "don't laugh."
"I won't!"
But he couldn't seem to keep the smile off his face.
"You're the one who's going to laugh," she said reproachfully.
"Shut up. Relax your face."
She rolled her eyes before closing them.
Free from her gaze, his eyes traced her lips a third time. He'd never appreciated their color before-a deep rose that softened at the corners. Her upper lip was ever so slightly bigger than the bottom, innocent and provocative at the same time. His heart was thrumming frantically in his chest now, even while his fingers had gone inexplicably cold. The wind in the leaves, the birds, the rippling surface of the pool, it all faded until everything was her soft breath in his ears and, as he leaned closer, against his lips.
And then, their lips touched. The first sensation was softness, softness he could not have imagined, could not have prepared for. Softness and warmth. It caused the dark, warm ache within him to bloom outwards, filling his chest-running through tendons and flooding through veins-until it settled startlingly and jarringly lower.
Harry's eyes snapped open and he pulled away. They stared at each other, neither close to laughing now. He numbly realized his hand was wrapped around her waist and her hand was cupping his elbow.
He looked at her eyes-dark depths with reflected gold, like the pool behind them. The same eyes, eyes he knew so well, but not like this. Not like now. He saw something there he'd never seen before-a mix of shock, hesitance, trust, and...want. As he felt himself go through same emotions, he watched her eyes travel slowly to his lips.
Before he could think, before he could even breathe, he was kissing her again. Hard. And she was opening to him, lips parting with a soft gasp. With another jolt of heat, he slipped his tongue inside her and dragged her to him, arm encircling her waist while she pressed her whole body to him like she could fall into him, fingers gripping his hair. And her mouth...her mouth was hot and wet and insistent. One of them or both of them was shaking. And the sounds-soft, aching moans rising in the back of her throat-Harry felt them through his entire body. They slipped down his jaw, the tendons of his neck, pulsing lower and lower until he was hard and straining.
He was quickly losing all sense of himself. As though neurons and synapses were snapping and rewiring, narrowing his thoughts to only this, only this. Last ditch efforts to stave off insanity.
Because this was Hermione. His adored, his loved friend. But he could taste her. He could feel her. She sounded like that for him, because of him, her skin alive beneath his fingers. How had this happened? What were they doing? He wasn't sure how long the kiss had lasted, but if they didn't break apart now then...then what?
It was Hermione who found the strength to pull away. She pushed against his chest and they separated, breathless.
"Harry," she cried, jumping up. "I'm-I'm so sorry!"
"Hermione-"
She stumbled in her haste to put space between them and he reached for her instinctively, but something in her eyes stopped him.
"I-I don't know what that..." she stammered.
"Was..." he murmured, equally lost for words.
They stared at each other. Her face was very pink and her curls caught in the fading wash of sunset.
"We got...we got carried away," she said anxiously. "I'm so sorry. We shouldn't have done that."
He swallowed, the taste of her in his throat. He stood and was startled to find his legs shook.
The heat of the kiss was fading and in its place came a sudden, frigid wave of panic. They had done it. They'd crossed that unspoken boundary, the line that had always been there for them, unacknowledged but understood. The line between shared looks and lingering looks. The line between embracing and holding. Between touch and caress.
They'd crossed it. Or stumbled across it. In whatever manner, they were now beyond it.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, of course," she said, her eyes still so wide. "That was...we shouldn't have done that."
"I'm so sorry."
And with his words, something seemed to pass behind her eyes, like a lowering veil.
"No, I'm sorry," she said fervently. "It's been...a stressful day for both of us. I was upset, drank too much. We don't need to worry about it."
He could think of nothing to say, so he stared at the ground. She came towards him and touched his arm.
"Really, Harry," she said with a sort of desperate insistence. "It's all right, really."
He lifted his eyes, but he couldn't stop them from landing squarely on her red, swollen lips.
"Right," he said.
"Should we head back?" she asked, stepping away and subtly straightening her clothes.
He nodded. "I need to stop in at Headquarters."
"Of course," she said quickly. "I've-I've got to run to Flourish & Blotts. I reserved an advance copy of Gretchen Ohlen's autobiography. It's supposed to be amazing."
"Oh," said Harry, vaguely remembering the Swedish witch and scholar Hermione had mentioned before. "Sounds great."
Why were they talking about this?
"Yes," said Hermione distantly. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. See you tomorrow."
They stared at each other for another moment, neither knowing how to fill the silence. This was usually when they'd peck cheeks before parting. That didn't seem possible now.
"Well, bye then," he said, immediately hating how brusque he sounded.
She nodded and, closing her eyes, disapparated.
He looked around the quiet clearing, the golden light fading.
"Fuck."
Harry was home by eight. His staff had taken care of his instructions, so he looked over the interdepartmental quarterly review and several other files. But in reality, he thought about Hermione.
He thought of her lips, how unquestioning they'd been under his. The feeling of her pressed against him, the curve of her body in his hands. The golden light in her eyes, the lashes that fell when she'd looked at his lips. Harry followed these thoughts without really processing them, not wanting to know what it meant.
In all the years Harry Potter had known Hermione Granger, they had never been anything but fantastic friends. But Harry found himself rejecting this thought almost as soon as he thought it. Yes, Hermione was his friend. But she was also a full list of separate identifiers. She was his source of advice and perspective, his reference library, his sounding board, his sparring partner, his co-worker, his sister-in-law, his family, and his savior on countless occasions.
Perhaps no one else-to maddening effect-seemed to know exactly what was going on in his mind better than Hermione. They thought alike, of that he was certain. He didn't need any more proof than the half-year they'd spent on the run together. It had always been him and her who chased down any clue that might've led to a new horcrux. Their time on the run reflected a pattern throughout their Hogwarts days. She'd always been the other half of his brain...usually the half that worked better.
Considering this, kissing Hermione was wholly ill-advised. He had no idea how she'd respond to the events of the forest. She seemed willing to blame it on stress, but Harry felt women did not forget these things easily. He certainly couldn't forget it. Again, the cold wave of panic swallowed him. His ruminations on her lips aside, he could not be without Hermione as his friend. He couldn't. He didn't know anything else.
There simply wasn't another way to live, was there?
He climbed the grand staircase tiredly and turned down the corridor to his bedroom. But, Harry saw a light at the end of the hall: Lily's room.
He pushed against the open door.
"Daddy!" Lily squealed.
She launched herself at him and he swung her up into his arms. She was getting bigger and it was not as easy as it once was.
"There's my girl," he said into her hair.
"Mum said you weren't coming home tonight!"
"Well, I came back early," he said, smiling faintly at her cherubic face. "But someone's supposed to be in bed."
"I was! I was!"
"Yeah? What's all this, then?" he accused, nodding his head towards the dollhouse she'd clearly been occupied with.
"I was just playing for a bit," she protested. "I was about to go to bed!"
Wriggling free, she went to her dolls. Harry sat down beside her as she arranged four of them around a table. They were the magical dolls Harry had gotten her for her ninth birthday. They could change on verbal command: male or female, long or short hair, light or dark skin, brown or blue eyes.
"I made a mummy and a you, and here's Auntie Hermione and Uncle Ron," Lily told him proudly, stroking the hair of one doll with shiny brown curls. Next to it, another doll with a shock of short ginger hair.
Feeling a heat rise up his neck, he leaned down and kissed Lily's own ginger head.
"Let's put it up now," he said. "It's a school night."
"Fine," she huffed, throwing down the dolls and jumping onto her narrow bed.
"G'night, Lily bear," he murmured, tucking in the corners.
"Goodnight, papa bear," she said, still looking sour but pecking his cheek nonetheless.
He turned away and found Ginny leaning against the door. Harry's smile faltered only slightly.
"You're back early," she said once he'd closed the door.
"It didn't take as long as expected."
"How's Hermione?"
The dark wave of heat sharpened.
"She's-er-fine."
Ginny had eaten, so Harry had a solitary dinner of Molly Weasley's leftover casserole. He ate at the kitchen counter, too on edge to sit down. His mind was drawn back to her lips, but now the first tendrils of guilt were growing along the edges of his memory. He thought of Lily's dolls-miniatures of Ron and Hermione. Cold and wooden, but matching perfectly.
Ginny. Ron.
He could not think about that. Thinking about either of them would mean the forest somehow involved them. And it didn't. It absolutely didn't. It was a momentary burst of madness. Nothing else.
Harry spent the rest of the evening in his personal study at the top of the house, attempting to read the same files he failed to read at the AD. As the clock struck eleven, he gave up and returned to his and Ginny's room. She was in the washroom and Harry undressed to his boxers. He prepared to appear fast asleep.
Ginny emerged a few minutes later and he heard her pad softly to her side of the room. She placed something on the nightstand and the lights went out. Harry released a soft breath, relieved there'd be no talking. He needed to organize his thoughts. He was surprised, then, when the mattress sank next to him and Ginny draped a waif-like arm over his chest.
"What time are you going to work tomorrow?"
He hesitated, but he knew she knew he wasn't asleep. "Usual time."
"Okay," she murmured, lips against his shoulder. Another pause. "I missed you today."
He said nothing, not trusting his voice. His heart started up again.
Ginny's fingers traced his bare chest. They came to rest near his navel before dipping lower. She leaned over and kissed him.
Harry tried not to draw comparisons, but immediately they were there. Ginny's lips were soft, sticky with the gloss she always used. Her mouth tasted faintly of toothpaste. Rather than the gold of the forest, it was the moon that gave her skin a silver radiance.
She stroked him-assured, easy movements that, within seconds, had him inadvertently raising his hips against her palm. She removed her hand and lifted the hem of her shift.
"Ginny, I..." he started, unsure what he wanted.
But she was undressed now, her skin luminous alabaster. With another graceful movement, she straddled his hips and her fingers ran along the muscles of his chest. He watched her reach backwards and tug at his remaining clothing, knowing she must feel the thick weight of him beneath her.
"Gin..."
"Shhh."
Her eyes had that hard, blazing look and then her lips were back on his and he closed his eyes, surrendering. This was good. It felt good. He kissed her back fiercely and she let out a surprised whimper in the back of her throat.
In the next moment, he reversed their positions and she laughed lightly as he pressed her into the mattress. He lowered his lips to the spot he knew she liked just below her ear and his hand found her breast, bringing it to a tight peak beneath his fingers. After several minutes, he looked down at her and she nodded, eyes dark with want. He pushed into her with a groan, letting her adjust around him.
Her breath came in short gasps as he began to move inside of her. First, slow and purposeful. Then rapid, erratic, grinding down hard against her, much more roughly than he usually did. The tension built and built until Harry felt her tightening around him and then suddenly her fingers dug painfully into his shoulders and she held him fast inside her as the waves overwhelmed her.
"Harry," she breathed against his neck.
His eyes snapped to her face. A second later, he felt his own release.
But, in that moment, it was her who surfaced in his splintered mind.
Her with those red lips, made swollen by their kiss.