Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.
***
The crackling torches of the driveway were still lit. Hermione swallowed at the sight, her mouth dry and arid as she looked at them. Her skin crawled with roiling fear. But turning back was simply not on option. The wards to the house would have been activated by now, it would already be known that she'd returned. She felt sick every time she crossed the security perimeter, the darkness of the magic there always settled ill on her stomach. She dry retched against the sensation, then began a slow walk towards the house.
Over to her left, Hermione could hear the prisoners of the camp being worked away, even this late into the night. They were building a new block and the scraping of shovels and the sounds of construction drifted to her ears on the close, still air. Hermione didn't want to know what the new block would be used for. It was bad enough that Draco Malfoy himself regularly turned up to inspect its progress. If his Section Seven had anything to do with the place ... Hermione shuddered at the very notion. If he was going to be close by, it might be worth throwing herself from the roof of the manor house after all.
There was a crack somewhere in the camp. It may have been a whip, or the snapping of bone. Hermione had conditioned herself to be dully immune to such things. She'd protested once before, when they first moved here, begged Ron to soundproof the house at the very least. To keep them from hearing the misery outside. He'd punched her in the face for her insolence. These were the sounds of victory, of justice, he'd insisted. Then he locked her in the Black Room for two days without food. Or light. And just a canteen of stagnant water for sustenance, still there from her last stay.
It had taken two months before she could sleep again with the lights off once he'd released her.
But how she wished the lights were off now. Each torch she passed acted like a cruel pointer to her impending fate. Each one flickered out as she went by, marking the moments like the sinister conductor of the Devil's Orchestra. She knew what was going to happen when she reached the house ... it was just a case of how bad it would be. And, if she knew her husband, it would be pretty horrific. He was getting worse at his punishments, and by worse Hermione meant more effective, reducing her to a greater mess of a wreck each and every time.
It filled her with unspeakable anguish that they hadn't fulfilled their duty-bound marital commune this month. That was always something of an ordeal, but lately Ron had been experimenting in making it a new form of torture for her. She often heard his concubines screeching in agony as he tested out his new techniques on them, all to make them perfectly horrendous for her.
All permitted under the guise of a formal expectation as part of their marriage contract.
Hermione had no legal recourse to protest. Not that anyone would have listened to her. King Voldemort had enforced a raft of laws that made witches like her the property of their wedded Lords. She might as well have appealed for justice to a tree, for all the good it would have done. The Death Eaters of the legal courts would turn any complaint she made into an act of treason against the Dark King and his 'reforms'. They'd sooner burn her at the stake, like poor Hannah Abbott, than bring her husband to heel.
So, if Ron chose to torture her sexually, she had no choice but to endure it as best she could. Then cry her silent tears later in her separate bed, when she was sure he wouldn't hear ... and punish her for that, too.
Hermione really wished she could fathom what had happened to him, how power had corrupted him so greatly that he shirked off all sense of honour and decency. He had been an okay sort of guy once, during a time Hermione now honestly struggled to remember. She just never imagined Ron would become the devil she now knew.
She felt certain his cunt of a sister had a lot to do with it.
The way Ginny had thrown herself at Voldemort's feet ranked as one of the most disgusting displays Hermione had ever witnessed. A willing volunteer to bear his children, she still recalled the way her hair had turned an ugly, evil tint of black as his seed quickened in her womb for the first time, how her eyes lost all semblance of colour, given over to hatred and malice. It made her sick to think on it.
Hermione shuddered at the memories. How had it come to this? She felt inordinately jealous of Harry right then, for escaping this nightmare when he did. He would have hated this, riled against it so much. It was a stupid train of thought. Harry would never have allowed this, if he had any say at all. He would have gone down fighting, he did, after all. Surely, that was how he came to die in the Forbidden Forest.
Hermione steadfastly refused to believe Voldemort's propaganda, that Harry had walked to his death, died on his knees like a coward. It screamed against every notion, every shred of knowledge she had about her lost best friend. But that's how Voldemort's new history books would record it. Harry's name, his deeds, had been forcibly scrubbed from Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century and Modern Magical History. His entry didn't even make the new appendix of the amended Rise and Rise of the Dark Arts. He was a footnote in history, reduced to a passing nuance, paid as little mind as the New World Order could allow.
Except for those who knew and loved him. Some things just couldn't be erased.
Unless the entire wizarding population was Memory Charmed. Hermione wouldn't put that past those bastards. It was the kind of sweeping evil they were prone to. Hermione actually moaned at the thought. Imagine losing all knowledge of Harry to a spell? She didn't think she could bear that. She resolved to protect her mind from such an eventuality. If Ron ever came across that idea he'd probably curse her in her sleep. She'd wake up one day and Harry Potter would never have existed for her ...
And all her remaining hope in the world would die with his stolen memory.
She had to push her memories of Harry deep, deep down. The final security checkpoint was coming up. If they scanned her mind and found those thoughts close to the surface, they'd report it to Ron. She couldn't let that happen. Those memories were her most precious possessions, they kept her sane. She had to defend them. Hermione focused her brain, throwing up her low-level Occlumency shields. They were light, barely noticeable. The guards were not accomplished Legilimens, and the standard intrusion spells didn't delve too deeply. She had to be thankful for small mercies these days.
She reached the checkpoint barrier and handed over her wand. She felt naked and vulnerable without it. The two Death Eater guards took turns inspecting it, testing it for hidden curses or enchantments. They frowned as they found it clean. Then, each one took a turn patting her down, lingering longer than was necessary on her breasts and the upper parts of her thighs, all the while smirking malevolently. Then, without warning, they cast curses at her. First the Imperius, to ensure she had no mental defences in place, as they were illegal. Hermione felt her mind wander, she lost her ideas of space and time. Then she came shuddering back with a thud. Their spell work was clumsy, awkward. It smacked a full-blown migraine into her head.
Then her head was forced into a Legilimency Probe between two crackling rods. It stung as the imbibed spell crossed her mind. It flirted with her shields, but didn't dip beyond a surface level. One Death Eater examined the results on an emerald tablet. Seemingly satisfied with the results, he cancelled the probe.
"You are past curfew, Mrs Weasley," said the second Death Eater, returning her wand.
"I lost track of time," she offered, rubbing her temples to offset the ache throbbing there.
"I have no interest in your explanations," he said coldly. "You can explain that to your Wedded Lord. I sincerely hope his reprimand to you is sufficient. You need to learn your place in the hierarchy of things."
Hermione bowed her head and the guards parted for her. She edged towards the house, her cautious steps crunching on the gravel underfoot. Her heart beat furiously in protest the closer she got. Her skin prickled with so much fear it was like being licked with icy fire. She couldn't control her rasping, ragged breaths as she lingered at the door, fumbling for her key with shaking fingers.
Then, the heavy door simply swung open for her ... slowly, menacingly.
"You're late."
Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach, already coiling with sickness. The entry hallway to the house was in complete darkness. Hermione could hear Ron's voice, but couldn't see where he was. He would love that, to taunt her, to keep her guessing when he would strike. She was frozen on the threshold, held fast by the thrill of terror rushing through her.
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered meekly. "It was Susan's birthday and ..."
And she never got to explain, for a rough hand snatched out from the darkness, tangled painfully in the curly locks she'd made up so carefully and prettily, with glitter and ribbons, for her night out, and dragged her into the house, slamming the door shut behind her ...
***
Hermione bolted awake and jumped up, heart racing, leant over the side of her bed and threw up copiously. She squeaked and baulked and fell back onto her pillows, fighting to push away the dark memories of her nightmare. Her cheeks were sodden with hot tears. The dark images were clustering at the edges of her mind, tunnelling her vision into a swirling mass of blackness. She struggled to calm herself, to regain control of her panicked senses and remember where she was.
There was a pop and Sally was at her side. Her eyes were wide as she clocked Hermione's desperate state.
"Lady Hermione!" she shrieked, looking at the pool of vomit soaking into the carpet. "What be wrong?"
"I-I had a nightmare," Hermione mumbled shakily, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "I'm sorry."
"You not need be sorry," Sally soothed, cleaning up the sick with an effortless snap of her fingers. Another click and a calming spell settled on Hermione, slowing her whirlwind of fear to a gentle trundle.
I'm not there anymore, I'm not there anymore, Hermione repeated over and over in her mind, breathing heavily and wringing her hands together in worried shame.
Sally cast her hand over Hermione's sweaty forehead. "Well, you not have fever, at least. But come, let Sally get you into clean nightie. You be ill all over that one."
Hermione slowly rose from her bed. Her legs were still trembling from the dream, but the images were starting to fade now she wasn't by herself. She stripped down, beyond modesty, and Sally conjured a cold cloth, which she rubbed her down with. Then she helped her into a new nightdress and guided her to her favourite seat by the window, where a light breeze helped to cool her hot brow.
"Does Lady Hermione want me to fetch Master Harry?" asked Sally. "I know he come at once."
Hermione was sorely tempted a moment. Harry would make it all better just by being there with her. But she checked herself. It had been scant days since Enola had woken, screeching and writhing in agony, after taking Hermione's physical pains from Harry after he had sneakily stolen them from her. Then Harry worked on Enola personally, refusing the help of the Healing witches of the palace, as he bombarded Neville's wife with brutal Healing spells and Potions, the sort that Hermione had been deemed too weak to be able to endure herself. But Harry also steadfastly refused to let Hermione stay and watch the process, so she was forced leave them to it, focusing instead on keeping Neville as far away as possible, lest he lose his mind as he tried to drown out Enola's pained screams.
The whole thing had been almost as damaging and draining for Harry as having the wounds himself. So now, after battling with Enola's wounds for a mammoth thirty-seven hours straight, Harry had finally decided she was okay to do the rest on her own, and he was just isolating from the palace and recovering from the ordeal in private.
"No, I'll be alright," Hermione replied to her elf with a rattling breath. It was half-true. She'd won the battle for now, not let her sleep demons best her this time. She just wouldn't give them the satisfaction of sleeping. She had a good potion for that. "Harry needs to rest. Merlin knows I can relate to just how much."
"Master Harry be very brave taking Lady Hermione's aches and pains, and Lady Enola very brave to take them from him," Sally agreed, proudly. "Sally be knowing how very bad they was. Master Harry very brave, but also stubborn as old goat."
"Stubborn?" Hermione queried.
"Master Harry not rest, not heal like normal wizard," Sally confessed, sadly. "He choose to face pain, to master it. Sally never seen it work, but Master Harry insist on doing it. But Sally will let him off this time."
Hermione sat up crossly, her bad dream forgotten in the face of Harry being up and about and suffering needlessly, and not telling her he was, so she could tell him off for it. "So ... you're telling me that Harry isn't in bed recuperating?"
"No, my Lady," Sally confirmed.
"Then where is he?" Hermione asked, crossly. "And why will you 'let him off'?"
"Master Harry at his Shrine with Firebird Lily," said Sally.
Hermione quirked her eyebrows. "His Shrine?"
"Is where Mrs and Mr Potter sleep forever," said Sally. "Would have been Mrs Potter's birthday today."
Hermione gasped aloud. Harry had brought his parents here? Dug up their graves and moved their bones? But why?
"Sally, can you take me to him?"
"Sally not sure," said the elf, wringing her hands nervously. "She not be sure if Master Harry be wanting to share such a private moment."
"He'll want to share it with me," said Hermione, confidently. "Can you at least ask him for me?"
Just then there was a flash of flame above them. It yielded Lily, Harry's beautiful phoenix. Sally looked up at her and actually smirked.
"Sally be thinking Lady Hermione have her answer," she said. "Master Harry always be listening and watching for her. Firebird Lily be waiting for you, my Lady. But Sally insist you wear a dressing gown. It be chilly outside. Nippy ... for a Lady witch."
Hermione blushed at the inference and slipped into her thick gown, pulling it tight around her body. Lily fluttered to her shoulder and instantly whipped her away in a blast of fire. Hermione wasn't sure she particularly liked this way of travelling, it was quite dizzying. Lily didn't seemed to notice her discomfort, leaving her alone at the entry to an outdoor mausoleum and soaring over to Harry, who was sat cross-legged nearby.
Harry crooked his arm without moving his head, feeling Lily's presence as she reached him. The phoenix perched on his arm, the way Hermione had seen Hedwig do countless times before. She lamented the loss of Harry's first familiar a moment. Then Harry spoke to her.
"Sit with me, Hermione," Harry requested softly.
Hermione moved slowly to Harry's side and eased herself down next to him. She still moved cautiously, out of habit, though she now felt no pain at all. Well, at least none that was physical.
"You should be resting," she said gently, trying not to be too overbearing.
Harry looked down. Hermione had sat very close to him, so close that their thighs were touching. The sight seemed to hypnotise him a second.
"I am resting," Harry replied, sighing. He fixed his eye firmly ahead. "I feel calm here. It helps."
Hermione followed Harry's line of sight. He was looking at two large, marble headstones in front of him. They looked fairly new, well cared for. Fresh flowers had been placed at the base of one of the headstones, the one Harry was directly in front of. Even Hermione, who was no kind of botanist, could guess what kind of flowers they were.
"You brought them here?" she asked softly.
"I had to," Harry replied lowly. "They would have been desecrated if I'd left them in Godric's Hollow. I couldn't allow that. I ... I don't know if they mind that I moved them or not. I hope not."
His shaking voice betrayed his worry. Hermione snaked out her hand and smoothed his forearm comfortingly. She knew it was still a risk, to test Harry's physical boundaries. But he made not the slightest movement to withdraw or push her off. He allowed the contact ... and Hermione's chest fluttered that he did so.
"I'm sure they know you did what you thought was right," said Hermione. "I think it's right, and I'm sure they do, too."
She couldn't see his face, but she could sense him smile.
"Then that's the only validation I need. My Mum said to trust you. I always did. The one time I didn't, I let Riddle take me out of the game. I'll never make that mistake again, I swear it to you."
Hermione sat in stilled shock. "You ... you talked to your Mum about ... about me?"
Harry chuckled. "Actually, she talked to me about you."
"When?" Hermione asked, breathily.
"Five years ago, when Riddle sent me to the very edge of the afterlife," Harry replied, vaguely. He shifted awkwardly. "I'm a little bit ashamed of what happened when I was there. I'd rather not talk about it."
Harry stiffened and edged away from her.
"You were ashamed of talking to your Mum about me?" asked Hermione, honestly a little hurt.
"No, I didn't mean ashamed like that," Harry corrected her, quickly. "That's not what I meant at all."
Hermione felt pacified by Harry's slightly manic reaction, but she was still wary. "Well, what then?"
"It's just that ... I'm still ashamed she had to speak to me at all. That she had to wake from her eternal rest ... just because of what I was going to do."
"Which was?"
"I ... I was going to take the train," said Harry, his voice shamed and tiny.
Hermione turned fully to sit facing him. "I don't understand what that means, Harry."
Harry stiffened further, sighed deeply and bowed his head so low that his shoulders hunched. "When Riddle cursed me, I went to the very edge of death," Harry began heavily. "It took the form of a spectral Kings Cross train station. I met Dumbledore there, had the conversation with him I already told you about. But ... I left a bit out."
"Which bit?"
"The bit where he gave me the option of taking a train to go ... to go ... on."
Hermione sucked in a breath as she realised what Harry was suggesting.
"I ... I asked Dumbledore," Harry stuttered on. "I asked if you would stay with Ron. I was so exhausted, Hermione. I was done. I'd had enough of the pain, the fighting, the suffering. You'd kissed Ron, I knew you wanted to be with him. I trusted that he would take care of you if I ... if I didn't come back.
"I asked Dumbledore three times if you would stay with Ron. He looked me in the eyes each time and said you would. But he didn't elaborate on it. I know now that it would have interfered with his plans. I thought ... I dumbly assumed that would mean Ron would protect you, and you'd be safe. You'd be okay without me. So I ... I called for the train. I even got on it and sat down."
Hermione felt her pulse speeding in her neck. Tears stung behind her eyes. Lily suddenly took flight from Harry and landed deftly on her shoulder. It made her instantly calm, and a little bit coy and shy. She couldn't understand why. It recovered her power of speech, however.
"But ... the train didn't go ... go on?"
"No," said Harry. "You see, I didn't remain on my own on the train for very long. My mother appeared from another carriage ... one further down the train, one I couldn't see into because it was so cloudy and milky. She was so beautiful, Hermione. I was mesmerised by her. I just looked at her face, her gorgeous smile, for the longest time. It might have been months, just staring at her. I couldn't look enough. And it was the real her, not the dark copy Dumbledore had trapped in the Resurrection Stone.
"Eventually she spoke to me. She told me it wasn't my time, that I wasn't finished with life. And it was nothing to do with Voldemort or any of it. That was just window dressing."
"What did she mean then?" asked Hermione.
"She told me I was in love and didn't know it," Harry replied, distantly. "And I ought to go back and experience it fully. That it would change not only my life, but my very soul. It would make all my pain pale into insignificance. She said it was such a powerful love it could change the world around me. And that the girl I loved was owed to be told about it."
Hermione's mouth fell open. Lily the Phoenix sang out beautifully. The note quavered in the air and resonated in her bones. It filled her with brightness and light, boundless energy, and waves of emotion that left her light-headed. It chased away the last lingering remnants of Hermione's nightmare. She wasn't certain, but she couldn't shake the impression that this was how Lily talked to her ... and she wasn't entirely sure which Lily was doing the talking.
"Harry ... I ..." she tried to say. She wanted to say a million things just then, but none seemed quite right. In the end she settled on, "how did you get Lily?"
"My Mum gave her to me, to get me back," Harry explained. "She just summoned her as we sat on the train. I didn't name her, like Neville thinks. Lily was already her name. I think some part of my Mum is in her. I think that was her Animagus form. When she spirited me back, she stayed with me ... to watch over me."
"Neville said she never goes to anyone else," said Hermione, looking at the beautiful bird on her shoulder. "But she doesn't mind coming to me."
"She reflects my emotions," Harry smiled. "And my Mum's, too. She approved of you, so Lily does as well."
Hermione blinked. She was beyond humbled, so shivery with awe that she could barely think.
"I'm not asking for anything extraordinary, despite how that all sounded," Harry went on, quietly. "I'd have never told you that story if I could have avoided it. I don't want you to feel cornered or pressured. That wasn't my intention at all."
"Cornered? Pressured?" Hermione huffed. "To be loved by you? There is nothing but beauty in that, Harry! I don't deserve it, I've done nothing to warrant it."
"You've been you," said Harry. "All my life. For all the wonder and loveliness that really means. For the rise of my conscience, for my introduction to what love actually is. So that I could recognise it when I was properly able to see it. And that's more than I was ever due. I didn't see it before because I didn't deserve to. I still don't. To feel what I do for you ... I shouldn't have been blessed with that emotion, with the capacity to feel it. I shouldn't have known such a thing could exist. And you are more than worthy. It's what makes what has happened to you even more despicable. To think that Ron ... to think that I ..."
"How many times, Harry!" cried Hermione, hotly. "You didn't do anything!"
"I boarded the train ..." Harry murmured, his voice childlike, infinitesimally little. Like apologising for a scolding he could not avoid before it came. "I was going to go on. I wanted to. I left you behind, consciously. Gave up ... on life ... on you. And I'd have never known ... never known what this was. How it felt. How wonderfully amazing it felt. Just to know it, whether you feel anything for me or not. My entire existence would have been a sham without the knowing, a waste of bone and sinew. Just to be able to feel this for you ... it makes me even more ashamed that I might not have ever known about it."
Hermione wished she could quell the rampant flickering of her heart. She was so breathless at Harry's words she couldn't formulate the right replies in her mind.
"So ... you boarded the train," she said, eventually. "And your Mum talked you into getting off and coming back, for ... for me?"
Harry nodded. Hermione could hardly breathe.
"And you alone. She forgave me for my moment of selfishness," Harry replied, staring hard at his mother's gravestone, tracing her name hungrily with his eye. The moonlight had shone directly at the engraving just then. "She told me off first. I mean, she is my Mum. She didn't get the chance to tell me off for anything when she was alive ... because of everything. I think she quite enjoyed it, actually."
Hermione smiled fondly, looking at the grave, too. She leaned over gently and pulled her wand. She conjured a wreath of red roses and placed them against the marble with a whispered 'happy birthday, Mrs Potter'. Harry watched her and his breath caught, coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
"If your Mum forgave you, then so do I," said Hermione, sitting back. "But you need to forgive me right back."
Harry turned to her questioningly. "For what?"
"For settling for Ron at Hogwarts," Hermione began. "For not telling you a long time ago how I felt about you. I could have at least have given you the option, given you something to think about. And I need you to forgive me for not fighting for you. I settled into bondage, into despair. I allowed it. I even considered suicide when it got too much. It wasn't you who was selfish ... it was me. I was cowardly, afraid of you. Afraid of a real relationship, one I knew might last forever once it had begun ...
"... I was afraid of being in love with you."
Harry gulped. Hermione watched his throat rise and fall with it. There were words trapped there somewhere. Harry struggled to get them out.
"Is ... is that what you were?" he croaked after a minute or so.
Hermione nodded, offering her most adoring smile. "And it's what I still am. I always have been. Whereas you didn't know, I didn't let myself be."
"And now?"
"Now I just want to drown in you."
Harry seemed to melt. The lines in his forehead relaxed in utter contentment, his eye flashed with sheer elation. But it wasn't enough for Hermione. She slowly, tentatively reached up, tracking her hand around his head, questing for the knot at the top of his shawl. She pulled gently till it gave to her. Harry didn't make one motion to stop her.
Emboldened, she gently unravelled the shawl. Hermione shivered nervously, feeling the act as intimate as if she were actually undressing him. Harry closed his eye, bracing himself against his building shame. Hermione moved her free hand under his drooping chin, gently easing his head back up. His eye opened questioningly, swimming in disbelief. He couldn't process that she wanted to see his ruined face. It was all kinds of wrong in his world that, despite everything, Hermione wanted to look at him. His soft, baffled gaze considered her as if she were an alien creature. What that meant, what it spoke of his mental state, sent Hermione wild with despair. She continued unwrapping the shawl until it came away completely.
Then she threw it aside, away from Harry's reach, determined it wouldn't get used again tonight.
Hermione cupped a hand delicately to Harry's good, left side. Her thumb tracked a path back and forth across his cheek as she smiled beautifully at him. His skin was maddeningly soft, despite the damage so blatantly staring back at her. She looked as close as she ever had before, inspected every inch of flesh, the good and the hurt. Then she just gazed into Harry's eye, both of hers boring into his lone pupil, communicating all her thoughts and wants and desires as best as she could manage, determined to make Harry believe every single one of them before the night was out.
Hermione's other hand then came up behind Harry's neck, her fingers dancing little circles at his nape, tickling the little triangle of downy hair she surprisingly found there. His eye darted wondrously across her face, searching, hoping, hotly curious to dissect her intent.
It was only then Hermione realised that the air around them was throbbing. It was heaving like it had in the Ritual Chamber, encasing them in such a cocoon of energy ... it was like bathing in caramel. But it wasn't Harry's energy ... it was hers ... or theirs. She couldn't define it properly. She only knew she didn't want to leave it ... ever. Harry was letting her in, this was his way of showing her. And he'd let her unveil his face ...
How far dare Hermione go?
She decided to leap. Her hands about Harry's face and neck kept up with their movements. He had closed his eye at her touch. But she wanted him to be aware of what she was about to do.
"Harry ..." she whispered breathily.
He opened his eye to her, watched slowly as she inched her face closer to his, didn't resist when she slightly tilted his head. He felt wonderfully compliant and pliable in her hands. He was shaking crazily, it drove Hermione's thoughts into a cartwheel. At this point, Lily took flight and encircled them, as if standing guard against any disturbance.
It was the last piece of encouragement Hermione needed.
She boldly closed the gap between them and pressed her lips softly to Harry's, mindful of his cut side. He gasped a moment, then shuddered all over as Hermione's tongue raked against his mouth. He was really defenceless, and he opened up for her without resistance. It took about ten seconds of Hermione's dominance for Harry to really accept this was happening, that maybe Hermione actually meant it. Meant every swipe of her lips against his, every unrepentant thrust of her tongue against the sides of his mouth, when it wasn't duelling with his own.
And then, he just gave to it. Taking Hermione by immense surprise, his hands found her waist, raced up to her shoulders and then swept her across him and to the ground, where he dropped himself atop her, kissing her passionately with no mind for his injured lips at all. Hermione was knocked senseless by his intensity, and forgot he was injured at all for a few moments, until she accidentally moved her roaming hand to his scar. He winced in unmasked agony as she touched his wounded skin and she broke apart from him.
"Oh, Harry ... are you alright? ... I'm so, so sorry!"
Harry looked down at her, his beautiful, lopsided grin as wide as his smashed features would allow. Hermione thought she'd never seen such a wondrous sight in her whole life.
"For that? Some pain is worth it ... and that definitely counts!"
Hermione laughed nervously beneath him. Her heart was speeding, her chest heaving, but the pause allowed them both to draw breath, to consider what had happened. Harry still looked a little wary, as though he wasn't quite able to believe he was actually where he was.
"Harry ... say something," Hermione breathed throatily.
"You are quite ridiculously beautiful, did you know?" he said sweetly, brushing a stray hair away from her cheek, which was scarlet from a deep blush. "Do you mind if I just out and stare at you from time to time, without it seeming weird?"
Hermione laughed and tugged Harry back down on to her. She wanted to feel him close again, feel his body heat mingle with her own. She had to slow her heart. If she passed out and missed this moment she might never forgive herself. "You can look at me as much as you like, on one condition."
"Name it," said Harry. "I suppose I should just lay it out there and say that I'll do pretty much anything you ask."
"I want to be able to see you," said Hermione, one hand idly playing with Harry's hair, while the other arm hugged his body as close as she could get it. "I want to see your face, to kiss that wonderful mouth of yours. Even if we have to go somewhere private to do it every time."
Harry brought his arms up and curled them around her shoulders. "I can do that."
For a few minutes they just lay there, quiet and content. It was Harry who broke the companionable silence.
"I'm going to sit with you tonight, spell you to restful sleep," he said. "Don't even think of arguing. I have an errand to run tomorrow, then we are going to talk about these nightmares of yours."
"How do you know ..."
"I just do," said Harry. "I didn't just take your physical wounds, remember?" He sat up, and pulled her with him. "We will heal that part of you. I promise you that."
Hermione couldn't help it. She leaned in and kissed him again. She knew immediately that all her fears about Harry were right ... he was going to become a fucking addiction for her, one that she might never satiate. She could barely stay away from him as it was. She was in so much trouble.
They slowly, reluctantly, broke apart. "What errand do you have to run? Can I come?"
"Are you feeling up to a jaunt outside the wards?" asked Harry. "It's okay if you aren't. It isn't safe out there."
"That goes for you too," said Hermione. "And I have no intention of hiding in here any more than you do. So, where are we going?"
"I have to go and find out how Luna's doing, we haven't heard from her in a while," said Harry casually. "I'm worried she might be in danger now that my secret is out. She's crucial to my plan to decimate Tom Riddle for good."
Hermione was positively aroused at Harry's assertion of decimation. He had no idea what his forcefulness did to witches. It was devastatingly alluring. Then she cocked a curious glance at him.
"Luna ... does she know you're alive ... because if she does and didn't tell me ... I should warn you I might be liable to kill her!"
Harry barked a laugh at her. "Oh no, she doesn't know ... at least, as far as I'm aware. But Nev and I have been pulling a few strings behind the scenes for years. Ernie Macmillan was our contact in the Wizarding World. He manoeuvred Luna into her role at the Department of Mysteries and she's been doing some interesting research for us, without ever knowing what it was really for.
"Ernie and Nev used to meet regularly. Nev was gutted when he heard about him being butchered by Malfoy. I don't know if Ernie knew about me for certain, either, but we are reasonably sure he guessed I was still around. He never did understand why Nev had such an unnatural interest in your well-being, when he'd married the witch Ernie considered the most gorgeous woman under the sky."
"Enola is stunning," Hermione agreed.
"She is, but I think you're prettier," said Harry, shyly.
Hermione blushed. "Don't be silly, Harry."
"I'm not being silly," he said, firmly.
He looked at her stoutly, unquestionable truth in his eye, in every line of his face, both wrecked and beautiful parts. It took Hermione's breath away and she flushed hot all over. He actually meant that. How could he mean that? She couldn't pull the truth into her mind at first, but it kept pounding at her from Harry's earnest expression, until she had no choice but to submit to it.
"Thank you," she mumbled. It was all she could manage. "I don't know quite what else to say."
"Thank you, for letting me look," Harry replied, blushing deeply himself. His scar went an odd sort of blotchy purple when he blushed. Hermione found it distractingly cute.
"When you go for Luna, can I come then?" she asked, to redirect the conversation.
"Are you sure you're up for that?"
"Absolutely," said Hermione. "Besides, she lived near my old house in Glastonbury. I can show you the way."
"You know you have Alert Charms on you, yes?" said Harry. "They were part of the Enchantments I had to give you back from Enola. The authorities will know pretty quickly if you trigger an alarm."
Hermione nodded. "I know that, but I also know where all the Death Eater checkpoints are in the town. I used to dodge them for sport, when I wanted to escape for some alone time back at the start. Besides, I'm not afraid ... I'll be with you. You'll look after me, wont you?"
Her tone was teasing, but Harry's response was serious. "I'll gut the fucking lot of them if they turn up and threaten you."
"No, you'll spare some for me," Hermione replied, darkly. "I have a few scores of my own to settle."
Harry quirked an eyebrow at her and laughed.
"What?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," said Harry. "It's just that ... I've often heard the girls say it's sexy when I get a bit ... dark. I never really got that till just now ... and now I totally understand!"
"If you like that dirty talk, wait till we're ready to go to bed," said Hermione, huskily. "Enola has been teaching me some of her bedroom vocabulary. She's really quite a filthy little witch, that one!"
Harry laughed, almost nervously. "Been anticipating needing a new language, have you?"
Hermione smiled sultrily back at him. "Only since, ooh, about my second day here! Since I decided I would need to christen my new house. You think your rituals are powerful ... you wait till you see what I have planned for you."
She saw Harry shiver at her words, his eagerness evident in his posture, his glowing skin. But now was too soon, he'd only just consented to kissing. Other things would have to wait.
Hermione just hoped she wouldn't have to wait too long. Though, she thought dreamily, maybe ... in this case ... a wedding night would be worth waiting for.