A/N: This is a sequel to my previous one-shot, Coping Mechanisms, but it's not totally necessary to read. It just helps with the backstory, so it's merely recommended that you do.
Anyways, hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would be so rich right now I'd be on a yacht somewhere having threesomes with Rihanna and Kit Harington. But alas.
Whenever blue teardrops are fallin'
And my emotional stability is leaving me
There is something I can do
I can get on the telephone and call you up baby
And honey I know you'll be there to relieve me
The love you give to me will free me
If you don't know the thing you're dealing
Ohh I can tell you, darling, that it's sexual healing
You're my medicine, open up and let me in
Darling, you're so great, I can't wait for you to operate.
When I get this feeling
I need sexual healing.
"Sexual Healing" - Marvin Gaye
They hadn't spoken in weeks.
Well, they had spoken, if you wanted to be horribly technical about it. It was impossible not to, with lives as endlessly entangled as theirs were. But their conversations had roughly the emotional depth and intimacy of strangers waiting in line for the toilet.
Oh, hello, Harry. How have you been?
Just fine, thanks. Keeping busy.
Harry could practically hear the toilet flushing, imagined someone popping up and smiling sheepishly, stuttering "That smell isn't from me, it was the guy before me, I swear..."
But that wasn't the case, of course. He was only pretending. It seemed like he and Hermione were always pretending.
Play-people, marionettes on a coil.
Same here. It seems like there's always something that needs doing.
Yeah. So busy.
You already said that. Ha ha.
...Right. Ha.
Flush.
Harry stepped inside number twelve Grimmauld Place and shut his eyes, did his annoyingly necessary daily ritual. Home. Home. I'm home. Feel like home.
You know that feeling you get when you've been away from home for too long? If you've been sleeping in a different bed, washing in a different shower, eating on different plates, and your body feels sticky with the foreignness of it all; you get that tight something in your chest, and the only way to dissolve it is to return, to touch base again? That's how Harry's been feeling every minute of every day, and he just can't seem to figure out why.
He heard voices, female laughter tinkling in from his kitchen, and shuddered his eyes open to reluctantly trudge towards the source. He fought back the instinct to flee, to evade and hide in his room, knowing Ginny had brought another one of her many girlfriends to play hostess with for a while. Harry didn't know why she always brought them to his house; she didn't even live there. But whenever Ginny is back on break from Hogwarts, Harry has to suffer through making small talk with a deluge of teenage girls; Rebecca and Clarissa and What's-Her-Name and Lorelai and No-I'm-Kiri-Not-Kira and Don't-Mention-Hannah-to-Tracey-They're-Fighting-Over-Evan. But God forbid he skip out on the fun, or else face the wrath of Ginny's relentlessly loving concern.
"Are you okay, Harry? You didn't even say hi to _ (Insert Female Friend Here)"
"I'm fine, Ginny, just tired. Long day."
"You're sure you're all right?"
"I'm very sure I'm all right."
"Okay...I just worry about you when you hole yourself up like that. But you can go take a nap if you want and I'll bring you up some tea in a bit."
Guilt.
"Thanks."
"No problem. Love you."
Guilt.
"Love you, too."
Harry paused outside the doorway and took a second to rearrange his face. He had it down almost perfectly now; he could make himself smile with enough warmth to seem like it really was a pleasant surprise to see whatever stray Ginny took into his home, but also apologetic, so that his face could say before he could: Oh no, I'd love to stay and chat, really, but I just have so much work to do...yeah, that's right; I'm an Auror now, it's tough...
But as soon as he entered the kitchen, Harry's perfected, bashful grin slid away and it felt like he'd been punched in the throat. For like a starlet awaiting her photograph, there was Hermione sitting at his table, angled towards him just so, a glass perfectly poised at her lips. She froze when she saw him, eyes widening just a little.
Harry seized up and immediately felt like he was the intruder, like the only socially acceptable thing to do would be to make up some bumbling excuse and bolt out of his own house.
Because this didn't happen. Ginny, Hermione and him didn't "hang out" just the three of them, didn't shoot the shit together. The chemistry just didn't work out; too much estrogen in the mix, maybe.
Harry had actually expected Ginny and Hermione's friendship to strain and weaken, due to...conflicts of interest.
He was probably equal amounts pleased and disgusted that they remained friends this whole time.
"Want a refill, Hermione?" Ginny's voice rang out, and Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice.
She spent a long second clearing her throat, looked up at Harry, and cleared her throat again. "No, I'm all right."
"Well shit, dude, don't die on me," Ginny laughed as Harry opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted with another one of Hermione's raspy coughs. He wondered if she purposely cut him off.
God, what did she think he was going to say? Like he was incapable of being in hers and Ginny's presence without coming down with spontaneous Tourette's and announcing all the ways he's fucked her? He's been keeping a lid on it for almost a year. He could last another afternoon.
Probably.
"Hey, Hermione," Harry said, staring coolly at her. "You been good?"
Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled, warm but tight. "Yeah. Really good. Really, really good."
Swell.
Ginny leaned over the counter and stuck her tongue out at him. "Hey stranger."
Harry shook himself and walked purposefully over to her, took her face in his hands and, still feeling Hermione's presence like a mosquito bite on his side, kissed her. When he felt Ginny's mouth open slightly beneath his, he got a little caught up in it and pulled on her bottom lip, swept his tongue inside her mouth, allowed the kiss to go wet and and long and socially unacceptable.
Or maybe he just told himself he got caught up in it and was actually putting on a show for Hermione, he couldn't tell. But he preferred the former thought. Less dick-ish.
She was so warm against him, and Harry was plagued yet again with the bizarre desire to bottle up Ginny's warmth and swallow it so he could get it inside himself.
Ginny broke the kiss and gave him a pleasantly confused smile, her cheeks stained red. Harry tried his best, but couldn't muster a smile back.
He looked over for a glimpse of Hermione, but her eyes were fixed firmly on one of the many magazines spread out on his table.
"Aren't you cheeky today," his girlfriend said with a laugh, craning her head in front of his to recapture his attentions.
Harry stared down at Ginny's elegantly pale throat, at the rhombus indents of her collarbone. Then, mostly out of habit, he traced the inviting line of her cleavage with his eyes and thought about sex. Deluded himself into believing it was with her.
"I guess," he mumbled. "What are you two doing?"
She headed back to join Hermione, still smiling, unremittingly effervescent. Harry didn't know how Ginny did it, how she was so consistently cheerful; especially when she was dating someone who had turned as lackluster as he had.
"We were just perusing some bridal magazines," she said in a mocking posh accent and sat down, her back perfectly straight. "I'm trying to convince Hermione to get one with magical flames coming out the back, but she's not budging for some reason."
"I apologize for not wanting to be flammable on my wedding day," Hermione replied, and if Harry had looked up, he would see that she was smiling. But he didn't look. He busied himself preparing a sandwich the Muggle way, mostly because he needed something to distract himself from the sordid business being conducted at his table.
"But it would be so worth it to see Ron's face," Ginny shot back brightly. "He'd probably scream and tackle you to the ground, trying to put you out in a burst of heroics. And George would try to light fireworks off your arse."
The girls laughed and Harry chopped a head of lettuce with more force than necessary.
"Why are you looking at dresses now?" he asked them, trying not to sound petulant. "That's kind of stupid; the wedding's not till ages away. You haven't even finished your year at Hogwarts."
It became silent for a beat too long, so apparently he had failed at sounding casual.
"...These things take a long time to plan," Hermione answered quietly. Harry still wouldn't look up. "Might as well get a head start."
"Yeah, and when have you known Hermione to put things off to the last minute?" Ginny said. When Harry glanced at them, only Ginny looked upset. He'd probably be hearing about that later.
Hermione was...inscrutable.
"I guess you're right." He shrugged and piled on the ingredients of his sandwich. Bread, lettuce, meat, cheese. Easy, simple. He found himself craving simplicity more and more, and wondered if that signified that he was a very deep and philosophically complex man.
Nah. Probably just another cheating, lying, toxic piece of sh—
"There are some tomatoes in the fridge if you want them," Ginny murmured, inspecting a glittery bridal picture with a mixture of disapproval and hunger, as if she wanted to both spit and salivate. "Mum brought them from her garden."
Harry nodded and stuck his head back into the fridge, feeling the cool tendrils make his face only feel hotter in contrast. He grabbed a large red tomato and glanced at the girls again to catch Hermione staring at him, but when he blinked she was right back to her magazines, looking completely innocent.
Harry fought an eye roll as he set the tomato on the cutting board and lifted the knife.
"So, Hermione," Ginny said coyly from the table, "any plans for the honeymoon?"
An emotion he couldn't define welled up inside Harry, and the sharp edge of the knife glanced off the tomato and sliced his finger.
With a loud swear, Harry spun around to the sink and ran his hand under the cold water. Drops of his blood dripped at the drain, crimson against chrome.
"Harry! What is it, what happened?" exclaimed Hermione, close to a shriek, visibly alarmed. She had jumped to her feet as soon as she heard him curse, and both Harry and Ginny raised their eyebrows at her extreme reaction. She had even drawn her wand.
"Just cut myself," he muttered, the pain ebbing away. Ginny gave a quick 'You okay?' shoulder touch to Hermione before sidling up to him, a smoothly cheerful look on her face.
"You're gonna give Hermione a heart attack if you don't stop being such a spaz," she teased, nudging him with her knee, and cut the rest of his tomato for him.
Hermione laughed uncomfortably and stammered, "Oh, I-I'm just jumpy, it's stupid, don't worry."
The emotion Harry was feeling at the mention of their honeymoon left almost as soon as it came, and he idly dried his hands as he watched Hermione return to her seat, shaking and breathing just a little too hard.
"Is it really six already?" Ginny suddenly asked, glaring at the clock. "Damn, I have to go. I promised Mum I'd help with Teddy today."
Harry swallowed back a flare of nausea that he always felt whenever his godson's name was mentioned. He still couldn't bear to look at him, little Teddy with his Dad's nose and his Mum's magic, passed off to his old and growing older grandmother. Her tired bones hurting with the strain, always needing and needing help, help that he could not (would not...technically) give.
Harry swore that if he ever saw Lupin and Tonks again, in the beyond or through the veil or wherever the hell all those people he loved went, he would ask them why on earth they would name a fucked up teenage murderer as their kid's godfather. In the middle of a war.
They should've known better than anyone that parents die in wars.
Ginny quickly gave Harry another peck on the lips before heading back to the table.
"Rain-check for now, but don't think I've forgotten about the butt flame dress. I don't give up that easy, Granger."
Hermione laughed, but it didn't sound entirely natural. Her face was devoid of color and the grip on her wand remained bone tight. "Looking forward to seeing you try," she said weakly. Ginny rolled her eyes before turning on the spot and Disapparating with a quiet pop.
The next moment, Harry and Hermione were alone together for the first time in over a month.
The air felt too thick. Sweat prickled his scalp, and Harry, suddenly seized with thirst, retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. The sound of water hitting glass was deafening.
"I suppose I should go too," Hermione murmured, fiddling with the magazines.
"If you want to," Harry said vaguely. His constricted windpipe was making it difficult for him to speak, so he downed his glass in one go. It didn't help much.
"It's funny..." she went on, which inexplicably irritated Harry beyond belief. He tried to calm himself, to remember that this was his friend, his best friend, who he shouldn't be cold towards no matter what.
"I've never really cared about this kind of stuff. Didn't even give it a second thought. I deemed it all as quite frivolous, actually." Hermione smiled wanly, as if remembering someone else entirely and not just a younger version of herself.
"I suppose the power of true love made you see the light," Harry said icily. He then winced at his pettiness and forced out a smile, all teeth and insincerity, but it only seemed to offend her more.
Hermione exhaled sharply through her nose and squared her shoulders. "It's just nice, Harry. That's all. To care about something good."
"I thought you were leaving," he said, cutting his sandwich in half.
Be. Nice. he told himself. He tried to strain a smile again, chuckle out an apology, but it wasn't happening.
"Why are you being so horrible to me?"
Harry had no idea.
He cut off the crusts.
"You can't possibly be jealous, not after I just watched you tongue down Ginny."
He cut it into fourths.
He knew he was never going to actually eat the damn thing.
"Harry."
"I'm not jealous," he sighed, putting down the knife. And he was telling the truth. Whatever this feeling was, he was fairly certain it wasn't jealousy. On good days, he even liked the idea of his best friends marrying each other. You know...in the abstract.
Unfortunately, Harry didn't have very many good days, these days.
He let his head fall into his hands, propping himself against the counter. He felt rather than heard Hermione step slowly towards him, and when he looked up, he saw that she was close enough to touch. Something stirred inside him, but he pushed down the impulse.
"I'm not jealous," he repeated, defensive, since her eyes were still skeptical. "I just don't like…time passing…or something."
Her face scrunched up and he knew he didn't make any sense. At a loss of what else to do, Harry raised himself up to throw his sandwich away in the trash across the room. She watched him warily.
"I'm sorry that you feel that way," Hermione stated, and it was the worst thing she could have possibly said. Like it was a bloody press release. "I just have to keep moving forward. It's how I deal with things."
"Shagging me wasn't moving forward." Harry spun around to accuse her to her face. "But you did that. Quite a lot."
She looked very small, but she still jutted out her chin in that prideful way that Harry sometimes liked and sometimes didn't. "I did do that. I'm not making excuses for myself. But I'm not the only one to blame here, Harry. That's not fair."
"I'm not trying to blame you," he muttered. "I just...didn't want it to stop. I liked it. Being with you."
That seemed to surprise her. It surprised him, too. They never actually talked about their transgressions — "transgressions" was a good word for it, right? Not too dramatic or descriptive, too vague to pass judgment upon.
Lapses.
Mistakes.
Slip-ups.
Shag-athons.
— They would just occur, as if sleeping with each other was just something that was happening to them rather than something they were actively doing.
Hermione looked down at her feet as a slow blush warmed her cheeks, leaving her flushed and appealing.
Fuck, she was pretty. Small waist, delicate features, golden flax hair, perfect bow-lips. He hadn't really seen it before they had started sleeping together; she was Hermione, after all. Sexless friend and dependable encyclopedia.
That perspective changed rather rapidly after he discovered what it felt like to be inside of her.
"That's —" she stuttered. "That's neither here nor there."
Harry faltered, and then felt a laugh creep out of his throat; it felt sort of strange. "What does that even mean?"
Hermione opened her mouth indignantly, then closed it, puzzled. "I actually don't really know," she admitted, her lips quirking up in a semi-passable smile. "It's just one of those things people say when they don't know what to say. Or they do know what to say, and don't want to say it."
There was a pause that was not altogether unpleasant, until Harry said, somewhat needlessly, "You can stay longer, if you want. I won't make you leave."
Hesitant, Hermione nodded then shuffled back to the table. "Okay. Thanks. I will. Do you...want to help me decide what dress to buy? You know, for..."
"The wedding."
"Yeah..." she flapped a limp wrist in the air and risked another tentative smile. "That little thing."
Harry stepped towards her anyway until he was right at her shoulder; it felt like walking through water. It must have been the same for her, as he could tell she was holding her breath.
"What do you think of this one?" she asked without looking at him, her thumb pressed against the page. The model in the photo twirled girlishly in an opalescent art piece of a dress; a strapless heart-shaped bodice hugged her torso while silver snowflakes encircled the hem. Gleaming pearls had been sewn into the skirts and the veil was bejeweled with magicked icicles that would never melt. She looked beautiful. Happy.
"It's nice," Harry shrugged, staring at Hermione stare at the picture.
She rolled her eyes. "Nice. For 350 Galleons, I should look better than nice."
Harry leaned forward a little and his chest touched her shoulder, not entirely on accident. His heart started beating fast somewhere up in his throat, and after glancing nervously at him, Hermione leaned away.
"Um, so that was just one of Ginny's choices, actually," she said quickly, "I was thinking this plainer one from Billexa's Boutique might look better on me..."
"Can I just...?" he stopped her from moving further away with a soft touch, and ran his fingertips down her shoulder. Pressed against the goosebumps forming on her arm, feather-light and cautious, petting a doe ready to bolt.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and Harry physically felt her gaze rake over his body. As thrilling as it was, it was still always a surprise to have Hermione look at him like that; as a body designed for taking, for giving.
"Can you what?" Hermione said in a tone meant to be sharp but wasn't quite; not moving forward, not moving away.
"I want to touch you," Harry replied simply, low and just a little bit hoarse. His mouth went dry as he watched her breathing become uneven, her tongue dart out to wet her lips. "I want to touch you everywhere."
Hermione made a soft noise at the back of her throat, and the familiar pull towards her was descending on him again.
When he wanted her, it wasn't in the normal, healthy way lovers want to feel a closeness to their loved one's skin, to bask in that intimate and safe feeling, cultivate their mutual care and affection.
No, it was in the way a junkie craves a hit. An ugly, urgent, indecent desire. Not something he particularly wants, but something he needs. Like he'll implode if he doesn't touch her. Gotta have it gotta have it gotta have it.
He's never wanted Ginny like this, wanted anyone like this; so darkly, so uncontrollably. Sometimes it frightens him.
"You... shouldn't," she responded, her eyes shining.
Surprised but pleased that he was not fumbling, Harry stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, and Hermione shivered at his touch as if he was very cold.
"Harry…" she shook her head, a one-two snap, forcing his hand away from her. "I'm not doing this with you anymore, I thought you knew that...that we need to stop, and really contemplate our priorities — "
Her words, the sudden steeliness in her face, made him panic.
"Why did you grab your wand?" Harry asked wildly, off-topic, strange. Anything to derail her sentence, her decree of abstinence.
Because he needed this. How could she not understand that? How could she do this to him? Hermione was supposed to be his friend, supposed to get him, supposed to be there for him, supposed to, supposed to...
So she was not supposed to fuck him, technically.
But if the world did what it was supposed to do, by the simple laws of karmic justice, a whole lot less people would be dead, and this probably would never have happened in the first place.
She blinked; Harry could practically see her head spinning. "What?"
His brain pulsed, a throbbing ache of frustration and consternation. "After I cut myself. You, like, freaked out and drew your wand."
Hermione shifted her gaze at the floor, abashed. Okay. Abashed was better than righteous. "It's nothing, really. It's just that..."
"What?" he pressed, touching her arm again like it was for the conversation alone. But he rubbed circles against her skin with his thumb, counter-clockwise, the same way she liked to be touched between her legs.
Hermione gave an almost testy huff and looked him in the eye again. "Sometimes it's like…I'm still there. Still fighting. Whenever something happens, anything loud or — or sudden, it's like I can't breathe, and I can't think, and... It's been even worse lately." She paused, glanced at his hand on her arm. "I feel like I'm going a little crazy," she ended with a soft chuckle, although her eyes were wet.
"We're all kind of crazy," he responded, his stomach feeling hollow.
Hermione snorted.
"Word of advice for the future, Harry; confirming to crazy people that they're crazy isn't exactly comforting."
"Sorry. I'm not good at this stuff."
Hermione blinked, swallowed; Harry held his breath as her gaze drifted downwards from his eyes...until she was staring at his mouth.
"I just want to be better," she said so quietly it was almost just breath, her eyelids drooping, lips parting.
She was already so close to him, but Harry notched ever closer until his body was a literal hair's breadth away, until he practically molded around her.
He inhaled sharply; Hermione smelled like lavender vanilla and black ink. Poisoned sugar. It intoxicated him, blurred his inhibitions in the way she always, always could.
Harry's hands fell to her waist and he closed the sliver of gap between them.
"Me too," he breathed against her mouth, not even knowing what he was saying; kissing her softly, wanting, pressing, please please please, "Make me better."
He heard her breath catch, hitch, and it was like an electric wire going straight to his dick.
Harry kissed her harder, with more aggression than he had anticipated using, but this had been building and building up; forty-two — no, forty-three days of fucking nothing without her and he was pissed, betrayed, hungry, desperate; he snapped and tugged and bit at her lips, curled his tongue around hers — she tasted like rosewater and salt; Hermione was always two things, always conflicting, sweet and acrid — and her hands tangled in his hair, the scrabble of her nails on his scalp feeling so good; his hands palmed her arse, digging into her, grinding their hips closer and closer until Hermione let out a high, humming noise that made Harry want to explode.
But he pulled away, looked her sternly in the eye and demanded in a voice that came out much stronger than he thought it would, "Take it off."
"What?" she asked, breathing hard.
"You know what."
Her eyes slid to the diamond on her left hand, currently tangled in Harry's hair.
The last time they had slept together, Hermione left her engagement ring on, and it had been a message. That it was over, she was done, she was joining the masses of taken women with babies in their stomachs and a Mrs. plopped in front of their names; which meant no more strange penises anywhere near her body holy with matrimony.
Harry wouldn't even have noticed if the diamond hadn't scraped down his side, leaving a light scar that burned like it came from Ron himself.
Hermione smoothed her hand down his chest, her thumb landing on his right nipple, making him shiver.
She fiddled with the ring, but, infuriatingly, did not remove it.
Then, with her pupils blown, her lips parted, her body pressed against his, she actually had the gall to look up at him and say, "Maybe I don't want to do this."
Harry pulled down the sleeves of her dress, revealing just the peaks of her breasts, round and soft and tempting, and kissed her again.
"Then tell me to stop," his hands curled around her waist and his teeth grazed her neck. "Tell me to stop, and I'll never touch you again."
Hermione, stubborn as shit, stood completely still, gasping and biting back moans as Harry worked her, already knowing the spots that got her weak. He ran his fingertips up and down the insides of her thighs. Softly bit the shell of her ear. Groped her breasts. Lathed his tongue along the tendons of her neck. Back to her thighs.
When he felt her press her hips against his again, Harry decided to up the ante and slipped his hand between her legs, brushed his fingers against the damp lace of her knickers.
She gasped, open-mouthed. He took advantage by kissing her and massaging her tongue with his; she moaned at the intrusion, the way it was wet and eager. Harry pulled her flush against his body, his hand still trapped between them at an almost awkward angle, and pushed her knickers aside to stroke her clit in slow, deliberate circles.
But at the more intimate contact, she broke the kiss. Leaned away from him and his hands.
She was surely trying to kill him.
"I'm...I...This is..." Hermione visibly struggled with the words, uncertain and confused and wanting and hurting, so clearly hurting.
Harry felt the preemptive wave of shame for what he was about to do.
"Hermione," he looked down at his feet, spoke softly. Don't say it man don't say it you're a complete fucking miserable shitbag if you say it, "I just... I'm a wreck. It actually hurts me; do you get that? Not being able to be with you. It's like I can't even breathe. Like I could fall apart any minute. Everything is a mess and I don't even have you to —" he made the mistake of looking up to see that her eyes were filled with tears, she felt so guilty, "t-to...to fix it," he finished pathetically.
He knew he'd win if he said those words. It was practically Hermione's open sesame. She was a natural nurturer, through and through. Needed to care for. To spare him from pain.
Which was why it was such a dirty, underhanded trick.
And he did feel badly about it; really badly.
Not because he was lying, but because in this case, telling the truth wasn't playing fair.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered, resting her palm on his cheek, looking and sounding so loving and compassionate, so worried and devoted to him.
Harry wished she'd stop.
She bit her lip, and it was one of those moments where he couldn't figure out if it was her actively trying to be sexy or if she could just make him this hard on accident. Neither really put him at ease.
Regardless, her eyes dropped to his lips again and she kissed him, let him taste the inside of her mouth again, let him touch her all over like he wanted.
It was a bit of a hollow victory.
Which is still better than a loss.
Because then — oh god yes — then, he felt her hand cup his groin as she fumbled to remove his belt, her eagerness making a surge of pure, consuming want flood his stomach.
He ripped off his shirt and brought his mouth down on her neck, kneading her breast with one hand while twisting her nipple roughly with the other, knowing she liked when it hurt a little. He bit and sucked, worked the flesh with his teeth, wanted to leave a mark on her, to force her to think up a lie to explain it away and think of him while she did.
But she groaned "No marks," like she always did, and Harry obliged, like he always does.
But every time, it takes him longer and longer to stop.
Harry hoisted her by the thighs onto the counter, and she let out a soft exclamation of surprise as her arse smacked against the cold porcelain. He captured the noise with his open mouth against hers and spread her legs apart unceremoniously, briskly, almost rudely. He leaned back to look at her, appreciate the scene for posterity's sake, really, and his mouth actually watered at the dark stain in her knickers, the physical evidence of her desire for him.
Resting his forehead against hers and breathing through his mouth loud and hot, Harry stared down at her body as he grabbed the elastic of her knickers in his fist, pulled...pulled...
She caught his eye and stared back, her hips wiggling with the need for him to touch her but he was still just twisting the fabric of her underwear, drawing it out, letting the tension build, until finally —
It ripped.
His finger slipped inside her folds.
She shuddered.
"Wait, stop," Hermione choked out, stopping him with her palm against his chest.
Confused with lust, Harry stared uncomprehendingly at her as she held her left hand up sideways, slowly pulled off her ring, and then slid it away from herself on the counter.
She looked so unbearably sad, so torn and defeated, it cut through his desire and made him hesitate.
"Hermione... I'm sorry if... Look, we don't have to keep — "
She shoved her hand inside his pants and Harry forgot what he was saying.
He gasped. Flushed with fever, hot then cold then hot again as her fingers grasped and danced over him, up and down and up and down, and then her thumb circled the head of his —
Unable to wait any longer, Harry swatted her hand away and pulled out his cock, clumsily lined himself up with her entrance and pushed into her with a grunt, relished the feeling of her stretching around him.
Bliss. Relief; like jumping into a frosty pool moments before you burnt to a crisp.
Hermione was tight, slick, familiar, and his first instinct was to drive into her, hard, possess her completely so that no other man would ever compare.
But he didn't.
This time, something in him, some part of his brain that wasn't connected to his dick made him pause. He looked into her eyes, trying to ignore the ache in his groin for the moment. He saw confusion in their depths, and something else, maybe. Something more, possibly.
Stilling inside of her, he brought his lips to hers. Softly, just lips, nothing else.
Hermione sighed into the kiss and wrapped her hands around his shoulders, pulled him close, her mouth and hands moving more and more urgently as time passed without him really fucking her.
He could feel the seconds rolling off his back like sand, and imagined that if he never moved again, they could be frozen like this forever.
But Hermione was squirming, huffy, impatient; she pulled back from the kiss, placed her hands on his hips and jerked them towards herself, pressed his dick to the back of her cunt, made him shiver.
"Please," she said, attaching her lips to his again. "You won. I want this."
Harry then smiled but he didn't know why, because he was not really happy, and he was not cheerful, nor pleased, or even smug. He was suddenly... he was...
He was bored, actually.
Disassociating. Like he was watching this all from the outside, a re-run of a show that he didn't particularly like, where the characters didn't seem human.
Hermione didn't feel human, in his arms that did not feel like his. He knew exactly what she was going to do next, and what he would do next, could see it clearly unfold, and it repulsed him. Because if you know the future, which is just the past again and again, there's no reason to do anything. All that yearning, all this heat, only to keep repeating a routine devoid of any substance. No new experiences, no new feelings. Boring boring boring, just like the rest of the world.
And so he did something he did not think he was ever capable of doing with Hermione.
He went slow.
All his muscles tightening with the restraint, Harry rocked into her slowly, felt her walls squeeze around him as her breath came in hot whines. Watched her face. Panting, her mouth was open in a rosy O, while her eyes were fixed on the sight of his cock pumping in and out of her at an almost leisurely pace.
Harry tried to examine his feelings, but he had never been particularly introspective, or poetic, or existential; he'd mostly just reacted to things, all his life. But he tried looking deep inside of himself at that moment, and he saw absolutely nothing.
Sweat that had less to do with pleasure and more to do with scorching panic bled from his temples and back. Frowning and slightly freaked out that he hadn't come back to himself yet, Harry smashed his mouth against Hermione's again and captured her top lip as her fingernails dug into his arms and her moans increased in frequency, became cries and then urgent gasps.
She came sweetly, so sweetly, and clung to him as if she would be blown away without him, as if it wasn't he who was the tornado in the first place.
Sighing, she leaned back against his cupboard, her legs beginning to loosen from around his waist. Harry froze and groaned, close to a growl, with more anger than he would like to admit he had, and she was still pulsing around his dick; her cunt sensitive, already satisfied — as he drove into her again, unexpected, hard, impatient as he chased his orgasm that seemed to be escaping from his grasp.
But he was angry, furious, because usually, this was his favorite part. The climb before the fall. But he was met with familiar, terrifying emptiness.
Being with Hermione was supposed to be his one brief respite from this feeling. The inherent danger of sex with her, the adrenaline, the wrongness; it made him feel so much for just a short while, and he cherished it even though not all of those feelings were good. When most of those feelings were not good.
But if this somehow stopped working, if shagging her didn't fill him up, he really did not know what he might do.
And that was another one of those Bad Thoughts that he routinely shut away.
Harry shook himself and decided that he was stupid to think a slow fuck would be good; this was the only real way to have sex, fast and hard and selfish. The way they had always done it; the right way.
He pounded away at her for a while, the loud smacking of his balls against her pelvis filling the room; sordid and filthy, hypnotic but not enough, nowhere near enough, and he wasn't — this wasn't — Harry slammed into her even harder but it didn't even — goddamn it, Hermione was tightening and moaning again but this wasn't working, he felt nothing, he was empty, he was alone, he was wretched — he would have done or said anything to make this good again because it couldn't stop working, it just couldn't — it was all he had, the only thing he had.
"Do you love me?" he asked, not recognizing his own voice. It sounded too gravelly, too raw. Surely they were not his words; they poured out of him like bile, nothing he could do to stop it.
"What?" she cried breathlessly. "You want — ah! — this — talk — oh, Christ — now?"
"Yes," he grunted, attaching his mouth to her throat. "Tell me."
"I don't know," she cried out, voice strained. "I don't know." Her words were punctuated with moans, drowned out by the sounds of their sex. Harry took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down; it made her press against him for more.
"Say it anyway," he implored, desperation in his voice. "Say it anyway, please."
He kissed her neck wetly, letting his tongue form slick paths down the delicate skin, left behind a ghost of another bite. She didn't say anything for a few moments, and Harry was scared to look at her.
"I love you," she finally gasped. "I love you."
Click.
Like magic.
Harry was certain he was melting. His body spasmed as the pleasure hit him with full force, his hips jerking recklessly, moaning, smearing words of affection he probably did not mean against her feverishly hot skin.
Harry wanted to consume her, devour her. He fought for control that was quickly slipping away and knotted her hair in his fist. Groaning, trembling, feeling like all of his nerves were sizzling, he lifted his hips so that he was completely out of her and then slammed back inside, alternating between burning hot and trembling cold to the sound of her pleasure.
He literally felt explosive. Nuclear.
"Say it again," Harry begged, groaning and panting against her neck, slick with sweat.
"I love you," she moaned louder, in time with his thrusts. "Harry, Harry, I love you, I love you, I love you…" He kissed her, wild and open-mouthed, and her words tasted like they were true. He fucked her faster, hearing something that sounded like a dish shatter against the floor next to him but he didn't care. Nothing mattered except getting as close to Hermione as their bodies would allow. The whole house could collapse around them, they could be under siege, the whole world could end and he wouldn't have even looked up.
He was helpless to her, helpless and hopeless and falling, falling, hearing nothing but the lewd sounds of flesh against wet flesh and Hermione's words that made him finally feel something besides the cloying numbness that had become his life.
"You feel so good," he said, close to a sob. "Hermione. It's so good..." And it was. Her eyes were shrouded with lust, and she was as frantic as he was; gripping him and clutching at his flesh and swirling her tongue around his and fuck. The sensations were white hot burning pleasure that made him want to shatter, combust.
"I love you, I love you so much. Oh God, keep going," her voice broke at the end, a perfect sound. Harry thrust into her brutally hard, moaning as he did, his fingers gripping her thighs for purchase. The walls of her cunt clenched around him again and she let her head fall back, moaning shamelessly, fingers curling into her hair, then around her own breast. The sight of it was too much and Harry came with a shout, toppling into oblivion.
Release; perfect, awful, brilliant. As close to feeling like he was dying as he's gotten without actually doing so. He wasn't quiet about it and neither was she; his cock weeped for her, inside her. Harry's breath came in shallow and shuddering and he saw nothing but stars behind his lids but kept going, if only to feel her convulse around him for a little while longer.
Whimpering, Hermione's grip on him grew looser and looser as she rode out the remaining moments of her climax, until her arms were by her sides again, and she went silent. Still needing to be closer, Harry buried his face in her neck and held her tighter, breathed her in, almost wracked with disbelief as he felt himself soften inside of her. It was the best orgasm of his entire life.
And then she was shoving him off of her.
"Off," she said quietly. Light-headed and hazy from his release, Harry didn't move, didn't want to part from her. "Off me, get off of me!" she cried, a couple of angry tears dripping down her face. "You selfish, boorish, arse!" A sharp pain hit Harry's chest as she pushed him with all the force she could muster.
"What is it?" he couldn't think straight. His cum was oozing out of her body, and the sight of that always kind of shocked and mesmerized him; the surprise that Hermione was capable of something so dirty.
"That's all you do, isn't it? You just take and take without any reciprocation, and completely disregard any consequences!" She got off the counter and tried to fix her torn dress, her face splotchy and hair twined in knots."'Say it anyway'? Damn it, Harry! Why would you ask me to say that? What good does that do us?"
Harry stuttered, fixing his own clothes, shoving himself back inside his pants painfully. "I don't — I don't know, I was just — just — caught up and — You weren't exactly complaining!"
Hermione glared at him. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to ask that of me." She sniveled, wiped snot and tears from her face. "This is stupid. Childish. I know you have...unresolved issues, Harry, but you can't just keep dragging me down with you."
Anger and disbelief made Harry gape at her, want to shake her by the shoulders. "Dragging you down — Are you having a laugh? Really, are you? Because I can't believe you're actually trying to play the victim. Don't forget who started all this. 'Cause it wasn't me."
Her mouth dropped open and then closed, her retort dying in her throat, tears freezing before they fell. Harry felt a smug satisfaction mingled with heady guilt. He knew what her reaction would be before he even said those words. They never discussed that night, the first night she came to him, because it was so charged with raw pain it was simply unbearable to reminisce over.
"Harry," she sputtered, bushy hair sticking to her face from her tears. "Harry, I think I'm dying."
Harry stared at her, uncomprehending, his own eyes bloodshot and heavy. Four days had passed since the Battle, and he hadn't had even one single minute of sleep. He felt more dead than alive at this point; the sights and sounds of the world blurred around him in the way only insomnia can blur them.
"What are you talking about?"
Hermione crumpled against him, and he half-carried her over to his couch.
She climbed onto him, clinging to his neck, and Harry stiffened, uncomfortable. She was never this touchy with him.
Her eyes were huge as they seemed to stare straight through him. "I just feel like I'm...like I'm dying, you see," Hermione gasped out, in a way that made it clear she was very intent on appealing reasonably, on laying out a logical argument for what she was saying. "Or...or maybe dead? Or we're dead. We must be dead. I-I can't breathe, I just, I can't get a breath. So I must be dead. I saw you dead, I saw you dead! We're all dead. Ron must be dead…" she rambled on, her hysteria upticking the longer she talked.
Evidently, Hermione was not sleeping either.
Harry shook her lightly, brought his hands to her face to look at him. She was still crying. He kind of wished he could cry, wished he were capable, but he reckoned that if he hadn't yet he probably was never going to.
After the Battle, some people, like Hermione, took to bouts of sobbing and anguish. Others, like Harry, numbed out, had their emotions flip off. Both had their pros and their cons.
He wished he had just stayed at the Burrow with everyone else, for the only reason he was alone at Grimmauld Place was because he was getting desperate in his search for sleep, and thought that maybe he needed to be in total solitude to pull it off.
It backfired tremendously, like most of his plans. He was too freaked out to even shut his eyes for more than a few seconds.
"Hermione," he said, taking a long, blinking look at her. God, he was tired. Far too tired to deal with this. He longed for Ron to be there, so he could pass her off, his girlfriend his problem; but then Harry felt guilty that he was being so tactless, and tried to connect.
"Go back to the Burrow. Everything's fine. I'm alive. You're alive. We're okay."
She looked up at him, suddenly silent. It scared Harry. "No, we're not," she said in hushed tones, the world's most poorly kept secret.
They were both completely still. Harry wanted to be grateful that she at least stopped crying, but to be honest, this was even worse.
Then, without speaking, Hermione started to undo his pants, and he didn't get it, didn't understand, didn't know what she was doing. He was so tired, he was so tired.
"...Hermione?"
She shook her head sharply, twice. "I don't want to talk. Don't make me talk."
And when she touched him for the first time — their first time and his very, very first time — he found he did not want to talk either.
His sleep-deprived mind started throwing out hypotheses: Maybe Ron and her split up, maybe they had some kind of agreement, maybe this was a dream, maybe, maybe...
Maybe at that point, he didn't really give a damn.
Hermione took off her clothes and Harry let her, clinically observing her naked body. She took off his clothes and Harry let her, although he wasn't sure if she was even looking at him at all. She clambered onto his lap and sank down on him, rode him with her hands on his chest while pretending she wasn't crying and Harry…
Harry let her.
When they had finished, and Hermione left, he slept for 24 hours straight.
"You should go," he muttered.
Hermione had softened now, probably from recalling the memory of their first night together. But her eyes were still sharp on him, her tone domineering. "No, we should talk this out. Tell me why you're acting so —"
"Just go, Hermione." Harry interrupted, quiet but steely. There was something strange weighing down on his chest, and he needed her gone so he could figure out what it was. "I just... I don't want to see you right now."
She went quiet for a while, completely still. And then with a furious "Fine," Hermione returned to the table and started to shove her wedding magazines, cover-models glittering and giggling, into her bag. She gave a great sniff, which made Harry even stiffer and more uncomfortable, in the way tears always did.
He felt like he should comfort her, maybe, but then remembered he was supposed to be the upset one in this argument.
Wait, was this an argument?
Who had won?
How can you figure out who had won, if both sides were doing wrong? Completely, completely wrong.
At a loss of what else to do, Harry helped stack the magazines neatly and handed them to her without a word. She glanced up at him, face red with the effort of restraining herself from either shouting at him or crying at him, and grudgingly accepted his help.
But before she Disapparated, he took one of her hands in his. Her engagement ring was somehow back on.
"I do love you, you know," he said softly, looking at their hands instead of her eyes. "I know it's not really…not really in the right way, like in the way Ron...but I do."
Hermione didn't smile. He wasn't sure why he had expected her to.
"Yeah, I know. I know exactly how you feel about me."
He let go of her hand and she was immediately gone.
A/N: Okay, so! I've actually revised this chapter, because going back and reading it was embarrassing, and I think it's much better now. I wanted to change a few things (like if I could go back in time I probably wouldn't have had them have sex in this chapter at all) but too many people have already read it and it would have changed the story too much, so...anyway, you don't care haha, but thanks for reading and I would love to hear your thoughts in the review box!
