A/N: Do not own the characters etc etc you know the drill :P
Can I just say that Deathly Hallows Part Two was freakig too amazing for words omfg alskjdflkdsjdlkjasdfkj?
So of course, I had to write this. My love for this ship will never die.
There are things he shouldn't say. There are things he shouldn't think of. There are things he shouldn't do.
He's been taught this ever since he was left on the Dursley's doorstep all those years ago.
He never learns.
It's strange how quickly things fall back into place after the war.
Hogwarts is suddenly up and running, all spic and span.
It's as if the castle wasn't reduced to rubble, as if the blood had never splattered.
The school calendar filled with memorials and funeral dates is what gives it away.
What's not so strange is how Harry can't seem to fall back into place himself.
How could he?
Right now he's deciding on which escape route is the best at one of the many parties that has been thrown in his honour this past year. All of his old school mates are present, cheering him on and enjoying the life that they were fighting so hard to cling on to.
He dodges Ginny's pointed gaze towards the dance floor and declines Ron's invitation for shots of Firewhisky with Seamus and suddenly it feels like Gryffindor common room all over again after a Quidditch game, when all he really wanted to do was pass out on his bed.
He glimpses the familiar brown (not-so) bushy hair whip out of the back door leading out to the acres and acres of backyard.
He follows, of course (his first mistake) and is surprised at the distance his best friend has already put between them, her small, slim figure darting out into the night.
He's also as agile (or even more so, he'd like to think) and catches up to her easily.
The first thing he notices is the strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder (he starts to think of things that a best friend shouldn't), the half empty bottle of plain old Muggle vodka she's grasping in her left hand (she must have brought that to the party herself) and finally the smile that her ruby red lips form, the smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
The entire image is a stark contrast to the perfect, book worm, rule abiding Hermione Granger everyone knows. This girl is dark. This girl is broken.
This girl is what he needs now and has always needed.
They end up lounging on the grass, staring up into the starry night and passing the bottle back and forth between them.
"Did you know that you would've died that night you said you'll go with me?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you say it?"
He turns his head, his eyes falling onto the milky white skin of her shoulder; the dress strap is still hanging loosely.
"I said it because… I chose to," she answers softly, and reaches for the bottle.
A blush creeps along her neck as she drinks; indicating that she is aware of his heated gaze.
So she chose to die with him, he muses.
He decides he wants the drink back.
Their fingers brush as he grabs the bottle and he puts it down slowly, realizing that he hasn't held her hand like this since the day after the final battle.
Now the hand holding duties have long since been given to his other best friend. As it should be, as it should always be.
"I miss them, Harry."
She lets go of his hand and the bottle and starts picking at the grass beside her. He sits up a little straighter and shifts a little closer.
"But what hurts is the fact that they can't even miss me," she chokes out, like she's been bottling it up all this time.
This is Hermione, of course. It's what she does.
She's more than books and cleverness, she's friendship and bravery. She's strength and selflessness. She's everything he's ever loved.
So he doesn't know why he does it, he doesn't know what possesses him to do it, all he knows is that this would probably fuck things up even more and he couldn't care less.
He kisses her.
And it's not just a soft or chaste kiss between two friends that have drank a little too much.
He gives his all, his pain and anguish, his lust and love. He kisses her like he should have done that night they tried to dance the pain away and she kisses him back with as much force.
He has one hand cupping her face and the other at her waist, pulling her into him. She's clings onto him tightly, fingers tugging at his already naturally dishevelled hair.
He drags her down as he stretches out on the grass; she straddles him, a roll of her hips brings out a strangled groan from his throat.
They break apart for air, hearts pounding and lips swollen.
"We'll find them, Hermione. We'll set things right."
I'll go with you.
She nods and a strand of hair falls out of place, tickling his cheek. He brushes it away and tucks it behind her ear. The moonlight gives her outline an added glow.
"Mrs Weasley keeps talking about weddings," she says blankly.
He stares up at her, her eyes are round and her breathing uneven.
"Ron keeps moaning about how expensive rings are." he says and feels her nails digging into his shoulders.
"What do you think?" she asks.
"I guess we'll be one big happy family then."
"I guess so."
She rests her head on his chest and he relaxes a little.
They stay like this for a while, listening to the low rumble of music in the distance.
"You okay?" he murmurs into her hair.
"Never better," she sighs.
His shirt feels damp with tears.