A/N: Originally posted on HPFF 5/26/15
The August air was thick with silence as the two young men sat on the edge of the pier, their legs hanging idly over the edge, scarcely casting a reflection in the murky water below. Faint echoes came from the end of the pier as trunks were hauled aboard the modest boat which lay in eager wait for the journey ahead.
Harry kept his attention fixed forward on the more subdued scene of gently lapping waves flowing past him. Even on such a quiet day, the sea rumbled with immutable life as the gentle blues and greens of the water waged their small wars against the brighter hues, the colors swirling here and trailing off there, but always remaining unalterably themselves.
Beside him, Ron sat in patient silence, his attention only occasionally drawn down the pier at Neville and Seamus' contagious laughter as they prepared for their journey. Always his head turned back away quickly, focusing himself back in on the presence of his closest friend.
"Mum missed you last night," he said at length. Harry did not break his gaze, but nodded in acknowledgment. "She kept trying to get me to pack things for you. Sounds like I'm not the only one who hasn't accepted that you're not coming with us."
Harry shook his head. "I can't."
Ron smiled understandingly, dutifully masking the questions that never got answers. "I did think about waiting until next year. You know, so Hermione could go." He looked over his shoulder at his jubilant peers, "But she pushed me. She said it would be good for us to get away."
The flow of the tide below seemed to become more powerful as Harry's avoidance of his friend's gaze grew more deliberate.
"Have you seen Hermione?"
The silence that answered Ron's question told him nothing he didn't already know. "She had hoped you'd be at the going away party."
"I'll go see her," Harry allowed.
"Good," Ron asserted. "Because I won't be here to keep you two out of trouble. Who knows what mischief Hermione will get into at Hogwarts without our guidance." Harry grinned obligingly at his friends jest.
"It's not too late to come with us," Ron suggested in feeble hope, climbing to his feet. As Harry stood, the flowing waves of the sea that reflected in his glasses shifted abruptly to the billowing clouds of the sky.
"Be safe," Harry said, embracing his friend.
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Ron shrugged the hug off, "But I'll be seeing you before we leave in the morning, right?"
Harry did not commit.
Ron sighed, "Well, at least go see Hermione. Promise?"
"I'll go right there. Do I need to get her to send you an owl to prove it?"
"Of course not. I just don't want to leave you totally alone."
The men parted company silently soon after. Harry briefly considered his other friends down by the boat. Their work for the day was done, and they stood enthusiastically at the bow, posed as if already on their journey. With an apologetic grimace at Ron, he instead turned and disapparated on the spot.
A moment later Harry was in an entirely different world, and he scarcely stopped to take it all in before he began his solitary march down the paved sidewalk towards Hermione's flat.
The wind whipped at Harry's cheeks, the salty smell of the sea from moments ago completely gone. Here there was none of the ambiguity of the ocean water, as man-made structures now dominated the road, nature's constructed beauties flourishingly only within the tidy squares allotted to them.
Ivy grew permissibly along the row of fences Harry passed by, rebelling against the invading structures, yet complicit in the docile domesticity of the neat row of homes. Harry turned in through the last low gate, allowing it to creak indifferently shut behind him.
As he tread up the stoned path towards the door, Harry's breath drew increasingly controlled, matching the unnaturally even rhythm of his footsteps. He reached the door and his feet and breath stopped together. A rap of his knuckles on the door, and there was nothing left to do but be still and wait.
As the door opened Harry was struck by the scent of lilacs. He had forgotten that smell, and how it had a strange way of permeating everything about this house. As he stepped over the threshold, it was once again like stepping again into another world, this time one where everything was sweet and gentle and never too harsh.
"Harry," Hermione said warmly as she closed the door behind them.
Harry couldn't help but smile at her greeting, the tender way his tired name flowed from her affectionate lips. "Hello, Hermione," he said, attempting to return the warmth.
"I wasn't expecting you - let me make you some tea."
Harry sat obediently on the cushioned chair beside the window as Hermione ducked into the kitchenette, raising her voice conversationally as she did so. "The boys' going away party was lovely. Good to see so many old faces."
Harry nodded, a response that he realized was lost on the woman in the next room. "I just came from seeing Ron off," he piped up.
"Oh?" Hermione responded with interest, prompting him on.
"He seems excited. I think he tries not to show it, but he'll have a good time without us."
Hermione reappeared in the doorway, a ceramic mug held delicately between her hands. She crossed to Harry, offering the tea out to him. His eyes were caught by the gentle wisps of steam dancing off the surface of the gently rippling liquid. In the playful sunlight that crept through the window, Hermione's hair echoed the spirit of those dancing wisps.
Accepting the mug, Harry brought it up to his mouth, not yet tasting the scalding hot liquid, but breathing in the warm scent, allowing it to fill him up.
"What about you?" he asked, his eyes darting to his companion's face over the rim of the mug, "How will you do without him?"
Hermione laughed softly as she sat in the chair beside him, "I do wish people would stop acting like we're inseparable. Ron and I are friends, just as we've always been. We both agreed it would be a mistake to rush into anything more right now."
Harry accepted her words, but kept his eyes averted as if she was not his to look at. In the silence Hermione twisted her thumbs in the stretched ends of her sleeves. She was wearing one of Molly's handmade sweaters, worn with years of use. It clung to her shoulders, hanging loosely in soft familiarity, yet the snagged yarn seemed to prickle outwards like thorns.
"Have your been sleeping?" Her words came from nowhere.
He shrugged, "As well as ever."
Hermione's brow furrowed in concern. "Not more nightmares?"
"Not exactly," he sipped the cooling tea, buying time between words. "It's just hard to adjust to peace and quiet, after... everything."
The understanding in Hermione's face flowed from her fingers as she placed a gently reassuring hand on Harry's arm, warming his skin with pressure through the isolating layers of his cloak.
He raised his eyes unintentionally, taking in all of her. His breath caught in his throat as he faced her in the light of the setting sun, caught in one of those occasional moments of surprise of wonder at his friend.
He had never directly thought of her as attractive, and even now she was not his idea of beautiful. But there was more to it than that. She was positively radiant, and it had little to do with physical beauty. There had always been more to Hermione than met the eye, and now Harry's entranced eyes couldn't resist its saturation. Everything about her face was undeniably her own. The curve of her lips boasted her quick tongue. In the gentle curve of her chin he saw the constant frame of her smile, always compassionate. Her narrow eyes suggested a sharpness of wit that he had never seen paralleled. In her unboasting form he saw unexpected power fired by the passion that drove her. And she held her fingers with constant ease, prepared to take on any challenge with confident flexibility. He did not have to see traditional signs of beauty in her features, for in every one of them he saw her. She was absolutely stunning.
Coming to himself, Harry quickly cast his eyes away, but not before he caught the echo of fascination in his partner's face.
The pair sat in humble silence, unable to hide from the thoughts that glowed in their eyes.
"I'm glad Ron's going," Harry whispered at last. "It's harder with him around. To see how easy it's been for him to move on, while I..."
The corners of Hermione's eyes twisted with pity, "He's recovering in his own way, from his own troubles. You can't compare yourself to anyone else. Your trials are you own to heal from."
"Heal." Harry distantly repeated the strange word, his throat tightening up as he attempted to utter the simple syllable.
"That's right, Harry." She said reassuringly, "I know it's not easy -"
"It's bloody impossible," Harry swore with such startling assertion that it seemed to still the room.
Hermione instinctively held her breath until the fists Harry didn't realize he'd clenched had released themselves. "That's right," she whispered, reaching a reassuring hand out to sooth his agitated one. "That's a start."
Her fingers felt strange against his, too warm and too soft, gently passing over his knuckles in a comforting rhythm. It was an automatic movement, learned over years of instinctual nurturing, yet the smooth contact captivated Harry, his breathing slowing to match the flow of her fingers.
"A start," Harry repeated weakly in disbelief. "The truth is... I have no idea how to start. Everyone's moving on, time's doing no favors. But I don't know how. Or even why."
"Why?" Hermione asked, her fingers pausing, suspended a breath away from his hand.
"Why. You know, what the point is. What to work towards," he confessed.
"Let's start here Harry." There was nothing automatic in her gesture now, as she firmly wrapped her hand around his shoulder, each finger making its own delicate impression as she looked straight at him, her eyes filled with unguarded emotion. "And grow old."
Harry's eyes widened as he looked deep into her face. This was not just compassion, not the instinctive comforting of a friend. As always, there was more to Hermione. Her eyes seemed to glow, her face to radiate, growing with the wonder that he saw in her, growing closer as her breathing deepened, drawing her closer into him.
His insides felt raw and chaffed, his own breath seeming to come from his very depths. There was nothing in his body but a great expanse filled with air, flowing in and out through his wavering lips.
"Please," was all that he had to whisper, and she was upon him in a gentle rush. She seemed to flow right out of her own chair into his open arms, her gleaming eyes the only thing he had to hold to keep her from falling.
Their gazes penetrated each other, binding them together in calm wonder as their breath rushed to catch up with the rate of their heartbeats.
Hermione's hand slid down the length of Harry's sleeve, her gentle touch now charged with electric anticipation as fabric turned to flesh and skin touched skin. Her fingers slid under the shelter of his cloak and began to slide up is forearm, darting effortlessly between the thin hairs that stood on end and the soft skin that tingled to her touch.
Their faces were within inches of each other, but still had not touched, holding back from that boundary they had never yet crossed. Even without direct contact the proximity was dizzying as they breathed in each other's breath with intoxicating desire.
Harry ran his hand up Hermione's back, caught between the urge to focus on every distinctive landmark and to discover what was next. His fingers caught up with the tips of her hair, and ran upwards through them, snagging and catching small tangles as he went. He enjoyed the flow of her hair between his fingers and the gentle resistance it provided, leading him all the way to the nape of her neck.
As the hairs thinned and melted into flesh, Hermione let out a gentle gasp at his touch. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the response he had elicited. He expanded his hand behind her head, allowing his three fingers to stretch upward along her scalp as his thumb gently massaged the rise of her neck and his pinky ventured daringly towards her earlobe.
"Oh, Harry," she moaned, biting her lip, her chest heaving up and down.
He wasn't going to make her beg. With one last steadying breath of air Harry shut his eyes and closed the final distance that remained between their lips.
The feel of her was overpowering sweet oblivion. She was everywhere - beneath his fingers, against his heart, within his mouth. The empty expanse within him filled with fire as she filled him up. Her passion flowed into him through his mouth and he couldn't get enough of it, every inch of his skin yearning for her.
He tugged timidly at the neck of her sweater, a question that she answered with a strong pull at his own robes, clenched tightly in her fist. Their lips separated as they pulled back, their eyes darting between each other's eyes and their fingers working on the clasps of each others' clothing, the last barriers that kept the apart.
They had never seen each other so bare and vulnerable, and yet it seemed totally natural. They stood in breathless awe of each other before they were inevitably drawn back together.
Hermione's skin was still cool against his own growing heat, but Harry could feel the pleasure of glowing fire sparking beneath his touch. His hands could not stop moving as they travelled the smooth landscape of her body, caressing each curve large and small.
It was addictive to feel her react to him, the way her skin twitched as he awoke it to new sensations and the way she moaned as he found just the right way to touch the perfect spot.
He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, experimenting in ecstatic playfulness as she quivered beneath his touch. His hands made parallel journeys down the sides of her body, caressing her arms, cupping her breasts, clutching her thighs.
His mouth followed on these daring journeys, competing with them to overwhelm her senses. With each new region his lips and tongue reacted differently to the texture and shape of her body. He fell smoothly to his knees, his hands planted firmly around each of her thighs, as he tuned into the commands of her heaving breath and buckling knees, pleasuring her as they commanded.
Everything was Hermione. He was breathing in lilac, breathing in her. She was so alive, warm and wet to his touch.
Her moans grew to a fevered pitch as she grabbed desperately at his hair, clinging to it with a desperate plea. A plea for more, a plea for him. Nobody had asked him for a thing for months, and he couldn't imagine anything he would more willingly give.
Hermione lowered her hand to cup his face and pulled him back to his feet, her fingernails digging lightly into the side of his neck. Harry kissed everything that came within reach as he travelled upwards, but nothing more enthusiastically that her eager mouth which welcomed him with jubilant gratitude.
Their bodies fervently entwined, the pair staggered backward towards the bedroom, turning this way and that, a cyclone of frenzied limbs. The sun had set and Harry stumbled in the unfamiliar territory, but did not hesitate as they reached the soft comfort of Hermione's bed.
All tension released as he lowered himself onto the bed over Hermione, her face glowing with pleasure, her flesh salty with sweat. The bed creaked beneath their joint weight, but all that Harry could hear was the tempered breathing of the woman in his arms.
As their hips worked in tandem, Harry sucked on the base of her neck, unable to get enough of her. Her skin felt hot beneath his touch, tasted tart on his tongue. He grabbed at her hands, wrapping their fingers together. Every part of them was connected, and together they were approaching euphoria. Harry gasped with ecstasy as he felt himself overcome with the burning power that was Hermione. He was here, he was with her, he was on fire.
He could see her face contorting with her own agonizing pleasure as she came beneath him, her body contracting in passionate ecstasy. He thought that she would cry out, but each moan and grunt of pleasure was a private gift, breathed straight into his ears.
As their bodies finally eased into blissful calm, Harry kissed her again as he pulled out of her and rolled over to her side. Neither of them said a word, not out of discomfort, but in the knowledge that everything they could say had already been expressed.
Hermione lay beneath his arm, breathing with the easy depth of satisfaction as she basked in total relaxation. Harry absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair, allowing its curls to twist around his fingers of their own accord. The intersecting lines and curves of her body were highlighted by the moonlight, becoming in its presenation of her.
In the narrow mirror that sat across the room, Harry observed that the moonlight was less flattering on him. He felt alive after his impassioned encounter, but the man he saw reflected back at him only looked tired.
The angle of the light cast harsh shadows against his face, and even from the distance he could see the lines that were prematurely coming in around his eyes. From this distance he could see no color in those eyes, only their tired drooping. His hair was as unruly as ever, but instead of pointing in haphazard directions, it seemed to lay in dry indifference.
Let's grow old, Hermione had said.
He had let go of growing old months ago when he had chosen to walk to his death, surrendering his body for those he loved. He had suffered then at the thought of the life he was letting go of, but now that he had it again he didn't know how to deal with the years ahead of him.
He explored his reflection, searching for a familiar semblance of his father. In this reflection, in this place, he could not find it. Harry couldn't remember the last time anyone had told him he looked like either of his parents. He was still younger than they had been when they died, but time and trial were already wearing on Harry's appearance, separating him from his most fundamental physical connection to the family he had lost.
He turned back to the woman at his side, sleeping in peaceful oblivion. Even asleep she dazzled him. He leaned over and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead, lingering in tender devotion before pulling away with compunction.
"You're beautiful," Harry whispered, saying aloud the words that had never consciously passed through his mind, but which were undeniably true.
When Hermione awoke, Harry was already far away, walking down a familiar pier.
His steps echoed on the wooden planks as the gentle froth floated on the lulling waves. He could see the three young men on the boat, preparing to set sail. Harry's attention was fixed on Ron, unmistakable from a distance beneath his spark of red hair.
"Harry!" Ron called out in surprise as he noticed his friend. "I'd given up thinking that I'd see you before -" Harry cut him off, his words irrelevant in light of Harry's decision.
"I'll go with you."