Title: Maybe, You Think
Summary: Set some time before the Final Battle, Harry and Hermione find a unique way of coping with the stresses of the War. However, Hermione's desires lead to the discovery of something unexpected about Harry.
Pairing: Harry/Hermione. Yeah, I know…
Rating: M for language and subject matter. Nothing very explicit actually takes place, but I suppose it's still a lemon, nonetheless.
Warning: Uh, let's see…Full-frontal snogging, nudity, and implied molestation/rape. If you're either not the age of consent (of wherever it is you live,) or disprove of and/or are disturbed by the subject, please leave. I don't want to read comments from your mothers or flames about the content.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Nothing is mine, except the words. But the plot, characters, and universe in which this takes place belong to the lovely and talented Ms. J. K. Rowling. Please don't sue me, I'm a poor college student; you'll get nothing but my college loans.
Now, on with the Story!
It began innocently enough you tell yourself. Just two friends reassuring each other that the world was not in fact going to end just then; that somehow you could keep that inevitability from occurring by kissing him and touching him and bringing him to the brink and back when no one was looking.
You remember the day this all started, not because it was the day he first kissed you in a dark corridor or because you were left feeling giddy and excited and guilty at the same time. No, you remember that day because of the rain and how he was dripping wet when you meet him in that corridor, both on your way back to the common room, you from the a completely unsuccessful library visit and him from a particularly grueling training session. You remember that day because of the way he said your name, soft and fragile, almost as if he was afraid he might break it, ruin its perfection.
You remember that day as if it was a dream. As if everything that happened after that day was a dream as well.
The water droplets falling from his fringe onto your cheeks…the sound of his wet trainers as he walks toward you…the flash of lightening that you just barely see out of the corner of your eye as he leans in…
It's the little things that remind you him and that rainy day in November, but it's the rain on the bathroom window that leaves you in limbo, trapped between the past and the present. Maybe it's the war tearing apart your world but all you can think about is him and the future you cannot help but feel is never going to be.
It's Easter and you're spending it at Grimmauld Place, rather than at Hogwarts, because as saddening as it is to admit, Hogwarts just isn't safe anymore. And besides, Harry asked, and would have begged, both you and Ron to stay at Headquarters, where, you think to yourself with a small smile, Harry could fool himself into believing you would be safe.
Harry. The sound is almost foreign to your ears, despite the fact that you say that name almost every minute of every day, and you think it twice as much. The tears falling down your cheeks mirror the raindrops on the window pane as you force yourself to control your emotions; now is not the time to be feeling sorry for yourself. Harry found the sixth Horcrux and you can almost feel the celebration going on floors below you.
But you couldn't bring yourself to join in on the happiness because you know that with every Horcrux Harry discovers and destroys brings the final, fatal battle closer. And you can't face the thought of losing him. So you congratulated Harry and quickly ran upstairs to your favorite bathroom, the one place you can be alone because no one dares to follow.
Except Harry. Harry always dares when it comes to you.
You should be surprised when you hear the knock on the door and seconds later his voice coming from behind it, but you aren't. Instead you open the door without a word and let him in. You stand in the middle of the bathroom, unwilling to look him in the eye, afraid to see something other than concern etched on his face.
He wraps you in his arms and asks you what's wrong, and before you can convince yourself not to tell him, you realize you already are. You can't seem to keep anything from him and you don't want to know what that means. But you can't think about it anyways because without you even knowing it, he's brought your lips together in a needy and demanding kiss. You feel your knees grow weak and your cheeks flush as the temperature in the room and in your bodies rise.
You relax now that you're in familiar territory. There's nothing new to what you are doing; you've been doing it for months now in empty classrooms and dark corridors. You've been kissing him since that day in November, kissing and nothing more as you've both been too busy and too hesitant to do anything else.
It's not that you don't want to do more with Harry, far from it to be truthful. You completely trust Harry with every aspect of you life, including this. No, you realize with a shock of acceptance, you would do anything with Harry. For Harry.
But you haven't. Because Harry refuses to do anything more, to let you give this to him. You've tried, Merlin knows you have, but Harry is stubborn and unwavering. After so many months of Harry's rejections you begin to wonder if perhaps it isn't that Harry doesn't want to have sex; no, Harry just doesn't want to have sex with you.
That's your greatest fear, aside from losing Harry to the war; to lose Harry because he's grown tried of you. And yet every time you and Harry share a clandestine meeting of lips and hands you dare to hope for more. That perhaps this time will be the time.
Today is no exception because already you can feel that hope rising in your chest like a loaf of bread rises in an oven. Maybe, you think to yourself, maybe.
It's that hope swelling within you that makes you bold and daring and far more Gryffindor that you actually feel as you pull at his shirt tails tucked into his still-too-big trousers. Once they're free, you let your hands roam over his back, immersing your senses in the feel of his skin against your palms.
His lips have moved from your mouth to the sensitive patch of skin at the base of your neck. You moan, his ministrations only fueling your desire to touch him, to let all your skin press against his.
Your hands have moved to his front as you desperately unbutton his shirt. You are surprised that he's let you get this far; he usually stops you and tells you that you don't want to do that with him. No, he says every time, you want your first time to be with someone you love. And every time you want to argue with him that you want him to be your first, but your protests are always stopped by that hollow and broken look in his eyes.
But this time is different and, for whatever reason you cannot seem to understand, Harry is letting you go farther than ever before and you're not going to let the past stop you. Instead you push forward, remove his shirt, and kiss your way down his chest. You feel him shiver as you place fluttering kisses on his hot skin and the thought that you have elicited such a reaction out of him only emboldens you.
Your hands leave his chest and you pull off your jumper, needing to feel your skin against his. You both moan as your bodies meet and instantly Harry's hands are on your back, trying and failing to unhook your bra. You take pity on the both of you, reach back to the clasp, and with practiced ease remove the garment. You sigh a contented little sigh as finally your chest meets his with nothing in between.
He kisses you firmly and far more passionately than you're used to from him to as he takes your left breast into his hand. You moan as his rubs his thumb against your nipple and you press yourself harder against his body.
Maybe, you dare to hope, maybe.
Your hand reaches his trousers and you can feel his arousal pressed against your thigh. As you begin to unbutton his trousers you can feel his hands working on the zipper of you skirt. The hope you felt earlier has been replaced by arousal, and as both his trousers and your skirt fall to the floor, your arousal is mixed with nervous anticipation.
Left only in your knickers, Harry's hands return to you face and he kisses you again, this time softly, tenderly, as if he knows that you are nervous, perhaps because he feels the same. You just now realize that his hands are shaking slightly against your cheek, and the meaning behind that you don't dare to think about.
His lips leave yours, and before you can even whimper at its loss, he's kissing your forehead, softly and gently as if soothing as crying child. You sigh and lean into his body, wishing that you could stay there in his arms forever.
He asks you if you're sure about this and all you can do is kiss him because you're not completely sure about this anymore. You want this, yes, but maybe he was right to wait. Maybe you weren't ready for this. But you've waited so long that even if this ruins everything you two share, it would be worth it, because you need this.
Harry needs this.
The kiss seemed to be all Harry needed because now you feel his hands on your knickers as he slides them down your hips. You follow his lead and do the same with his boxers, which you have a bit of trouble with as your not used to there being anything to hinder your path down your hips.
You can't help but stare when you finally see him, naked and erect; not because it's the first penis you've seen, because it is, but because it's Harry. For the first time in your life you cannot comprehend what you are seeing in front of you. Your mind is screaming at you that you shouldn't be looking at Harry's penis, of all things, but the rest of your body tells you that you can look at it and that you should do more than just look.
When finally you tear your eyes away from it, you catch Harry in the eye, and instantly wish you hadn't. He's taken off his glasses and for some reason the sight of him without them is far too intimate for your liking; he looks too vulnerable and completely not the Harry know and love without them.
Again he asks you if you're ready, and for some reason you feel like he's not really asking you, but rather himself.
Maybe, you think with some emotion you cannot place, maybe.
You look away, worrying your bottom lip, and when you finally muster up the courage to answer him, to tell him that you are ready, you see it. That hollow, broken look that has haunted you since that day in November when you first saw it in that dark corridor. The look in his eyes that completely contorts his face into something you cannot explain.
Something that makes you want to hold him close to you and run away at the same time.
But as soon as you see that look, it's gone, replaced with concern and passion and desire. The change leaves you feeling a bit wobbly inside, unsteady on your feet and unsure of your actions.
Maybe, you second guess yourself, maybe.
Harry kisses you tenderly on the lips and takes your hand, bringing you to the shower you hadn't noticed him turn on. The water is hotter than you're accustomed to, but it doesn't even come close to the temperature of your body as Harry press against you under the showerhead. He brings his hands to your face and kisses you hungrily, his tongue battling yours for dominance.
You had forgotten that his hands had been trembling, and now the shaking has magnified into a distracting frenzy. You cover his hands with yours in an attempt to still them, but it doesn't help. Now you can feel his tremors through your hands and arms, and the feeling stops somewhere near your navel.
You break away from the kiss, staring him straight in the eyes. The look returns for a split second, so fleeting that you might be able to fool yourself into thinking you've imagined it. But you know you haven't. Something is there, something you don't understand and it's the fact that you can't solve this mystery that makes you bubble with twin passions, from your loins and from your brain, meeting at and mixing in your heart, leaving you torn. Torn between two desires. One to give yourself to Harry and the other to understand Harry.
Maybe, you think, maybe they're the same thing.
You give into the heat of your desires and push Harry against the shower wall, needing to solve this enigma in front of you. The need has you so consumed with desire that you don't see when that look comes back to Harry's eyes, deeper and more fearful than ever before.
You kiss him squarely, not noticing that Harry hasn't responded, and roam your hands over the length of his body. His skin is hot under your fingers, demanding you to continue.
You move mouth to his throat, and as you kiss his Adam's apple, you hear him sputter incoherently. But this doesn't stop you from, without asking for Harry's permission, moving your hands slowly to his penis and fondling it lightly, lovingly.
You hear Harry gasp and feel him freeze under your touch. Confused, you look up to ask what you've done wrong and retreat from what you see. Harry is crying silently with his eyes shut tightly. You let go of him and step back, unbelieving and fearful.
Terrified for reasons you cannot fathom, you ask Harry what's wrong. And like a dam that has cracked, Harry crumbles. He slides to the shower floor, brings his knees to his chest, and, rocking softly, sobs.
Stunned, all you do is stare at the boy in front of you. You feel like your world is crashing down around you. Harry, you say to yourself over and over in you mind like a mantra, Harry.
You don't trust your senses anymore. And then something snaps within you. Harry, this is Harry crying in front of you! You kneel down in front of him and ask him again what's wrong. And like last time the only response you receive is his anguished sobbing.
You feel like pulling out your hair in frustration, tears falling down your cheeks. What is wrong? Why did he react like this when you touched—
And then it hits you. The look. The look that had always frightened you and made something inside your very being recoil. It only appeared whenever you pushed Harry into doing something more than just kissing. Like when you pushed him against the wall and touched—
"Who was it, Harry?" you ask, not really caring to know who was the cause of this blubbering mess of a boy in front of you, but needing to know all the same. Needing to know if your suspicions are correct.
Harry's rocking becomes almost violent and he mumbles something into his knees. You don't quite hear what he said, so you reach out to him, praying it doesn't frighten him even more. Placing both hands on his cheeks lightly, but reassuringly, you meet his eyes with yours. "Who was it, Harry? Please tell me."
He shakes his head between your hands and moans, "I—I can't!"
Something in the way Harry says it keeps you from feeling angry. This isn't another one of Harry's secrets. This isn't something he's keeping from you to keep you safe. No, this is something different. Something worse.
"Why can't you tell me, Harry?" You don't mean the question to come out so demanding, but you have to know.
He looks you in the eye, and you try not flinch, as he says, "I can't remember!"
You have to look away from him. This cannot possible be happening! You're too shocked to understand. You never thought that that would be the reason. Never, never in your wildest nightmares.
You hear him as he begins to sob again in earnest. Taking him in your arms, you still his rocking and whisper reassuring nonsense into his ear.
Maybe, you think as you hold him, your tears mirror the falling rain, maybe Harry needs this more.
Author's Note: Hmm. Well. There it is volks. Hope you enjoyed it. I know, I know; Harry/Hermione is not Canon, but I still think they're a lovely couple. I've always seen Harry with Hermione as an adult, outside of Hogwarts; there's still a chance, but I seriously doubt this couple will come to be in Cannon. Sigh
I feel a bit adulterous. I should have been doing so many other things than writing this, but hey, my muse wouldn't let me go. Stupid Muse, I have auditions to prepare for! And a very messy room to clean before heading off to school. I didn't mean this to come out so hurt/comfort-y at the end, but I also didn't intend this to be so much about Harry's Big Secret. No, this was supposed to be a happy little one-short. Aw, well; this works, too.
On the Subject of Reviews: All are welcome, even flames. However, if you feel the undeniable need to flame my work, please provide a reason for why you are flaming me. At least then I can learn my mistakes and you can't be accused of being ignorant—so really, it's a win-win situation for both parties.
Hmm. Anyone interested in being a beta? I could use one. Contact me if you'd like to take a stab at it.