Whether it was someone, or someones that wanted the tent scene, here you go. I'm absolutely blown away by the love for this fic. As of this moment, I'm pretty sure it will be longer than 15 chapters as I tend to get suuuuper wordy. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and will let me know what you think. Reading your thoughts just makes my entire day. I think I'll be writing this ship for a while. :)
I wasn't planning to update so soon but your feedback makes it impossible not to.
Thank you again to Alexandra O to beta reading this fic. And thank you to MykEsprit for her seal of Harmony approval.
Hermione had sobbed, trembling fingers covering her mouth as she tried to sleep. The tent was large - thanks to magic - but it was not large enough to escape Harry. Not that he wanted her to. He'd tried to slide an arm around her shoulders, to console her, to whisper that Ron was a lot of things, really, he could go down a list at the moment, but he wasn't worth the tears. How many things had they been through over the years?
The stone, the chamber, Sirius, the tournament...was this all it took to push him too far? All it was was roundabout jealousy, ill-placed and ill-timed.
Harry sat on the far side of the tent, his hand clenched into fists. He was pretty sure he could track the redhead down easily enough, jab his wand into his throat, and force an apology from him. Though if he did, there was no guaranteeing the locket clasped around his neck wouldn't lead him to more drastic measures.
He shook his head in a weak attempt to force the violent thoughts from his mind. It wasn't what she would want, not at all. Whenever this ended - it would end Harry told himself - Hermione would probably break down and handle it herself. The thought of Ron being attacked by canaries was a pleasant thought, but —
She was slumped to the ground, her knees buckled beneath her as she dry heaved. He could hear her mutterings from where he sat, soft, weak. "It's my fault." she would whisper, pulling the edge of the tent back before peering out.
Harry liked to think he had seen enough in his short life to be desensitized to heartbreak. Thanks to the scar on his forehead, he knew his mum died screaming. He could hear it sometimes when Voldemort tried to rattle around inside his thoughts, the sound of Lily Potter fighting.
Watching Hermione close in on herself was too much. He should be honest, should say that whenever it came to his female best friend, he could only think of how to brighten her mood.
Harry flipped his wand in between his fingers, his breathing shallow as he glanced down at the locket. Heavily nestled against the thick fabric of his jumper, he wondered absently what it would take to simply vanish.
"It's the locket," she called, his voice thick with tears and her eyes bloodshot. "I think we both know that you would never leave."
He hadn't realized he'd spoken. "Did I say anything else?" Harry rasped, leaning forward and climbing to his feet. A grimace twisted his lips as she turned away from him.
Hermione shook her head. "Of course you could have. I was...too preoccupied to notice." She rubbed her eyes, a stray eyelash landing on the tip of her nose.
He reached down lazily, capturing it between his thumb and index finger. Harry held it out, balancing the thin dark lash against the pad of his finger. "Make a wish."
Hermione snorted, taking his other hand and climbing to her feet. "Harry, doesn't that seem silly? My only wish is for this war to end."
He shook his head, fingers trailing along her forearm. "Be selfish for a moment," Harry whispered, holding his finger up again.
She looked down at it, biting her bottom lip. "I couldn't—"
Harry nodded, coaxing her. "You can, 'Mione. Just make a wish."
Hermione sighed, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned forward. Within the same moment, the lash was blown from his finger, drifting to the floor. "Are you happy now?" Hermione huffed.
"Not until you tell me what you wished for,." he replied.
Whiskey coloured eyes shot open, and she chewed her bottom lip again. A bad habit, but one that enraptured him nonetheless. "What?"
Harry smirked, tucking his wand into his back pocket. "If you don't tell what you wished for, how did you expect me to make it come true?"
"I —" she spluttered before she caved. "I'd like to forget about what just happened. I don't want to think about this war, or how I might be killed if I step beyond the wards."
At the time, the request to make her forget didn't sound like a bad idea.
He'd never been fond of touch, not when he was conditioned by the Dursleys' to believe it meant a punishment was coming. Still, he pulled her into him anyway, stroking her spine and listening to her breathing hitch in his ear. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Hermione collapsed against him. He thought it might have been the only time she let anyone do anything for her. Harry knelt down, holding her steadfast against him while he awkwardly attempted to console her.
"Oh, Harry," she murmured. "What if he's hurt? What if he's killed because we didn't go after him?"
It was just like to her to be worried about others before herself. "He's alright." Of course, he didn't know that, but at the moment - and yes it made him a terrible best mate - he didn't fucking care.
Luckily she didn't call him on it. "How could he think that?" Hermione murmured.
Harry knew what she meant. How could Ron believe the two of them were anything but best friends? It could have something to do with the fact that the image of Hermione and himself that Ron saw had more tension than Ron and Hermione had ever had. But he couldn't say that.
He wanted to make her forget.
It led to slow dancing with her even though he decidedly couldn't dance. She grinned ear to ear when he twirled her, insisting that he let her do the same. Nevermind the semantics that he was a head taller than her and then some. It made her happy.
It felt right.
Gradually, bit by bit, he found himself enjoying being pressed against her. He wasn't daft; he knew Hermione was a woman, puberty having hit them long ago. Knowing she had breasts and feeling them were two entirely different things. She giggled, had he said that out loud? Fuck.
And so round they went, quite literally as they danced around their makeshift home. Until -
"- We can't," she murmured, her lips a breath away from his.
"We could," Harry replied, his hand smoothing down her back. She arched a little against him, her lips parting. He watched her blink, her eyes slowly dilate as she peered up at him. "I'm just saying,"
"You've already made me happier, Harry. You don't need to snog me to take my mind off of things." Hermione tilted her head to the side, waiting for his response.
"And if it's to make me happy?"
Her eyes widened. Swallowing hard, Hermione's fingers trailed along the nape of his neck. "I wouldn't be opposed, but your friendship with Ron - I wouldn't want to ruin that either."
She would tell him he had too much of a one-track-mind later when they remembered how he'd shrugged.
"I don't want you to be not opposed, Hermione. If you don't want it, I would never hold it against you."
Hermione kissed him first, and it was a fact that later she would dwell over. It led to his fingers slipping into her hair and backing her toward the bed he normally slept in. He wasn't planning to shag her.
She mewled when her back met the mattress. It was a small, uncomfortable bed. At first, it was just his fingers sliding up her sides, then against her skin as her jumper slid up her sides.
"You're hesitating," she whispered, the pressure tickling his lips. "Don't do that." Hermione shrugged out of her top, all confidence without fear. Hermione hooked her leg around his hip and rolled on top of him.
She was draped over his chest. Harry frowned when her fingers fumbled with the chain around his neck. "Take it off," she coaxed, "You'll wonder later if you really wanted this or if it was the horcrux."
His lips parted for a reply.
"And I want you fully here with me for this."
Harry let her pull it over his head, and it fell to the floor with a hard thud. He only asked the once, "You're sure?"
Hermione didn't say much after that, not beyond variations of "Merlin," or "oh, Harry," and he learned it was possible to get drunk on things other than booze.
It was well into the evening, or early morning hours when Hermione woke. When he'd floo'd into her flat, they hadn't talked about the fact that sixty days were all that they had before they needed to wed. Hermione didn't want to talk about it, not immediately. Then there had been Kingsley's patronus bounding across her living room, alerting Harry to a situation within Diagon Alley.
Apparently, the world wasn't responding so well to the news.
Harry floo'd back into her flat once the situation was in hand. He didn't offer the details of the brawl in Diagon Alley, and she didn't ask. She assumed individuals had been fined already, likely due to the pairings that she still hadn't heard since she hadn't left her flat.
She invited him to sleep on the sofa, and they would discuss everything in the morning. It was the plan, but Hermione stirred half past two, and this was how she ended up waking him in the middle of the night while he laid on her sofa.
"Harry!" Hermione shook him by the shoulders, feeling her cheeks heat up as he moaned in his sleep. "Harry Potter, wake up!"
He didn't move. Well, he did, but not in the way she expected. Rather his hips moved upwards as if he was moving against another.
Hermione gave up. Grabbing the edge of the blanket, she yanked hard.
He tumbled onto the floor, arm flying out and his wrist slamming against the end table with a loud crack. "Fuck," Harry winced, rubbing the back of his head. "I was having a good dream."
She bristled, knowing just what the dream had been. "I'm well aware of what you were dreaming." Hermione placed her hands on her hips before leaning down to turn his wrist over in her hand. Not broken.
At least he had the good graces to act sheepish, his cheeks reddening. "You do? Erm-why?"
Hermione tried to prevent her smirk, really, but her efforts failed. She clicked her tongue, an odd sense of triumph washing over her. "You moaned my name."
His mouth fell open and then snapped shut. "Shit, 'Mione, I'm sorry."
She shook her head, taking a seat. "No need to apologize. At least I know you're still attracted to me. Considering this law—"
"You thought I wasn't attracted to you anymore?" Harry croaked, crawling up to the couch and laying down. His head rested in her lap, her fingers softly sliding through the strands.
Nervously, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "How was I to know? You never...listen, it was years ago."
He snorted, reaching up and tracing the outline of her jaw. "Sure, it was years ago — yes, I'm still very much attracted to you."
Hermione nodded, shifting in place and tucking her legs beneath her. Still playing with his hair, her nails softly moving against his scalp, she nodded again, as if she'd forgotten she already had. "Well, that's perfect then. Mutual attraction is a large part of any relationship."
"Hermione, it's just me here. Why are you talking to me like I'm a stranger?"
She chewed her bottom lip. "You have to marry me now because of this law."
Harry sat up, pulling her to nestle into his side. "I don't have to do anything."
She rolled her eyes, leaning forward to grab the blanket from the floor and pull it over them. "Is this where you tell me," sarcasm dripped from her tone, "you've harbored secret feelings for me since the night we spent together?"
"My gods, you are a bit daft, aren't you?"
Her nose wrinkled. "Do you have any idea who you're speaking to? I'll have you know that I'm called the Brightest Witch of My Age and it's not for nothing." Hermione grinned.
"You loathe being called that. Moving on, yes. I realize I was with Ginny, but you were with Ron. I thought you were happy and I wouldn't have wanted to ruin that."
She laid her head on his shoulder. "I never asked you why things ended with Ginny. Since we're—"
"Going to be married?" He finished with a grin. "She knew, she figured it out pretty quickly after the first memorial of the final battle."
Hermione shivered as a cold draft rolled through her flat. "Was she angry? She was never upset with me."
Harry shook his head, pulling the collar of her jumper to cover her collarbone. "Ginny acknowledged pretty quickly that we weren't going to be happy for an extended amount of time. Then you walked in wearing that dress that clung to you. She laughed in my ear before she told me that I was already a lost cause."
Her brain fizzled. She could have commented on his former girlfriend's statement, it was the most shocking. "You remember the dress?"
His chest rumbled with laughter. "That dress caused me the need to wank."
Brown eyes widened, and she giggled. "Harry!" she admonished. "That's...did you really?"
Harry chuckled. "Not at the event, of course, but later. You can't be surprised that I remember the dress when I remember everything about you." Scarlet dusted her cheeks as she tugged the blanket over her head. Only Harry followed her, leaning his forehead against hers. "Don't hide away," he breathed.
"We should talk about the law," she whispered, fingers gripping the front of his uniform. "This is going to wrinkle."
He shrugged, earning him a swat. "Which part do we talk about? The fact that every time I've looked at you for the last few years, I've wondered why you weren't with me? Or the fact that in sixty days you'll, hopefully, be Mrs Potter?"
Hermione squeaked, both hands flying up to tuck rampant curls behind her ear. "I mean," she caught her breath, "you could be Mr Granger."
He howled with laughter, his forehead knocking against hers, their noses smashing together. His laughter died. "I really want to kiss you." Harry murmured, reaching up to cup her face in his hand.
"I'll let you kiss me - it would be hard to avoid given the semantics of marriage, and —"
Harry pressed his lips to hers, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck. Pulling away, and ignoring the way her hands reached for him, he said softly "Do you know how much time I could have saved while we were still in Hogwarts if I had done that?"
Her pale pink lips formed a pretty 'o' before she reached behind her. "Harry," she cautioned, grinning ear to ear. "I think you should run now." Hermione hit him with the pillow previously tucked behind her back.
He arched an eyebrow, a red mark forming on his cheek at the friction. "If anything, you should be the one running."
Her voice died in her throat when he sprung off the couch, tearing through her flat. Left confused, there was a door shutting behind her and then a hoard of transfigured pillows that knocked her from the couch.
It was a good night.
In the morning, she stretched across the pillows on the floor. Her hair was knotted, a side effect of having a pillow fight in the middle of the night. Lazily, Hermione reached across the blankets to feel if Harry had stayed.
He had. She cracked one eye open, her heartbeat quickening as she took in the sight of him. "Before you start about my lack of clothes—" Harry began.
She laughed, propping her head up, mirroring his image. "I can't say I'm complaining," Hermione openly teased and her blush was worth the way his face lit up. "But yes, explain."
"It was hot," he replied, reaching behind him to pull his glasses from the sofa. "Bollocks," Harry muttered, letting the broken pieces fall to the blankets below them.
"You could have changed the temperature. It's a simple charm." she rolled her eyes, laying back to the mat they'd made. "What time do you need to make it into the Auror Department by?"
"Oh," he waved the subject off. "I'm taking a personal day. The minister is happy to approve them as he assumes we're planning to woo our matches."
Sunlight trickled in through the window, cutting in a line across his chest. Hermione leaned forward, fixing his glasses with little more than a movement of her hand and her brow furrowing. "Oh? Is that what you're planning to do then?"
He smirked. "What?"
"Don't be coy, Harry," she muttered, sitting up, crossing her legs and sliding his glasses back onto his face. "Fine," Hermione grumbled as he pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. "Are you planning to woo me?"
"Depends, do you need to go in today?" Harry replied, standing and pulling her up. "I was thinking I would make breakfast. You can have a lie in if you'd rather actually. I didn't think of that before." He scratched the back of his head, padding over the tile flooring of her kitchen and putting the kettle on first.
He tensed when she slid her arms around his waist from behind. "Is this what I have to look forward to all day if I don't go in? Don't be fooled; I still have a meeting for werewolf rights, but it should only take a few hours. After that, I'm all yours."
She didn't have to see his face to know his reaction. "When is the meeting?"
"Mid-morning?"
"Then we have time for breakfast and a snog, don't we? Only after you brush your teeth of course, but — fuck, that hurt, 'Mione!" Harry yelped when she pinched his nipple.
Hermione spun on her heel, checking her breath where he couldn't see and tossed a reply over her shoulder. "Good."
