Chapter 11

It took him a long time to break the surface of consciousness. Mostly because he didn't want to, his head was pounding and his mouth was dry. Sleep was much more pleasant.

But eventually the blinding light piercing through the skin of his eyelids made it impossible to resist any longer. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to figure out why his bed smelled so differently than it usually did, even as memories of the previous night began to pervade his brain.

Quodpot. Dancing. Drinking. Way too much drinking.

He chuckled very quietly to himself (his head really hurt) at those memories. Hermione was a cute drunk, and a surprisingly fun one too. As much as he loved her she was usually so regimented. He'd never seen her unfettered like that before, and he wished he remembered it better. However, even his vague memories told him that he'd been even worse off than she had been.

He turned his face into his pillow and breathed in her scent. She'd welcomed his intoxicated arse into her home and even arranged a comfortable bed for him. The least he could do in return was make them breakfast. Knowing Hermione, she didn't drink heavily often enough to keep hangover potions on hand, and he didn't know the location of the nearest apothecary, even if he had been confident of his ability to get himself there feeling the way that he did. He could, at least, make them a thoroughly unhealthy meal to mop up the leftover alcohol.

But he didn't want to get up quite yet. He listened for any sign of movement in the flat- Hermione had always been much more of a morning person that he was- but he heard nothing. So he closed his eyes, allowing himself a few more minutes to just relax and hopefully get rid of this blinding headache.

Harry tried to remember the last time he had as much fun as he'd had the night before. It had been carefree and natural, he hadn't been worried about maintaining his so-called image, or about the trustworthiness of the people around him. It had just been enjoyable, and he wanted to do it again.

He considered that further; it was definitely possible, in fact he could arrange it. Labor Day was coming up in a few weeks. MACUSA would be running on a skeleton crew, and given his visiting position he was guaranteed holidays off. Hermione was senior enough that he knew she wouldn't be required to be put on call in case of emergency either.

Maybe they could go away somewhere for the weekend. Hermione had done a lot of traveling since she'd arrived in America and knowing her, she had at least a dozen places she was itching to show him. That could be fun, to allow her to lead him around for a weekend; most women might consider that an imposition, but he knew she would relish the opportunity.

Then again, perhaps he could convince her to do something relaxing, like go lay on a beach somewhere. Or maybe they could get a group together, share a house. He'd heard good things about the Hamptons. On second thought, Hermione on a beach sounded like something he'd like to enjoy on his own.

And as that thought punctuated his consciousness he sat up so fast he actually groaned aloud at the pounding it caused in his head.

Had he just been considering taking Hermione away for the weekend? Just the two of them? Like some kind of romantic holiday?

Yes.

And more than that, he wanted it badly.

Freefall, that's what it felt like, not on a broomstick, but on a roller coaster: elation with a matching dose of terror. Because unlike when he was setting his own pace on a broom, he had no control over the roller coaster. And he had no control over whatever was happening to him now.

Did he have feelings for Hermione? Well of course he did. But of the romantic sort?

He got a little thrill even consciously thinking it. And he suspected this was not a new development.

But Ginny. He felt nothing but guilt when he thought of her. Guilt that he hadn't thought of her before, and maybe a little bit of longing over what he'd believed their relationship to be, which now just felt like a dream he'd awoken from, only to realize it wasn't real.

He took his phone out of his pocket and examined the call log. He hadn't spoken to his fiancée in two days. But it wasn't as if either of them were making much of an effort. Which was actually a terrible commentary on their relationship now that he was thinking about it.

He knew he should quit this assignment, go home, and make things work with the woman he'd been in relationship with for half a decade, the one he'd made promises to, and asked to spend the rest of her life with him. It was the right thing to do.

But his heart twisted in his chest at the very idea. Because it meant that he would have to leave Hermione, probably permanently, and he would definitely have to distance himself from her emotionally. Anything less would be unfair to Ginny.

And he knew immediately that he couldn't do it. He couldn't commit himself to Ginny. Because in the end it didn't matter if he was actually in love with Hermione, he could figure that out later. But he couldn't marry a woman when he felt this strongly for another. Ginny- any woman he chose to marry- should be the most important thing in his life, and he'd demonstrated over and over that Ginny wasn't. He'd come to America against her express wishes, and he'd done so in large part because he missed Hermione.

There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Hermione.

Fuck.

And the real irony was that the one thing he wanted in the world more than anything else right now was to go wake Hermione and pick her beautiful brain about this. In fact, he'd like to crawl in bed with her, pull her into his arms all warm and bleary eyed-

Oh fucking hell.

He had to leave right now, he couldn't see her, he was in danger of doing something very stupid if he did. These burgeoning- or perhaps just newly realized feelings- were threatening to overwhelm him. And she deserved better than that. Ginny deserved better than that. Hell, he deserved better than that.

He rose as quietly as possible in his hungover state. He considered setting Hermione's sofa to rights, but then decided she might not thank him for it later. He couldn't quite remember what it had looked like originally, and as he wasn't the one to have transfigured it in the first place a simple 'finite' wouldn't suffice. Then he searched for pen and paper to leave a note, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as he went through her desk, he didn't want to inadvertently invade her privacy.

What he left Hermione by way of explanation felt utterly inadequate. He said simply that he had to return home for a few days to complete some business. However, he also didn't think that it would have been right to say more. The least he owed Ginny was to let her know his intentions first. That he was- all the gods help him- breaking off not just their engagement, but their entire relationship.

And Hermione would give him the benefit of the doubt that whatever he was doing was important, she had always thought the best of him, even when she'd been infuriated with him. It was something he'd spent his life trying to live up to- which was extremely telling, now that he thought about it.

He left the note on his pillow and slipped quietly out the door. Only when he was safely ensconced in a cab did he breathe a sigh of relief. No, not relief, his heart ached; both at the idea of leaving Hermione behind and of what he had to tell Ginny once he arrived back home, but of acceptance that he was doing what was right.

When he reached his hotel he bypassed his floor and went straight up to Malfoy's penthouse. He would have to let his partner know he was leaving the country, he might as well get it over with.

He was unsurprised when it was Draco and not Astoria who answered the door. They had been well trained to be suspicious, and he doubted Malfoy had been expecting visitors. And for all his faults the man was incredibly protective of his wife.

"Potter," he greeted and then he visibly hesitated and looked him up and down. "Fuck," he murmured under his breath.

"What?" Harry asked. He didn't think he looked that bad.

"Fuck" he repeated, "Just, seriously, Granger? What were you thinking?"

Harry felt his entire body go rigid and rage flooded his system. He pushed the other man into his own suite and got right in his face. "Don't you ever speak about her like that again!"

Malfoy's eyes went wide and he held up his hands. "Okay, I know Granger is a...touchy subject with you, so I'm going to let this go and keep my wand holstered, but what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You just implied that she's not worthy of me because she's a muggleborn! I thought you were past that!"

"What? That's not what I meant at all," he spat. "And, actually, fuck you Potter, when was the last time you heard me say anything even remotely anti-muggleborn? And you can't tell me I've been anything other than totally respectful to Hermione, hell I like her, and Tori thinks she practically the second coming of Merlin."

"Then why did you look so disgusted by the idea of us together?"

"Because you're engaged, Potter, to the daughter of a prominent family. And even if you weren't, I know enough about Granger to know that she's not the kind of witch who will accept being used as some one night thing and it was wrong of you to take advantage of the fact that she's clearly crazy about you."

"Take advantage of her, what are you talking about?" He squinted at the man he often trusted with his life, but was making no sense to him at the moment. "And you think she's crazy about me?"

"You slept with her when she was drunk and vulnerable. Hell, I almost feel like I need to duel you for her honor or something. Seriously, what were you thinking!"

"What, we didn't sleep together! I would never treat Hermione so callously, why would you think that?"

"You went home with her, and you show up here wearing the same clothes you had on last night. What do you expect me to think happened?"

"I slept on her couch- her transfigured couch, but the point stands! I would never treat Hermione like that! If we ever make love it will me exactly that-" he cut himself off and took a deep breath.

"Oh, so you've figured it out," Malfoy murmured, almost to himself.

Harry pretended he hadn't heard him. "I came here to tell you that I need to go home for a few days and so, I'm sorry, but I need for you to cover for me at work."

"Okay," Malfoy nodded, "I hope you're doing what I think you're doing, but I'm not asking, and I don't want you to tell me."

Despite his own grim mood Harry almost laughed. Of course Malfoy would want plausible deniability about what Harry was up to, that was exactly like him. "I just wanted you to know I'd be gone for a few days," Harry explained.

"Okay Potter, but it better only be a few days, I can't be left here, holding the bag."

Harry paused and looked the other man in the eyes, a man who'd worked hard to carve out a career for himself despite the doubts of so many back home, as well the derision of nearly the entire British auror department. "Just a few days, I swear." He turned and started to stride away before calling over his shoulder: "Give my best to your wife, tell her I fully intend to keep our lunch date, but I may need to postpone it."

"Damn straight, Potter!" Malfoy called after him, "disappointing Astoria is where I draw the bloody line!"