AN: Yes, yes, I know, it was a little long between updates, I'm sorry... This chapter was carefully crafted and written over the course of a full week, so it should be worth the wait... Summer is fast approaching and that's when I'll basically die of stress and an overloaded schedule... so here's hoping this wraps up before then...
Chapter 29
The Cure
It was unbelievable how fast time went by when you weren't paying attention to it. The finicky temperament of March had steadily slipped into the warm days and cool nights of April and suddenly, spring was upon the castle in full force. Harry, Hermione and Neville had now been present at Hogwarts as teachers for nearly two months, and Harry was still having to pinch himself every so often to make sure that he wasn't dreaming – he really was the official, permanent, full-time Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher and Head of Gryffindor House.
Neville was doing spectacularly well, and Harry really thought that Professor Sprout might have to curse her way back into her position once she was cured. Every so often Harry looked back on the nervous and blundering boy Neville had been ten years ago; the change that he had undergone growing up and after Voldemort was defeated had made Neville almost unrecognizable. He stood tall, he walked with confidence, and he spoke with assurance. Even if Neville didn't end up staying at Hogwarts, Harry was sure that this experience would be the capstone for rounding out Neville's character.
Hermione had chatted with him a few times about her harsh grading practices since he'd talked to her about his O.W.L. consultations. It had been very eye opening for her, clearly, because she seemed to be making great improvement with her courses and her overall approval among the students was increasing. Harry had checked in with one or two of the students who'd specifically mentioned her tough grades and they'd affirmed that things were looking up in their Charms course.
In retrospect, he had realized that his talk with Hermione about her grading criteria might have been overstepping his bounds – though he was Head of Gryffindor House, he had no power to tell other teachers what to do – but after her initial bristling reaction, she had appeared glad that he'd said what he did. After all, he'd been talking to her as a friend, not as a fellow teacher.
He caught himself occasionally hoping selfishly that the cure for the super virus continued to be evasive. While he felt badly for Maelyss's death and for the families of everyone affected by those still in St. Mungo's, he knew that once they found a cure, Hermione would be gone from Hogwarts. What bothered him the most was that she didn't seem all that distressed by this – at least not as much as he was.
Twice, he had casually tried to get her to agree to just move some of her things into his room. She was spending more and more nights with him – three to four in every week, now – but she still insisted on returning to her room early in the morning before she'd risk being seen.
"Harry, what if someone sees me leaving your room morning after morning, ready for the day? People will talk…" she'd said, the last time he'd tried it.
"So what if they do?" he'd countered. "We're two consenting adults. What, do you think they'll try to ban us from being in each other's room?"
"It can't be looked upon highly for teachers to be in a relationship with each other…" she'd said.
Harry had raised his eyebrows when she'd said it.
"A relationship?" he'd repeated. "Are we in a 'relationship'?"
He hadn't meant for it to sound so callous and harsh. He really hadn't. It was supposed to be more incredulous than anything – that she would put such a label on their time together.
Regardless, she had blushed and corrected herself.
"You know what I mean. A sexual relationship. I mean, really, what would McGonagall say? If she knew?"
"Probably that she'd seen it coming since we were in school together," Harry laughed. "It wouldn't be the first time I'd heard it said."
She'd smiled in spite of herself.
"Still," she'd said. "It's… it's unprofessional, and some might say it's unhealthy."
And so, he'd let it go. They remained, for all intents and outward appearances, just friends. The "unprofessional" comment he understood, to a point. Consenting adults though they might be, he could only imagine the drama that would ensue if the students found out that the Charms professor was sleeping with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
"Unhealthy" had been a little harder to swallow. Granted, she did only say "some" might find it unhealthy, but really, what was unhealthy about consistent sex with the same person when you both agreed to the arrangement? It's not like they were sleeping around with multiple people or purposely deceiving each other.
That conversation – it had happened about a week ago – still rang in his head every night. It stung a little, knowing that she didn't feel the sort of attachment to him that he did to her. (Or if she did, she didn't show it.) He knew she was still a little sore over Ron – he couldn't blame her at all – and it upset him that he couldn't help her forget.
To be honest, he wasn't even positive what exactly this attachment to Hermione was. Before, it was easy to assume that he simply didn't want to lose the company of his best friend. Now that sex was in the mix… well, that complicated things. As their sexual encounters became more frequent, they also became more passionate. They were deeper, more connected, with more feeling. And that much he knew she did feel. She was definitely aware of the slight change in the sex, because she'd said so just last night.
She'd lain on top of him, panting and clutching at his chest after they'd finished together while she rode him, and she'd breathed out the question that had shocked him into oblivion.
"Harry… I think… did we… Did we just… make love?"
He'd repeated it in his head a few times before answering her. He'd only referred to their sexual encounters as "making love" out loud once – and that had been on Christmas Eve, after he'd kissed her, and he'd asked her to "make love" to him. Inwardly, to be sure, he'd used the term, but to hear it said aloud, by Hermione, when she'd been so careful to maintain a platonic front over these last few weeks… It rang through his head like a cannonball.
"I think that's what it's called," he'd replied cheekily. He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't bear to take it seriously, to risk exposing himself when he was so unsure of how she really felt…
"No, I mean… you know. Really made love." She blushed, then went on. "It was just… so passionate. So deep. It felt… different."
His heart pounded in his chest as he looked into her eyes.
"Well," he'd answered carefully, "yes, I… I guess you could say that… I felt it, too," he'd admitted.
"Who knew," she'd said, smiling. "Two people making love, who aren't in love."
He'd cautiously smiled back, still unsure how to take it.
"You'll let me know, won't you?" she asked. "If you ever realize you have feelings for me?"
He blinked up at her and regarded her cheeky smile cautiously. Surely she was only asking in jest. It wasn't like she had secretly closeted her feelings for him and was hoping he would admit it right then. That was a horribly primary-schoolish thing to do, and very unlike Hermione.
"You got it," he'd replied. "You'll be the first to know."
And she'd leaned down and kissed him lightly, giggled, and then rolled off of him and gone to sleep.
So now he lay there, the following night, missing having her next to him, and wondered… what would she say if he told her the truth? For the longer he thought about it, the longer he let the thought marinate in his head, the longer he dissected every ounce of his feelings over the last ten years… the more sure he was that he was madly, deeply, and irreversibly in love with Hermione.
"Professor Granger!"
She looked up from her desk to see none other than Daniel Goldstein standing there while the rest of his class filtered out of the room behind him. He had performed admirably well with the Bubble Head Charm they'd practiced in class today, so she couldn't imagine why he'd need to speak with her after class.
"Yes, Daniel, what is it?" she asked, setting down her quill.
"Professor, I… my mother, she's an Assistant Healer at St. Mungo's and I… I got an owl from her at breakfast this morning… about the virus. She says that they think they've found a cure, at least as of last night…"
Hermione's heart doubled its pace. A cure? They'd found a cure? Already?
"Are you sure, Daniel?" she asked.
"Well, I mean, no, I'm not personally sure," he said, shifting his weight, "but my mum, she's been following it all very closely, and she said in her letter that some of the patients were beginning to come out of their comatose state last night…"
Hermione raised her eyebrows, but couldn't bring herself to say anything.
"And so I… I just, you know… being that you're only here because Flitwick's out… I thought maybe you'd like to know… and I wanted you to know that, once you leave, I… well, I'll miss you. You've sort of grown on me."
She laughed a little at that and smiled.
"I'll miss you, as well, Daniel. You really remind me a lot of myself when I was your age. But for now, let's operate under the assumption that nothing is changing until Professor McGonagall tells me otherwise. All right?"
"All right," he agreed. "But hey, at least Professor Potter is here to stay, right?"
And with a smile, he turned and walked out.
She bit her lip and tried to reign in the wealth of emotions she was feeling, for in only ten minutes, her second year class would be walking into the room.
For just about two months, she'd known this day would come. She had known that she would eventually have to leave and go back to her desk-job Auror days. Until now, however, that day always seemed like it was somewhere in the distant future. Granted it wasn't yet confirmed, but this news from Daniel meant that her time at Hogwarts was most likely rapidly drawing to a close.
Try as she might to muster some feeling of happiness and relief – for the victims and their families, if nothing else – she was shocked to find that she couldn't. It had never occurred to her that she would love it here so much, but suddenly she was absolutely sure that she would be heartbroken to leave, now that it had a distinct possibility of happening very soon.
She couldn't quite put her finger on why she was so crestfallen, exactly. Perhaps it was her newfound love for teaching, or her nostalgia at being back in the castle, or simply the thrill of doing something new and different.
Or, she thought suddenly, her stomach jumping, perhaps it's Harry.
True, she had begun to get accustomed to their frequent… sexual escapades. How could she not? He was so fabulous in bed, and handsome, and her best friend. She hardly ever thought about Ron anymore at all. She felt so comfortable with Harry, and now, suddenly, she'd have to leave this newfound security blanket behind.
Security blanket? She thought. What a crass choice of words. Hadn't she said to him, just last night, that she felt like they'd been "making love," not just having sex? She'd meant it when she said it, but after seeing the look on Harry's face she'd tried to lighten the mood by joking about him falling for her. "You'll let me know if you ever realize you have feelings for me, won't you?" she'd said.
Whatever possessed her to say such an asinine thing she'd probably never figure out, but the awkwardness had washed away and they'd gone to sleep without discussing it again.
But the sex… it had just been… and the look in his eyes when their gazes locked as she came on top of him…
She had no more time to devote to this line of thought, however, as the door to her classroom opened and the first few second years began to trickle in. Sighing, she resigned herself to ask McGonagall later about any developments at St. Mungo's and then prepared herself to go over the Impervius charm.
Harry's stomach felt like ice.
"They've found a cure?" he repeated back to her, as they sat in his room before dinner.
"According to Daniel Goldstein, yes," she answered. "His mother is an assistant Healer on the team that's been monitoring the victims."
"But obviously nothing's been said to McGonagall yet," Harry reasoned. "We all know she'll call a staff meeting the first moment that she hears anything from St. Mungo's."
"And that's what I said to Daniel," she said. "I mean I'm sure his mother isn't lying, there probably has been progress made, but…" she paused, and Harry watched her carefully as she finished, "For now, we just have to assume nothing has changed."
She was definitely upset. There was no doubt about it. She clearly didn't want to leave yet. Of course, Harry didn't want her leaving, either, but he'd thought that she wouldn't be so keen to stay…
"Do I hear a tint of longing in your voice?" he asked, smiling. "Are you not the one who didn't even want to come to Hogwarts in the first place?"
She smiled down at her knees and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I guess I've grown to like it here," she said, glancing up at him. "It's been really wonderful, being back and being a teacher… and spending so much time with you."
His heart skipped, but he said nothing.
"I think Neville will be even more crushed," she continued. "He really seems to have a passion for teaching. I wonder if Daniel also talked to him…"
Daniel hadn't said anything to Harry that morning, but then again, why should he have? Harry was a permanent professor now; he had nothing to lose by the victims' recovery.
Nothing to lose besides the woman he loved, but… Daniel didn't need to know that.
"I think you're right, we have to just wait for McGonagall to call a staff meeting before we go assuming anything," said Harry finally, reaching over and taking her hand. "As happy as I am that these poor people are finally going to come back to the school… that everyone else who's been affected will go back to their families… I have to confess that I'm definitely not happy about the prospect of you leaving."
She smiled over at him. "You just like the sex."
The words hit like an arrow to his stomach. She couldn't be farther from the truth. A small voice in his head shouted, Tell her! Tell her now! Here's your chance!
Brave Gryffindor Head of House though he might be, however, he knew that confessing to Hermione that he was, in fact, in love with her – that it wasn't just the sex – was definitely not the right thing to do. It was too soon, her pain was still too fresh… and hell, for all he knew, for her it was "just about the sex."
Instead, he carefully crafted his response to be platonic.
"Hermione, don't say that," he said. "The sex is great, yeah… I think we can both attest to that… but you're my best friend. I've spent almost two months seeing you every day, sharing every meal with you, laughing and talking with you every evening, just like we did when we were students… it'll be hard to let those things go so suddenly, and have to stay here while you go home."
She smiled. "I know, Harry. I'll miss you, too. I really will. But for now… I'm still here. Let's enjoy it while we can."
The word that a cure might have been found had spread fast, so none of the teachers were surprised the following morning when it was announced that there would be a staff meeting taking place over lunch.
They all sat in a semi-circle in magically conjured chairs around McGonagall's desk. Harry and Hermione sat next to each other, and Neville was on Hermione's other side, on the end of the circle. The other teachers kept glancing their way, knowing that it was likely that Hermione and Neville were about to hear news that meant they would soon be departing from Hogwarts.
"I'm sure you have all heard the whispers among the students that a cure for this mystery virus has been found," McGonagall began. There were various nods of affirmation around the room. "I have received official word from St. Mungo's as of late yesterday evening that this is believed to be true, but I stress the word believed."
"Whatever do you mean, Minerva?" asked Professor Vector. "Surely the Healers know what they are talking about."
"I never said they didn't," countered McGonagall. "However, the Healer in charge of this project has cautioned me that these signs of improvement are extremely preliminary, and it is not likely that any of the victims will be leaving St. Mungo's anytime soon."
Harry allowed himself a private moment of relief that Hermione wouldn't be leaving just yet, and resisted the urge to grasp her hand.
"What signs of improvement have been seen?" asked Slughorn. "What do we have to go on that this is promising at all?"
"I have been told that over half of the victims have been roused from their comas, including the ten students and two… remaining teachers… from Hogwarts," answered McGonagall. There was a moment of silence understood by all present as a memoriam for Maelyss. "But the Healers monitoring the situation have stressed that they are all very weak and still rather delusional. Being roused from the coma is only the first step in what I can assume is a long process of healing for all the victims." She paused and sighed. "As far as I can see at this point, it is quite likely that our temporary teachers… may very well be here through to O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations."
Harry dared to look at Hermione and Neville. He wasn't surprised to see Neville smiling, and even Hermione was having trouble hiding her expression of relief.
"Of course, based on the success of our new teachers," McGonagall went on, and smiled at Hermione and Neville as she peered at them over her spectacles, "I'm sure that no one is too upset that they are staying for a little longer, though our hearts do ache for those still trapped under the grip of the virus."
Neville smiled and scratched at the back of his head, and Hermione chanced a glance at Harry and he saw her cheeks coloring slightly as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded…"
"It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last…"
"You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself… I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me…"
"You see? Harry Potter is dead! He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"
"Harry Potter… The Boy Who Lived… come to die…"
"Argh!" Harry yelled, sitting straight up in bed. His chest was heaving with the effort of his breath to keep up with the pace of his rapidly beating heart.
"Harry?"
A voice… next to him… Hermione… she was there…
"Harry, Harry what happened?" she said, sitting up and touching his arm.
"I… nothing… nightmare…" he answered, still struggling to bring himself back to the present. Right, of course Hermione was there… they'd come to his room after dinner, they'd… they'd had sex, they'd fallen asleep together…
He kept repeating these facts in his head over and over.
"Harry, shh, it's okay," she said, and she put her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. "It's okay to cry, it's okay…"
It was a shock to realize that he was crying. The tears were streaming down his face. He choked out a sob and buried his head in his hands, fighting back the fresh memories… words that had been said in this very castle, on the expansive grounds on which it stood…
"It's over now," she whispered, stroking his hair. "It's over."
The moonlight shone in through the sheer curtains on the window, basking the room in a dim blue glow. It was that same moon that had shone down on the Dark Forest the night that he'd died… the night that he'd allowed Voldemort to kill him…
Except he hadn't died… He'd fought back. His unconscious body had been taken over by his fully conscious soul. He'd allowed the piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him to fester, to wither, and to die… and he'd made the conscious decision to come back, and finish what Voldemort had started sixteen years previously.
Harry had outsmarted him.
Harry had finished him.
Harry had killed him.
It was over.
"Harry?" said Hermione hesitantly. He took a deep, shuddering breath in and out and then looked over at her.
"Oh, Harry…" she sighed, and she wiped at his tears with her gentle fingers.
"It won't stop," he managed to say. "The dreams… the memories… that last night…"
"I know," she said simply, and pulled him close to her. "I know it's hard."
"But it's over," he said, repeating her words. "It's over now… I just… I have to keep telling myself. It's over."
"I'm here for you, Harry. I'm always here," she said, pulling away a little so she could meet his eyes.
"And I'm so thankful that you are," he answered. He stared back at her, looked at how the moonlight shone on her hair, how it glistened on her skin… If he had doubted before, he was sure, now.
He was in love with her. Every last inch of her. He'd been in love with her since their sixth year. Maybe even before then.
And he couldn't tell her.
But he could sure as hell kiss her.
He closed his eyes and quickly captured her mouth in his. She seemed surprised at first, but responded to him after a moment and let him explore her mouth. He ran his tongue along hers and then gently bit on her lower lip, sucking lightly, before moving to her neck.
He wanted her. He needed her. He had to make love to her. He was already hard, already desperate for it…
Slowly, he laid her onto her back, still kissing at her neck, and dipped his hand between her legs, slipping his fingers into her crevice. She was still wet from the sex they'd had before going to sleep, so his fingers easily slid inside of her.
She gasped and stiffened in surprise, but relaxed when he kept moving his fingers. "Mmm, Harry…" she sighed. "Are you… are you sure…"
"Yes," he cut her off, and then kissed her again. "I want to make love to you," he finished, looking into her eyes. The moonlight made them sparkle. If she made the connection to what she'd said two nights previously, she didn't show it.
"Okay," she whispered, and lifted her head to kiss him. He returned it, then slowly, steadily, positioned himself on top of her, kissing at her neck while he did so.
"Are you ready?" he asked huskily, looking down at her. He wanted her so badly, but he was a little concerned… normally she was able to enjoy far more foreplay from him before he attempted the actual sex…
"Yes, Harry… yes," she whispered back. "Take me, Harry…"
His mind immediately jumped back to the tent, when she had first said those words to him… when they'd lain with each other, naked for the first time, playing, fondling, teasing… and in a gasp of desperation, she'd begged him… Take me, Harry…
This time, however, instead of replying with "Are you sure," he obeyed and slowly slid himself inside of her.
She'd had several orgasms earlier in the evening, so she was incredibly tight, and so wet… he moaned at how good she felt and leaned down and kissed her as he started to thrust faster, increasing his pace and rhythm until she was panting beneath him, fighting back screams of pleasure into strangled gasps. He saw her hands reach out and clutch the sheets as her eyes closed and her head rolled back towards the headboard.
"Ohhh, Harry…" she moaned, and opened her eyes again to look at him. He took the opportunity to lean down and kiss her again, thrusting even deeper as she reached up and put her arms around him, clutching his back as she moved her hips to meet him with every thrust. He moved his mouth to her neck again and kissed and sucked as her throaty moans turned to high pitched gasps and he knew she was close…
"Harry, Harry, ohhh, faster… faster, please…" she begged, and he obliged, lifting his mouth from her neck and kissing her yet again as he increased his speed. She kissed him back fervently and moaned into his mouth as he thrust in and out of her, and he could feel her tightening, could feel it building, he knew her release was coming, and so was his… Suddenly he felt her nails digging into his back and she kissed him fiercely as he felt her convulsing around him, and he broke the kiss as he felt his own release, moaning her name overtop of her as he gave his last few thrusts and then slowed to a stop.
"Hermione…" he gasped, panting. "That was… I just… I…"
She, too, was panting. "Harry…" she said, "You don't… need to… apologize…"
Despite his exhaustion he looked down at her and smiled. "How did you know?"
She sighed and raised her head to kiss him. "Because I know you," she whispered. "Don't apologize," she repeated. "You… needed it. And I… I wanted it."
"Really?" he asked.
"I always want you," she answered. "I think a part of me always has."
His heart skipped, but her cheeky smile squashed the hopeful part of his soul that thought maybe she meant that in the same way he'd discovered he felt about her.
"But seriously," she said, reaching up and stroking his cheek. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," he answered, and cracked a small smile. "Thank you… sex aside… for being here, for waking up to comfort me, to be with me…"
"Of course, Harry," she said. "Always."
