Chapter Nineteen

She had no desire to get out of her warm, comfortable bed. What would it matter if she did anyway? There was no one there to see her to know what she was doing. There was no one expecting her at some holiday function. There was nothing expected of her at all that day. It was a bizarre feeling that Hermione both loathed and appreciated.

Christmas arrived in spite of all her worries and wishes that it wouldn't that year. She desired nothing more than for it to simply be over and done with. On Christmas Eve she made sure to work as late as possible reviewing her research. The Ministry felt utterly abandoned and though it was depressing to feel like she was by herself, she would've rather been there than at any of the festive events she'd been invited to pretending like she was enjoying herself with people she didn't have much in common with any longer. When she could hardly keep her eyes open and all of the words in the dusty, old books began to blur together, she returned to an empty house. Cormac was spending the evening with his parents. Gracious enough to invite her to come along, she chose not to. Instead she drank a dreamless sleep potion after eating a pathetic meal of a cold sandwich over the kitchen sink.

When she finally opened her eyes on Christmas Day, the winter sun was already high in the sky. A glance at the clock on her bedside table showed that it was late enough in the day that if she was still a member of the Weasley family, she would likely be headed over to the Burrow for a late lunch that bled into tea and then to a heavy supper. All of the grandchildren in the family would've already ripped open the presents they received from their parents and from Father Christmas. Each of them, those old enough to understand what Christmas was at any rate, would be anxious to see what sorts of presents awaited them from their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. It would be a loud, boisterous scene with Molly rushing around the kitchen trying to accomplish too much at once but wary of letting any of her daughters, by marriage or blood, help. Arthur would be trying his hardest to keep the grandchildren out of the kitchen. The laughter would have already begun. Perhaps even some of the inevitable tempers would have started to fray. She wished she could be there too.

Deep down she worried that she would never again find the same joy she used to on that particular holiday. Would it always be tinged with sadness and disappointment? She truly hoped not. It was hard enough to get through when she was married. Holidays could be a lonely time. An envy used to build up within her, and Ron too she was sure, when they watched their nieces and nephews run around the Burrow. Her husband never said anything, of course, but she knew that he felt the same way. Christmas was for children and when they weren't there and there wasn't hope for them to be there in the future, it was even harder to remain joyous. When they were first married they used to whisper to each other of the fun it would be when they had their own little ones. The longer they were married and after their losses, the less they whispered. It was a topic better left untouched.

Sharing with Cormac their mutual troubles with infertility the week before meant more to Hermione than she realized at the time. Very few times in her past had she ever felt comfortable enough around someone to tell them the truth. A few times she tried and was sorely disappointed in the reactions. It seemed that unless someone had the same problem, they didn't really understand how painful it was. She'd been so used to just stuffing down the pain and frustration. No one wanted to listen to her explain how she felt. And there was always that one person, no doubt believing they were well-meaning, who would dismiss the intensity of her sorrow at her lost babies with the platitudinous response 'there's always adoption'. As if it was all that simple. As if adopting a child would somehow magically erase the pain she felt thinking about the pregnancies she'd lost. As if it would quiet the small voice whispering in her head that she was defective and she wasn't a 'real' woman. As if it would stop making her feel like she was less than other women for something that wasn't her fault. Why did they have to try to fix her problem? Why couldn't they just hold her hand and tell her they were sorry? When a tragic accident left a person without arms, no one would be callous enough to say 'at least you still have your legs'. Would they?

He'd put his arm around her and simply listened. Didn't once try to even offer advice or fix it because he understood. There are times when a person just wants to be listened to, nothing else. They want to have their pain acknowledged, not dismissed. He validated her very real and valid feelings. It had been a long time since she could remember anyone else doing the same. She hoped that by offering her own silent support he felt the same way. Throughout most of the previous year she didn't feel like she had a lot to offer anyone, but hoped that she could.

Hermione rolled over onto her side facing one of the bedroom windows. The room next to Cormac's was nice in its own way, but certainly not as grand as the one she had been working in. Still she could see the frost on the branches of a tree just outside. A fire continued to burn its embers in her room's fireplace. If she climbed out of bed, she knew she would be chilled straight to the bone until the fire was built up again. The old house had a lot to be desired from a heating standpoint. Plans were in progress to update it entirely. Until then, however, old-fashioned fire was all that kept the occupants from freezing to death outside of warming charms. The cold was even less of an incentive to get out of bed.

Though she hadn't seen him since the day before Christmas Eve despite living in the same house, Hermione knew that she would've been welcomed to join Cormac and his family for their meal and festivities. Even when she thanked him but declined to join the Christmas Eve dinner that would've just been with his parents, he made sure to invite her to join his entire family for Christmas Day. She didn't want to feel like an outsider. It would've made the day even worse. His parents and Rose knew her, of course. They would've done everything to make her feel welcome. She wasn't sure what his grandparents and other distant relatives might have made of her being there. Would they have assumed that she was more than just a friend and housemate to Cormac? It would be entirely natural if they did.

The week since they had their emotional confessions in the kitchen had been fairly pleasant. Part of her feared that one or both of them would regret telling the other what they did after the fact. She could just imagine how awkward it would get. Maybe they would start avoiding each other again. She hated when they did that even when she was responsible for more of it happening than he was. Neither of them brought up what they told the other since, but it wasn't necessary. The wall hadn't been built back up again. None of their other conversations that week, however, were very deep or serious. They kept all discussion to a friendly, light level.

Only her stomach grumbling at its emptiness encouraged Hermione to finally get out of bed. She didn't know or care what time it was. After a short shower, she dressed in comfortable clothes and went downstairs to find something to eat. As glad as she'd been that Winky agreed to take a holiday and as annoyed as she'd gotten at times when the house-elf tried to feed her too much, she missed her cooking. She would've gladly eaten enough to make even Winky satisfied that afternoon. Another cold sandwich eaten over the kitchen sink proved to be just one more depressing aspect of her first Christmas alone.

Feeling the walls of the house closing in, Hermione found a warm coat. She hoped a long walk might put her in a better frame of mind. The signs of dragging herself down into a deep depression were all there waiting for her to give in. She wanted a distraction. The edges of the property were quite far from the house. Unsure of how much land was included in the estate, she knew enough that it was sizable. Once upon a time it might have even been used as a small farm for the Crouch family's personal use. Winky already had grand plans when the weather improved to restore the gardens to how she remembered them best. Based on what she knew about Bartemius Crouch Senior, no doubt it would have tidy, straight rows and very little imagination. She would've almost rather left it in its wild, untamed state. That was a conversation that she needed to have with Cormac. His opinion was all that truly mattered as he was the owner, but the thought of taking away some of the land's personality bothered her more than she realized. It was strange how she never expected to really love the house as much as she'd come to.

The cold eventually forced her back inside. In better weather she would've been tempted to stay out there longer. Unsure what to do with herself or how to pass the time, Hermione wandered down the main corridor on the ground floor to the old home office of the previous owner. Calling it a library would've been too kind. Even with her collection of books Cormac insisted she unpack and line the shelves with, there weren't enough in there to do the name justice. Perhaps it could be another project down the line when some of the other rooms were finished.

A stack of letters and packages littered the desk. She hadn't been in the mood in recent days to check what the owls brought. Anything of importance usually arrived at her Ministry office. Part of her feared that there wouldn't be much of anything sent to her that year. Ignoring the post kept her from confirming whether or not that was true. There were several holiday cards from acquaintances and former close personal friends. None of them were of any great sentimental value. In years past she proudly displayed the cards nestled amongst the branches of the oversized Christmas tree she always took joy in decorating. Agreeing with Cormac that there was no reason to have a tree that year, she didn't see any reason to keep the cards. Each one of them went straight into the rubbish bin after she opened and read them. She might have found such callous disregard for the cards to be shameful in the past, but that year, especially on that particular day, she didn't have enough in her to care.

The only package she had any interest in whatsoever was the long, narrow one with Rose's name on it and a French label on the outside. Pleased to discover it was indeed a fine bottle of elf-made wine her assistant picked up on her romantic getaway with Theo, she carried it at once to the kitchen to open and pour a glass.

All she wanted to do that day was to pass the time, survive every single second until it was over. It would get easier. She knew that. The first Christmas was always going to be the hardest. With a glass in one hand and the open bottle in the other, Hermione headed for the living room to settle into her usual spot on the sofa. A thick stack of books still lay on the closest table. Picking one up at random, she tried to lose herself in her reading. It seemed to work for at least half an hour when her eyes got too heavy to keep open. Still nursing her first glass of wine, she ignored it in favor of the thick blanket they kept folded on the back of the sofa. She fell asleep quickly.

Depression and sadness zapped a person of their energy. There was a reason why some people could spend literal days in their beds when they were feeling down. When Hermione woke up again all of the natural light that poured in through the windows when she fell asleep was gone. How she managed to sleep away almost the entire day and much of the evening was a bit of surprise for the woman who expected the holiday to drag on and on until she was miserable with insanity. Surprised to feel warmer than she should, she noticed a roaring fire just steps away in the fireplace and a second blanket had been thoughtfully spread on top of the one she already had.

"Cormac?"

The house was still silent, but she could sense she wasn't alone. Even without the thoughtful touches of the fire and extra blanket, she knew. Months of living with the wizard had given her almost a sixth sense to know when he was there. Never having lived in such a large house before, she assumed that there would be lots of times she would think she was alone and not be. It was encouraging to discover she'd been wrong. Some of the fears she first had about being alone with an intruder and not realizing it all but disappeared.

He didn't answer, but sounds could be heard from the kitchen. Either he was home or she was about to be faced with a thoughtful, kind burglar. Snorting to herself at the ridiculous thought, Hermione picked up the discarded wine glass and not caring that it had been sitting out for hours, swallowed it in one deep gulp. She had the glass refilled by the time she entered to kitchen.

"I didn't wake you, did I? I tried to be quiet."

Cormac seemed a little unsteady on his feet as he unpacked a sack full of covered bowls and plates. A full glass of fire whiskey sat on the counter next to a new bottle. If what she suspected was correct, he'd been drinking for a while.

"No, you're fine. What's all of this?"

"Mum sent me home with enough leftovers to last us until next Christmas. Said she was worried that we weren't eating with Winky gone." He rolled his eyes. "She never used to worry about me, but once Winky moved in, she thinks I've forgotten how to take care of myself. You know, I think my mum comes over here sometimes when I'm at work to have tea with Winky and check up on me."

"Your mum loves you and cares about you. It's sweet. You shouldn't be upset with her. Not everyone is as fortunate as you are."

She didn't mean to snap at him, but once the words were out, she didn't regret them. Even as his shoulders sagged with his realization of why she was upset, she didn't care. She drank more of her wine, trying desperately to push aside the wave of envy that threatened to overpower her senses. Her mum didn't give two thoughts about whether or not her daughter was taking care of herself. As much as she could understand his frustration in his mother treating him like a child, at least she cared enough to make certain he didn't go without. Her parents hadn't even bothered to send her a letter back after she told him she was divorced. There had been no card for her birthday, no present for Christmas. It was as if she didn't even exist anymore. No doubt in their mind it was easier to pretend like they didn't have a daughter. Why did no one seem to appreciate what they had until they no longer had it? The world was full of a bunch of ungrateful, entitled brats never happy or satisfied with their own lives. It was absolutely exhausting.

"Fuck, Hermione. I didn't mean…"

"No, it's fine. Let's just not continue that topic."

Any mention of her parents on that day was liable to end in tears she was tired of shedding. She'd already had a couple of good cries the evening before and during her walk. Spending another second crying sounded terrible. Grabbing a random bowl out of his hands, Hermione hopped up to sit on the edge of the counter. Pleased to find roasted potatoes inside, she didn't bother with a warming charm or even a fork. Far superior to the pathetic sandwiches she'd eaten the last two days, she was privately grateful for Olivia's thoughtfulness. Without Winky there, they did need someone to look out for them. The house-elf had become such an integral part of their life that they didn't even realize how much they relied on her until she was gone.

"How was Christmas with your family?"

Cormac's sigh followed by a drink from his glass said more than words ever could.

"It was fine, I suppose. Lots of rude questions from my grandmother, as expected. But at least I was able to deflect some of her questions to Rosie." He chuckled, drawing one out of Hermione too. "She had a lot of fun trying to explain why she went to France alone and why she doesn't have a special someone in her life. I thought Rosie was going to stab me with her fork."

"You would've deserved it."

"But I was glad to get out of there when I did. I was…"

She could feel him staring at her, but didn't dare look up into his eyes out of fear what she would see there. Not once had he looked at her with anything even remotely resembling pity since that night in the stairwell. It was likely that he was the only one in her life she could say the same about. If she looked up at him and saw it in his eyes, she worried that it would never be the same between them again.

"To be perfectly honest, I was thinking about you the entire time I was gone. I was… well, I was worried about you, Hermione. Last Christmas I was by myself. It was one of the worst days of my entire life. Thinking about you here by yourself…"

Another pause in his words followed by a quiet sigh stoked her curiosity. Preparing herself to see pity in his blue eyes, she once again saw only concern. He told her that night she tore through all of the correspondence from the strangers who read Skeeter's article that he would never say 'poor Hermione'. So far he'd been faithful to his promise. She did see sadness. How much of that was because of the thought of her being by herself for Christmas and how much of it was because he was remembering his own first Christmas alone she didn't know. Likely it didn't really even matter. She set the potatoes down to pick up her wine glass. He poured himself another glass of fire whiskey.

The tension between them still hung heavy in the air. Hating that it was in danger of growing too serious, she put both of her feet back on the ground, filled her wine glass back up to the top, and decided she would need to do something to liven up the mood. Being alone for Christmas certainly wasn't any fun, but with Cormac back home, neither of them were alone any longer.

"Let's put the rest of this food away and I have a gift to give you."

Cormac's face lit up at the prospect of a present. Sometimes, like every other man she'd ever known, he could be little more than an overgrown child. With the proper incentive, he made short work of storing the extra food his mother gave him. When he was finished, she only laughed, picked up the rest of the wine bottle, and gestured for him to follow her down the narrow staircase in the corner of the kitchen that led to the large basement they rarely used.

When she decided weeks earlier what she was going to give him for Christmas, she thought about just giving it to him without setting it up. He could choose for himself where he wanted, but Winky had other ideas. She reminded Hermione that there was plenty of room in the basement where it was quiet and no one would bother him. Winky knew of the perfect place. Between the two of them, they had the small room ready and the Christmas gift in place after just a couple of hours of work. She was glad that she took Winky's advice.

"Why do you make me feel like I'm being led to the dungeons to be punished in a manner I'm sure to enjoy?"

"Because you have a guilty, perverted mind."

At the bottom of the creaking staircase, Hermione opened the first door on the left. Right next to the boiler room that was theoretically supposed to provide hot water to the entire house, but failed at its purpose on a routine basis, there was a small room that had always been used for storage in the home's past. Neither one of them possessed much in the way of belongings to have need of it. Hermione stepped aside to allow Cormac to enter first.

"What is this?"

Confused but intrigued, he walked straight to the middle of the room where a heavy canvas bag hung from the ceiling. Winky made certain that it was hung properly with the most effective and powerful elvish magic. When Hermione explained the purpose of the gift, the house-elf nodded her head in approval, deemed it a good idea, and stated they needed to make sure Mister Cormac couldn't accidentally hit it too hard and hurt himself. Several tests were made with both their fists and magic before Winky would consider it safe enough.

"It's a Muggle punching bag. You seemed interested in it before."

She moved quickly over the reminder of the last conversation they had about the punching bag in her dressing room before she drunkenly threw herself at him. Cormac was too fascinated to notice or he was better at hiding it than she realized.

"I thought you might like having something you could hit every now and then."

"Hermione, this… this is wonderful. Thank you."

Though she tried to hide it with another bright smile, she felt uncomfortable with how solemn his thanks was. It wasn't such a big deal. Just something she thought he might get some use out of when he felt angry and frustrated. After learning about why his marriage ended, she couldn't imagine anyone else who could benefit as much. Besides, she could see herself borrowing it from time to time. It had been fun to test out. Even Winky enjoyed hitting it with her tiny fists as hard as she could before the too-large gloves fell off.

"Now you must promise to use these gloves each time you want to hit it. I'm not great at healing spells to fix broken bones."

"I promise. Thank you, Hermione."

She was caught off-guard by his hug, but didn't push him away. It felt nice to be in his arms, too nice. Remembering herself and all of the other times she'd made a complete fool of herself when around him under the influence of alcohol, she didn't allow it to go on long. He wasn't offended or upset. His face lit up with a bright smile that actually seemed genuine.

"Now it's my turn to give you your gift."

Much like she'd done in the kitchen, he gestured back towards the stairs they'd just come down. Exceptionally curious what he had planned, Hermione didn't hesitate to follow him back up to the kitchen, up the main staircase, and down the corridor to the bedroom she'd been avoiding. When he stopped outside the carved door, part of her was tempted to run the other direction. Why would he bring her there? Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, she reached for the doorknob, but was halted before she could grasp it. She didn't appreciate his secretive behavior. Some of the fun melted away.

"Before you go inside, I would just ask for your forgiveness from all of us first. I know you wanted to do it all yourself, but the past few months…"

Cormac didn't complete his thought. There was no need. Neither one of them was stupid or ignorant of why she hadn't wanted to go back in to finish. Since her wedding anniversary she'd only gone inside a handful of times to look around for a minute or two before deciding to leave again. Finishing seemed like such a daunting, impossible prospect. She feared she'd taken on more than she could handle.

"What do you mean 'all of us'?"

"I might have called in a few favors to get some help."

When he finally pushed the door open, Hermione had to bite back a gasp. It was finished. It was finally finished. She stepped inside hardly daring to believe her eyes. A warm fire danced happily in the grate. He must've snuck upstairs while she slept on the sofa to make certain it was ready. The room had sparse furniture because she chose to get rid of everything that had already been there except for the oversized carved wooden bed and a couple of tables that needed new paint. Each piece was lovingly restored to its former glory. She ran her hand across the new linens on the bed.

"I was looking at these in the Hogsmeade shop. I thought they were beautiful."

"I know. I was paying attention. When you walked away to look at pillows, I whispered to the saleswitch I wanted to order them all large enough to fit the new mattress. I went back the next afternoon with the proper measurements. Winky kept them hidden in the attic until the room was ready. We didn't want you to see them yet."

"No danger of that even if you'd left them in here."

She didn't mean to speak out loud. The generosity of the gesture overwhelmed her emotions. What had she done to deserve such kindness? Concerned she might dissolve into a puddle of tears if she didn't keep moving, Hermione crossed the expansive room to the closed door of the dressing room. It would be better if she got that room over with as soon as she could. She felt her eyes burn with unshed tears when she opened the door. It was all so wonderful.

"Rosie guilted poor Theo into helping. Said that it was the least they could do to help after what you're trying to do to help them."

Every shelf was repaired. Not a speck of dust or cobwebs could be seen. The smell of fresh paint was present but hardly unbearable. A new mirror hung on the wall. There was more storage than Hermione had possessions. It was easy to see the subtle touches that Rose was no doubt responsible for after her cousin admitted she helped.

"This is lovely, but I don't understand why you finished the room for me. There wasn't that much left."

Cormac shrugged his shoulders. Before he answered, he drank again from his glass. Did she make him so nervous that he needed liquid courage just to speak to her? The thought made Hermione sad.

"You've seemed overwhelmed by the project for a while now. I thought helping you finish it would take away some of the burden you're so insistent on always carrying. There's no shame in getting help."

It was a truth she'd spent a good portion of her life trying to avoid. Pride, one of a Gryffindor's worst character traits, often kept her from asking for or accepting help when she desperately needed it. Remodeling the room entirely on her own was her initial plan because she believed she had something to prove. The room represented her life post-divorce whether she wanted to openly admit it or not. It was important to her, or more specifically her pride, that she do everything without anyone's help because it gave her a sense of control even if it was just an illusion.

But she didn't rebuild her life by herself. Even when she felt like it, she was never alone for a single second. There were several people in her life who helped her even when she tried to push them away. The finished bedroom wouldn't have happened if she tried to do it alone. Neither would the broken pieces of her life come back together in a different, but still quite good, fashion.

"Thank you, Cormac. This is wonderful."

"You haven't seen it all yet."

With a wink and grin, the wizard led her to the bathroom. Perhaps the most daunting aspect of the entire project, there were many nights Hermione lay awake trying to figure out how it would even be possible for her to complete. The bathroom was a nightmare after decades of neglect. There was so much that needed to be repaired or replaced that she often wondered if she was making a mistake even trying. All she'd been successful in completing was a thorough cleansing of every surface and a simple repair to a broken mirror.

"Cormac, how..?"

"Didn't you think it was odd that Dad kept randomly stopping in so often the past few weeks?"

"Not really, no. You're close with your family."

"What about the day two weeks ago when my mum dragged you outside in freezing rain to discuss her plans for the garden? Did you think that was strange?"

"I just thought she was really excited about gardening. She's a Hufflepuff."

Her answer amused him which in turn made her laugh, but she didn't understand why he was so surprised. She'd been so self-absorbed over the previous nine months that it was a wonder she had any friends left at all.

"Mum was distracting you while Dad and I brought in the new bathtub and toilet and everything else he needed to replace. He wanted me to tell you that you can't fill the bathtub all the way up yet with hot water unless you want to heat it with magic. We ordered a new boiler that will be here after the first of the year. Maybe then we can finally take nice, long showers."

"That will be lovely."

She set her empty wine glass down on the counter next to the sink. The nearly empty bottle was abandoned when they passed through the kitchen on the way to her new bedroom. Part of her wished she had something else to drink if for no other reason than she needed to keep her hands occupied. There was something very overwhelming and emotional about the Christmas present she received. For being the worst Christmas of her entire life up until that point, she thought perhaps Cormac was responsible for giving her the best gift she'd ever received. She crossed the beautifully repaired tile to stand in front of the deep bathtub. As she stared at the polished taps, she tried to think of how she could put her thanks into words. Nothing seemed to be good enough.

Cormac's hands slipped slowly around her waist from behind. Startled at first by the touch, Hermione leaned back against his broad chest. The air in the bathroom suddenly grew quite thick. Neither of them spoke. After feeling so wretchedly alone all day, she didn't want to push him away. It felt comforting to be back in his arms again even if the tiny sober voice in the back of her mind was screaming that she needed to be careful. They were entering dangerous territory. Both of them were sad and emotional and very, very lonely. It also didn't help that they'd each had far too much to drink. She suspected that was the only reason why Cormac was brave enough to touch her first even if the embrace was still fairly innocent.

A shiver went through her entire body the instant his lips pressed against the back of her neck. Exposed thanks to her hair being pulled up messily on top of her head in perhaps the most unattractive style imaginable, he took his time gently kissing the sensitive flesh. A low moan escaped her mouth at the feel of his tongue sweeping out to lick her pulse point. Though she couldn't see to confirm, she thought she could feel his smile against her neck. His arms tightened around her stomach, pulling her even closer against his body. If there had been any doubt what he desired, it was gone.

The quiet voice in her mind grew softer and softer. She didn't want to listen to it. Not in that moment. Perhaps never again. It had been so very long since she last felt like a man wanted her, desired her. Long before her ex-husband asked her for a divorce. The passion they once shared fizzled out years before they parted ways. With Viktor underneath the Quidditch stands she knew he wanted her, but there was something very different in his manner than in Cormac's. Viktor longed to possess her. What Cormac wanted wasn't clear yet. Most likely he just wanted to forget he was alone for a few minutes like she did.

Spinning around in place, Hermione chose not to think her actions through another moment. Too much of her life was wasted analyzing every single second until there was nothing left but cold, hard data and missed opportunities. For once she wanted to throw caution to the wind and just feel. Somehow understanding her wish or just taking another chance, Cormac captured her lips first. Not since the night in sixth year weeks after the horrible Christmas party when she allowed him to press her against the one-eyed witch statue because she was feeling sad had he been the one in control. She discovered quickly that she rather liked it when he was more forceful. If he was ignoring the voice in his head telling him they should stop, she would be very tempted to make certain he had a continuous stock of his favorite fire whiskey on hand.

Standing in the luxurious bathroom snogging like lovesick teenagers only lasted a few minutes. The moment they broke apart to catch their breaths, Hermione gasped at the darkness in his eyes. Normally a bright blue, all she could see were his pupils. Excited in a manner that might have ordinarily shamed her when she was thinking more clearly, she smiled and led him into the bedroom by the hand. Eagerly, he followed.

How they both went from standing upright fully clothed to lying on top of the new mattress completely naked was a bit of a blur. All she remembered was the second she lifted her jumper over her head, there was a mad flurry of clothing being quite literally ripped off their bodies and thrown on the floor. The nerves she had around Viktor that her imperfect naked body might be something she should be ashamed of at her age didn't exist when it was Cormac's hands, lips, and eyes feasting. There wasn't time to be embarrassed or shy. Nor did she think that would change. To her great surprise, never had she felt so comfortable.

He seared the feel of every ounce of her flesh into his memory with his lips and his tongue. She memorized every one of his muscles, every scar with her hands and teeth. If they were only to have that one night, they were going to savor every second. His experienced mouth nestled between her slim thighs pulled feral screams and moans out of her that made her throat raw. When she attempted to return his generous favor with one of her own, she could hardly wrap her lips around him. One flick of her tongue in the perfect spot ripped from him a deep, fierce growl. With all of the tenderness and care he could manage in such a delicate moment, he removed himself from Hermione's mouth. Using his large hands to grip underneath each of her thighs, he tossed her down on her back once more. Staring at her, struggling to catch his breath, she answered the question she knew he was silently asking.

"Yes, Cormac, please."

That was all he needed. One single thrust of his hips settled him deep inside her without any resistance. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. How was it possible for one single act to feel so fucking good? Fearing at first that she might show how out of practice she really was, all worries dissipated once they found their rhythm. The sensations between them were incredible. Had it always been this good or was she just that deprived? Always able to take care of her primal needs on her own when necessary, she couldn't deny how much better it was to have a knowledgable partner. There were just some itches that couldn't be scratched alone.

"Just like… riding a… broomstick. Ahh… you don't forget."

"Fuck, I'll have to take… your word for it. I've always been a bloody terrible rider."

"Somehow I doubt that."

Covering her mouth with his, Cormac used the moment of distraction to flip them both over until their positions were reversed. Feeling suddenly shy and nervous that she wouldn't meet his expectations, all coherent thoughts exited her brain after his first upward thrust. Her body took over from there. There was no reason to agonize over anything. All she had to do was feel.

Certain activities could only be enhanced by not paying any attention to the time or worrying about anything beyond the reach of one's hands. What they experienced on her new mattress was one of them. Later, when it was all over, neither of them would be able to definitively say how long it lasted or how many hours they spent exploring each other's bodies, discovering what it took to make the other scream or pant or cry out for more. They could each simply attest to the fact that they gave in to their urges to forget their loneliness and pain until that horrible Christmas was over.

Early in the morning, long before the sun rose, Hermione woke to find the spot next to her empty. She knew with certainty that she fell asleep with an exhausted and satiated wizard snuggled behind her and with his arms wrapped around her body. Reaching across the bed, she found no residual heat between the sheets where he'd been. If it hadn't been for all of her pleasant aches, she might have believed she dreamed it all. She sat up to get a better look around her new bedroom. There was a small hope that he'd just gone into the bathroom and would be right back. The door to the bathroom was open revealing only darkness within. Every piece of his clothing she'd helped him rip off was picked up from the bedroom floor and gone. Laying her head back down on her pillow, she was certain she'd never felt like a bigger piece of rubbish.

She should have stopped him long before they left the bathroom. It was her decision to pull him by the arm towards the massive bed. Christmas was a difficult day for both of them. He was missing the family he lost and so was she. It was wrong of her to take advantage of him when she knew he was drunk and sad. For him to finally open up to her about his past and present pains and be vulnerable was nothing small. How did she repay him? By throwing herself at him when his guard was down. No one, least of all Hermione, would blame him for throwing her out of his house when the morning broke.

Rolling over onto her side, she pulled the blankets he'd so thoughtfully bought up to her chin. If it was going to be her only night in the finished bedroom, she would make the most of it.