Author's Note: I'm so sorry to have left you for this long. It was never my intention, especially given the cliff hanger. But my family has been dealt a series of issues (on top of the worst year ever) that just haven't left time for writing. And then, just when I thought we were getting back on our feet, our sweet pup got sick. She's getting better and I think (crosses fingers) I'm crawling back to normality. I just wanted you all to know what was going on. A million thanks for your patience and those of you who have checked on me, I really appreciate it. xoxo

Chapter 10

Jane Austen once wrote: "We are all fools in love."

Of course, Harry had read 'Pride and Prejudice' because, as he'd told Hermione when he'd first met her, his education in the subject of English Literature had been thorough, and Austen was a staple. But, if he was being honest, that novel had annoyed the hell out of him. As Harry saw it, it was a lot of drama, and all for want of a civilized conversation. It was frankly ridiculous.

However, when he'd expressed that particular sentiment to the witch in question when she had wanted to view the newest film version of the book, and she had looked at him like he'd kicked her puppy, he'd quickly backed away from that opinion. Nothing was worth making her look like that.

Still, something about Austen's words had stuck with him. He'd gotten enough examples up close and personal of romantic love growing up: in his dad's grief in the lost love of his wife, and with Sirius' attempts to bury himself in…whoever was available, to admit that there was probably some truth in the idea, and to decide that it was probably best to avoid the whole relationship thing for his own part, lest he himself become a fool.

It hadn't felt all that difficult to decide to avoid the emotion altogether, because Harry thrived on being in control. He enjoyed having to only be accountable to himself and a relationship precluded both of those things. As a result he'd never desired nor sought one out. Before he'd gone dimension jumping he'd told himself that he was at peace with his solitary existence.

He prided himself on his honesty with his lovers in the past; he liked to think he'd treated them well, but made it clear that there would be no interactions, much less feelings, beyond the physical. And beyond those liaisons, as a general rule, he really had no desire to search out something more. He had a time consuming and highly demanding career. He was pleased to only have to worry about himself. It was all very sensible.

But then he'd literally fallen at Hermione's feet—it was the first thing he'd done in this new world. It now seemed utterly appropriate.

However, even when he'd met Hermione and within a matter of moments, had determined that she was special, he'd still compartaminalized her away in that sensible part of his brain: she was smart, intriguing, and beautiful. But she was off limits. If they had met like normal people—which, in this case meant literally any other way than interdimensional travel—he admitted that he would have put aside his issues and pursued her; and that had been a major concession on his part. .

But their circumstances were not normal. And the fact was that his time in her world would come to an end, so he'd packed that thought up into a box and shoved it as far back into his psyche as he could manage and told himself that he'd moved past the entire idea. He was very good at that sort of thing.

But tonight, in the span of only a few moments, Harry realized that Austen had it absolutely right—though he refused to admit that Mr. Darcy was some kind of romantic hero, he himself was a fool. Just because he hadn't given himself permission to love Hermione didn't mean it hadn't happened. Which was probably why they called it 'falling.'

Harry felt like a fool, in the aftermath. A lovestruck fool. Fallen.

They'd been having a relatively lighthearted conversation about his godfather, which accidentally turned into an emotionally wrought one when it became a discussion about his goddaughter—who, as much as he tried to ignore it, he missed like a part of his heart had been ripped away. And then Hermione had gone and called him 'Harry,' and he'd lost control of the reigns he'd held so tightly to for most of his life. And mostly for the past six weeks with her.

The next few minutes—or was it hours?—were the best of Harry's life. Her body melded so sweetly beneath his and he relished the feeling.

"Harry," she breathed, the sound of his name—finally, finally, for him and not for another—jolted him back to the present.

"Hey," he murmured, placing his hands so that he was gently cupping her jawline to get her attention, "look at me, please."

She pulled back looking a little dazed, and blinked at him. "Hmmm?"

"You're really with me, right?"

"I'm here," she said, giving him a sly look, and he knew at once that she understood what he was really asking her, "you're not that good of a kisser that you've rendered me insensible, but I could go back to calling you 'Potter,' if that would reassure you?'"

He bit back a smile."I think I'd rather you not, it kind of made me feel like I was back at Hogwarts."

She took a moment to digest this and then her eyes went wide and then she started to snicker. "McGonagall?" she guessed.

He groaned. "Please never mention that name again when you're on my lap."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but the look on your face was so priceless, it would be a lie. Potter," she added for emphasis. Then she took his earlobe and tweaked it mercilessly.

He groaned again and then encouraged her to rearrange herself until they were seated chest to chest, with her arms around his neck, his around her waist.

"Oh sweetheart," he whispered into her ear, unable to look at her, "what have we done?"

"Something really stupid," she huffed, "though I'm taking comfort in the fact that it wasn't really us but the universe—excuse me—universes to blame."

He smiled against her neck. "Does that really make you feel better?"

"Well, I just accepted this was happening about twenty minutes ago. But, in the end no, probably not." She huffed out a breath. "I could blame you, you reckless adventurer," she accused halfheartedly.

"We could stop, I'd never pressure you." He sighed. "If we're being smart we probably should stop."

"I know that." She gave him one last kiss and climbed off of his lap but kept sitting shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, with him. "You've earned my trust—maybe I gave it more freely than I would have early on because of your resemblance to Harry, but it's been a long time since I felt that way. Moreover, I never wanted to—" she cleared her throat and gestured between them, "with him."

"So you've said. And I believe you," he said and swept a strand of hair out of her face. "My concern is what do we," he gestured between them as she just had, "do now."

"Probably pretend it never happened." She knocked her shoulder against his. "It's the smart thing to do."

He knew the way that Hermione thought well enough, and he was logical enough in his own right to understand her thinking without feeling insulted, though it hurt. His hands already itched to touch her again. Still, that logical side warned him that no good could come from them indulging their desires. Though he couldn't help but ask: "Are you sure?"

"Not at all. Damn my stupid brain."

That startled a laugh out of him.

She blindly grasped for his hand and he took it, intertwining their fingers. "I'm sorry, I know how that might have sounded. It's not that I don't want to, in another world..."

"It's okay," he cleared his throat, "I understand. In another world," he repeated, laughing bitterly. "Hell of a relationship obstacle."

But because she was Hermione, she felt the need to explain herself anyway. She took a deep breath." I care for you a lot. A lot. But I don't think I could be with you and just let you go. Even if it was just a physical relationship. I'm already too attached to you and I'm just not sure that I'm built for casual sex anyway. I think it might be a better idea if we just—maintain our distance."

"Okay," he answered quietly, it was what he had expected, and he thought that it very well might be the wisest course of action.

"I should go to bed," she murmured, kissing his forehead as she stood up. "I wish things were different."

That was what brought him up short and he clasped her hand in his, entwining their fingers once again, preventing her from walking away. She turned, the expression on her face so innocent, so earnest, he didn't know if he should say what he'd intended, or rather just shut his mouth. But, in the end, he was a selfish man and in the mere seconds since she'd moved away from his body he'd realized that he was unwilling to just let her walk away, not without telling her how he really felt. He kept tugging on her hand until she met his eyes.

He took a deep breath. "I accept your choices, so if yours are to stay away from me, I understand and we will never speak of this again. I will never pressure you no matter how long I end up being here. But I just wanted you to know that anything that happened between us, I would never consider to be casual. It might be short-lived, but not casual. And I think it might be one of those once in a lifetime things. So, I just wanted you to give that a thought."

He got up and started to walk to the bathroom before he broke his promise and reached for her again when she called out to him. "Why would you suscept yourself to that kind of heartbreak?"

He turned and smiled at her sadly. "You don't think leaving you is going to leave me heartbroken either way? I'd selfishly like to have some real intimate moments with you, but if I don't, I'll be grateful just to have had this time with you. It's your decision what that looks like."

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Hermione practically ran to her bedroom before she could follow the man whom she felt herself desperately wanting and doing something without properly considering it. Which was practically the story of her life: following another version of the same man and rarely considering the repercussions beforehand.

Irony of ironies, Potter—Harry—had made her more cautious.

She was already considering a position at several research institutes outside of Britain at his suggestion and truly thinking about the course her life choices were on for the first time in a long time. Their worlds were apparently not so different that he was incapable of making such suggestions. And he reminded her that she had options.

But more than that, it meant so much to her that this man who had only known her for a matter of months valued her experience and intelligence so highly, and avidly advised her to seek more knowledge. That had always been a stumbling block for her. Even the idea of seeking out such different opportunities had felt like an impossibility to her. Magical Britain was pretty insular, all of her friends had simply not understood, or had even been outright insulted when she'd asked 'but isn't there something more than Hogwarts?''

As it turned out, there had been, but the information had come a little late for her as she'd needed a job to support herself after Hogwarts when her parents had wanted little to do with her, too late to seek a scholarship or a sponsor. Once she'd inherited Harry's money, well, she could now accept that she'd been too depressed to do anything for herself with it, even if she'd technically stuck to the terms of his will and not spent it on others either.

And that made her feel more than a little shameful. He had known her well enough to order her not to give away her inheritance. He had loved her enough to use the opportunity to give her the means to live her life as she so chose. He had argued about it enough with her in life but she'd been too proud to accept his help, and now she'd, so far, squandered the opportunity after his death.

She squirmed underneath her duvet and sheets and it would have been less annoying if she hadn't known what was bothering her. Could she live with herself, squandering another sort of opportunity and one that her heart longed for, perhaps more than it ever had?

She tossed and she turned, but she was a Gryffindor, and around three in the morning she finally rose and made her way to him.

She paused at the edge of the transfigured sofa which had become his regular bed, trying to decide if she should wake him or be bold enough to crawl in with him, when he suddenly turned over, staring up at her with those green eyes that she'd always loved. But also so different, it was a comfort and a trial.

The very real man in question quirked a brow at her, looking both amused and cautious. "Were you honestly under the impression that you could sneak up on me?"

"Well, I wasn't actually trying to sneak," she defended, wrinkling her nose at the last word. "Or, I guess I was. But I wasn't trying to hurt you or anything. I just didn't want to wake you."

That made him laugh and he held his arms out for her. "Unless I'm very much misinterpreting this, come here?"

"No," she climbed in and wriggled against him, then pressed her face against his neck. "This is okay?"

"This is very okay. But I have to ask." He left a sweet kiss against her temple. "What changed your mind?"

"The universe. Or maybe the universes. Or whatever brought you here."

He wrapped his arms around her, but as he did so he noticed that she hadn't answered the question. "Hermione, what does that mean?"

She sighed. "I decided that if I'm going to regret something it should be being with you, rather than not being with you. I know something about regrets. So, I'm here. If you'll have me. For long as we have each other."

He only nodded against the crown of her head, she smiled against his chest,and gave into the madness, at least for the night, while they pretended that all would be well.