Chapter Thirteen
Truth... Sometimes I Need a Crutch
August 1998
The weeks following their defeat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been like a pendulum. Their lives and the recovery efforts of Wizarding Britain had swung from celebration, joy, and relief to devastation, heartbreak, and the oppressive weight of guilt at having survived when others had not. By the time summer was coming to a close, they had attended more funerals and memorials than most people did in their entire lifetime. The dichotomy of winning a war truly illustrated itself on the days that had started with burying their friends and ended with the donning of formal robes and gowns to attend one of a hundred never ending balls and cocktail socials. Each of them now had wardrobes bursting with muted black outfits and far too many pieces acceptable for black tie affairs.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron were constantly brought out of their own mourning and recovery at Grimmauld Place and the Burrow with everyone in the country wanting a piece of them. Charity dinners sold twice as many plates if they were able to announce that The Golden Trio would be in attendance, making it hard for them to turn the invitations down as they were delivered by the dozen each day. They had each been approached by numerous news outlets wanting interviews and authors wanting to chronicle their time on the run and their life stories. And the media sensation they had become didn't end there. They were the darling saviors of the Wizarding World and a cash cow for anyone seen adjacent to them.
Suddenly, every detail of their lives had become headline news with people wanting to emulate them. If Harry was seen patronizing a restaurant with Ginny, suddenly their reservation list was booked six weeks out. When Ron went to a charity quidditch match and was photographed with the seeker from his beloved Chudley Cannons, their merchandise and ticket sales had skyrocketed with a plethora of new fans filling their stadium. Hermione couldn't even pop into a bookshop without cameras flashing and her purchases being documented for all to know, her hair and outfits scrutinized inside the pages of the gossip rags until shops everywhere began carrying their own version of muggle styles. The chaos of flashing bulbs and shouting reporters followed them wherever they went and it recklessly spilled over into the lives of the ones they loved. No one in their lives was safe from the hounding media, especially Severus.
Just days after the Battle of Hogwarts, as the papers had dubbed it, she had made the mistake of going shopping in Diagon Alley with Severus before hitting the high streets of muggle London. She had just wanted to have a bit of normalcy since none of them had yet been out of Grimmauld Place, her open invitation to the Burrow having been revoked the moment they had seen Severus. The morning had started simply enough. Their intentions were to get him fitted for a few sets of business robes for the meetings he would be attending about his not quite dead state, and then into London to dress them both with new, no longer ill fitting clothes. They had walked into the small little wizard's shop at the start of the business day and he had quickly selected fabrics, accompanying pieces, and had been fitted. Within an hour, their order had been placed and they were walking back out onto the cobble lined streets.
They had been making their way to the Leaky Cauldron when she had recalled that it was a Tuesday. Hermione had giddily taken his hand and was pulling Severus behind her to Flourish and Blotts rambling about it being new book and periodical day and how much she had missed Tuesdays while on the run. He had feigned annoyance but his dark eyes shimmered with mirth and excitement as he allowed her to pull him along, his still large but softer hand engulfing her own. It was while walking backwards to face him as she spoke about some of the developments that had happened with potions over the last twenty years that she had bumped into someone. When she turned around to offer her profuse apologies, she had received a trial by fire at how newsworthy she had become.
The witch she had bumped into was a gossip columnist for Witch Weekly , who had fortune shining on her as she was the first to get photos of one third of the friends the world would soon call The Golden Trio. The flash of her camera and excitement of her questions drew the eyes of the witches and wizards that were out shopping who had previously paid them no mind. In an instant, Hermione and Severus were swallowed by a crowd of people thanking her, offering their condolences, and begging for photos and autographs.
The mass of people around her stole her breath and made her body freeze with fear. The yelling and flashing bulbs disoriented her, making her rising panic worse as she began to lose touch with reality, her wand gripped in her hand as she found herself not on the streets of Diagon Alley but back in battle. She hastily backed into Severus, her hands searching for him, hoping he would keep her grounded from fully sinking into an episode in front of so many people.
When she felt his fingers lace tightly through hers, a rush of oxygen filled her lungs. However, being under such close scrutiny, the way she clung to him was not missed and had started a new round of shouts and flashing cameras, people demanding to know who he was and how long they had been together. She had begun to hyperventilate as people moved in closer, her mind screaming for her to protect his identity. Her body rebelled though with so much adrenaline running through her veins. All she could do was shake her head and tighten her hold on him, pushing her back closer to his like a feeble shield.
Severus had swiftly turned her away from them, tucking her face into his chest, her head protectively held by his large hand as he shoved people back from them, yelling at them to leave her alone. And when she whispered his name thinking no one would hear her over the commotion, all hell broke loose. That evening, they had graced the front pages of special edition printings of the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, and several other periodicals all with the same series of photos. Her hands reaching out for him; him wrapping her in his arms while she fisted his shirt and buried her face from view; him smashing a reporter's camera who wouldn't get out of their way; and the money shot of him lifting her into his arms, yelling profanities at the mass of vultures, before disapparating with her like a wizarding remake of The Bodyguard.
The fishbowl they now lived within further solidified her initial decision to decline Kingsley's offer to be his aid. While the boys had readily accepted their NEWT waivers and were eager to begin Auror training now that August had come, she was grateful that only a few weeks stood between her and the start of a new term at Hogwarts. Soon enough she and Severus would board the Hogwarts Express and escape to the secluded Scottish Highlands, leaving the busy-bodies of London behind. With any luck, while they were away retaking and completing their education, the mania that followed them everywhere they went would die down by the winter holiday. However, she didn't put too much hope in that notion since it had been announced that the Order of Merlin award ceremony would take place on New Years Eve. Any faded interest in her as The Brains of the Golden Trio, or Severus as The Resurrected Bad Boy, and whether or not they were an item would be renewed in the days leading up to the ball.
Standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, Hermione examined the calendar that tracked the social events and public engagements they had committed themselves to, as well as Harry and Ron's new training schedule. The warm, sweet smell of cinnamon sugar filled the space as the French toast casserole she had soaked the night before baked in the oven, breakfast being the responsibility that had fallen into her lap given her love of early mornings. While pondering the too few available days and thinking that she would need to resend her acceptance to an event so that everyone could be together one last time before they went their separate ways, the dreaded sound of scratching on the glass alerted her to the arrival of the post owls. Groaning, she turned away from the rainbow colored calendar to cross the kitchen to open the window's latch.
"I've got it," Severus announced, his voice still gravelly from sleep.
Hermione gave him a soft smile, as she made her way to the coffee pot and began to fix him his first cup of the day. The tell tale whooshing of wings made her sigh as she counted at least half a dozen owls dropping envelopes onto the kitchen table, the ones carrying the morning's news quickly following behind.
"The rashers for them are still in the-"
"Son of a bitch!" Severus swore, bringing an abused finger to his lip, the offending owl refusing to surrender its parcel to him. "Bloody menace of a bird, I have half a mind to stuff it," he grumbled, coming to lean against the counter with her.
Handing him the mug of sweetened coffee, she turned around to stare down the glossy black owl that had perched itself on the back of Harry's chair.
"How'd you sleep?" He asked, opening up his left arm for her as he took a long pull of caffeine.
Settling into his bare side, she sighed as his hand came around her waist and played with the hem of an old Aerosmith tee she wore, his fingers slipping under the fabric to circle her hip bone which had slowly lost its sharpness as she worked to gain back some weight.
"Well enough," she lied. "What about you?"
Truth be told she hadn't had a good night's sleep in nearly a month and often wore a light glamour under her eyes to hide the evidence. A date had finally been set for the new class of Aurors in July and when the news had been delivered to Harry, she had pushed him and herself into a new stage of recovery. For the two months prior they had continued to sleep in shifts, wands always in hand, with one awake in the kitchen while the other took up a post in the hallway that led to Severus's room. The shift schedule had allowed her to never fall into a deep enough sleep to dream, or remember as the case was. However, after switching to a bedroom and having to sleep alone again, her memories of the last year that she wished were only nightmares haunted her resting mind. Every night she would close the door that was across from Severus's and layer her room with the wards she had used on the run and during her single night at Spinner's End. Thus far, neither of the boys or Ron after he had moved in, were aware of how often she would scream herself hoarse in the middle of the night, begging and pleading with the specters of her past to set her free.
"Could have been better," he teased, squeezing her hip before removing his hand and taking his preferred seat at the table.
Harry and Ron walked in right after he took his seat, once again amazing her at how he always seemed to know when someone else in the house was going to happen upon them. With blurry eyes Ron scratched his stomach and nodded his head at Hermione as he dropped heavily into his seat.
"Morning, Her-" Harry's greeting was interrupted by a wide mouth yawn and him fixing his crooked glasses. "-Mione."
"Breakfast will be ready in about five minutes," she brightly chirped, sending plates to the table along with the warmed syrup, covered sausages, and fruit she made them all eat every morning. "Hey don't open that, we haven't made our bets yet! And after last night there will be a plethora of headlines to pick from," She scolded when she saw Harry reaching for the stacks of newspapers and magazines. "If you're impatient, relieve that owl of its parcel. I think Hades wants him back," she laughed.
Grabbing the casserole out of the oven when the timer went off, Hermione made her way to the table and sat beside Severus. Once she was settled, his legs spread out to brush his thigh along hers and his left hand reached down to rest just above her knee, warming the exposed skin.
"Okay, stakes for the day?" Severus asked, cutting into the French toast and filling everyone's plates.
Ron glanced at the chore chart they had worked out with Kreacher and groaned.
"Kreacher has his break from laundry today. I vote for that to be the task."
"No, I'm making a roast for dinner today. I vote for dishes," Harry countered.
"Amatures," Severus smirked. "It's the first Sunday of the month. Hermione's advance copies of books being published will be delivered today. I say the loser should have to help her organize the delivery."
"Hey!" She exclaimed, slapping his chest. "I'm not that bad."
"I spent four hours with you last month and can testify that you are in fact that bad," he laughed.
"If I recall, you actually enjoyed pawing through everything they sent me."
"Yeah, until four hours went by and we had shelved exactly three of the twenty-two they had sent you."
"Fine," she conceded. "I guess maybe it is a bit of a production. I have the winning task though so it doesn't matter. Whoever loses, has to floo call Kingsley on behalf of all of us and rescind our acceptance to the Minister's dinner on the fifteenth. It's the only day that everyone else is available to get together before September."
"She always wins. How is it you always win?" Ron demanded, stuffing half a sausage link into his mouth.
"Are we agreed then? Loser has to call Kingsley and tell him we can't come," Harry asked, the look of dread already on his face, since he had been on a spectacular losing streak since they started their daily morning gamble.
After they all nodded their ascent, Severus summoned a small jar from the counter filled with different sized toothpicks.
"As always, witches first," he said with mock gentility, offering her the jar.
After they had each drawn one of the many toothpicks out, they laid them on the table to examine.
"Yes!" Harry cried, seeing that he had finally chosen the longest one. "I'll say the top story is about Severus kicking the shite out of that bloke that tried to get photographs up Hermione's dress last night. And the photo will either be of the fight itself or Ron and I pulling him off the guy."
"Oh come on, that was gonna be mine!" Ron shouted.
"He had it coming," Severus defended, while Hermione brushed her fingers along the cracked knuckles of the hand on her leg.
"No doubt about that mate," Harry agreed, raising his teacup at him.
Shifting her weight on the bench, Hermione sat straighter as she laid her bet down.
"It'll be something about Harry nursing his broken heart after arriving stag last night. Probably some trash about him being involved in yet another love triangle, with a spread featuring a photo of he and Ginny before they broke up and one of Ginny and Viktor from their date earlier in the week."
"Damn it, that's a good one," Severus swore.
"Shite it is," Harry mumbled in agreement. Slapping a hand on Ron's back he added, "It's okay though, Severus hasn't gone yet and he never loses. He might still bump Hermione out for you."
"Not likely," she sing-songed, cutting into her breakfast.
"I'm running with the love triangle theme, it's too good not to. It'll be a shot of Harry holding me back with Ron between me and that wanker from last night, except they'll say he was challenging me to a duel over Hermione's virtue," he laughed.
"Fucking Godric! Someone just hand me the floo powder already," Ron pouted. "All I have left is that last night was the first time since his trial that Malfoy has been seen. Maybe someone photographed that moment of him and Harry shaking hands and wrote some fluff about the dawning of a new era and bridges being built between houses."
Laughing, Hermione summoned the floo powder to the table and pushed it to Ron.
"Sorry but you so lost," she tried to say, her words unintelligible around her growing guffaw at his petulant face.
Reaching out, Severus began to unroll the first newspaper. Sure enough, splashed across the front of The Daily Prophet, was exactly what Hermione had bet on with the added embellishment of photos from her fourth year when she was linked to Viktor Krum and had supposedly broken Harry's heart.
"I'll get started on drafting the letters to everyone inviting them over since I clearly won't have to be the one to call and disappoint Kingsley," she gloated, spearing a piece of pineapple.
"How magnanimous of you," Ron snapped.
"Magnanimous? When did you get a word of the day calendar?" Severus quipped, making Harry choke on his tea.
"Shut it hawk face otherwise I will challenge you to that honor duel," he laughed, brandishing his sticky fork like a wand.
"Okay, okay," Hermione shushed, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Next one."
Grabbing the newly minted Shining Star, a wizarding take on the popular muggle printing of The Sun, she removed the twine that kept it rolled up and examined the moving photograph on the front page.
"Looks like Severus's record is still intact," she announced, turning the paper to face them.
The front page transitioned between Harry holding Severus back from what looked like attacking Ron and large block letters that proclaimed, The Resurrected Bad Boy Creates Rift Among The Golden Trio: Ronald Weasley Heartbroken.
"Good game," he consoled, bringing his coffee to his lips as he smirked.
"Do you want to do the honors or shall I?" Harry asked, offering Ron the folded up copy of Witch Weekly.
"Just get on with it," Ron said, already admitting defeat as he made his way to the fireplace.
"Merlin, are they for real?" Harry yelled, as he unfolded the magazine. "Where do they even get such an idea? Look at this!"
He threw the magazine on the table and stood up, snatching the floo powder from Ron's hands as he stomped over to the fireplace, muttering about his losing streak.
"I was right?" Ron asked in disbelief.
"Well sort of..." Hermione wheezed, turning her head to laugh into Severus's shoulder.
In the center of the table was the photo Ron had mentioned but the lead article was vastly different from what he had speculated.
Sorry Readers, It Looks Like Harry Potter Has Snagged His Very Own Slytherin Bad Boy. Could This be the True Cause Behind His Split from Ginevra Weasley?
"You know it makes sense, Harry," Ron mused. "I mean you did stalk him most of sixth year. Poor Luna, someone needs to tell her."
"I hate all of you," Harry announced, throwing the powder into the flames and getting down onto the carpet to call Kingsley.
While Ron continued to rib Harry, Hermione started sorting the mail, tossing each letter and invitation beside its addressee's plate. At the bottom of the stack were four envelopes with the Hogwarts crest embossed on the parchment.
"I guess Professor McGonagall is still holding out hope that Harry and Ron will change their minds and come finish their education," she observed, handing Severus his.
"It's a bit early for supply lists, isn't it?"
"Maybe they sent them out earlier due to the influx of returning students? I mean they tracked down all the muggleborns who couldn't attend last year or never received their letters, plus those of us that are returning to retake our final year. I think this may be one of the largest years they've had in some time," she reasoned.
Opening up the letter her eyes scanned over the newly instated Headmistress's looping script. The letter was short and concise, detailing one of the biggest changes that would be coming to Hogwarts in light of the war and their efforts to bridge house divisions. She had known McGonagall had ideas for large, unprecedented changes to the way the school was run, taking the opportunity of rebuilding the government to push them through.
Hermione had thought the chance would have been better used to overhaul the curriculum in subjects like Muggle Studies which was only taught as an elective. Another option she thought would have held more merit than forcing houses together was how History of Magic put so much emphasis on the Goblin Rebellions that everything else, including the rise of Grindelwald, was a mere footnote in their education. She had even hoped that the Ministry would finally see the need for courses that educated muggleborns and muggle-raised students on the social histories and practices of the Wizarding World.
Instead she was beginning to fret that they would continue to slowly scrub the history books, dooming them all to another repeat of the last seven years. She wanted to give Professor McGonagall the benefit of the doubt and assume she was doing a slow release of the changes that were coming in the fall, however the letter she held made her feel like she and the Minister were taking a superficial route to change.
"They're re-sorting us?" She asked aloud.
"It would appear that way," Severus replied, removing his hand from her leg as he folded up the letter and tossed it back onto the table.
"Surely they can't think much good will come from that with us. I mean I see the logic behind the resort halfway through year four, that makes sense. But no one will take it seriously with us. The idea will look like a failure before it even fully gets off the ground. Not to mention it looks like they're ignoring all of the more pressing issues that have risen with a government mandated curriculum," she objected, her ire growing as she read the letter again.
Feeling Severus begin to put space between them on the bench seat, she dropped her own copy of the letter and grabbed his thigh.
"Please don't," she quietly pleaded, her indignation deflating as she moved herself over to him when he wouldn't budge to come back to her.
All summer they had been pulled together like magnets, only for them to repel each other just before they connected. In the first few weeks following the battle, his presence had helped to ebb the grief of losing her Severus. Her heartache wasn't as sharp or debilitating with his younger self around. When the waves of sorrow or anger would try to wash over her, she would seek him out in the house. Often the mere sight of him, especially from behind so her mind was more easily tricked, settled the tumultuous storm of emotions within her. And if she got close enough to inhale his scent or feel the warmth of his body, it would abate entirely.
Then there were the particularly troubling days. The ones that made reality and memory bleed together till she couldn't even distinguish her left from her right, let alone what was truly happening and what was merely a figment of her traumatized mind. Much like their first encounter in Diagon Alley, she would become paralyzed with fear. Unable to do little more than tremble while a distant part of her mind screamed at her for action. The unsteady track of her thoughts and loss of control over herself would make her swing from crippling fear to combusting anger that sent her on tirades where she lashed out at those around her. In those blacked out, blurry moments the only one who could reach her was Severus. His touch and his voice could pierce the veil that covered her unseen injuries causing her to cling to him as though he were a buoy and she was adrift at sea, the threat of drowning all too likely to occur if she didn't hold on to him.
As time passed she had begun the slow and difficult task of actually dealing with her loss. She had spent weeks denying it had actually happened and instead used the Severus she had now to fill whatever holes in her heart he could, which led to the first time they had pulled away from each other. However when the process of uncoiling the guilt, sorrow, and anger proved to only give her inches of progress when she wanted leaps and bounds, she traded it in for the less healthy option of compartmentalizing. Boxing everything up, she had tossed it all to the back of her mind and promised herself that she would eventually deal with it, but only after she had worked through the trauma of war.
Now three months later and several more instances of one of them pushing the other away when they got too close, she and Severus had drifted together once again. Within the safety of their grey area, they could increase the amount of touch between them and speak with subtle innuendo and desire without pushing things too far from friendship into romance. It was a holding pattern that worked for them by allowing both to express interest at the possibility of more without having to confront the unique growing pain they would face if they fully came together. However as they continued to dance around each other, Hermione's certainty that he was again what she wanted grew.
Looking from where her hand rested halfway up his thigh with her fingers curving inward, she met his dark unmasked gaze.
"I don't want you to pull away from me again."
"I'm not the only one who's been holding back," he countered.
"I don't want to pull away from you again either," she confessed.
Hermione continued to watch him, trying to gauge his response and brace herself for rejection. His eyes flickered from where she touched him to Harry and Ron who were still at the fireplace before settling on her. Though he was easier to read now than he had been before, the way his face remained unchanged made her uncertain. No longer willing to leave herself out on the ledge waiting for him, she went to pull back despite her words. His bruised and split hand shot out to snatch hers faster than the thought of following through with her cowardly retreat had formed in her head.
As it always did, Severus's hand appeared to swallow hers whole as he held it for a moment making her relax under the feeling of being protected.
"Are you sure?" He asked, turning her hand over so her palm faced up. "It's only been a few months and where we are right now isn't so bad. If you need more time, I'll keep waiting."
His breath warmed her exposed skin, making goose flesh spread up her arm. She mutely nodded her head as he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the inside of her arm. A hot shiver raced down her spine as his nose and lips slowly dragged up her wrist, into her palm and settled itself into her core. Her lips parted on a silent sigh as she shifted her weight on the bench to quell the sudden urge she felt to climb into his lap and roll her hips over his.
Bereft when he pulled back and quirked his eyebrow at her, she eagerly nodded her head and gasped, "Yes, I'm sure."
At her verbal confirmation, he dropped her hand and grasped her hips hauling her into his lap. Hermione's head fell back with a moan as the apex of her thighs came into contact with his growing erection, a low needy moan leaving her throat. Wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, she looked down into his glazed eyes and watched them flutter and roll while she rocked against him. Threading her fingers into the ends of his hair, she brought her mouth down on his and kissed him like a woman starved.
His fingers dug into her hips, urging her to move faster while he began to meet her grinding movements with thrusts of his own. The pulsing heat between her legs grew as her muscles began to tense and her core clenched.
"Don't... Stop..." She begged, as his lips moved from her mouth to suck at her neck.
"Hermione!" Someone distantly yelled, making her wave them off as Severus's hand began to work its way under her shirt.
"Yes," she hissed, pushing her chest forward for him to touch.
"Ron, check the mail!" Harry's voice echoed.
Somewhere in the far corners of her mind his panicked words were registering in her head but she brushed it aside when she heard Severus's near feral growl at her throat.
His hold on her hips grew punishing as she continued to rub herself off on his clothed length.
"No, I'm close," she whined when Severus ripped his mouth away from her and began to maneuver her off of him.
"Hermione, something is wrong," he struggled to pant out, before unceremoniously dumping her on her bum as he jumped back from her and the table.
"I think one of the envelopes has been tampered with. It's the only thing she's touched that we haven't..." Harry explained, his voice going murky in the face of her lustful haze.
"Come back," she pouted, running her hands up her torso, lifting her shirt as she went.
"Let's keep that down for now, yeah? One of you needs to call Kingsley back," Severus instructed pulling her hands away from her body. "And get her purse," he desperately added as she tried to pull him closer.
Hermione's blood was racing, her temperature near scalding as she writhed on the bench trying to bring relief to her over stimulated body. Looking at Severus's anger filled eyes she began to weep.
"What did I do wrong?" She cried, rubbing her thighs together. "Please tell me, I'll make it better."
"You didn't do anything," he snapped, making her cry harder. "I'm just a bloody fool is all," he mumbled, crossing his arms as he took another step back from her.
"What am I looking for?" Harry asked from beside her as he upended her purse on the table.
"I've got it!" Ron shouted, from behind her. "It was a letter addressed to you, Harry."
"Wrap it in a cloth so they can examine it at the Ministry," Harry said.
"Will you all leave!" Hermione shrieked. "Can't you see he won't touch me if you're here and I need him. He's the only one who can make this ache go away."
"What happened to her?" Ron asked with concern that only aggravated her.
"My best guess is someone laced that envelope with some sort of potion to lower inhibitions," Severus explained, finally coming back within reach.
Like a cat in heat, Hermione began to nuzzle her face against his bare chest, mewling at the feeling of his skin against hers. Feeling his body tense and his breath stutter, she began to kiss his ribs, her tongue coming out to lick a wet path up his side as she rose to her knees. Taking a hold of the low slung pajama bottoms he wore, she pulled at the waistband trying to free his cock.
"Will one of you restrain her?" He yelled, batting her hands away.
"Is it safe for us to touch her? She only wants you, Severus. I don't want to hurt her or make it worse," Harry asked cautiously.
"Dormitas!" A fourth voice called, making her suddenly drowsy.
Taking hold of his hand, Hermione sleepily pleaded, "Don't pull away. I can't lose you again," before falling asleep, her burning arousal finally cooling off.