A/N: I eat up most types of Harmony fics, including stories where Harry is edgy, an asshole, bitter, malicious, or simply dark. This story features that kind of jaded Harry, read: not nice, so take this as a warning and please be aware before leaving upset reviews that he's OOC. The plot is H/Hr, of course, but it's a twisted H/Hr plot.
(Also, inspiration for this fic was garnered from 2 songs by Adele and Trey Songz, neither of which I own).
To Forgive a Stone Heart
War changed people and Harry was no exception. It had been months since Voldemort's defeat, and Britain's wizarding world was in the beginning stages of mending and reshaping all that he had broken. While the impending tasks ahead were significant, the hope that existed alongside them was bright enough to light the way...
… everyone's way but Harry's, apparently. The magical society of which he was a part was entering a new era, mostly due to his actions and sacrifices, but The Boy Who Lived seemed to be notably missing from the move forward.
It took some time for Britain to notice its savior had disappeared (forced savior) but Harry's loved ones (the ones whom were left, anyway) noticed sooner. They knew the war would continue to take its toll on him although it was over and he was out of survival mode, able to digest and process everything that had happened in the past few years; the war continued to take its toll on them as well so they understood. They understood Harry would be distant, angry, and emotionally fragile. They knew his infamous moods would be prominent. They expected it. They expected and understood.
But they had not expected Harry to fully close in on himself, for him to help with the extensive restoration of Hogwarts and then disappear. For him to steadily stop reaching out to people or responding to contact attempts. For him to become aggravated with their concern once they voiced it, for him to insist he did not need help and refuse it, usually accompanied by choice profanity.
They did not expect for Harry to neglect his duties as godfather, ignore career decisions, or lock himself away in Grimmauld Place for weeks at a time. His loved ones did not expect any of it and were hard pressed on how to rectify the situation. Their coaxing appeared to only encourage his alienation. Conversely, it did not stop them from trying, but it deteriorated to a point where he would only speak to his best friends (and typically in a vitriolic manner).
Ginny's last attempt at connecting with Harry was the official end of their relationship, although it had never truly restarted after Voldemort's fall. Ron and Hermione had no idea what happened between the red headed witch and Harry, but Ginny returned to the Burrow early one evening with tears in her eyes and every emotion conceivable on her countenance. She asserted that "Harry Potter is a sodding bastard who can rot in that forsaken hell of a home, for all I care!" before hurrying to her room.
Two months later, Ron was the next to fold. While he did not condemn Harry as his sister had, he did come back one night defeated and halfway anguished. He reported to Hermione that he had stayed outside for over two hours, utilizing every possible way to gain access inside Grimmauld or get Harry to come outside, but their best friend had not even opened the door.
"It's been months, Hermione. Months," Ron told the tearful brunette, "We can't… we can't make him. He's changed… and it feels like I've lost two brothers." He ended the conversation by kissing Hermione's forehead and wondering if this was how his relationship with Harry would truly come to a close, after the countless things they had been through.
Hermione understood Ron's quiet white flag. She postulated he probably felt like he had been neglecting his family's need to mourn Fred in order to chase Harry, and she understood that he was giving up to join his family in properly grieving one of their beloved. She believed Ron likely did not want to step away but saw no other option at the moment that would yield the result they so desired.
She also understood this left her alone. Alone to keep up the effort of not abandoning Harry (although he had seemingly abandoned the life and people he had known), and, while it was daunting knowing she was now doing this on her own without support, she would continue to try.
Hermione was determined if nothing else and she had never given up on Harry since the moment she met him.
She would lure him out of his hovel, she would get him to talk to her again. She would force him to connect once more and remind him that you did not willingly give up the people you love.
Hermione succeeded.
Her persistence paid off and Harry let her in. Literally and figuratively, he let her in.
She could not have pinpointed exactly how long it had been since she had forged ahead without Ron or even what part of the year it was, but it was a Wednesday- that she knew. It was a Wednesday when the door to Grimmauld Place creaked open and Harry stood on the other side, peering at her with a blank expression.
The witch froze when she met his gaze. She had been there for over half an hour with a plan to leave by the hour mark. Her immediate thought was that she had to tell Ron. They met at least once a week and he made sure to always ask how her attempts with Harry were going, so he had to know about this breakthrough, this damn near miracle.
Hermione's second thought was that she wanted to cry, and, indeed, she felt water rapidly fill her eyes and her lip begin to tremble. She had not seen her best friend- this best friend- in months upon months, and now that she was, it was all too much. He had been behind a piece of wood this entire time, knowing they had been desperate to reach him.
How could he?
Harry's expression changed when he noticed the impending onslaught of Hermione's tears. He furrowed his brow and frowned and, with the natural dexterity gifted to him, he reached out and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her into the darkened house with a slam of the door.
She had only been able to gasp, too stunned to say anything as he marched her to the kitchen. Harry's grip on her arm remained unrelenting and firm and his stormy countenance did not clear. He let go once they were fully inside the room; Hermione's arms went up around herself without delay but he did not appear to care as he sat down in the chair he had clearly occupied before answering her call. She glanced around the kitchen and saw that it was clean overall, something she would have not necessarily expected from someone whom had become a hermit. Kreacher, the witch thought.
The only noticeable thing that stood out to her was the bottles of alcohol that sat on the table. There were a handful: most were empty but there was one with about half its contents left, and it sat next to a glass with a thin layer of liquid on the inside that indicated it had been used recently. Hermione's heart lurched.
"Harry-" she commenced in a strangled voice, still hugging herself.
His stony gaze landed on her and her voice died in her throat. She stared at him, wanting to cry again. There were differences in his appearance since she had last laid eyes on him (MONTHS ago). His hair was a bit longer and he had more facial hair than she had ever seen on him, but his eyes… oh, those eyes would never change.
"I've been thinking. That's why I let you in." Harry revealed after a prolonged bout of silence. (He sounded the same, at least).
"Thinking?" Hermione asked, sounding confused.
"Reminiscing." Harry clarified. His eyes were no longer on her.
Her breath hitched for some reason as watched him fiddle with something on the table. (Parchment- he was messing with parchment she had not yet noticed).
He let her in because he had been reminiscing...
"O-Oh," she uttered lamely, dissolving the quiet.
Harry gave a disinterested wave to the area in front of him before he gathered all the paper together and removed it from the table. Hermione understood he was inviting her to sit and so she did, unfolding her arms for the first time and pulling out the chair directly across from him. She dropped into it and continued gazing at him while he continued to not look at her. She had so many thoughts running through her brain right now that it felt a bit dizzying, and they were mostly questions.
Why now? Why let me in now? This can't be the first time you've reminisced in the eons since you've spoken to any of us! Why have you disappeared? What did you say to Ginny? Do you even care how your absence has affected everyone, how you've hurt us? Why have you chosen to suffer alone? What the hell have you been doing in here? Are you still the same person?
Hermione wanted to fire these off to him but she did not. Realistically, where would she even begin? There were so many feelings attached to these thoughts and, right now, they felt like they would threaten to consume her. Harry was sitting across from her like nothing had happened, like his absence had not been a significant rupture in their lives, and he was not even looking at her. The tears returned and the witch's face scrunched up as she put a hand over her eyes, unable to stop some of the water from falling.
"You're a bastard," she attested in a shaky voice, repeating what Ginny had voiced about him God knew how long ago now.
If there had been one thing Harry would not have expected Hermione to say, that was it. The first meaningful thing she had said to him in far too long and it was to rebuke him. Her hand shielded her face so she did not see him stare sternly at her, his heart beating a tick faster. He watched her while she cried, quiet and shrewd during the couple minutes it took for it to subside.
"You reminisce and everyone who cares about you goes absolutely spare for the last… ugh!I don't even know how long it's been! It's been that long!" the brunette remarked, showing her first spark since being pulled into the house. Hermione removed her hand from her face and gazed at Harry, eyes red and moist but also angry.
"What is wrong with you, Harry?! To just vanish, to not respond to anyone!," she half shouted, "Did you finally snap after finishing Voldemort like some people thought you would? Did you want to punish yourself for things that were not your fault? Did you think none of us would understand how terrifying and hollow things felt, even after he was gone!"
"No! I knew you all wouldn't understand certain things!," the wizard retorted, his expression hard, "And I refusedto let wizarding Britain put me on their shoulders and parade me around like there weren't dead bodies under everyone's feet!"
"So your answer is to act like one of the dead? To just leave!" She screeched the last word, a flare of magic striking the air that Harry surely felt.
It calmed him, oddly.
"I didn't leave, Hermione. I'm right here. And I let you in. I let you in because I was reminiscing, like I told you," he informed her in a stoic tone. Her face contorted in pain and she shook her head.
"I let you in because I realized that, out of everyone, you likely do understand." Harry said after a moment. Hermione took in a shuddering inhale and stared at him, eyes still wet.
"W-What?" she questioned.
"You understand me, Hermione. You always have. You're the only one who's ever seen me for me. The only one… and that includes Dumbledore," he mentioned, dragging the liquor bottle towards him, "It took me some time to remember that."
The witch watched Harry pour liquid into the glass and then bring it to his lips and take a long sip.
"You saw me and you never wanted anything from me other than to stay safe," he relayed, swirling the alcohol around in the glass and watching it, "That's all you wanted. And maybe that explains why you always gave me such bone crushing hugs." He smirked a bit and then met Hermione's addled but riveted gaze.
"Your hugs that would bowl me over nearly every time you gave them. It never changed, from first year on," Harry continued, "I don't remember you doing that much with Ron."
She broke eye contact and peered at the table instead, feeling her face heat up. For him to just mention Ron so casually!... it stirred something within her. Ron was his supposed best friend!
"Ron didn't have to face the same things as you, Harry, and I care about you terribly. What do you expect?"
Well, Harry had not been expecting to let Hermione inside, to talk to her. But he really had been going through recollections (at least half of which included the young woman in front of him), and when he was alerted there was a presence outside his home and he checked, something inside him clicked when he realized it was her. She had attempted to get through to him countless times before, of course, but Harry supposed right timing and the liquor could have made him more sentimental, lowered his inhibitions and pushed him to grant her entry.
And some of these recollections involving Hermione… well, they had been more charged than others, hadn't they?
He thought back to the not so distant past, recalled some of the thoughts and images the locket Horcrux had planted in his brain and then amplified at certain times. (Mostly once Ron left them to fend for themselves). Harry had never mentioned these musings to Ron and Hermione because they had primarily featured Hermione and had been decidedly illicit. The loss of clothing... tongues on skin and in mouths, sliding against each other… sweat… hard thrusting and involuntary whimpers.
And the locket had whispered to him that he could have it! Could have her, if he wanted. He was Harry Potter, after all, and she would do anything for him. (She owed him, the Horcrux insisted, after she had gotten his wand broken). And if she did not give herself willingly, he could convince her: convince her, or demand it, or give her an ultimatum, but he could have it.
Harry smiled wryly and peered at Hermione. He knew even then the torrid thoughts were inconceivable and not truly his own, but that had not stopped them from coming or stopped him from remembering.
Reminiscing, indeed.
"What? What is it?" the witch questioned, looking and sounding concerned. He shook his head.
"I know you care about me," Harry admitted, "And so did his Horcrux." The wizard took another long sip of alcohol.
"What do you mean?"
"You remember what it was like wearing that damned locket, the dark thoughts that it created."
"Of course I do. I'll never forget." Hermione quickly insisted.
"Well it manipulated that fact- that you care about me," he answered, "Some of the things it put in my head… about you."
It was silent while Harry continued drinking and the brunette appraised him. Her heart thumped a bit faster in her chest.
"What… what kind of things?" she questioned, much quieter than she had said her previous statements. The wizard chuckled.
"You're more than smart enough to guess what kind of things, Hermione."
Harry let his eyes intentionally rove over her form, doing it so slowly that even the dimmest person on Earth could have inferred what his look meant. He finished his liquor in a final swig and peered at her over the rim of the glass, smirking when he observed her stunned body language.
Hermione's thoughts raced and she could feel her face heating up again as she peered at him. She had not known this but of course she had not; the thoughts he referenced were not thoughts Harry would have openly told her or Ron about, were they? Well, the Harry she had once known would not have, but this Harry… she honestly did not know if he was the same person. In the short amount of time they had spoken, he already seemed notably different. It made Hermione want to both leave right away and stay as long as she could, just to see if she could draw him out of this hard shell.
The witch dropped her gaze and ran a hand through her tangled strands nervously. Perhaps he was just being suggestive as a shock factor, intent on making her uncomfortable as a defense mechanism or something.
"Have I upset you?" Harry wondered, continuing to appear amused.
"That is obvious, but not because of lewd thoughts courtesy of Voldemort's Horcrux. It's more to do with Harry Potter's stupid decision to cut himself off from people who love him!" she replied with determination.
His entertained, smug expression dropped from his countenance and was replaced by a miniature scowl. He finally dropped his gaze and batted the glass around in a moody fashion.
"Well you're here, aren't you?" he grumbled.
Yes, Hermione was here, and she was going to be here- with him- until he decided she would not be.
Incidentally, that turned out to be for another hour. They remained in the kitchen the entire time and her visit ended when Harry suddenly declared that she "should probably get home." She heeded his dismissal without a fight but before she left Grimmauld she had a request.
"I'm going to come back. I want to come back. You have to let me in again," Hermione said rather desperately, looking into his green orbs, "You'll let me come back, won't you, Harry?"
The wizard stared at her for a full half a minute before giving a terse nod and closing the door.
Harry, indeed, allowed Hermione to return to his home after that. Numerous times, in fact.
The brunette regarded every visit with special care as she was unsure if the next one would happen due to Harry's fluctuating mood. She also informed Ron about her trips and the red head listened eagerly; he had been astounded when Hermione told him about the first trip to Grimmauld. When she suggested Ron reach out to their long time friend based on her success, he declined, stating he did not think the time was right just yet for his reintegration. The witch was disappointed but acquiesced, especially since Harry always seemed indifferent whenever she brought up Ron. Harry's apathy concerned her but she was afraid to insist he speak to the other wizard in case he cut off contact with her again as well.
So Hermione's visits continued and she was exceptionally grateful, and on certain trips she witnessed glimpses of the old Harry.
On one of these, now, regular visits, Harry inquired about her parents. She was deeply touched he had asked (a glimpse of old Harry) and gushed to him about her father and mother. Harry, accordingly, thought it only obvious to want an update about the Grangers as he had been vital in their reconnection with their daughter. He thought of how he funded Hermione's research into memory magic and her subsequent trip to Australia to retrieve her parents so she could restore their memories. He had done this even while disconnected and, while shocking, it had meant the world to Hermione and given her hope that all was not lost with Harry.
Hermione thanked him and thanked him again for his help with her parents during this visit, even daring to initiate physical contact by giving him a swift hug before departing (which he permitted but did not actively return). Harry watched her wave to him before she left the home via Floo and, for some reason, he thought of his confession to her about the Horcrux. Consequently, his thoughts regarding this were more persistent as he lay in bed that night.
Harry's recollections about the locket's Hermione centered musings had not gone away since the witch's first visit. They had increased with each passing trip, in fact, but he had not mentioned them again since then. During her next visit they spoke about jobs (Hermione's work at the Ministry and Harry's insistence that, no, he was not considering a career of any kind so leave it be), and while she was talking (because she was the one who did the majority of the talking when she was over), he watched her attentively as images from the Horcrux flashed through his head.
The locations and scenarios in which they had sex in the dark fantasies varied, but one thing Hermione said frequently, often at his urging, was that she was his. In the visions, she assured Harry she was his as he drove into her over and over and she clung tightly to him. Did the real Hermione feel in some way, even to a small degree, even unconsciously, that she belonged to him? Is that why she had been the last one standing in trying to reach him- why she was always the last one standing when it came to him? The one who knew him best… and the Horcrux had seized upon it and made it perverse.
Although, Harry questioned if it was really all that perverse. It was merely sex... Sex with Hermione: a notion that swirled in his brain more and more as the days passed.
The wizard mentioned the locket fantasies once more two and a half weeks later. The pair was perched on the floor of the small sitting room with a bottle of wine sitting in the space between their bodies. He had actually convinced Hermione to indulge with him a bit and she, wanting to stay and feel attached to him and noticing he had been speaking more than usual, agreed. She had begun her second glass and knew there would be no more after this while Harry was still on his first.
"You know," he commenced lazily, peering at her, "We never really talked about what I told you when you first visited."
"Which was?" Hermione prompted. She felt pleasant, likely due to the wine and from how this trip to Grimmauld was turing out.
"The locket thoughts I had about you."
A blush heated her face as she gazed at Harry and he could see the surprise on her countenance. It pleased him. Catching her off guard had become fun for him.
"Y-You want to talk about that?" she asked after a long moment. He shrugged, a smile starting to form. He heard the slight tremble in her voice.
"You didn't have inappropriate thoughts about Ron, or me?" Harry wondered. (Ron- there was Ron again. His nonchalant mention of him like he talked to the red head, like they were still best friends, when in reality Harry did not seem to even care that the other wizard existed).
"Not… not so much, no."
"Want to hear about mine?"
Hermione stared at him, heart pumping more rapidly. Why did he want to discuss this? Why did he want her to know how his thoughts had been influenced in such a salacious way? What was his objective?
"Why share that, Harry?" the brunette inquired, sounding robbed of breath.
"Only seems fair since they were about you," he stated, not breaking eye contact. He wanted to smirk but refrained, and when she did not say anything more to encourage or stop him, he continued.
"In some of them, I took you on the forest floor. Leaves were caught in your hair and we were only dressed from the waist up. In most of them, it happened in the tent- anywhere in the tent. On any surface. And then, in one, we were swimming in the lake. It was night and we were meant to be bathing, but it was deathly quiet and the only sounds that echoed through the trees were the water sloshing round and your moans." Harry explained.
Hermione finally looked away. Her face was completely flushed and she felt confused, embarrassed, and, and… oh God, why had he revealed that?! Harry, on the other hand, was now smirking; if he were a cat, he would have purred. It felt delicious for reasons he could not fully articulate.
"I see," she mumbled after a long bout of silence, during which she gazed at the floor the entire time.
"But the locket's been destroyed, right? No harm, no foul," he offered before drinking his wine.
"Y-Yes. Right!" This came out brightly but Hermione still would not meet his eye.
The witch left after finishing her second glass. It had been fairly quiet between the two after Harry's racy description but he used the time to study her, and when she got up to exit the room he jumped right after her, catching her hand and thanking her for the visit (the first time he had ever thanked her for stopping by). He stared at her intently and she was dazed for a moment or two before stuttering out an "of course" and going on her way.
That night, they both dreamt of leaves tangled in brown hair.
Hermione noticed that Harry changed after that. He continued to speak less than her and maintained the same level of detachment, yes, but he was different. He acted differently in a physical sense whenever she was over in that he'd stare raptly at her or stand very closely to her, give occasional touches that were light but lingered and seemed to electrify her skin. And maybe it was simply glimpses of old Harry but she was unsure. This seemed different than both versions of him to which she had been exposed.
Hermione also surmised the change was largely to do with the admittance of his Horcrux fantasies, something she was still unsure how to digest. She did not understand his motive behind telling her and perhaps she never would, for she could no longer follow or guess his thought process (not this version of Harry), and he was not likely to give an answer if she confronted him about it. The witch had tried to address other matters with him and he had either forcefully told her he was not interested in talking or he simply did not respond.
It was during one of these instances after the noticeable shift that Harry acted and set a catalyst in motion.
They had just finished a meal that Hermione made when she floated their used dishes to the kitchen sink, all except the glass of liquor that obstinately sat in Harry's hand. (The brunette once brought up his regular drinking with concern but he shut her down in a heartbeat, bluntly telling her it was not a problem and he would not stop so she should harp about someone else's alcohol consumption). Harry had watched her for most of the meal as she gave updates about their loved ones (asserting that, yes, their loved ones still applied) and she had not failed to notice how piercing his gaze was.
Hermione let out a deep exhale as she made to clean the dishes but did so as quietly as she could. She had been feeling more frazzled in Harry's presence since that damned revelation but it was not nearly enough to keep her away from Grimmauld. Oh no- her visits could not dwindle and risk Harry letting her in; just the right amount of time away and the door might not ever open again. Hermione would not have that and believed she could handle whatever he threw her way… including a deft hand on her waist.
She jumped in place and turned around. He was standing directly in front of her with the same focused stare, and when she went to question what the issue was he held up his glass, which was bare. Hermione looked at it before grabbing it, thanking him and going to put it in the sink with everything else. Conversely, Harry planted both hands on her waist to keep her facing him and preventing her from fully turning back around. She appeared bewildered as she searched his face.
"Harry, what… what-" Hermione uttered. This was the first time the wizard had given her this much physical contact since his disappearance and, combined with his gaze, it made her heart positively race.
Harry did not reply or relieve his grip. He maintained his stare and she returned it but felt reticent, realizing her body was heating up. What was going through his head? Why was he so close?
Instinctively, the brunette had an inkling of what would happen, of what he wanted, but it did not lessen the shock in any sense. Hermione made to speak again but had no opportunity to utter one syllable before his mouth descended on hers without warning.
A gasp got caught in her throat as she watched Harry kiss her through large, widened eyes. The wizard's own had closed as he moved his lips against hers with purpose, hands beginning to tighten a bit around her waist. Hermione was rendered immobile. Her best friend was kissing her (because he was still her best friend, right? He still saw her that way? He had to still think of her that way!). But why? Should she stop him?
Hermione tried not to let her confusion overwhelm her because the sensation of Harry's mouth teasing hers was hard enough, but when he made a low, impatient noise in his throat and bit her bottom lip, she could not help herself. Her eyes closed as well and she released a tiny sob as her hands went to his neck, now earnestly returning the kisses. This was probably wrong on multiple levels but Merlin help her if it did not feel good, and Harry had been the one to initiate it (whatever his reasons). He had. And it felt like a gift- an unanticipated way to be connected to him, which is all that she truly craved.
Another noise from Harry and his tongue was in her mouth. He stepped into her until there was no space and she could not move from her spot against the sink. Kissing her was turning out to be fantastic. Now that Hermione wasn't frozen, she was responding to him so wonderfully. One of his hands left her waist for her hair and he pulled until her head fell back to the angle he wanted, which drew a shuddering breath from the witch. Her hands were now splayed on his chest. When Harry opened his mouth wide in order to suck her tongue, she made a high pitched keening noise that caused something in him to snap.
Hermione felt herself being yanked until she was flush against Harry, which was impressive considering how distracting it was having him suck her tongue. The next thing she knew, she was being pulled in on herself and when she opened her eyes she was no longer in the kitchen. She saw that she was in a bedroom as she pulled back from him in surprise. Harry had Apparated them into a bedroom: his bedroom. It looked to be the master but Hermione had little time to assess it; she gasped as he pushed her back onto his large bed. Her heart was beating like a jackhammer as they stared at one another.
Those blasted, lustful thoughts created by the locket had finally spilled over for Harry this visit, and he had been quiet while they ate because he had been imagining what would happen if he acted to make those lurid fantasies a reality. For a fleeting moment it felt like the Horcrux had been on his chest, whispering for him to DO IT while he watched her talk about what Neville was up to. And so he had, thinking that the images he had been plagued with since her initial visit might now cease, especially if they would be replaced with real memories.
Harry felt brazen as he peered at Hermione. He felt excited and powerful and he knew that he did not want to stop. Snogging her had made him feverish. He quickly joined her on the bed and resumed their kissing, climbing on top of her as her arms wound around his neck. They made out wildly and Hermione lost herself. She distantly thought they should talk about this if only for a minute but she kept quiet. She kept quiet when Harry licked and sucked her throat enough to leave marks, she kept quiet when she felt his hardened length, and she kept quiet when his hand slipped under her top to find her breast.
It was when he lifted her right leg, put it around his waist, and began grinding against her that Hermione spoke at last. She breathlessly called his name as her arms fell from around him and Harry pulled back to gaze at her. The brunette's head was swimming from his attention. It all felt sogood, especially the grinding, but the goodness of it is what caused her pause. Considering that they did not even discuss what they were doing, how far were they going to go? How far did she want this to go?
Harry could see the questions in Hermione's eyes but he was also aware of how she had reacted to him. She had returned his affections, which he thought she might, and it enlivened him. (The Horcrux had been on to something, it seemed). He wanted her and was on the brink of making that happen, but he would give her an out, of course. If she really did not want this… or if she told herself she did not.
"I'll stop if you tell me to," Harry softly alerted, slowly pushing up her top to reveal her flat stomach. He swept a hand across it as he nibbled her ear, "Tell me to stop, Hermione."
The witch prevented a groan from escaping her mouth as her face scrunched up. Right now, she did not want him to stop, but the alternative… the alternative was so monumentous. Hermione knew they couldn't- she knew they couldn't, no matter how gratifying this felt. It was not right! There was entirely too much left unsaid. 'We can't' resounded in her head like a mantra but, somehow, it never left her lips. It never left her lips so Harry did not stop and it all felt so good, and before she realized it they had gone over the edge.
Nude alongside her best friend, underneath him. Heavy breaths and pants and a choked out 'Christ' as he pushed inside her for the first time. Biting her lip while her hands found purchase on his arched back. Kisses from him that made her melt as she acclimated to the feeling of his body pistoning in and out of hers. And the culmination of it: the warmth and the pulsing, Harry gasping once before his body fell on hers and Hermione could feel the frenzied pace of both their hearts.
It was silent for a long while, even after he rolled off her. She eventually excused herself and got up to walk to the en-suite bathroom, shutting the door firmly into place once inside. She exhaled against the door before tending to her business and then stared in the mirror after she had washed her hands.
Hermione was dumbfounded. She was dumbfounded and naked, and she had just had sex with Harry Potter.
She gave a strangled cry, pulling at her hair. What had shedone?! Why on Earth had she not vocalized the insistence that they could not go beyond their impassioned snog? She had known where continuing would lead and here she was now! How had she gone from eating food with Harry to sleeping with him in the blink of an eye?
God, what did this mean? What would happen now? Hermione realized this aspect of her trip to Grimmauld was something she could and would not tell Ron about, and she felt shame. Her shoulders hunched. What would Ron think? Would he be disgusted, angry, jealous? The red head was actually the first person Hermione had been with sexually and it happened a couple months after the Battle of Hogwarts, during which Harry was already alienating himself. The witch had wanted to share that special experience with Ron and did not regret it, but it made her heart twist to contemplate what he would think of this situation. More importantly, what did Harry think about what they had just done?
She had to find out, had to question him and insist on answers. They had to talk… but maybe not today. Her head felt too scrambled.
Consequently, Hermione stayed in the bathroom for a quarter of an hour with her thoughts and feelings. She continued to feel shy and uncertain when she emerged, having decided to redress and go home; she would return tomorrow to have the necessary discussion with Harry when her head space was clearer. Hermione looked up when she approached the bed and found him observing her with a placid expression on his face. She strove not to blush at their mutual nudity (although he was covered with sheets from the waist down).
Harry raised an eyebrow as Hermione began to collect her clothes and put them back on her body. The witch was in her bra and panties when he spoke up.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked in a casual tone. She peered at him in surprise.
"Erm, w-well, I, I tho…" she sputtered.
"I'm not chucking you out, Hermione," the wizard declared, eyes on the ceiling, "Unless you want to go, in which case be my guest."
Hermione dropped her gaze while she processed his words. To leave or stay…. Harry seemed so collected, so composed in spite of what they had just done. Ultimately, it was his composure that coaxed and beckoned her to carefully get back into the bed with him.
They did not speak much, a fact that her muddled brain was actually grateful for at the moment. They laid together and she held onto him and they drifted in and out of sleep, and, when at some point hours passed and the room had completely darkened, Hermione found Harry pumping into her again and sighing in pleasure while she placed small kisses on his shoulder.
Hermione's next trip to Grimmauld following her sexual indiscretion with Harry left her feeling profoundly nervous. She was not going to avoid seeing him, of course not- she had a unyielding rule about that- but they had to face what they had done and God knew how that conversation would go. They had not mentioned it at all during the previous visit, as odd as it was. Hermione, too afraid, had asked no questions and Harry, his typical aloof self, had not offered any explanation for the sex, not even after the second time, so the elephant in the room was able to roam free.
But they had to discuss it now, surely. It was too big to ignore (having sex with your estranged best friend!) and the brunette's nerves would simply have to endure it. Moreover, hearing Harry's reasoning would be helpful… would be relieving. However, when he met her at the door, their sexual encounter was not the first thing to fall from his lips.
"I left the house today," he reported in a tetchy tone.
"What?! Harry! You did?!," Hermione answered, peering at him with bright eyes, "That's wonderful! Where'd you go?"
"Diagon," the wizard noted, moving to let her inside, "It was awful."
Hermione had crusaded for Harry to leave his townhome and attempt to start to reintegrate with the wizarding world since her third visit. He insisted he did get out and she responded that leaving for necessary errands once a week, early in the morning or late at night to help his chances of avoiding people, was not getting out. He usually ignored her when she encouraged him to travel beyond the walls of Grimmauld but this proved that maybe he was not always tuning her out. Hermione felt some hope while she listened to Harry describe how grating his 30 minute jaunt to Diagon Alley had been, an emotion that was creeping up more often as her visits continued.
The pair did not once speak about the fact that they had slept together during this trip. It was on Hermione's mind, sure, but Harry did not reference it in any way or treat her differently. The witch left that evening thinking that perhaps the sex had merely been a fluke, something they had both needed to get out of their systems or something to do in order to help bridge the gap between them. And Harry did seem more attuned to her this visit! Sure, he was horribly sarcastic and constantly teased her (although rather playfully), but he was talkative and engaged and it made her hope swell even further.
Hermione's thought that the sex had been a rare (but significant) anomaly died during the next trip to see him when she wound up undulating beneath him in his bed once more. The wizard silently initiated it again, although this time they had been in the library, and she had submitted without pushback, but there was another difference from the last time.
"Say it's mine, Hermione," Harry ordered, breath ragged against her neck, "Say you're mine! Tell me."
Hermione felt somewhat rattled by his command but she couldn't deny him, not when he sounded like that and not when she felt so linked to him through this intimate act.
"It's… I'm y-yours, Harry. I'm yours! Just yours."
He groaned in response and bit her neck, causing her to gasp as he increased his pace.
Harry did not ask her to assert his ownership the fourth time they had sex. After the fifth time, Hermione realized a couple things. The first was that the connection she felt to him when they were physical was stark and she clung to it. The connection contrasted with the fortified wall he had built and it felt like, when their bodies were joined together, that she was on a ladder and seeing over the wall.
The second thing Hermione realized was that they had not cast any contraceptive charms up to this point. The five times had been unprotected and it made the witch panic until she took a Muggle test and wizarding potion to help determine if there was an unplanned fetus in her womb. When both results turned out negative, she breathed a sigh of relief and swore to talk to Harry about what exactly it was they were doing. Because that was just it- despite having had sex multiple times now, they still had not openly discussed why it was happening.
Hermione blamed Harry but she also blamed herself. He was the instigator every time, never offering a reason, but Hermione never demanded they have a conversation nor did she rebuff his advances. The part of her that was dependent on their connection when physically intimate was fearful that rocking the boat would cause Harry to retreat, although she knew carrying on like this, without pointing to the damned elephant in the room, would bring absolutely no good. It was not sustainable. So she promised to finally set a boundary and discuss their budding sexual relationship before jumping back into bed with him again... but this did not exactly pan out, and Hermione hastily cast the necessary contraceptive spell on herself right before Harry roughly entered her during their sixth time in one of the house's drawing rooms.
Hermione and Harry fell into a routine. They developed a fully fledged sexual relationship, an intense, satisfying one, but they did not talk about it. They did not discuss why it had originated or why it was maintained. Sex between them started with no explanation and it carried on that way, and the witch couldn't find the resolve to change the dynamic. A large part of Hermione loved sleeping with Harry but she hated that she had no idea what he thought about the situation. Was he getting something out of it besides physical gratification? Did he feel the same, strong attachment to her and sense of nostalgia when they were together that way or was he... using her?
Hermione was loathed to think this was why Harry had sex with her but the notion never fully left her mind. What was more, she recognized certain aspects about their intimacy that suggested the purpose of what they were doing varied quite a bit between the two. It did not take long for her to register that Harry was never affectionate, never touched, hugged or kissed her, unless it was leading up to or during sex. Hermione was not naive enough to believe her friend wanted or saw her as a girlfriend, but she wondered (and wondered constantly) how he viewed their physical relationship.
Additionally, the sex changed between them. Or more so, Harry changed- his attitude and how he behaved morphed into something different. He was always passionate, from the very first time they were intimate, but he eventually started to show… arrogance. He seemed flippant about the sex at times, like it wasn't her he was doing this way, like she was just some woman… like she could have been any woman.
There was a specific day this hit home for Hermione and caused all of the painful possibilities she was hiding from (that Harry was using her, that he did not care half as much as she did) to bombard her mind all at once.
He had just reached his climax, rigidly gripping her hips from behind while his head fell forward and he grunted, jerking her forward from fast yet forceful thrusts. Hermione's head and abdomen were flat against the mattress. Her eyes were closed while she bit her bottom lip and she did not open them until she felt the change in Harry's movements. He gradually slowed down until he stopped moving totally, at which point he took a long moment before he exhaled and removed one hand to rake through his hair.
The wizard gave a short laugh as he pulled out of her. Hermione sighed at the sensation and made to push herself up on her hands, but she felt Harry suddenly slap her ass (which caused her to jump) and heard him declare in a cheerful voice:
"What fun that was! Thanks for the good time, love."
He laughed again as he hopped off the bed and strolled into his bathroom, stretching his arms above his head before hurling the door closed behind him.
Hermione's breathing quickened as she brought her legs up and curled on her side, pulling some of the tousled bedding over her lower half. Shame. She felt shame again amidst the shock, confusion and bit of anger that was making her stomach clench, but it was most notably shame. Hermione had not experienced this since the initial time they had sex and she decided she could not tell Ron what they had done.
A good time? It sounded so… callous.
Hurt was the next emotion to join the fray and this was the first Hermione had experienced it since sleeping with Harry. She put a hand over her eyes to help steady herself against the wave of emotion that had washed over her. These feelings were maring the connection they had during sex. All Hermione could focus on was what Harry had said (a good time- fun), not the link to him she had come to expect during sex.
She did not know why she was reacting this way or why this felt so particularly jarring. Maybe she was just overreacting and reading into things; she had to read into things since Harry did not offer insight into what he thought or felt!
But maybe… maybe Hermione was actually fooling herself, and his comment had forced her eyes open. Maybe she could no longer ignore Harry's intentions in favor of her pretending… maybe this connection she so faithfully sought and clung to was one sided.
A/N: One more chapter.