Can't Pretend

A/N: The epilogue takes place eighteen months after Harry and Hermione left Hogwarts. Hope you enjoy.

Epilogue
Harry

After Harry and Hermione completed their food shop, they took off across the village square that was rife with Christmas Eve activity. The shops around them were brimming with business, patrons seeming to have been enticed by the Father Christmas, Jolly Postman, and Snowman window decorations inviting them inside. A rainbow of lights crowned the rooftops, as wreaths with holly and pinecones decorated front doors. Parcels were tucked into the arms of passerby, some of whom stopped their Christmas Eve celebrations to enjoy the carolers that congested the front of the war memorial in the middle of the village square singing O Holy Night.

To Muggles, the war memorial was an obelisk with names written on the sides. To Harry and Hermione, however, it was a statue of Dumbledore and the Potters. It was his parents who defeated Voldemort when he attacked them nineteen years ago, Dumbledore arriving shortly after to provide them aid. What followed was a crusade Dumbledore led in destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes, fulfilled by his parents along with Sirius and Remus. Harry didn't remember anything from that night, and maybe it was for the better.

With an arm around her waist, Harry and Hermione wandered onto Church Lane, the carolers transitioning to Silent Night at their retreating backs. At the end was St Jerome's Church, its stained-glass windows glittering like iridescent jewels from the lights inside. When it started to drizzle, Harry opened the brolly he thought to grab before and held it over them, watching as the rain slipped down the sides of the cottages and through the branches of the trees around them. The weather had been indecisive so far in December, raining some days and snowing others. Nonetheless, Harry relished these kinds of moments with Hermione, the calm and quiet free for them to enjoy. Much of Godric's Hollow was like this, save for the village square that is. It was similar to Bibury in Gloucestershire or Castle Combe in Wiltshire, civil parishes that were alien to the more populous cities of London and Birmingham.

"Do you like it here?" Harry asked.

"Godric's Hollow?" Hermione responded. "Of course, I do."

"More than Abbotsbury Wizarding Village?"

She hesitated and said, "The view of the Channel is hard to beat. But I don't like living so close to other witches and wizards. I could do without all the narcissism. You've seen the Christmas decorations there, remember?" Harry did, finding the front gardens of Abbotsbury Wizarding Village to be enchanting. In one garden, twenty-four Christmas trees were charmed to dance to the Waltz of the Snowflakes from the Nutcracker, a production worthy of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. In another was a choir of snowmen wearing red and green scarves. They sang carols to the delight of those watching. And Harry was rather fond of the gingerbread village that occupied a third garden, complete with its own inn, pub, and sweet shop, cottages sprinkled around them. There was even a miniaturized Quidditch stadium where fairies played with acorns. "It's like watching a competition," Hermione continued. "I much prefer what the Muggles do instead. Leeds, Nottingham, and York were beautiful, weren't they?"

Last year, Harry and Hermione Apparated to different Christmas markets, drinking cider and hot chocolate with toasted marshmallows. It was fun until Hermione requested bratwurst. Harry remembered his trousers growing uncomfortably tight as she put away the bratwurst with ease, his erection shooting upwards as if it was trying to hail her attention like someone trying to hail a London taxi. Suffice to say, he shagged her a short while later.

"You know," Harry started, "the Royal Family opens their presents on Christmas Eve. It started when Prince Albert requested that Queen Victoria adopted Heiligabend Bescherung from Germany in the nineteenth century." After a pause, he said, "We could do the same."

"First, we aren't part of the Royal Family. Second, it seems strange to open presents on Christmas Eve, don't you think? It's tradition to do so Christmas morning."
After worrying her bottom lip, and seeming to warm to the idea of breaking tradition, Hermione said, "Let's see how the rest of the night goes, okay?"

In response, Harry kissed the side of her head. He was more than eager to give Hermione her present, wondering what kind of reaction it would garner. Small as it was, the implication behind it was anything but. For months, Harry and Hermione had been talking about moving in together. And even though their relationship was two years on, Hermione was a little hesitant. Well, bugger it. His present to her was meant to allay the hesitation that still existed.

"Do you want a traditional Christmas dinner tomorrow?" Harry asked.

"How traditional are we talking about?"

"Turkey," he answered, "with roast potatoes and stuffing."

"And pigs in blankets?"

"Fancy them?" When Hermione nodded, Harry grinned. "That too."

"Good thing we got brussel sprouts, carrots, and parsnips," she added, nodding towards the package he was carrying. "And we can't forget about Yorkshire puds!" Typically, Harry would have never thought about including Yorkshire puds for Christmas lunch or dinner but would reconsider to satisfy Hermione's palette.

"We're still going to make mince pies?"

She nodded, "We should finish them before our parents come over."

"Oh, right," Harry said. "What time is that again?"

"They're coming around noon. We'll cut the turkey at three."

St Jerome's Graveyard was adjacent to St Jerome's Church, its entrance marked by an old and decrepit kissing gate that was in desperate need of repair to prevent it from falling over come the next gust of wind. Beyond, rows and rows of tombstones loomed out of the darkness like small adverts advertising those who were fast asleep and had been for many years already. But Harry and Hermione continued on, acknowledging the churchgoers that congregated inside the chapel to celebrate Christmas Eve. Soon, they began to sing.

Oh sleep, sweet babe
Though the snow is cold and deep around
Just sleep, deer babe
Through the wind's so keen and icy sound

Oh hush, sweet babe
There is nothing you should fear
Just hush, dear babe
For my love is always here

And I will hold you, safe in my arms
So no evil can touch you
You can come to no harm

Wake now, dear babe
Now the night is nearly through
Wake now, sweet babe
There's a world that's waiting here for you

Harry's cottage was amongst a small assortment of them on the far side of Godric's Hollow, tall trees rearing over the roofs from the wood nearby. Upon returning, Harry had changed into a white t-shirt and grey joggers, remembering to put on his black crew socks. Several months prior, Harry and Hermione had one too many to drink at the Mayflower in Rotherhithe along the River Thames. It was there that she told him about her special kink for black crew socks, finding them to be weirdly erotic. Since then, Harry made sure to wear black crew socks wherever he went. In the kitchen, he poured mulled wine, joining Hermione in the sitting room.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," she said, accepting the mug Harry handed her. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa, their legs spread out in front of them. "Is it so important that we open presents on Christmas Eve?"

"It'll be a new tradition of ours," Harry replied, unable to keep from smiling. "Why not, right?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said, sounding unsure of herself. Eyeing his black crew socks with a hungry kind of look crossing her face, she waved her wand. "Happy Christmas. I hope you like it." An animal carrier appeared out of thin air, floating towards Harry. Curious, he looked through the holes and was surprised to see what was inside.

"Rusty!" he exclaimed, gobsmacked. "What're you doing locked up in there?" Harry opened the door quickly and pulled out the orange tabby. Rusty, with his unchallenging disposition, melted into his arms like butter on a piece of hot toast. "Did you abduct him from Hogwarts?" he asked Hermione.

"Abduct," she snorted. "Not likely. I mentioned to Dobby that you were fond of Rusty. He was more than happy to let you have him."

"I'll bet," Harry remarked, kissing Rusty on his head. He stared purring. "We need to go and get some food so he doesn't go hungry."

"You should know that he's one and a half stone. That's not a very healthy weight."

"It's manageable," he said, cooing at Rusty. "Isn't it?" he asked the cat. Reaching between the pillows of the sofa, Harry extracted a velvety green jewellery box. "For you," he said. "Happy Christmas." Harry watched Hermione take the jewellery box from him gently, nervousness wreaking havoc in the hollow cavern of his stomach. Opening it, she stared down at what was inside.

"I don't understand," Hermione said softly, holding up a key. "What's this?"

Setting Rusty down, Harry said, "It took me seven bloody years to realize that I fancy you. There isn't a day that goes by that I regret how much time we could've spent together and didn't. And I don't want to do that anymore. The key," he said, pointing a finger, "is asking a question."

"Question?" Hermione whispered, her eyes full and immense.

As Harry reached for her hand, he asked, "Will you move in with me?"

Because it was full dark outside, Harry waved his wand at the candle on the windowsill, the flame like a flambé overtop it, broadcasting the rain on the glass. He then all but threw his wand aside, returning his attention to the naked body of Hermione underneath him. Harry kissed her, running his tongue along the seam of her lips. She let him in with a moan. He began lapping from her mouth hungrily as if she was an endless well of water to serve his severe dehydration. Making love to Hermione was cosmic, bypassing the sky to instead pilgrimage the dark abyss of outer space, territory they were becoming more familiar with. Were they moving too fast? Harry didn't think so. They had known each other for nine years now, dating others before the attraction between them became too great to ignore. He lusted after her for far longer than was necessary, unintentionally stalling time they could've otherwise spent together. But the seemingly incoherent formula had since been solved, Harry implementing its solution here and now.

Catching his breath, Harry looked down at Hermione. It was how her hair was splayed over the pillow it was resting upon. It was how her eyes were blown wide like windows in the morning. It was how her cheeks were flushed like strawberry patches. It was how her swollen lips ringed a hole for his tongue to continue its merciless assault. It was how the nipples of her breasts scraped against the black hair that flared across his chest. It was how her muscles tightened around him, making his erection drool with pre-cum.

Harry groaned with pleasure. It was raw, so much so that he kept thrusting inside of her, harder and harder, over and over, causing the headboard to bang against the wall like someone was knocking on the door. The heels of her feet ricocheted off his buttocks the faster he went. Their flesh slapped together in an erotic symphony. Harry guessed it was the basic instinct of the male anatomy that made him want to fill her with his cum, to breed her so that she carried his offspring to term. However, reproduction for reproduction's sake was currently on pause as Harry made sure to cast the Contraception Charm before they started. He didn't want to get Hermione pregnant, not when they had spent so little time together. There would be plenty of opportunities to have their children later on.

Harry kissed her again, completely aroused. In response, Hermione deftly moved her hands up and down his back like spiders. And though they were in the throes of winter, the air cold and snippy, sweat bloomed over them, dripping from his body onto hers. Harry dragged his lips over her chin, licking and sucking the column of her neck so that he left a trail of saliva in his wake, effectively marking her as his own. He slipped one of his hands downward, pushing through the small tumbleweed of curls to brush her clitoris. Hermione gasped, sweet and succulent. It was music to his ears.

While he returned to ravage her mouth, Harry kept thrusting his hips in a rhythm he controlled, a conductor and his orchestra if you will. She felt very tight and very wet, a measure of resistance hiding in plain sight. Freedom and power thrived within him, the sensations of their love-making driving him mad. Her breasts shook like jelly when his thrusts became more pronounced, drilling his erection balls deep into the entryway between her legs relentlessly. His was a man possessed, chasing both of their releases.

"I'm close," Hermione managed, breathless. And sure enough, he felt her contract around him, warm juices leaking onto the bed.

Overcome with desire, he pounded her hard and fast, spurts of his early arrival evident. Hermione yelped shrilly. After an erratic jerk of his hips, Harry stilled. Thick ropes of cum were like aggressive missiles as they fired inside her, hot and sticky. Harry released a mouthful of obscenities, countering Hermione's exhalations as he did. He grunted noisily as he pumped her with his seed, sperm coating her vaginal walls.

Satiated, Harry collapsed on top of her, unwilling to evacuate his erection from her body. They fit together perfectly. Hermione held him in her arms and told him, "That felt amazing." And she was right. It did feel amazing, by far the best he'd ever given and the best he ever got. Kissing her again, Harry let their tongues socialize some more even though he was utterly exhausted. He supposed participants of the London Marathon felt like this after they raced around the River Thames, starting in Blackheath and finishing at the Mall in the City of Westminster.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked, the smell of sex lingering above them like the rain clouds over Godric's Hollow.

After a moment, Hermione said, "Like I want to do it again," bring her lips to his and kissing him. "Why did we wait so long?"

He grinned, "Our priorities were elsewhere. But if you want to spend Christmas in bed, that'll be one hell of a present."

"Better than what I got you?"

"Rusty's tough competition," he said, "but yes." Depositing a wet shipment of kisses across the horizon of her shoulders, he asked, "Does this mean you'll move in with me?"

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Positive," Harry responded without any hestiation.

"I think I need some more convincing," she said, her hands sliding across his abdomen. "Do you want to help me with that?"

"Gladly," was Harry's response, repositioning himself over her.

Christmas morning had Harry and Hermione in the kitchen. Because both of their parents were coming over later to celebrate the holiday, ingredients for mince pies were sprawled over the counter in disarray. Harry was a touch frivolous due to their love-making the previous night, tickled when he remembered Hermione underneath him, naked and glorious. He was in nothing but black boxer-briefs which were embarrassingly tight as he watched Hermione prance around the kitchen in just her knickers, flaunting her perfectly shaped bum provocatively in his direction like some sort of mating call. He was having a hard time concentrating on the dessert, his erection becoming more and more obvious.

In the frying pan, Harry browned lamb mince, adding two chopped onions alongside it. Sprinkling flour and pouring lamb stock, he stirred until it thickened. Hermione stood imperiously close, grating nutmeg and including a pinch of ground mace. Harry finished by adding twenty-five grams of sultanas, lemon zest, and seasoning, while Hermione spared two teaspoons of Worcester sauce. Closing the lid, they were supposed to let the lamb simmer over low heat for thirty minutes.

"Let's get started on the rough puff pastry, shall we?" Hermione asked him.

Without waiting for an answer, she mixed together plain flour, grated butter, and lard. Harry blended this with one beaten egg and cold water. Hermione supervised him as he kneaded the dough. When Harry was done, he rolled the pasty, making sure not to push all the air out of either end. Instead, he kept the air in the middle so that the pastry would rise in layers. Hermione folded the pastry like a book, repeating the sequence twice more. Finished, she popped it into the fridge.

As Harry washed his hands, he looked out of the kitchen window. Sometime over night, when he was succumbing to sleep's strong gravitational pull, he noticed the drizzling rain had stopped its ministrations. Despite this, grey clouds were now present as they rolled across the sky en masse, a dramatic spectacle of rain awaiting instruction to fall like the hulking creatures they were. It was a dingy and overcast Christmas morning in the English countryside, a Scotch mist haunting the tips of the trees in the backyard. Godric's Hollow was infinitesimal amidst the rolling hills of Somerset. But Harry loved it here. His parents gave it to him when they moved to Robin Hood's Bay in North Yorkshire. It was made all the better when Hermione agreed to move in with him after Harry worshipped her clitoris with the flat of his tongue late last night. When she ground against his eager mouth, he was blissfully ravenous. Merlin, she tasted sweet. Hermione was now his favourite dessert, supplanting treacle tart from its record-breaking run.

Turning from the sink, he saw Hermione arranging the tins in a neat row atop the counter. Helpless to stop himself, Harry went to her. Consumed by the same kind of animalistic desire from the previous night, he immediately brought his lips to hers. He pushed her against the kitchen table and brought his erection into the apex of her thighs, making sure she felt his arousal. Their tongues clashed like enthusiastic swordsmen, Harry unable to think straight because of it. His integrity was greatly impaired when Hermione moaned into his mouth, guttural in the back of her throat. He wanted to shag her right on the kitchen floor, never mind their comfortable bed upstairs. Harry kissed his way down her neck, hands ghosting that provocative bum of hers. He let his tongue roam her breasts, moistening one nipple and then the other. Hermione whimpered, arching her body towards his. With his erection throbbing almost painfully between his legs, Harry couldn't wait any longer.

"Bend over," he said, pushing his boxer-briefs down. Pre-cum dangled from his erection, drooping onto the back of Hermione's legs and connecting him to her like stringy umbilical cords. It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Only when Harry slid her knockers off did he hear a loud crack that echoed around the kitchen.

"Harry Potter-," a familiar voice started.

"Shit!" he yelled and quickly Apparated to their bedroom upstairs, shielding Hermione view given that she was stark naked, knickers abandoned on the kitchen floor. Hell, his boxer-briefs had been abandoned too.

"Was that Dobby?" Hermione asked, hastily running to the wardrobe and grabbing one of Harry's jumpers. He tried not to stare, but the blasted thing barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

"Sounded like him," Harry said, mentally cursing Dobby for his untimely visit. "I'll go see what he wants." He wrestled on a new pair of boxer-briefs plus the grey joggers he wore last night, having been thrown chaotically in the corner of his room in his rush to make love to Hermione.

"Don't be silly!" she said. "We'll go together."

"You're barely dressed!" Harry countered. She ignored him. "Bloody hell," he murmured, hurrying after her. He nearly tripped over Rusty, almost going arse over tit down the stairs.

Dobby was bouncing on the balls of his feet in the kitchen, seeming to be unaware of Harry's boxer-briefs on one side of him and Hermione's knickers on the other. It would've been comical if Dobby hadn't seen them in such a compromising position, Harry almost penetrating Hermione from behind. He shuddered thinking about the possibility of Dobby coming minutes later when Harry was spilling himself inside of Hermione, his cum splattering onto the floor in gluey puddles.

"What're you doing here, Dobby?" Harry asked, using his wand to summon the articles of clothing from the floor. The last thing he wanted was for Dobby to begin an investigation as to why such garments were there at all.

"Dobby wanted to give Harry Potter his Christmas present!" Dobby exclaimed, still bouncing on the balls of his feet. Snapping his fingers, a massive tin of treacle tart appeared. The dessert was in the shape of Harry's head, the clotted cream spread across the pastry to resemble his round-rimmed glasses.

"Thanks, Dobby! Hermione and I have something to give you as well." Pointing his wand over his shoulder, Harry beckoned for a package under the Christmas tree in the sitting room. Handing it over, he said, "Happy Christmas." Dobby was in hysterics upon opening his present: a Puddlemere United jersey that had Potter across the back of it.

"Harry Potter is too kind to Dobby!" he bawled, throwing himself on the floor and kissing Harry's feet. "Too kind to Dobby!"

"Don't worry about it," he said, patting his head awkwardly. Hermione gave him a Calming Draught for good measure. When Dobby left, he promised to return for Christmas dinner later.

"Mate is long overdue for the holiday in Lanzarote he's been on about, don't you think?" Harry asked. He sat down at the kitchen table, the lights from the candles around them glaring against the murky state of the weather that dwelled just beyond the windows. Rain was clearly imminent.

"And how about going back to Dartmoor?" Hermione asked. "Or have you lost your interest in Crazywell Pool?"

Harry smiled, "Do you know about Crazywell?" When she shook her head, he explained, "Legend says that Crazywell Pool was haunted by the Witch of Sheepstor. She told a nobleman to return to the king's court after she predicted his humbled head shall soon be high. Instead, the muppet was captured and decapitated, his head perched on the battlements."

"That's horrible!" Hermione said. "I'd much rather go to Dartmeet, Haytor, or Hound Tor. We missed it the first time around."

"We will," Harry assured her. "But there's a bit of unfinished business to attend to first."

"Oh?"

"If I remember correctly, you were bent over the kitchen table here. The view was incredible, far better than anything in Dartmoor. So what do you say? Another one before we finish the mince pies?"

"Didn't know you were on the pull," Hermione said, lifting the hem of the jumper she was wearing. Harry was spellbound as he watched her breasts spill out of the fabric.

"You're incredibly fit, you know that?" he asked, getting to his feet. He pushed down his joggers and boxer-briefs in one go. "I think I'm going take you until you scream, understand?" Hermione moaned as he spread her legs far apart, entering her from behind.

Outside, the rain began to fall.

A/N: What started out as a one-shot has since become a two-chapter suite. Even though I don't have the best writing ability or skill, I hope that you enjoyed this brief, romantic respite of Harry and Hermione's. I give my gratitude to Alexandre Desplat for the song My Love is Always Here from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1, as well as Dame Mary Hunnings (née Berry) for her mince pie recipe. If you stuck to the end, thank you very much for reading.