On The Coast of Somewhere Beautiful
Harry didn't begrudge her absence, but he missed her desperately. He'd been stupid enough not to realize that being apart from her would feel like having a hole punched in his heart.
He had one saving grace: she sent him postcards.
It was a quaint little habit, but very sweet, and he appreciated it greatly; it kept him sane.
Things had not gone well with her parents but instead of returning home when she'd corrected their memories she'd chosen to move on with her travels instead. Britain was too small for Hermione Granger. Hell, this world was too small for Hermione Granger. After all she'd done for him, Harry hoped she at least enjoyed the opportunity to explore it.
So Harry received months of postcards which made him smile, and also yearn, each of them had only two words scribbled on the back: Love, Hermione.
It was enough for the time being.
And then something slightly different arrived. It was in an envelope, for one, and it enclosed a proper letter with a snapshot included, and it contained just a tiny bit of sand at the bottom. Harry's breath caught when he saw the picture of Hermione strolling along a beach.
The letter was a short missive. She was simply letting him know in more words than they'd exchanged in more than half a year that she was safe and happy, and checking in on him as well. She wished him well in his auror training. She sent her love, as always.
But there was more: there was an address printed on the back of the picture; she was in America, somewhere along the southern coast, if he remembered his geography correctly. He knew instinctively that it had not been written with any kind of expectation, rather it was a careful declaration that she was now ready to continue what they'd started in the tent, if he was also willing.
He hadn't been ready at the end of the war and she'd gracefully taken a step back. He was so grateful for her wisdom in giving him his space. He hadn't known how to handle what he'd found in Hermione's arms which was nothing like the sweet, gentle affection he'd felt for GInny. Hermione was like fiendfyre running through his veins, powerful but dangerous.
But he was ready now, because he realized that what was more dangerous than burning up in her arms was allowing the woman who held his heart to traipse all over the world without him. He'd rather go out with a bang than a whimper.
He did not hesitate to put in his request for vacation leave, nor did he protest when he was moved to the front of the queue. To say that he had earned a few favors was a massive understatement and Hermione was more than worth cashing them in for. In a fit of- what he would later describe as- insanity, he decided to travel by muggle methods. He hated portkeys, but his decision still delayed his arrival by more than twelve hours and he was ready to crawl out of his skin somewhere over the Atlantic.
Despite his impatience he was thankful for his choice when he pulled up to her house in his rental car and spotted another one in the garage. It seemed that, as he suspected, she'd fully assimilated back into muggle life. He didn't bother to unload his luggage. He just went and beat on the front door. There was no answer. Harry sighed but tried to ignore his pang of disappointment. She had invited him.
Hadn't she?
No. Hermione was a brilliant woman, she hadn't sent him her address by accident.
He rounded the house and made his way to the beach, slipping off his shoes and socks and placing them carefully next to the sand dunes once he'd crossed through them, then he rolled up the legs of his jeans.
While he tried to decide how to best search for Hermione he made his way down to the water line and allowed the tide to wash over his feet. He just stood there for a long time, looking out over the ocean in this beautiful place Hermione had chosen to settle down for a while. He immediately understood its appeal, and he already felt like he'd started to reconnect with her as he allowed the waves to crash over his feet and he sank further into the sand with each ripple.
"Harry Potter," called a voice, more familiar to him than his own. It should have startled him, and he didn't respond well to being startled these days, but perhaps a part of him had already felt her approach. He turned his head and there she was, about three meters away; sun kissed skin, dressed as casually as he'd ever seen her in cut off jeans and a gauzy top, she was carrying a bucket full of sea shells and biting her lip to suppress a grin.
He tried to pull his feet out of the sand and stumbled. She laughed and closed the distance between them on a run. He hadn't quite righted himself and when she launched herself at him it knocked them both to the ground.
She kissed him hard and he wrapped his arms around her. When she pulled away to grin at him she was backlit by the sun, it almost made that ridiculous mane of curls he'd so missed look like they were glowing- like she was glowing. It reminded him of the first time they'd made love, then it had been the firelight that had made her glow.
Or, come to think of it, maybe it had just been Hermione. He'd never seen anything as beautiful as the way she moved above him.
"You came," she breathed, caressing his cheek. He turned his face and kissed her palm.
"Of course I did. How could I stay away?"
She shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you were ready yet."
He ran his hands up and down the length of her thighs where she was straddling him. "I am. I have been. I'm sorry that I wasn't before."
"Oh Harry, I don't blame you. I wasn't ready either. What we had before was beautiful, but we needed some time apart to make sure it wasn't just a war thing, a thing born of desperation, you know? And also just to recover."
He kissed her jaw. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Well between the two of us, I'm much more eloquent."
He laughed and held her tighter as they lay there in the surf, her bucket of shells spilled around them.
"Your shells will get washed away," he murmured while he nuzzled her neck.
He felt her shrug. "You'll help me collect more, won't you?"
"Absolutely."
She turned her face and kissed him again and they remained like that until they were in real danger of drowning in the incoming tide when a particularly aggressive wave came and left them both coughing and laughing.
She crawled up off of him and reached out a hand to help him up. When he was standing she tentatively wrapped her arms around his waist. "Come back to the house with me?"
He put his own arms around her shoulders. "Why else do you think I'm here, sweetheart? You'd have a very hard time sending me away."
Sweetheart. He'd only called her that perhaps a handful of times, between gasps and moans as their bodies moved against each other. When Harry had been convinced it had been too good to be true, because he was a doomed man, but still wanted to find some way to tell her she was precious.
What they'd found together in that tent had been far beyond what he believed he deserved, beyond even his imagination. Which was why he'd needed so long to process it.
She beamed at him and pulled him back towards the house where she was staying. They paused only to allow Harry to collect his shoes and then she led him to the outdoor shower which was situated under the second story deck, surrounded by a privacy fence. He turned on the spray and shoved her beneath it as they both laughed.
They divested each other of their outer layer of clothing with a series of slapping sounds against the concrete.
He drank in her curves and ran his hands over her slick skin. "You are so beautiful."
Hermone let out a delighted laugh. "You're not so bad yourself."
He kissed her forehead and they stood there holding each other.
"Let's go inside," she murmured when their skin was free of sand.
He nodded his enthusiastic approval but didn't let her go completely, just marched her towards the door. They stumbled through the back door and up the stairs, laughing and bumping into the walls all along the way.
"Missed you," he said, biting at her lips and kissing down her neck. Her skin still tasted faintly of salt.
"Missed you too, so much."
They reached the top of the stairs and Harry paused briefly to look around. "Where are we going, sweetheart?"
She gave him a smile that was almost shy, took his hands and placed them on her hips and then led him through a large open plan living space into a spacious bedroom. Once they entered the room she stopped and leaned back against his chest.
He crab walked them over to the bed and stripped her of her underthings before stepping out of his own boxer briefs. He was momentarily stunned by the sight of Hermione laid out naked beneath him. She was biting her lip like she was nervous, but she did not make any attempt to hide herself.
"Spread your legs for me."
Her cheeks went pink but she complied. He immediately knelt between her parted thighs, placed his hands on the mattress on either side of her head, and leaned down to give her a long slow kiss.
He framed her face with his hands and looked into her eyes as he entered her. "I love you."
"I love you too."
He murmured words of love and adoration to her, as he never had before. And he felt, as he never had before, that he was truly letting himself be with her completely.
No war.
No horcrux.
No ex-girlfriend waiting at home.
No other best friend to worry about.
"Harry," she gasped, spreading her legs as far as they would go.
"More?" He wondered.
"Always more,"
She sobbed as she came, and he stayed inside of her following his own release, turning them on their sides and wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.
When she stopped crying he gave her another long, slow kiss, "I'm so happy to be home," he told her.
Her answering smile was blinding. "You'll stay?"
"Forever."
Author's Note: For anybody who's curious, this was inspired by the Kenny Chesney song which is also entitled "On the Coast of Somewhere Beautiful" and also by my hometown which I'm missing a whole lot right now. Everybody stay safe out there!