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Chapter Seven: The Storm
To say Hermione Granger was furious with her mother and her big blubbering mouth was an understatement. After Harry had bid the couple goodbye and flooed back to Hermione's house with the kids she stayed behind, stationed on her parents' sofa. Laurence sensing a row would undoubtedly occur between the two forces of nature that were his wife and daughter kissed Hermione goodnight and retreated to the master bedroom, far too tired to mediate their conflict right now.
When Helena Granger stepped into the living room from where she had gone to change into her camisole, she had already felt the tense and angry energy that emanated from her only daughter, whose brown eyes were dark with rage.
"Hermione..." She said, quietly as she sat on the other edge of the sofa and tried to reach for her daughter's hand, only for Hermione to flinch away from her touch. "Maybe I shouldn't have said those things tonight..." She started.
"Mother, you shouldn't have said those things at all! It was not your place to do so, and what on Earth possessed you to think you could make so many assumptions on my feelings for Harry and his for me? I am a grown woman, Mum, and Harry is a grown man and those are things for us to deal with and talk about, not you." Hermione stood from her seat and began to pace the area of the carpet surrounding the sofa as she spoke, her hands moving wildly with each word and her cheeks bright crimson from her heightened emotions. "I love you mum, I really do, but I'm no longer a little girl who needs your protection—I can deal with things on my own!"
Hermione's thoughts reverted to Harry as she continued to pace, this time in silence as her mother's eyes followed her every movement. She sighed deeply, embarrassed for everything that happened tonight and a part of her even beginning to regret having invited him and his children to Tenby in the first place. With a lower tone of voice she continued, a trembling hand tucking stray honey-brown curls behind her ears:
"Harry just lost his wife mum, who he loved. He's grieving, he's hurting a-and the things you said will only serve to confuse him further. He came to Tenby to relax and have a good time with his kids, not to go through this madness!" She said in exasperation, trying to keep her cool, but feeling every bit irritated by her mother and her foolish actions.
"I understand your point Hermione, but I am your mother and I will always interfere where you are concerned. Always!" Helena cried out, her voice gradually louder, "that's what mothers do—and you know that!" She pointed, defiantly at her daughter. "Yes, perhaps I did make a mistake tonight, perhaps I did say things that will only worsen Harry's emotional turmoil—but I at least had the courage to say those things that have been stuck here—" she said dramatically, pressing her pointed fingers forcefully against her own throat repeatedly, to make a point, "for too many years!". Helena's brown eyes were furious as she shot up from her seat and faced her daughter, chin high in defiance. Helena's cheeks were flushed and her gray curls were pure madness framing her face, tears pooling in her dark eyes. "I've been choking on those words for years and God damn it I should have said them before!" Helena swore, her voice breaking into a sob and Hermione took a step back, brown eyes widening. Helena could see the hurt in them but she also couldn't understand why her daughter always seemed to make her own life so miserable. Couldn't she see her mother had wanted to give her and Harry a push into the direction she knew both of them had always unconsciously craved?
"You shouldn't have said anything to him, Mum. There is no excuse! Sometimes I feel like you meddle with my life for your own entertainment, like I'm a bloody character in your Shakespearean comedy book of life! Well, I hate to break it to you Mum, but this is real life and Harry and I are real people and he especially has been going through a shit time and he didn't need this right now—I honestly don't even know how I'll be able to face him and look at him after tonight and he is my best friend!" Hermione yelled at the older woman. She reached for the green floo powder she always kept stocked in a silver little box on her mother's fireplace taking a handful. Before she could announce her destination she heard her mother say:
"And what about you, huh, Hermione? Didn't you snog Harry silly these past few days? Because what could possibly explain that ridiculous hickey on your neck?" Helena accused, "You've been confusing him yourself, so be a grown woman as you said and fucking admit it!" Hermione's shoulders tensed at her mother's harsh words and she glared at her. She hadn't even known herself to be sporting a hickey, how on Earth could she have spent an hour getting ready and not noticed? "Because I know something happened between the two of you Hermione and that whether you both like it or not it changed things. I don't need to be a bloody witch or a psychic to know—I'm your mother and I know everything about you!" Hermione shook her head, hot tears streaming down her reddened cheeks and turned her back to Helena Granger. She cooly announced her address before flooing home, leaving her distraught mother behind.
When Hermione arrived home the living room was pure chaos, with shoes, socks, jackets, and toys scattered about, crumbs littering the floor and the dark velvet fabric of the sofa. Hermione was exhausted and stressed, her head aching like it hadn't in years. She kicked off her heels haphazardly and didn't even bother to tidy her living area as she normally would, stumbling up the stairs, hot tears streaming her face, making a beeline for her bedroom. Luckily she didn't bump into Harry—she was in no position to deal with him right now and given the fact that nor he or the children could be found in sight, or could be heard, she assumed that they had all turned in for the night, it was after all nearly one in the morning. She slipped out of her outfit and put on an old but very soft Chudley Canons shirt that had once belonged to Ron and slid under her sheets. Fortunately, tired the way she was, sleep didn't take too long to claim her and she found herself enveloped in a heavy, dreamless sleep.
Harry was wide awake in his bed when he heard Hermione's bedroom door close behind her. He waited for a half-hour, what he imagined as enough time for her to fall asleep before he got up and quietly went down the stairs. He decided to tidy the living room to keep himself busy, although the attempt failed miserably at keeping all those things that Mrs. Granger had disclosed to him at bay. She had told him among other things of feelings of love she vehemently thought Hermione and Harry harbored for one other—a love that went way deeper than friendship, a romantic kind of love that Harry had never allowed himself to consider or dwell on when the subject was Hermione Granger.
He was deeply overwhelmed by everything and although all these days in Tenby had pleasantly kept the thought and image of his wife for the most part away from his thoughts, he still desperately felt the weight of her absence in his life. He had loved Ginny deeply, he had no doubts on the matter, she had been his first love, his companion, his friend and she had gifted him with those three magnificent children who were his entire world. Harry missed waking up to the image of her thick red hair draped across the white of the pillows next to him and the delicious jasmine scent of her perfume that constantly clung to her skin. He missed counting the freckles on her face as he watched her sleep and losing count every time she moved, subconsciously feeling his gaze. He missed how she was in the mornings, grumpy and pouty because she hated waking up early. He missed how every morning she drank a tea blend of red berries that was of a sickening bright magenta color and religiously ate three slices of toast with honey. He missed her laugh, the twinkle in her blue-gray eyes and he even missed their fights that toward the end—and at the time neither of them had known it would be the end—had become more and more frequent, like they had somehow become a version of Ron and Hermione.
But Harry had loved Ginny until the very end, still did, and would continue to love her always. This was why he couldn't forgive himself, irrational as it may be, for not having kissed her properly when she'd left for Madam Malkin's and unknowingly to her death. He refused to forgive himself for being responsible for Ginny having died frustrated, angry and perhaps not knowing that despite their numerous rows her husband loved her more than anything. Perhaps, if Harry hadn't been so stubborn and silly they wouldn't have had that stupid fight to begin with. Had there been no fight, he could have accompanied Ginny to Diagon Alley for her dress fitting, he could have died in her place to spare the woman he loved, or in a far better scenario, maybe he could have put his Auror skills to use and could have protected her, unarming the attacker and having him put away, so they could all still be living happily and together, so that he and Ginny could continue to grow old together like they had always planned. These were the very thoughts and regrets that for fourteen months now had constantly plagued his mind and dreams, so much so that Harry could probably count on his fingers the full nights of sleep he'd been able to have after her death. Ultimately, at the end of the day, Harry could wish and regret all he wanted, but none of that changed the devastating reality that Ginny Weasley-Potter was dead and would never return.
Harry was shaken out of his plagued thoughts as he heard the loud rumbles of thunder beginning to rage outside, unbeknownst to most of the Tenby dwellers who were fast asleep, in these late hours of the night. He looked out the window and saw the heavy storm forming and lightning beginning to strike repeatedly, as though the sky itself was being cracked open. Harry watched from the window as the strong, heavy winds hit the salty waters of the ocean, the waves becoming wild and ever-violent. He imagined the small town's community of fishers were most likely to not go out to work early morning as per usual, what with the skies and sea in utter revolt. Harry put the kettle on and a few minutes later made his way to the sofa, with a cup of tea in hand. He sat there for the longest time sipping it as he listened to the sound of the rain hitting the window panes and marveling at how strangely the chaos outside seemed to both match and calm the chaos inside of him.
…
Tenby awoke to a morning of heavy rains, the concept of blue skies seeming almost foreign or fictional, as clouds and clouds of dense, deep gray oppressively covered the entire region. Trees had been ripped out of the ground during the night and a few neighborhoods found themselves without electricity. No one dared to enter their cars or climb on their bicycles to head for work as most of the main streets and even the main road leading up to the train station were covered in water and debris. The radio and television channels made announcements every thirty or so minutes advising people to avoid leaving their homes, the storm only persisting, like the storm in Harry's heart.
…
Hermione had come down the stairs wrapped in her fluffy blue robe ready to get a headstart on breakfast, slightly peeved that today she wouldn't be able to open the bookshop. Once downstairs she muttered a simple spell under her lips and the homey yellow lights of her antique side table lamps turned on, illuminating the living room area that she expected to be as messy as when she arrived home the night before. Instead, it was spotless aside from a yellow porcelain mug on top of the coffee table and to her even bigger surprise, the heartwarming image of her raven-haired friend asleep on the sofa. She quietly tiptoed around the sofa and coffee table and conjured a warm plush blanket to drape over him, the weather having dropped exponentially due to the combination of incessant rains, winds and the overall lack of sunshine. She tenderly pulled the blanket all the way up to his shoulders, taking in his slight snores and the peacefulness of him. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she bit her bottom lip as she fought the urge to caress his cheek and run her fingertips through his perpetually messy raven hair.
When had her feelings shifted from exclusively fraternal to this mess? A mess of inexplicable joy at the mere thought or presence of him; pain because these feelings were all so very wrong and a deeply unnerving, brand new constant feeling of desire for him. She desired Harry's touch, the heat of his breath against her sensitive skin, his fingers tracing her body and his soft, delicious lips pleasuring her. She wanted him, not once, not just now—she loved him and wanted him always. Tears began to fill her eyes, because she knew the risks, she knew that these feelings and the things she had done which had only confused him further could drive a wedge between them, a discomfort, because how could she expect him to love her the same way that she now loved him? What were the odds? Hermione had been through war, had been tortured, had escaped death a number of times, had been forced to bury a number of friends and loved ones; she had fallen in love and fallen out of love, and yet, apart from losing her children, the prospect of losing Harry, her lifelong best friend, was Hermione's worst and deepest fear of all. Since the day he and Ron had saved her from a menacing troll in Hogwarts as a little girl, she not once imagined herself with a life where he was not in it.
She wiped the tears beginning to trail down her cheeks and sniffed. She cautiously attempted to slide off the coffee table to allow Harry the privacy of sleep, when her hand accidentally knocked over the mug and the sound of it hitting the wooden surface of the floor echoed in the otherwise silent room. It startled him in his sleep and before she risked being seen by him, she practically sprinted towards the kitchen, heart racing madly in her chest, cheeks flushed and her brown eyes wide with shame. She stood there, leaning against the kitchen cabinet, hands glued to the countertops for the longest few minutes in silence, wishing she could have hidden herself under the invisibility cloke. Her heart galoped in her chest, her hands trembled and her body heaved as though she had just run a marathon. Hermione could hear the soft padding of his socked feet against the wooden floorboards.
"'Mione..." He murmured, as he caught sight of her blurry form. He rubbed his eyes to try to get the sleep fuzziness away and slipped on his glasses, his vision becoming ever more clear. Hermione looked beautiful that morning—every morning if he was perfectly truthful, but right now she strangely resembled a deer caught in headlights, Harry thought, with a frown.
"I woke you up, I'm sorry..." She mumbled out. He shrugged and pulled a chair for him to sit.
"What time is it?" He asked and her sharp eyes landed on the wall clock against the wall behind him.
"A quarter past seven." He nodded and fidgeted with his hands. At least he'd managed a few hours of sleep. Hermione turned her back to him to stare out the window.
Darkness looked to have consumed the usually sunny and colorful landscape of the ocean side and the ancient stone chapel by the docks. It was seven in the morning, but might as well be one.
"I don't know what to say to you Harry—about... about those things my Mum told you."
"The feelings and love things?" She nodded, her back still to him. She could hear him sigh heavily. She heard his chair scrape against the floor and for a moment thought he was leaving the kitchen, with no desire to talk. Instead, she felt a warm if firm hand touch her shoulder and her heart skipped a beat, her eyes closed in pleasure for just a split second—such were the effects of a simple touch of his. She turned her head to look at him and felt as his hand slipped into hers and he gently tugged at it, wordlessly urging her to sit with him on the table. Hermione sat on the chair directly across from him, her fingers laced together above the table. She quietly watched as he appeared to be thinking about what to say. But she was far too impatient.
"Harry—I'm sorry about yesterday. My mother was completely inappropriate and utterly silly—I'm still angry at her, furious actually. Completely ruined the mood last night!" Hermione exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. She glared at no one in particular, but at the mere memory of last night's discussion.
"She took me aback with everything she said, I never saw any of that coming..." He admitted with a bitter chuckle escaping his lips, and continued, his green eyes boring into Hermione's the first time that morning. "She's your mother and loves you, Hermione, I can see where she was just trying to help in her own weird way," Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's capacity to quickly and so easily forgive. "But the subject of your mother aside, I do think we need to talk about certain things, and I reckon you think that too." Hermione looked down and traced the markings of the wooden table top as though they were utmost interesting.
"I do love you, Harry, always have—but it's different now, and I'm bloody scared." She admitted, eyes still locked on the wood surface rather than on him. "These new feelings are a nuisance, honestly, and I wholeheartedly wish I didn't have to feel them because I don't want to risk ever losing you." Harry heard her voice break and when she slowly raised her head to face him there were tears pooled in her eyes and a few already staining her cheeks. His heart broke at the sight of her—how he wished he could kiss those tears away! But it wouldn't be fair to her to lead her on, not when he wasn't over Ginny, not when he wasn't sure of anything in his life anymore, not when his feelings of friendship and sisterly adoration for her, or whatever, seemed to morph into this monster threatening to devour them.
"How could you ever lose me, Hermione? That's preposterous, you and I both know that I can't live a day without you..." He admonished her, taking her hand in his and caressing the back of it with his thumb. "You're my best friend, my confidant, we have so much history together and you are my family, you know that right?" She nodded, though desperately wishing he could add 'woman I love' to that list as well.
"I-I know Harry, but things have been different between us since you arrived..." She explained, "and it's possible that I'm loving you in a way that you don't love me and it's not your fault, it's not... but it still fucking hurts." He tried to interrupt but she squeezed his hand and stared at him sternly as if to say 'don't interrupt me you little bugger'. "I need to get over it, because it's not doing me good and it's not doing you good either, I mean—you've just lost Ginny, your wife who you loved, and Merlin—" she scoffed, "Merlin knows you didn't need this right now..."
"Please let me finish Hermione, I need you to know where I stand." She quieted down and tucked the curls of her hair behind her ears, like she always did when anxious or nervous."I love you with all my heart, 'Mione—and those feelings you say you've been feeling, that different kind of love, that desire, I feel it all too and to be honest it bloody well hurts and is fucked up, but it's made me feel more alive than anything since before Ginny died. I want you, Hermione, Merlin knows I want you—badly even! What I wouldn't give to take you in my arms and ravish you right now, make love to you, make you the happiest woman alive... But I can't right now, please understand that. I owe it to Ginny, to you and my children to get over her death so we can all move on. They are not ready and neither am I..." His tears began to stain the lenses of his glasses.
Both her hands were clasped between his now, her brown eyes wide and locked with his. She looked like a disheveled goddess, wild honey-colored curls framing her perfect face, the pink pout of her plump lips and the bright and utterly sexy flush of her cheeks. His skin tingled from the sheer tension and energy surrounding them. Nevertheless, Harry continued: "I know this is a lot to ask, 'Mione, but if you could just wait for me, a little longer... Until I'm able to sort out my feelings and can be positively sure of them—because I don't want to risk not being sure and then ruining this beautiful relationship we have or breaking both our hearts—and then, and then there are the five kids between us who we cannot disappoint anymore..." His voice broke. "I think it would be best for all of us if I returned home to London with the kids..." Hermione's heart broke a little at his words.
"I understand, Harry, I'll miss you and James and Lily and Albus dearly, but I do think we both need a little time apart to breathe and to think." And then her eyes locked with his and she said: "Know that I will wait for you, I'll always wait for you." He nodded.
Hermione was crying her eyes out, but though neither of them were smiling, there was hope in both their eyes. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands. "Merlin we're idiots!" Hermione huffed, but her eyes were bright and a smile played at the corners of her lips, she managed to actually release a hoarse laugh and soon he was tearfully laughing as well.
He so badly wanted to kiss her and she so badly wanted to kiss him too.
"I guess we'll have to make the best of our last day—for the kids." She nodded in agreement and he gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "You beautiful soul..." He said to her, his voice filled with adoration.
Outside the storm still raged on.
Please don't hate me for this chapter, I just think our beloved characters still have a lot of things to get over and resolve before they commit to each other romantically. REVIEWS PLEASE!