FALLING SLOWLY V: Unbearable Lightness

James crumpled another ruined piece of parchment and buried his head in his hands.

Why are you writing her already? She left two hours ago, you old sod.

But she had stayed...she'd clung so tightly to him earlier that day, and they had flown together for hours before she asked to return to the manor for a break.

James ran a hand over his face and felt the stubble he'd forgotten to shave earlier that morning.

You should have been waiting at the Apparition point for her, not flying about like a loon.

The truth was, he had barely slept the night before, and he'd been nervous upon waking before his alarm, knowing she would be there a few short hours.

Flying always calmed him.

And when she'd been pressed against him, a second heartbeat at his back, her scent and her magic filling the air around them, he knew she'd felt it too.

What was that quote Lily had loved?

"Happiness filled the space of sadness…" he muttered under his breath.

His fingers twitched toward the quill he'd dropped.

He'd had every intention of putting her at ease today, and for a time, he lived off her smiles. Until the urge to close the distance between them grew. With every laugh, James longed to draw her close and take whatever she was willing to give.

She's not yours to take, you wanker.

"Thank you for today, James," she'd said before Apparating away.

He'd been ready to ask her to stay. Merlin knows, he didn't have better plans tonight. Instead, he was here, rewriting the same letter, trying to sort through feelings he hadn't felt in twenty years...

With a shake of his head, he began again.

Dear Hermione,

I feel obliged to thank you for suffering my company both before and after your flying lesson. I still can't help but think I'm getting the better end of this deal.

Something you said earlier today, about no one waiting for you at home besides your Crookshanks made me wonder.

As I am without company, and so are you, would you consider ending my lonely misery this evening by joining me for dinner?

Bloody hell, that sounded too formal, didn't it?

Allow me to make amends.

I'm a lonely bugger, and I can't think of anything I'd like more than the chance to share dinner with you.

If you fancy.

Please feel free to ignore this letter if the opposite is true.

Sincerely,

James

His hands shook as he folded the letter and passed it over to the curious Bilbo. "Make sure you don't annoy her this time, mate, yeah? We need to make a good impression on this Witch."

Bilbo agreed with a chipper "hoo!" before fluttering off.

"Which Witch?" a familiar voice drawled from the open doorway.

James cursed as he turned around in his chair. "Padfoot, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Oi, what kind of a shite welcome do you call that?" Sirius barked, his gray gaze darting suspiciously from the retreating owl and back to James. "And last I checked, I still live here, don't I?"

Sirius wore what he considered Ministry wear today, a velvet vest, pocket watch, and a leather jacket. His tied-back hair was somewhat mussed, and there was lipstick on his neck again.

James rolled his eyes and stood. "Well, I certainly haven't seen you in the last week."

"Ran into Vance after a meeting the other day." Sirius took a step farther in only to stop as he took in the mess around James's study. "What happened here?"

James kicked the nearest wad of parchment and sat on the edge of his desk. "None of your damned business, mate. How is Emmaline, by the way?"

"Oh, it was more of the same..." Sirius shrugged. "Hunting Dark Wizards, seducing me, tying me to her bed before decreeing she'd rather not see me again, except in a strictly official capacity."

What if she doesn't write back?

James dug his fingers into the edge of the desk to keep from betraying his nerves. "Can you blame her for kicking you out after the disaster known as your last attempt at monogamy?"

Sirius pulled out a cigarette. "Godric, that was a disaster. I honestly didn't mean to kiss Hestia Jones, mate, I solemnly swear. And for the fucking record, she came on to me. Oi, have you heard from Harry today? Been thinking I should pop over to one of his matches this week."

"He wrote the other day." James ignored his best mate's oldest habit and reached for his wand. "Been doing a favor for him until he gets back. He is playing Australia Friday if you fancy handing over the galleons for an international portkey."

Sirius blew smoke at the open window. "Not like I have anything better to do, since this case was just closed. Speaking of that case, will you ever bloody tell me who the informant was?"

James rolled his eyes. "You know I can't tell you, Pads." He was ready to banish the papers on the floor when his owl suddenly fluttered back through the nearby open window.

"Back already, bird-brains?" Sirius drawled as he reached to intercept the message attached to Bilbo's talon.

"Thanks, Bilbo!" James snatched the reply just before Padfoot could catch his owl.

"Who's that from?" Sirius asked, only to pause at the sudden point of James's wand.

"As I said, Pads, none of your business," James grumbled before unfolding Hermione's reply with a trembling hand.

Dear James,

I'm not sure whether I should be flattered because you favor my company, or insulted because you only invited me out of boredom.

Nevertheless, you are right, and I did promise to save the world from bored Marauders.

Because don't have better plans, and you have the remarkable ability to make me smile, I'll Apparate to yours in thirty minutes.

See you soon,

Hermione

He stared at her reply in awe.

"What is it? Prongs, are you...blushing?"

James jerked his head back and leveled a glare at his best mate. "You need to leave."

Sirius stabbed his cigarette on the nearby ashtray. "I beg your bloody pardon?"

"You heard me." James crossed the room and hauled Sirius up by the shoulder.

"Prongs, what... I'm sorry, but why the fuck do I need to leave?" Sirius sputtered as James pushed him toward the fireplace. "What did that owl say? And who the hell have you been writing with?"

James clenched his jaw as he tossed a bit of floo powder and the low flames turned emerald. "Just go bother Reggie at Grimmauld for a few hours, please? When's the last time you crashed one of his wife's little dinner parties, anyway?"

Siris snorted. "Too right, I should...oi! Stop trying to distract me, you berk!"

James didn't realize how agitated he'd become until he literally snapped, "Look, I have accommodated for your frankly insane lifestyle a whole hell of a lot, mate. I never judged you for all your many coping mechanisms, and I sure as hell never asked you to spill your secrets. So for once your damned life, could you please listen and let me have the house to myself one more night?"

Sirius allowed James to shove him into the fireplace and frowned as James handed him the floo powder.

James ran a hand through his hair, regret at the edge of his preoccupied mind.

You shouldn't have brought old shit up…you swore you'd never bring it up.

But she's coming here. She said yes, and you can't fuck this up.

Try as he might attempt a quick apology, his thoughts raced over what he could possibly whip up for them in thirty minutes.

"You're nervous," Sirius began, as though James hadn't flung out the proverbial dirty linen.

Damned Blacks.

James faltered as he recognized the scrutiny in Padfoot's calculating expression. "Look, mate, I shouldn't have..."

A slow smirk broke Sirius's serious look as he pointed. "You haven't made a mess like this since that time in Sixth Year when you tried writing—Lily."

James tensed as Sirius gaped.

"No fucking way," his best mate mumbled. "Did you invite over a bird?"

"Good night, Padfoot," James growled as he snatched more floo powder and announced, "Grimmauld Place!"

"Oi!" Sirius barked before the hearth illuminated with magical flames and his best friend disappeared.

She arrived precisely when she meant to. James felt the moment she breached the wards and cursed as he checked the stove. Twenty more minutes, and he couldn't leave the pot alone lest the whole attempt was ruined.

Don't fuck up now, Prongs.

He counted the seconds until her knock came at the back kitchen door.

"James?" her honey voice preceded her entry.

James focused on stirring the pot by hand. "Come in! Sorry I didn't greet you, love." He turned and his ready smile faltered.

Her windswept curls crackled with magic around her sun-kissed golden skin. Her whisky eyes widened as she took in him and the pot in front of him. Her full lips parted, then twisted into a smile that felt like a punch to the gut. "You're cooking?"

"Uh, yeah..." He coughed and rubbed his chest as she walked the rest of the way in, his gaze trailing her motions as she hung up her cloak. "Hope chicken risotto's all right with you?"

"Of course! Harry would tell you I can barely cook a can of beans, so you won't hear me complain." Her blue button-up top looked silky in the low light, and her skintight Muggle jeans were tucked into sensible boots.

James tore his gaze away to focus on his one-pot meal before his magic combusted. He squeezed his eyes briefly shut and found her standing next to him with a bottle of wine when he opened them again. This close, he could smell the cinnamon spice of her magic, and a faint floral fragrance that drew his gaze in a quick dance along her long neck before meeting her eyes. "What's this?"

Hermione chewed on her lip as she studied the bottle in her hands. "Well, I suppose I wanted to thank you again, for all you're trying to do for me this week. I—I'm sure you already have an entire cellar full, but this was my favorite red, and..."

James covered her hand over the bottle. His gaze fixated on her parted lips as he replied, "It's perfect."

You're perfect.

She blushed, surely from embarrassment. After all, what Witch her age would look twice at an old widower like him?

You're making her uncomfortable, stop it!

"Let's only hope I don't poison you before we can enjoy a glass." James plucked the bottle from her hand and eyed the label like he knew something about Muggle wines. He didn't, unfortunately. Much as Lily had tried, there was still much about her world that escaped him. After he lost his wife, James had given up a lot of things to focus on raising his son.

"Smells good." Hermione took a step back and ran a hand through her untamable curls.

So do you, he thought, eyeing her hand with envy.

Aloud, he said, "Sirius is actually the better cook out of the three of us. We all had a bit of a crash course when raising Harry. Remus knew the most household charms out of the three of us, and my childhood house elf helped a bunch before she...well, poor girl was never the same after the house..." James grimaced at his poor attempt to lighten the subject. He noted her white knuckles, and a passing memory of something Harry'd mentioned called S.P.E.W.

James cleared his throat and shrugged. "Anyway, we learned together. Sirius taught Harry everything he knows about the kitchen, and I'm passable at one-pot meals like this." His grin felt false, but better a mask than to let her see the way her proximity set his blood aflame.

"And when's the last time you cooked for anyone else?"

Never before you.

His breath hitched and his grip tightened on the wooden spoon. "Nothing comes to mind."

Hermione turned to face the kitchen, her bum pressing against the cabinet beside the stove. "Let me be the judge on your culinary skills, then," she airly replied. "You might have improved."

James arched an eyebrow at her and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "Brave Witch."

She turned her nose up slightly and smiled brightly. "Gryffindor, thank you."

James wanted so badly to kiss her, he found himself moving before he was fully aware he'd reached to tug at a flyaway curl. He towered over her, even in her boots. How had he not realized how small she was, in comparison? Her magic and her presence filled any space she graced, he hadn't quite noticed until now. She craned her neck, curls spilling back against the countertop and her smile softened even as her brow furrowed in confusion.

James twined her curl about his finger with fascination, unable to look away. "Brightest Witch of her age..."

Her startled laugh brought him back to himself, to the pot that needed tending, to her curl still wrapped around his finger, and the mirth dancing in her enticing eyes. "Oh, please, not you, too."

Pulling away from her was more difficult than it should have been.

She's your son's best friend. She's half your age.

She's perfect.

He couldn't quite look at her as he struggled to get himself under control and focus on finishing preparing their meal. "What? Are you averse to compliments, Miss Granger?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "I've heard enough of this from Sirius, thank you very much."

James stiffened and ducked his head. "You know my best mate very well, then?"

Please say no.

You would have heard if Pads had gone there.

She stepped away from the counter with a sigh and the air around him was instantly cold and empty. "A little. He used to tease Harry about us all the time, even though we told him we were just friends. And I know he has a habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong," she muttered, clearly with a helping of bitterness.

"That he does." James forced a grin as he turned off the gas and removed the pot, reaching for the dishes he'd already pulled down. "I don't know if I've said this before, but it's so odd that you've spent more time around Sirius and Remus, but not me. If I didn't know you lot were busy dodging the darkest Wizard of all time, I might be offended."

"It is odd. Harry said you were often busy, and then during the war—well, after everything settled I wasn't comfortable around other people for a good while." Hermione fidgeted with her hands and seemed at a loss.

James directed her to the glassware cupboard. "Grab one for me, love?" He gently smiled at her assent and juggled their plates in his hands. "Fancy eating fancy tonight, Miss Granger?"

Her empty gaze sparked with new life as she met his gaze and snatched the bottle. "Lead on, Mr. Potter."

His home wasn't quite the same as it had been, despite the Marauders' best efforts. Too much had been burned away, and even now the halls felt gloomier than they had been in his youth. Much like everything else.

But James could have sworn the walls filled with new life and color as he led Hermione to the second, informal dining room.

James could have cared less about Pureblood traditions, but they had been important to his mum. She was the reason he'd struggled to rebuild the manor to as near-to-perfection as possible.

The table was smaller, the hearth already blazing in anticipation of her arrival. James hoped she wouldn't think candles too much or cliche.

This is not a date. She's your son's best friend. Maybe, if you're lucky, she'll be your friend, too.

James smiled as he set the plates on mats at the head of the table, and the first chair to the left corner. He spread his arms wide. "Well, what do you think?"

Hermione shifted on her feet and the corner of her lips tugged as she took in the room. "It's cozier than I imagined."

James dropped his arms and mock-groaned. "Don't tell me you were expecting a thirty-seater like the one at the Malfoy's. We have some class in this family, I'll have you know." He didn't mention the formal dining hall had a twenty-seater.

She winced as she set the bottle and glasses above the plates. "Thankfully, I never had the misfortune of seeing beyond the Malfoy's drawing-room."

Fuck.

James clenched his fists. "Harry told me what happened," he ground out.

Hermione ran an absent hand on her covered arm. "It was a long time ago," she whispered, and she looked so lost, a shadow of the Witch he'd glimpsed since their first lesson.

Fuck it.

He reached her in two strides, pulled her into his arms, and spoke into her hair. "We should have been there with you three, instead of splitting up to hunt those damned things. I would have never let them take you..." He stuttered as her limp arms suddenly caught around his waist and squeezed just as tightly.

"Don't," she said. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known." Her fists bunched the back of his shirt as she closed the last remaining distance between them, infusing him with warmth and gods, she felt so good.

James turned and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "But we did know, Hermione. We knew the risks, and it's why we took turns checking in on you whenever we could. We thought we could draw most of their attention if we kept Harry out of sight, but I knew—I knew better than anyone."

He squeezed his eyes shut to stopper his tears.

Why are you bringing this up now, of all times?

But her hands rubbed along his back, soothing the tense muscles and before he knew it, he melted into her, drew her closer. He felt starved and knew this wasn't nearly enough. How had he gone so long without anyone?

"It's all right, James."

Merlin, she was still trying to comfort him.

"If you and Harry's uncles hadn't helped us hunt down and destroy the last three...gods, James, you kept us as safe as you could. A-and the three of you destroyed him together, after freeing Harry. You don't know what that meant to him, to us, that it wasn't all riding on that bloody prophecy."

"Fuck prophecy." A prophecy had killed his wife. James bit down on his tongue to hold in the tide of emotion.

Hermione turned her head and her warm breath found his neck. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I never thanked you."

"I hardly think..." he started to interrupt, to shake his head, but her words stole his breath away.

"I know it was you, James."

Apprehension stiffened his limbs, freezing his tears. "W-what?"

Her hands came to rest on his chest and she pushed for as much distance as he could bear. "That night, I was so broken over R-Ron..." She swallowed and her eyes gleamed as they searched his. "I wasn't thinking clearly, and don't know why I started walking alone past the wards. I knew I would be lost and—part of me didn't care. Until your Patronus found me in the woods. I would have been lost or caught again by Snatchers, but you led me back to Harry before he noticed I was gone."

James squeezed her waist and closed his eyes. "Harry used the mirror to tell us what had happened. We couldn't go to you directly, but I—" He shook his head and opened his eyes. "I know what Ron meant to you. I know what he did to save you, and I didn't want you to give up hope."

Hermione took in a steadying breath as her hands carefully smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. "This—this may sound strange to you, but..." She peered up at him, her soul peering into his as her voice shook. "Would you please hold me a little longer?"

The weight inside his chest, the piece he hadn't known was broken until now seemed to fit into place as he pulled her close and took all she was offering.

"As long as you'll let me, sweetheart."

They forgot about dinner.

Review: Thank you so much for reading! I'll see you all soon with what comes next with Hermione's POV. Maybe they'll finally eat dinner? ;) *Quote from The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milán Kundera.