FALLING SLOWLY VII: Improbable Love

James woke with the taste of her on his lips, smiling at the ache in muscles he hadn't used in too long. He reached for Hermione, somewhat surprised he hadn't pulled her closer sometime in the night.

The sheets were cold and empty.

James's fists clenched the covers as he opened his eyes in a panic.

"Hermione?" he spoke to the empty room.

The sun blazed through his curtains.

For once, he hadn't woken before dawn, giving up after another sleepless night of nightmares. Last night, there had been no dreams, only peace, for the first time in nearly twenty years…

Her scent lingered and his Animagus senses allowed him to pick up far more than the average Wizard. A choked sound escaped him as he curled his arms in, dragging the sheets to his face.

He had fallen asleep with her heartbeat beneath his palm and imagined how it would be to wake up every morning beside someone who understood.

He struggled to slow his rising panic with deeper breaths. Her scent helped.

Bloody think before you jump to fucking conclusions, Prongs.

She could still be downstairs. She could be exploring the house. She could have been called away for some other reason.

"Come on, Prongs, pick yourself up," he grumbled as he gathered the courage to let go of the sheets and face the light of day.

He dressed without paying much attention, and so left his room after checking the ensuite bathroom. She hadn't left a single article of clothing behind.

His sharpened Animagus senses stretched as he descended the stairs, following the weak trail of her scent to the kitchen.

He froze upon entering to find Padfoot attempting to not burn eggs and toast the Muggle way.

Why he insists on not using magic…

"Pads?" He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair as Sirius raised a spatula in greeting. James flexed his arms as he glanced quickly about the room. Her scent was strongest here, most recent...and faded.

James hitched a breath as he ran a hand over his face, belated realizing he'd managed without his spectacles.

No wonder.

"Blurred lines," he chuffed under his breath.

But was it so much to hope for, that maybe Harry had been right?

That maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't always be alone. That one day, he deserved to find happiness again.

James sank slowly into a seat at the kitchen table and covered his face with his hands.

Stop it, you have Harry. You still have Sirius and Remus.

"Breakfast, mate?" Sirius set a plate of almost-burnt food before him.

James dragged his palms down his face and slumped back in his chair with a sigh. "Not hungry, thanks, Pads."

"Oh? After last night I would have thought...well, you know how I get after a proper shag."

James jerked upright in his seat and leveled a fierce glare at the blurred figure sitting across from him. "When did you get in?"

"Last night." Sirius shrugged before shoving a forkful into his mouth.

James clutched the edge of the table. "Did you…"

"See her leave? Maybe. I had too much of Odgen's finest so it's a bit of a blur if I'm being honest."

The words were light, and because James was lacking better sight, picked up immediately on the strange undertone to his friend's words.

James narrowed his eyes at the blur as Sirius continued to eat. "What do you remember?"

Sirius set his fork down and leaned an elbow on the table. "I remember my godson's best friend practically reeking of sex, Prongs. I remember she was bloody crying as she left. Wouldn't see reason. So why don't you tell me what happened?"

James jumped to his feet and loomed over the table. "It wasn't like that!"

"What was it like, then?" Sirius challenged, the edge no longer hidden behind his tone.

"It was the best gods damned night of my life!" James caught his breath, shocking himself with his vehemence.

In their youth, James had been known to have a bit of temper, was often considered too much by most people. He'd tempered after Lily and raising Harry on his own. He rarely cared so much for anything outside of his son these days. Until now.

Sirius sat back in his chair with a sigh. "That's what I thought."

"I thought I knew...no, I'm lying, I did know, almost from the beginning." James shook his head and threw his hands up as he began to pace.

"Know what, mate?" Sirius prompted.

"Harry set the flying lessons up without telling her. She would have never said yes otherwise, he told me. I—I've always wanted to get to know her better, yeah? Ever since the war...there was just something about her. And then after that first lesson…" He paused and stared out the window to the field, "It's like I've known her all my life, Pads."

James's vision blurred even further and he wiped his eyes with a rough arm. "I haven't felt so close to anyone, not since Lily. But she's so scared. I know why she's scared because I'm fucking terrified, too. It was fine when I thought it was just me, until last night. Now I know she feels it too... I just can't go through this again, Pads! I can't lose anyone else, especially not now."

Sirius caught the hands James had been tugging at his hair, then leaned in. "You won't lose her, Prongs."

"How the hell do you know?" James snapped.

Sirius took a step back with a bark of a laugh. "What Witch in her right mind would say no to either of us? Ow!" Sirius flinched at James's stinging hex. "What was that for, you lovestruck arse?"

"You're so bloody predictable, you know that? Any time anyone begins to pry a little deeper you start mouthing off."

It was an old argument, but it felt good at the moment. Knowing Sirius, that had been his strategy all along.

"Oh, come off it, Prongs. How could I resist when you haven't bared your soul to me like this since Hogwarts?"

James groaned as he paced about the kitchen, drawn again to the window. Sirius was blessedly silent as James debated tracking the Witch in question down. Would she be at her home? Harry had given him a portkey to the unplottable address, just in case she hadn't shown up that morning in Godric's Hollow.

"She can't say no to my face. Doubt she'd be able to say no to yours since we look so much alike," Harry had reasoned.

James reached for his wand only to realize he'd left it, alongside his glasses in his room. He shook his head. "I don't know what to do."

Sirius leaned a hip against the nearby counter. "If I know you, and I do, I'd recommend not following your first mad instinct." He flashed a manic smile at James's glare.

"I'm not a teenager this time, you wanker. I'm not about to start pranking her into noticing me."

"I didn't say you would pull an Evans on her," Sirius groused. "Just maybe give the Witch some space? As far as any of us know, she hasn't been in anything resembling a relationship since poor Weasley's accident during the war."

"I hadn't forgotten about that! Don't you think I remember? I was there," James hissed.

Sirius huffed. "Yeah, you were the bloody reason she didn't break to pieces after, but she doesn't know that, does she?"

"Leave it, Padfoot," James warned.

"Anyone home?" A voice called from the hallway.

"Oh, thank Godric!" Sirius threw his hands up dramatically as Remus poked his head in the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Remus stepped into the room, sharp eyes suspiciously taking in the scene.

James rubbed his eyes as Sirius continued with his theatrics.

"Your turn for Prongs duty, Moony. I have a Quidditch match to get to later today, and therefore do not have time to babysit this lovelorn sop all day."

Remus largely ignored Sirius's parting words, completely focused on making a pot of tea instead.

Sirius clapped James on the back and flashed him a biting grin. "Please do try to contain yourself as you explain how you just shagged Moony's favorite former student."

The teacup clattered on the counter as Remus rounded on the pair. "What!"

"That's my cue!"

"Arsehole," James growled as he sent a hex to Sirius's retreating back that should change his hair color to pink just in time for whatever dates he had planned.

Remus's sigh had never failed to make James inwardly wince. So often, Moony had been right alongside them in their greatest Marauding schemes. He had been the mastermind behind their most clever pranks, after all. But he had always had a tendency toward the rules that made his best mates jokingly call him Professor long before his brief stint as Harry and Hermione's DADA instructor.

James was suddenly grateful for his lack of clear sight as he faced the clearly irate werewolf in his kitchen. "So...remember how we were all so lovely and accepting when you broke the news about dating Pads' baby cousin?"

Remus crossed his arms over his chest. "I remember acceptance of Tonks after months of innuendo and pranks, yes."

James ran a hand through his hair and forced a smile. "Well, let's just say—"

"You're in love with Hermione Granger," Remus interrupted.

James sputtered and shifted on his feet. "I...yeah, I guess I am. And this last week—"

"Harry arranged for you to give her flying lessons," Remus added.

"Yes." James closed the gap between them until he could see Remus's smug grin. "Wait, how did you know? Why aren't you furious?"

Remus returned his focus to the steadily steaming pot behind them. "Why should I be?"

James coughed as memories of last night flickered through his thoughts before he could banish them away. In times like this, he wished he'd been better at Occlumency. "Because last night—"

"You slept with Hermione," Remus easily concluded with a shrug and another grin over his shoulder for James as he prepared their teas. "You're both consenting adults, aren't you?"

James deflated at the teasing note, and the certainty he wasn't about to face the wrath of Moony for daring to touch his mate's former pupil. "I expected you would understand better than anyone, honestly. It's just after what Sirius said..."

"Sirius is an idiot," Remus argued before pushing a cup toward James.

He accepted the offering with a shake of his head. "I know she's young. Godric knows, I never thought I'd feel this again, let alone for someone Harry's age. But there's just something about her, Moony. She's so full of light and magic, and I've never been more drawn to anyone. And she knows, she understands what it's like..."

To lose the one who mattered most, he didn't dare say.

Remus nodded, as though he'd heard the unspoken words, and listened without judgment. One of the reasons James had usually gone to his werewolf friend about these sorts of matters.

James set his cup aside and glanced around his kitchen. She had been here only last night. She had been there every day. And now she may never return, because of him. "I've fucked up."

"You can't know that," Remus said. "Not until you've spoken with her."

"Oh, but I do know." James threaded both hands through his hair and tried to pull his emotions in as his earlier panic returned. "I swore I wouldn't push her, that I'd only give her what she was ready for. But I'm—I can't remember for certain, but I think I might have said something to her. I think I might have bloody told her..."

James startled at the warm hand that clasped his shoulder. He lifted his head to find Remus smiling.

"That's wonderful, Prongs."

James laughed. "If it's so wonderful, then why did she run away?"

"Because you took a risk, the first real risk I've seen you take since Harry was born. And because I know how you feel, believe me. I understand how hard it has been to trust anyone after Peter and losing Lily. But it's okay to let the right one in, James. As for Hermione. In all the years I've known her, I've never seen her run away from what's right. I believe you're right for each other, as improbable as that may seem to others. She's the brightest Witch of her age for a reason. She'll see it too."

"What if she doesn't? What if last night was the last I see her? I don't know if I can stand to lose her, Moony, not now that I know what it's like to have her in my life."

Remus placed both hands on James's shoulders, forcing him to meet his fierce gaze. "So prove it. Show her you aren't going anywhere."

James closed his eyes and thought of the way her skin had felt beneath his hands, the sparks of gold in her eyes as he taught her to trust in her magic enough to fly again. He thought of those first letters, and the few that had followed between lessons, and suddenly knew what he needed to say.

Her little house, colored in tones of blue and cream with accents of gold, was quite littered with books. Whole walls were devoted to shelves, once properly coded and categorized alphabetically by subject and then author, had long since overflowed onto tables and chairs. Everything from Muggle literature, rare first edition classics, historical and medical studies, to Magical tomes on every subject. She had spared no expense for her first friends. Books had always been there for her in way people other than Harry Potter weren't.

Hogwarts had helped for a time. In the years since the war, her addiction had only worsened. As she abandoned all hope of retrieving her parents from Australia, and the rest of her friends seemed to move on to grander things, Hermione did what she did best.

She buried her head in pursuit of knowledge.

Since coming home and showering to remove all traces of his smell, Hermione had not opened a single book.

She had gone through the motions of the life she'd made for herself since losing Ron.

Crookshanks was coaxed with food and cuddles. When he bit her fingers in reprimand, she hadn't snapped at the half-Kneazle, nor complained. She deserved far worse than the looks her judgemental cat had leveled at her from the other side of the couch.

She hadn't realized she had stolen one of James's shirts in her haste to leave this morning until after her shower.

Rather than leave the garment on the floor, or laundering it like a normal person, Hermione had snatched up the fabric and buried her face in it, then curled up on the couch as all attempts to bottle memory of James eluded her.

"It's better this way," she spoke through his shirt, gaze landing on Crookshanks. "Better to stop this now before he gets hurt," she whispered.

Her throat ached and her eyes stung, but she hadn't shed any tears, not since fleeing Potter Manor in the wee hours of the morn.

Why couldn't she have stayed?

Where had her Gryffindor courage gone?

Why was she still broken?

The phone startled her as it rang.

Hermione hesitated only a moment before scooting to the edge of the couch and reaching for the handset. The cord uncurled as she lifted the receiver to her ear and spoke the greeting her mother once taught her, "Granger residence, this is Hermione speaking."

"Hermione! One moment, about to have another match." Harry's enthusiasm struck her like a physical blow.

How happy will he be to talk to me, if we're to learn the truth? He should never have forgiven me for not saving Ron.

She curled in and brought James's shirt closer to her cheek as she bit down on her tongue and waited.

"Yes, yes, I know, Colin. Give it a rest, would you? I need to speak with Hermione first," Harry's voice carried over the background of what sounded to be the locker room. "Hey, you there, Mione?"

"I'm here, Harry."

"Sorry about that, I meant to call you last night, in fact. But it's been such a bloody circus! Honestly, Mione, I'm just about ready to retire after this season ends."

She lightly snorted. "Doubtful."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I know, I love it. Best of all, Luna tolerates my schedule, and of course, you could care less about Quidditch either way. So long as both the ladies in my life are satisfied..."

Hermione huffed. "Is there a reason you called, Harry?"

"Right! On to important matters. How have lessons been?"

"I—they've been—that is, it's..."

"Mione? I think our connection may be bad. I didn't quite catch the last."

Hermione's vision blurred as she pushed past what she couldn't say. "Please, just ring me after the game? I'll—tell you everything later, I promise."

"Hermione?"

"Good luck, Harry," she said. "I love you."

She shakily pushed the receiver back in its cradle before burying her face in James's shirt and cursing herself for her tears. She should never have hung up on Harry like that. He would worry. He knew her too well to buy her pithy excuses.

Gods, what if he asks James?

Crookshanks meowed just before a sudden insistent pecking began at the kitchen window.

Hermione's wand was in one hand, the shirt in the other as she slowly approached her window, muttering a quick check for any unwanted persons on the premises.

Only a very familiar, black-feathered owl appeared.

She was slow to set James's shirt on the kitchen counter before opening the window with a silent wave of her wand.

"Hello, Bilbo," she said once the owl found his perch on the counter before her. She reached for the bowl of owl treats she'd just happened to order earlier in the week before reaching to accept her delivery.

Bilbo hooted in thanks and settled as though in no hurry to leave.

Hermione sighed. "Right." She glanced to the cracked window, checked her wards once again, then carried James's letter back to the couch.

Her hands trembled as she broke the seal and devoured the contents.

Hermione,

I meant when I said you didn't need to give more than you were willing. The last thing I would ever want is to scare you away. Yet I'm afraid I've done just that. I've been advised (by my fellow Marauders of course) to give you time and space, though it goes against my every instinct. If I was more confident in your thoughts and feelings, I would have dismantled your wards and laid my wand at your feet, just so I could say all of this in person. But I am also aware I'm more than a bit mad (blame the Black side of the family) and such romantic overtures may work in Shakespeare, not much in life.

Still. I can wait, Hermione. I will wait until you write to tell me your feelings, no matter what they might be. While I wait, and before you let me down gently, I want you to know that last night was the most I've felt since I can remember. I've spent so much of my life looking after Harry and making sure none of the people I, or my son, loves are ever harmed. But I never bothered to look for more beyond that. For so many years, I wasn't ready for more than that. I suppose that's one of the things that has drawn me most to you. As much as I understand what you have lost, I also feel you understand me in a way no one else could.

Whatever happens between us going forward, I want you to know I have no regrets. I will savor every memory of your lips and your words between moans. When I wake from the inevitable nightmares, I'll find comfort in the way your body fit perfectly in my arms, in the way your thighs trembled as you came against my tongue, Most of all, I'll treasure the way your magic wrapped around mine until I couldn't tell where I ended and you began.

I don't know if I'll ever not want you after last night. But if you decide you aren't ready... If you decide you're never ready, I'll still be here, Hermione. I will always be your friend. If you write back to tell me you don't want me the way I want you, that's okay. Only, please do not shut me out. Don't kick me out of your life just when I've found you. If all you ever give me are smiles, hugs, and flying lessons, I'll consider myself a lucky man.

Yours,

James

Review: I liiiiiive! Okay, but seriously, welcome back to Falling Slowly, everyone! To both new and old readers, your reviews (both positive and critical ;) have meant the world to me. I truly appreciate hearing from you and I'm going to do my best to reply moving forward. I'm sorry for the brief hiatus. I took a break from all my fanfics to focus on the chaos that's become my real life, but I'm excited to come back to the fandom! I hope you are all well, and would love to hear your news, or simply your thoughts for this chapter :) I'm happy to say I finally have finished writing FS, so look forward to the rest of the chapters coming as quickly as I can upload them. Happy reading, friends!