A/N Thanks to GVSL for betaing this for me. This is actually not the original version. My computer froze and I lost the orginal. I cried while writing it, though so hopefully you will feel moved and enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
It was cold out, snowing in fact. Inside, however it was warm and cosy as a fire blazed from behind the grate, heating the single occupant, though truthfully, she did not feel it. She sat in the seat in the little nook by the window, gazing out into her yard. A single lamp illuminated the gate at the end of the path that lead to her front door, leaving the rest of the night obscured by inky darkness.
On either side of the gate, snow deepened on the ground. Her gaze was fixed, staring at the little mounds of snow overflowing on the top of each picket in the gate. She could imagine how pleasant the house might look to someone on the outside; the windows blazing with fire light, the roof covered in a layer of snow, the gate lit up as if it was waiting for someone to come home. And it was.
She had been sitting in this position for hours, willing, praying for her husband to appear. He was late home from work and with each passing her hour her anxiety grew. She wished she had accepted Harry's offer to sit with her.
"Really, Hermione. I don't mind," he had said.
But she had shaken her head. "No, go home to Ginny. I'll be fine."
He'd agreed and with a kiss to her forehead, flooed back home to a very pregnant Ginny. As the flames had turned back to their regular orange after he left the first pangs of dread had filled her.
Usually Ron would be partnered with Harry but with Ginny due any day, Ron had insisted Harry stay behind while he take another Auror with him. They had received a tip off about one of the few remaining fugitive Death Eaters, a mentally unstable man who had taken up residence in a collection of caves.
Hermione worried constantly about Ron, of course, but something about this one had her sitting anxiously, looking out for his return almost as soon as Harry had left. She'd never felt anything like it and it had tugged her over to the window where she had stayed.
She pressed her head against the cold window frame and offered up a prayer that he be home, safe and soon. She would welcome him home with open arms. She wouldn't even scold him for stripping off his sodden clothes right there in the entry way. She'd wrap him in blankets and warm him with her body.
She felt the sting in her eyes as tears threatened and scolded herself about getting so worked up at something as simple as Ron being home late from work. She wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders but did not attempt to blink away her tears. They filled her eyes, threatening to spill over with the smallest twitch of her eyelid.
Her breathing stopped as she heard the unmistakable 'whoosh' of the fire turning green readying her fireplace for someone to floo through. She turned as if in slow motion and watched, for a moment, the green flames dance hypnotically before her eyes. Then Harry stepped through and everything sped up, too fast, too loud, too real. Her eyes landed on his pale face and his red eyes and she knew. Of course she knew, she had known all night, felt it in the pit of her stomach from the moment Harry had left, so many hours ago.
"No," she rasped, her voice choked. She slumped forward, doubled over in pain as the grief shot through her. The tears that had threatened only moments before now coursed down her cheeks. She closed her eyes but not fast enough to miss Harry's face crumple as the tiny bit of composure he had mustered to face her vanished.
He was at her feet in seconds, wrapping his arms around her roughly and burying his head in her neck. The weight of him pushed her back against the window sill, until it dug into her back but she didn't care. The only things that registered were the loud throbbing of her blood pulsing through her brain and Harry's cries sounding in her ears.
She wanted to cry out, to scream, to curse the world and all that it had taken from them. It wasn't fair, it was never fair. But her energy drained from her and she sat there, weekly holding onto Harry, tears flowing but not a sound escaping her. She felt impotent and worthless.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, over and over. "I'm sorry." She didn't blame him, of course she didn't, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. She was wrapped so securely in her own pain, afraid to talk or move for fear she would let Harry's hurt in and she didn't think she could survive that too.
"I don't want to go home," he revealed. Hermione could feel his lips move against her neck. She imagined Mrs Weasley and Ginny, huddled together on the Potter's large comfortable couch. "I can't stand to look at her."
Hermione knew Ginny was strong, knew that she would put aside her own grief to care for her husband. She wondered what would bother Harry the most; that; thinking that he would have to hold her up; or looking at her face and seeing there the brother, the friend he had lost.
But it was more than losing a brother, losing a husband, more than losing a friend. It was a battle, trying to survive in darkness after living in sunshine for so long; it was like losing a part of yourself. From where Hermione sat, the world looked like a very uninviting place.
The fire burned down until it was only a warm glow, infusing the room with a comfortable heat. Hermione let her eyes absentmindedly roam around, not really taking anything in. A light out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned her head slightly. It was the lamp outside, guarding the gate, waiting for her husband to come home. She sighed and laid her cheek against Harry's soft raven hair.
His lips moved against her neck but she didn't hear him. She didn't have the energy to question him, though, so just let whatever it was be. When his lips moved again a minute later, it wasn't until she felt a moist sensation and realised he wasn't trying to say anything.
She tried to find the words to stop him, opened her mouth to protest but all that came out was silence. There was no silencing the quiet moan or the delicate shudder that raced along her spine a moment later when he closed his mouth around pulse and sucked.
She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him up against her face, her lips searching until they found his. He tasted salty but his tongue was hot and determined as it swept her mouth. Her silly daydreams from years before about kissing Harry were nothing like this, not that they would ever have been; their actions were drawn from grief and yearning.
Harry's kisses seemed to pierce right down to her soul and touch the grief within her. It reached out and recognised the hurt in Harry, it didn't crash down on her like she had feared, though. Their despair wrapped around each other and recognised the kindred spirits of their pain. Their grief was like another sense, feeding off their touches, their kisses, egging them on.
Hermione cried out, in pleasure, in pain, as Harry dug his fingers into her thighs and pulled them open. He placed himself between her knees and she whimpered against his mouth and arched her back as he ground his growing arousal against her.
She broke away from his mouth and travelled along his rough jaw to his ear. She took the lobe between her teeth and bit down gently. She needed an outlet for the almost painful desire that was gripping her. Harry reclaimed her mouth as his hands simultaneously worked up her thighs, gripping the edge of her jumper and hesitating before pulling it up further.
He pulled away, tugging on her lower lip, to look her in the eye. They were still red and puffy but there was no hiding the desire in their lidded depths. She bit her lip and nodded slightly. Harry pulled her jumper up over her head and her simple t-shirt soon followed. As Harry pulled off his jacket and shirt, she unhooked and tossed aside her bra.
They didn't stop to admire each other's bodies – their ardor wasn't about that – before he lowered his mouth to her right nipple. He suckled on it until it pebbled in his mouth, flicking his tongue across the rosy bud. Hermione moaned and arched her back, pushing her breast into his mouth, and let her head fall back into the corner of the little nook.
Her fingers dug into his shoulder as the yearning grew from her core. She pulled Harry back up to her mouth; hungrily they took from each other, their grips on each other too hard, too tight, and not tight enough. Harry reached down and tweaked her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending another wave of shivers along her spine.
She pushed him back and swayed unsteadily to her feet. They did not hesitate to remove their pants and underwear. Hermione felt his absence against her body and the hurt flared in her, even in the brief separation, and she wept again as Harry pulled her against his tall, hard body. His mouth was ardent against hers, more so then before and Hermione kissed him back while her tears still flowed.
Harry turned them, momentarily breaking the kiss, and sat on the window seat Hermione had occupied. A silent sob wracked her body and as Harry pulled her onto his lap, pushed himself into her, she could no longer keep the raw pain at bay and cried out in a mix of pleasure and anguish. He buried his face into her neck again, and she could feel the wetness from his tears and knew she was not alone in her suffering. Though their bodies were joined, their minds were on Ron, their hearts shattered, too mangled to take anything from this. It was merely a physically outlet for their sorrow.
Weeping like her heart was breaking – it was – Hermione began to move slowly. She pulled back from Harry to watch his face as she raised her hips slightly before grinding down against him. His bright green eyes swam with tears and guilt as he plunged up into her. Her breath caught and her eyes closed as she whimpered in pleasure, but it failed to still her trembling chin or the tears that flowed unbidden down her cheeks.
She sucked in a breath and howled her misery. Great shuddering sobs wracked her body as Harry held firm to her hips, thrusting into her in a steady rhythm. She cried out again, in pleasure this time, as her body unexpectedly surged over her first orgasm. She bit down on Harry's shoulder, trying in vain to silence her cries.
He grabbed her chin roughly and forced his mouth on hers. Hermione buried her fingers in his hair and allowed him to take her tongue in his mouth and suck on it gently. She gasped in surprise when he suddenly rose, still nestled inside her and carried her a few steps towards the fire. He pulled out to lay her down, draping his body over hers.
Hermione raised her knees slightly and welcomed his fullness as he plunged into her heated core. She moaned in pleasure and pulled her legs up higher, pressing her heels into Harry's backside. Hermione's heart clenched painfully as a memory came to her; Ron and her in this exact position not a week ago, though then the fire had raged.
Hermione pushed the memory away and instead began rising her hips to meet Harry's. He groaned his approval and sped up slightly, sweat beading on his forehead. Hermione leaned forward to kiss him, to taste him. She was surprised when his perspiration tasted different to his tears, though both were salty.
"Hermione," Harry began. He paused in his movements a moment before thrusting into her to the hilt.
She gasped in pleasure and ground up into him.
"Don't, Harry. Just – just fuck me."
He dipped his head and increased his speed. Hermione let her mind detach, didn't let herself think about Ron, about what she would do now, about who exactly was pounding between her legs. She just closed her eyes and relished in the building sensations and the feel of being safe and secure in the arms of a man she loved.
She moaned in pleasure, stretching her neck back as Harry ran the tip of his tongue down from just behind her ear to the valley between her breasts. Not slowing in his rhythm, Harry took a nipple into his mouth and Hermione nearly came again.
"He's quite skilled, isn't he?" Ginny said from by the fireplace. They froze, looking into each other's startled eyes before turning to stare at the pregnant woman staring down at them. Next to her, Mrs Weasley looked devastated and old. The loss of a second son had clearly taken its toll on the older woman and she seemed to have aged years in just a few fours.
"When you are finished fucking Hermione –" Mrs Weasley flinched at her daughter's course language, "– I need you at home."
Her expression was unreadable as she pulled her mother away from the horrid scene and pushed her through the fireplace first. She glanced at them one last time before following her mother.
Fresh tears filled Hermione's eyes and when Harry eased himself off her she fled upstairs to the bathroom. The water was steaming hot in a matter of moments and she stepped inside and let the tears flow. Harry followed moments later and silently pulled her to his chest.
"I'm drowning, Harry. I'm drowning," Hermione sobbed.
Harry stroked her hair and whispered comforting words over and over.
"It's okay, Hermione. I'm your life raft, I'm here. I'll save you. I'll save you. I'm your life raft."