becks89 (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} becks89) wrote in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} hhr_serendipity,@ 2005-10-05 22:01:00 |
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Author: Becks becks89
Title: Currently untitled. Call it what you will.
Prompt: Harry and Hermione are married. Harry to Ginny. Hermione to Ron. Their children are having a play date. UST. Longing. Will they turn everyone's world upside down to be together? ANGST.
Summary: Harry and Hermione are married. Harry to Ginny. Hermione to Ron. Do I need to do it again?
Other ships: H/G, R/Hr.
Rating: Sadly, a PG.
Notes: It's very long. I just couldn't seem to stop writing. Anyhoo, enjoy, R&R and cling onto the hope that HBP was a hoax.
Every few weeks they would do this. A play date between their children, often ending with tears and pinched arms and broken toys. Regardless of their children’s opposing personalities, Hermione found herself forcing her young six year old son to play and ‘act nice’ to Harry’s five year old girl. She was not below bribery, and was unashamed to use it.
A harsh breeze nipped at Hermione’s bare ankles and she drew her robe closer. Despite the cold weather and unfriendly wind October often brought, her son, Arthur, named after his late grandfather, was kneeling on the ground, almost elbow-deep in bronze leaves and dry dirt. His forehead was creased in a state of deep concentration, his lips pursed with the tip of his tongue extending past his lips. His ear-length brown hair hung in curls in front of his eyes, but despite his appearance of complete concentration, Hermione knew he had heard her open the back door.
Hermione leant against the wall, her hands crossed against her chest; her eyes stern in preparing for what she knew would be a long battle. “Arthur? Artie, sweetie, it’s time to go.”
Arthur said nothing but moved on his bent knees so his back was facing her. Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead in exhaustion. “Arthur, please.”
“No.” Was the firm answer from her six year old. Hermione watched as he flung a snail against the brick wall and winced as it cracked against it.
“Sweetie, please? Uncle Harry will be there, and you know how much Uncle Harry adores you.”
Arthur’s frame stilled and Hermione smiled. There was mutual adoration between her son and Harry, which was what made these play dates worth it for her young son, despite her efforts to try and get Arthur to get on well with Meredith, Harry’s daughter. However, whatever agreement he might have contemplated was forgotten, and Arthur was back to throwing snails against the brick.
“The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and Daddy will be home.” Hermione said, faking a cheery tone.
Arthur abruptly stood up and turned to face Hermione, wiping his cheek with his dirt-covered hand. Hermione inwardly winced.
“Where did daddy go?”
“To a meeting sweetheart, in Scotland, but you’ll see him at Uncle Harry’s!”
“Where in Scotland?” Arthur asked, walking past Hermione and into the clean kitchen, leaving small dirty footprints on the white tiled floor. Hermione closed her eyes briefly in frustration and shut the back door.
“Far away, far away, now go and wash you hands like a good boy.” Hermione said as she briskly mopped the floor.
“Only if I get a new toy.” Arthur shouted as a compromise. Hermione agreed quickly and hurried to the sofa, where her three year old daughter sat, quietly and peacefully playing with her doll, fully clothed and ready to go.
The next few minutes passed glacially slowly, with Hermione listening to Arthur stomp angrily round the house and stubbornly refuse any help Hermione offered. Angela, her daughter, was so different compared to her brother. She was quiet and attentive, a younger version of Hermione, while Arthur, who was stubborn and confident, was a young Ron. Arthur hated these play dates, while Angela would find a place to sit and draw with colourful crayons, ignoring her cousin and brother as they argued and fought. Every few weeks, when it was time to go to Harry and Ginny’s house, Arthur would continually ask why they had to, especially when he did not get on well with Meredith. And every time he would ask, Hermione would reply in a stern voice: “we have to go and see Harry” and that would be the end of that. Hermione did not organise these play dates so their children could have a good time; it was for the sole purpose to see Harry, normally without the disturbance of their partners and interruptions of their children. That was her goal, to see Harry, and when they got there, and they were alone, she was the happiest she could be.
This time was no different, as Hermione stepped out of the fire with Arthur and Angela in tow, she felt a rush of warmth flush through her body at the sight of Harry ruffling Arthur’s hair with a playful smile and twirling Angela around in the air. Hermione caught sight of Meredith peeking in at the scene from behind the kitchen doorway, a frown spoiling her pretty face that mirrored Ginny’s. She had Harry’s black messy hair however, which was twirled between her fingers.
Harry put Angela down on the floor. She laughed giddily and ran to the settee to play with a few dolls, ignoring Meredith and Arthur, who were glaring at it each other. Harry greeted Hermione with a kiss on the cheek and a tight, warm hug which made her sigh in delight. She loved Harry’s greetings; he hugged her like he hadn’t seen her in years and they always made her blush.
“Where’s Ginny?”
“Work.” Harry answered, smoothing down his messy hair. “She’s playing in France, she’ll meet us tonight. Ron’s in Scotland isn’t he?”
Hermione nodded. Ginny was a Quidditch player, and very good at it, however the job meant she was not at home a lot of the time, which left Harry to take care of Meredith, whenever he wasn’t working at the Ministry. “He’ll be here at seven.”
Meredith quickly walked away from Arthur, taking a firm hold on Harry’s trousers as he tried to move to the kitchen
.
“Meredith, be a good girl now and play with Arthur.” Harry warned, and the young girl nodded sweetly, letting go of Harry.
“Artie.” Hermione said, and he glared at her but nodded, his hands folded against his chest. “Be good sweetie.” Hermione kissed Angela’s fine red hair and followed Harry into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
“Drink?” Harry asked politely, and Hermione nodded, smiling in relief. “Wine? Firewhisky?-“
“Coffee would be great. Black with-“
“Two sugars. I know.”
Hermione smiled and took a seat at the small kitchen table in the middle of the room. She watched Harry as he quietly enchanted several teaspoons, mugs and coffee granules to make the perfect cup of coffee. Soon, two steaming hot mugs of coffee, one white and one black was set on the table in front of the pair. Hermione blew on it softly.
“So, how’s work?”
Harry sat back on the chair, glancing once at the kitchen doors before answering. “Quiet. Not as many bad wizards about nowadays.”
“I would have thought that a good thing.” Hermione smiled, and Harry shrugged.
“Gets a bit slow.” He grinned. “But I’m not complaining, what with the number we used to have.” He was silent a moment, listening to the near-silence outside the kitchen, the soft murmur of Angela playing with her dolls carrying to their ears. “And you? How are things at headquarters?”
Hermione grimaced. “Slow as well. But the new anti-discrimination Act is coming along nicely, and Remus is pleased.”
“That’s, uh, great.” Harry said, leaning forward and placing his hands on table, creasing the green patched table cloth. “Saw Ron the other day, after work.”
Hermione nodded, taking another sip of her coffee before answering. “Yes, he’s doing well now. Business is big, and he’s up to his ears in it.” There was silence again, this time it was awkward and Hermione’s eyes roamed every individual object before resting on Harry. His was looking straight at her, his thumbs twiddling on the table.
“Ginny wants to talk to you when she arrives.” Harry said quickly, as if it were a huge burden to tell her so.
Hermione nodded and leant closer to Harry, lowering her voice a little. “And how is she? Since the miscarriage we haven’t talked much. I’m not as close to her as I used to be.”
He frowned and ran his hands through his hair. “Neither have I to be honest. It was six months ago, and since we…since we…” He broke off, and Hermione put a comforting hand on his. “Since we lost the baby,” he continued afresh, a troubled expression on his face, “I barely see her. She’s drowned herself into her work, and not given herself time to grieve.”
“These things happen, Harry.” Hermione said sympathetically. Ginny had been six months pregnant when she had an accident with her broomstick and crashed, losing the baby. The last six months had been hard for both Ginny and Harry, yet she knew they were coping in different ways. She looked at him, focusing on his tired eyes, the premature greys mixed in with his black hair, and her heart lurched. “How are you doing Harry?”
Harry sighed, and after a few silent moments, he removed his hand from under hers, suddenly got up and walked to the window, his back facing her. “Best as I can.” He said, in a small voice. Hermione followed him, abandoning her half-full mug of coffee and joining him by the window. His hands were on the window-sill, his arms stiff and his body tense. He purposefully looked away from her as she approached, studying the empty flowerbed by the fence. “It’s hard. Trying to keep up this pretence that we’re a happy family. Because we’re not. We have to, for Meredith, but Ginny and I, we’re both kidding ourselves. To tell you the truth, it’s…I…” He looked at Hermione, turning his whole body towards her so that they were almost touching. “It was hard before we lost the baby, and now, it’s even worse. I know it’s coming to an end, but I just can’t bring myself to do the deed, not with Meredith-“He broke off, his eyes filled with pain. “Leaving the first girl I’ve ever loved…I don’t think I can do it.”
Hermione was speechless, her mouth dry and her eyes fixed on Harry. After several moments of trying to find something right to say, trying to recover from his revelation and trying to figure out what this could mean in the future, she managed to string a few words together. “I had no idea you felt this way.”
He was still looking at her, his eyes intense, his gaze focused. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About everything. What could have happened if I did this, or this or this. Do you ever…?”
Hermione nodded. “Sometimes. When things get hard. But I don’t let myself indulge in it. I’ve made decisions in my life, some of which I’m not too proud of, others of which I am.”
Harry smiled and shoved his hands in his robe pockets, giving Hermione the impression that he was a little lost boy. “I’m the opposite. I think I indulge a little too much, lately anyway. Do you ever think…? Do you ever wonder…what would have happened…if you and I…” Harry grinned shyly and looked away, occasionally sneaking glances to witness Hermione’s fish imitation. “I was just wondering. That’s all.” He reassured, struggling not to laugh as Hermione’s mouth hung open.
“Um, it’s ok, I’m not shocked.” She said weakly, faking a smile. Harry grinned at her, his gaze focusing on her again. His eyes held hers for a moment, then she turned and walked back to the table, taking her seat and fiddling with the handle of the mug with her forefinger and thumb. “What, if we were married? You and me?” Harry nodded and she shrugged in surprise. “I know that I might be a bit happier. Because you would be home a lot more than Ron is. And there are things you and I share, that Ron and I don’t…you know?” She looked at him, their gazes locking. He made a slight move and her eyes tore away from him and she bit her lip with nervousness. “But I share a lot with Ron too. He was my first love, my only love as a matter of fact. And he makes me laugh, and I know he would do a lot for me, and I know he cares a great deal about me, even though-“
“Even though what?” Harry said, too eagerly for Hermione’s liking. He moved quickly from the window to the table, sitting down opposite her. His hands were on the table, inches from hers, and she had never felt such a strong urge to touch him than she did right there.
Hermione sat back, removing her hands from the table, placing them in her hair, on her lap, anywhere so she wouldn’t feel as uncomfortable. “You know, a glass of wine would be great.”
Harry frowned, confused by her answer but acquiesced, and moved to the cupboard to pour her some. She downed the half-full glass immediately, and frowning, Harry poured her another one, and got himself a small glass of Firewhisky.
“The children are quiet.” Hermione observed, glancing at the closed doors that separated them from the kids. She stroked the glass stem of the wine glass absently, glancing out of the window, not really seeing anything, her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I had a crush on you.”
His voice was deep and gravely, and brought Hermione sharply out of her day dream. She steadied the full wine glass on the table, leant forward and focused on Harry, who was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and anxiety. “What?” She said slowly, her eyes wider than they should have been.
“Only a small one.” He confessed casually. “In fifth year. Don’t know what triggered it or anything, but towards the end, I noticed more things about you. How you looked, how you talked, really small things. I never entertained the notion of you and I becoming more than friends, the crush drifted away after a while, by the time we were in sixth, but for several months, I had a small crush on you.”
Hermione blushed, hiding her head behind her hands and her thick curtain of curly hair. Harry laughed, enjoying her reaction.
“What would you have done if I had told you?” Harry asked curiously, after taking a cautious sip of his Firewhisky.
“Probably run out of the room screaming.” Hermione laughed, her body shaking as she pictured it. However, seeing the look on Harry’s face quelled her laughter, and her attention was brought to her glass of wine. “To be honest, I was too hooked on Ron to even consider such a thing.” She smiled at the memories of her fifth year, one of her most trying yet easy compared to the trials she faced the year after, in things she had never been experienced at. She had never felt so low and unworthy as she had when she saw Ron and Lavender, embraced in a heat of passion in the common room. She hated Ron for reducing her to such a petty, immature girl in her sixth year, and she was ashamed by the hateful things she said to him and how preoccupied her mind was, so much so that she was unable to support Harry.
Hermione looked up and froze at the look on Harry’s face. She had not been aware that he had been watching her as she had driven down memory lane, with a wistful smile on her face. He grinned, his eyes moving about her face, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable and hot, not used to him scrutinizing her like this.
“So there has never been any chance that you liked me?” Harry asked, holding her gaze, challenging her to look away. “Never at all?”
Hermione smiled secretly, holding his gaze and shrugged. “Well…”
“Yes?” He said eagerly, leaning forward.
“In first year, I might have had a small crush on you.” Hermione admitted, finally tearing her gaze from him. She laughed as Harry whooped, punched the air with his fist in a self-congratulatory manner. “Although, it was just hero worship.” Harry’s face fell. “But of course, the hero worship faded and I still fancied you from second till fourth year. Then I noticed Ron and how wonderful he was in comparison and forgot all about you.”
“Ron is a God in comparison to me.” Harry said sarcastically, but with a playful smile on his face.
“Absolutely.” Hermione returned, smiling at Harry. Their gazes locked once again, their smiles fixed on their faces, and Hermione could not remember a time when Harry had smiled like this, a real and genuine smile. It seemed that for every good moment in their life, there was several awful ones which temporarily destroyed their happiness. First, it had been Voldemort, the numerous adventures and trials during their school years, then when they had abandoned the closed-Hogwarts in search of the remaining Horcruxes. Then it was the defeat of Voldemort yet the amount of loss they had suffered did not seem worth it. Years followed with various trials that normal, unlucky wizards and witches experience, along with the death of Hermione’s mother by cancer, the premature birth of Angela who had taken several trying weeks to recover, and now Ginny’s miscarriage. It was one after the other, leaving barely any time rejoice in the joy.
In the difficult times that had been bestowed on the pair of them, it was the rare moments like these that Hermione cherished, they were able to be themselves and forget about anything that had been troubling them moments before, surrounded by a spiders’ web, momentarily oblivious to the world around them.
“Merlin, imagine what it would have been like if we got married.” Harry said, laughing at the image in his mind.
Hermione pictured several skinny and short children, with Harry’s black hair and startling green eyes and Hermione’s uncontrollable bushy hair and two long front teeth. She shuddered. “Thank Merlin we didn’t. Your determination mixed with my stubbornness and bossiness? Our kids would have been a mess.”
Harry smiled and headed to the kitchen counter, and gestured to the bottle of wine. “More?”
Hermione held out her glass, smiling as he poured, saying, “Just promise you won’t get me drunk, Harry Potter.”
Harry grinned, looking up at her with a twinkle in his green eyes and a lopsided grin on his face. “I promise, Hermione.”
****
“Oh! Merlin, Ron you gave me a fright!”
Several hours later and Hermione stood opposite the fireplace, half a glass of wine in her hand and a flattering pink tint in her cheeks. Floating in the green flames was her husband, Ron. He was an hour late, but Hermione was in no mind to chastise him, she was having a little difficulty standing upright.
Ron laughed as he took in the state of her, a little too unkindly for Hermione’s liking, and looked past Hermione to see Harry bounding toward him, closely followed by Arthur, Angela and Meredith.
“Getting my wife drunk, Potter?”
“Been wanting to for a while, Weasley.” Harry shot back, scooping Angela into his arms with casual ease that Hermione envied.
“’Fraid I’m going to have to take a rain check on tonight.” Ron said with a slight frown on his face. “Things ran a bit late, and we’re still not finished.”
“You’ll be home tomorrow?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.
“First thing.”
Hermione glanced back at Harry, who was busy tending to Meredith who complained of Arthur biting her. The culprit was crouched by the fire, firing questions at his father, and Angela was by his heels.
After a few moments of good-byes and promises to make it up at a later date, Ron had disappeared from the fire, and the children slowly traipsed out of the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the sitting room, with several bottles of unopened Firewhisky and wine.
“I guess it’s just us tonight.” Harry said, uncomfortably.
Hermione nodded, before collapsing on a couch ungracefully, the red wine sloshing around in her glass. “Pity Ginny couldn’t make it tonight. And Ron.”
“Not too bad though.” Harry said, carefully studying his hand. “Just the two of us, hasn’t been that way in a while.”
“Mm.” Hermione hummed, leaning her head back on the sofa, resting her glass of wine against the soft material. Her senses tuned out, the crackling of the fire and soft patter of rain on the window panes seemed to melt away, the warm, tingly feeling in her chest almost disappeared and the smell of wine, fresh flowers and handle polish vanished from her nose.
She was vaguely aware of the couch moving beside her, where Harry had been, but she paid no mind to it, and slowly took a gentle sip of her wine.
Her eyes opened as her mouth filled with the liquid, and quickly she spat it back out again. She spluttered, almost dropping the glass on the pristine white carpet, and set the glass on the side table.
“Harry! What on earth are you doing?”
He stood opposite her, his hands shoved in his pockets, his back slouching against the fireplace. He stood several feet from her; the only object between them was the coffee table. At her first glance of him, he had been watching her intently; with such concentration it shocked her. Now, he was trying very hard not to laugh, knowing how much it would infuriate her. But her cold gaze on him froze his laughter, and as she shakily stood, the wine fast taking a toll on her, his face turned into an expression of seriousness and regret.
“Well?” Hermione asked, feeling her cheeks flush with anger and humiliation. She was far too angry at him than she felt he deserved, yet she couldn’t quell the fury that rose from the pit of her belly. She wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to throttle him so, but it she had an inkling of an idea that it was due to the look on his face when he had been watching her, a look that used to belong to Ron.
Her mind was overcome with a mixture of rage and alcohol, and she took a determined step toward him. “Well?” She demanded again, with a tone so harsh that Harry looked shocked.
She stood waiting for an answer, watching Harry as he tried to formulate an answer, yet he still looked like a guilty teen. Without warning, he turned sharply on his heel and headed towards the stairs.
Hermione stood for a moment, and then followed him, curiosity winning her internal battle of whether to find out what she thought was true. Their footsteps were heavy on the floor, and she could faintly hear the children play in one of the rooms off the hall. He stopped at the end of the hall, turning abruptly to face her, and half his face was immediately cast in shadow. She let out a small gasp of fright, and stopped, several feet away from him.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, his tone truly apologetic.
“What’s with the dramatic exit?” Hermione whispered back.
“I…I couldn’t.”
“Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked, almost impatiently. He had never been an articulate boy, especially when he was nervous, and this was coming into play now. But somewhere, in the back of her mind she knew exactly what was wrong. It was plainly obvious to her now, the idle conversations, the frequent top-ups of wine, the looks and suggestive glances…it all made sense, and while Hermione would have welcomed it years ago, not now.
“Harry…” She whispered, her breath caught in her throat as she realised, and unnoticed by her, he took a step toward her.
“Hermione, I’m so sorry.” He apologised again, taking another step toward her.
She was frozen, she had lost the ability and the knowledge to move, but she knew that with every step Harry took, she was losing something she desperately loved, and gaining something she wasn’t sure she wanted. Yet she still couldn’t move.
His face was inches from hers now; her skin was on fire, her mouth dry with anticipation and her heart beat so fast, so loud, that she was sure he could hear it.
He raised his hand, painfully slowly; swallowing nervously as it slowly traced the air on her jaw line, her mouth, her collar. His skin never made contact with hers, but his tracings left a burn where his fingers hovered uncertainly. The odd fluttering movement in the pit of her stomach was suddenly making her feel sick, her heart felt it would burst from her rib cage from anticipation and her feet wanted to move, it really did, but it had lost the knowledge of how to.
“How long?” She managed to whisper.
His eyes roamed around the bare skin of her neck before resting on her eyes, his hands returning to his sides. “Months. Years. Always.”
“Pick one.” Hermione said slowly, and Harry smiled nervously.
“Always.”
“I was afraid of that.” Hermione whispered. He had moved his lips were mere millimetres from hers; she could feel his hot breath on her. The fluttering in her stomach was now accompanied by her burning skin, and this uncontrollable force that was pulling her toward him, to press her lips against his and find out if it was as kissable as it looked.
She saw it in her mind; he would put one hand under her ear, resting it under her mane of hair. The other would go to her wrist, clasp it gently but possessively, placing it just so to make her legs melt and her hair to stand on end. He would make the first move, placing his lips on hers in a short, chaste kiss, but it would be like a bolt of lightening, shocking her to her very core, awakening sensations that she never thought she would feel again. And when he would pull back, she would crave more, and all inhibitions would sail from her mind and she would kiss him fiercely, knowing that it was the only thing she wanted to do, for the rest of her life.
Her image of them kissing was firmly planted in her mind, the sensations she imagined feeling where coursing through her now as her eyes roamed around those lips that would kiss her neck, her chest, her forehead, and those hands that would take her possessively. She could feel these sensations as if they were real, feel his mouth on hers and his tongue battling with her own, and she almost did it, almost moved forward and placed her lips on his, almost placed her hand on his chest and around his neck.
But she didn’t. Her hand stopped just above the material covering his chest, and she glanced up at him, sorrow and regret in her eyes, but with a clear understanding of what she had to do. “I love Ron.”
Whatever she had expected from Harry, it wasn’t the fierce determination that she saw surge into his eyes and take over. “How?”
Hermione’s brows furrowed in confusion and almost rage on Ron’s behalf. “Because I do! I’ve always loved him, he’s kind and makes me laugh-“
“No, I mean, in what way.” Harry pressed, almost uncertainly.
“He’s my husband.” Hermione said clearly.
“That’s just a title.”
“Why are you pushing this?!” Hermione shouted in frustration.
“Because I saw something when you looked at me, something I’ve never seen you look at Ron with, and it gave me hope.” Harry said determinedly, his nervousness flung to the side as he became the dominant one. She saw something flicker in his eyes, and although she had always thought of Harry as a shy, inarticulate boy, she suddenly knew how he had defeated Voldemort all those years ago.
“You don’t know anything about Ron and I, so don’t you dare-“
“I know what it’s been like lately Hermione. And it’s not all too recent, the spark of your relationship went out a long time ago yet both of you seem to be too cowardly to admit. At least I can admit to myself that things with Ginny aren’t working out.”
Hermione glared at Harry, angry that she was not as emotionally aware as him, angry that he could see through her relationships, angry that he had said everything that she was too terrified to admit to.
She turned on her heel, heading downstairs with such a rush that Harry ran to keep up with her. She ran into the kitchen, Harry hot on her heels, and he quickly shut the door and faced her.
“My relationship with Ron has nothing to do with you!” Hermione said furiously, placing herself behind the kitchen table.
“But I’m here for you Hermione, in more ways than one.” He said fiercely, approaching the table. You know what I’m saying is the truth, you can’t deny it.”
The anger she had been feeling flushed out of her, and she was left feeling weak and alone. She leant back against the counter, closing her eyes in frustration and to quell the tears that had sprung to her eyes and she admitted to herself the truth.
“I have feelings for you Hermione.” Harry said dangerously close to her. Her eyes fluttered open and his green eyes pierced through hers. “And I know they’re not unrequited. No matter how much you want to pretend, I’m not going to go away, and neither are your feelings for me. Believe me, I’ve tried to pretend, I have tried.”
He attempted to smile then, yet Hermione could not see the funny side. All she saw was her life fall into two pieces, irreparable, and she was struggling not to cry. The image of her kissing Harry was replaced with two other faces, Angela and Arthur, and they were soon joined by Ron’s. Tears rolled down her cheeks then as she realised how much she wanted this, to kiss Harry, to touch him, to be with him in any way possible, and how much she was she was threatening to denying herself of that simple pleasure of being in love with someone, a pleasure she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
She made a decision. An argument for each case was formulated quickly, but she reached a decision in a matter of seconds, and she knew that as she opened her mouth and let out her words, there was no going back. Things would be changed, irrevocably, but she would try to make things better for them, for all of them, whether her efforts proved futile or not. That was something she could do.
But she couldn’t do this. She said it out loud as she thought it, and slowly, Harry stepped away from her in a mixture of anguish and surprise. Her tears were forced from her eyes and she stared him down, determination clear on her face. She explained to him of everything, of why she chose Ron and Angela and Arthur and their quaint little home with a garden and tiled kitchen floors. Of why she chose normality, simplicity, and tradition instead of him, and although it broke her heart to tell him this, to see him crumple like this, she had an obligation and that was that. She left then, leaving him rooted to the floor with defeat, and called Angela and Arthur. She remained silent as she threw the Floo powder in the fire, Angela and Arthur noiseless beside her, aware of the change that had happened, aware of their mother’s mood, aware of Harry drinking his way through his stock of Firewhisky in the kitchen, and Hermione stepped in the fire and hurtled back to her house, herself aware of the one thing she had denied herself with the simple action of walking away: her first and last chance to feel love.
End.
becks89Title: Currently untitled. Call it what you will.
Prompt: Harry and Hermione are married. Harry to Ginny. Hermione to Ron. Their children are having a play date. UST. Longing. Will they turn everyone's world upside down to be together? ANGST.
Summary: Harry and Hermione are married. Harry to Ginny. Hermione to Ron. Do I need to do it again?
Other ships: H/G, R/Hr.
Rating: Sadly, a PG.
Notes: It's very long. I just couldn't seem to stop writing. Anyhoo, enjoy, R&R and cling onto the hope that HBP was a hoax.
Every few weeks they would do this. A play date between their children, often ending with tears and pinched arms and broken toys. Regardless of their children’s opposing personalities, Hermione found herself forcing her young six year old son to play and ‘act nice’ to Harry’s five year old girl. She was not below bribery, and was unashamed to use it.
A harsh breeze nipped at Hermione’s bare ankles and she drew her robe closer. Despite the cold weather and unfriendly wind October often brought, her son, Arthur, named after his late grandfather, was kneeling on the ground, almost elbow-deep in bronze leaves and dry dirt. His forehead was creased in a state of deep concentration, his lips pursed with the tip of his tongue extending past his lips. His ear-length brown hair hung in curls in front of his eyes, but despite his appearance of complete concentration, Hermione knew he had heard her open the back door.
Hermione leant against the wall, her hands crossed against her chest; her eyes stern in preparing for what she knew would be a long battle. “Arthur? Artie, sweetie, it’s time to go.”
Arthur said nothing but moved on his bent knees so his back was facing her. Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead in exhaustion. “Arthur, please.”
“No.” Was the firm answer from her six year old. Hermione watched as he flung a snail against the brick wall and winced as it cracked against it.
“Sweetie, please? Uncle Harry will be there, and you know how much Uncle Harry adores you.”
Arthur’s frame stilled and Hermione smiled. There was mutual adoration between her son and Harry, which was what made these play dates worth it for her young son, despite her efforts to try and get Arthur to get on well with Meredith, Harry’s daughter. However, whatever agreement he might have contemplated was forgotten, and Arthur was back to throwing snails against the brick.
“The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and Daddy will be home.” Hermione said, faking a cheery tone.
Arthur abruptly stood up and turned to face Hermione, wiping his cheek with his dirt-covered hand. Hermione inwardly winced.
“Where did daddy go?”
“To a meeting sweetheart, in Scotland, but you’ll see him at Uncle Harry’s!”
“Where in Scotland?” Arthur asked, walking past Hermione and into the clean kitchen, leaving small dirty footprints on the white tiled floor. Hermione closed her eyes briefly in frustration and shut the back door.
“Far away, far away, now go and wash you hands like a good boy.” Hermione said as she briskly mopped the floor.
“Only if I get a new toy.” Arthur shouted as a compromise. Hermione agreed quickly and hurried to the sofa, where her three year old daughter sat, quietly and peacefully playing with her doll, fully clothed and ready to go.
The next few minutes passed glacially slowly, with Hermione listening to Arthur stomp angrily round the house and stubbornly refuse any help Hermione offered. Angela, her daughter, was so different compared to her brother. She was quiet and attentive, a younger version of Hermione, while Arthur, who was stubborn and confident, was a young Ron. Arthur hated these play dates, while Angela would find a place to sit and draw with colourful crayons, ignoring her cousin and brother as they argued and fought. Every few weeks, when it was time to go to Harry and Ginny’s house, Arthur would continually ask why they had to, especially when he did not get on well with Meredith. And every time he would ask, Hermione would reply in a stern voice: “we have to go and see Harry” and that would be the end of that. Hermione did not organise these play dates so their children could have a good time; it was for the sole purpose to see Harry, normally without the disturbance of their partners and interruptions of their children. That was her goal, to see Harry, and when they got there, and they were alone, she was the happiest she could be.
This time was no different, as Hermione stepped out of the fire with Arthur and Angela in tow, she felt a rush of warmth flush through her body at the sight of Harry ruffling Arthur’s hair with a playful smile and twirling Angela around in the air. Hermione caught sight of Meredith peeking in at the scene from behind the kitchen doorway, a frown spoiling her pretty face that mirrored Ginny’s. She had Harry’s black messy hair however, which was twirled between her fingers.
Harry put Angela down on the floor. She laughed giddily and ran to the settee to play with a few dolls, ignoring Meredith and Arthur, who were glaring at it each other. Harry greeted Hermione with a kiss on the cheek and a tight, warm hug which made her sigh in delight. She loved Harry’s greetings; he hugged her like he hadn’t seen her in years and they always made her blush.
“Where’s Ginny?”
“Work.” Harry answered, smoothing down his messy hair. “She’s playing in France, she’ll meet us tonight. Ron’s in Scotland isn’t he?”
Hermione nodded. Ginny was a Quidditch player, and very good at it, however the job meant she was not at home a lot of the time, which left Harry to take care of Meredith, whenever he wasn’t working at the Ministry. “He’ll be here at seven.”
Meredith quickly walked away from Arthur, taking a firm hold on Harry’s trousers as he tried to move to the kitchen
.
“Meredith, be a good girl now and play with Arthur.” Harry warned, and the young girl nodded sweetly, letting go of Harry.
“Artie.” Hermione said, and he glared at her but nodded, his hands folded against his chest. “Be good sweetie.” Hermione kissed Angela’s fine red hair and followed Harry into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
“Drink?” Harry asked politely, and Hermione nodded, smiling in relief. “Wine? Firewhisky?-“
“Coffee would be great. Black with-“
“Two sugars. I know.”
Hermione smiled and took a seat at the small kitchen table in the middle of the room. She watched Harry as he quietly enchanted several teaspoons, mugs and coffee granules to make the perfect cup of coffee. Soon, two steaming hot mugs of coffee, one white and one black was set on the table in front of the pair. Hermione blew on it softly.
“So, how’s work?”
Harry sat back on the chair, glancing once at the kitchen doors before answering. “Quiet. Not as many bad wizards about nowadays.”
“I would have thought that a good thing.” Hermione smiled, and Harry shrugged.
“Gets a bit slow.” He grinned. “But I’m not complaining, what with the number we used to have.” He was silent a moment, listening to the near-silence outside the kitchen, the soft murmur of Angela playing with her dolls carrying to their ears. “And you? How are things at headquarters?”
Hermione grimaced. “Slow as well. But the new anti-discrimination Act is coming along nicely, and Remus is pleased.”
“That’s, uh, great.” Harry said, leaning forward and placing his hands on table, creasing the green patched table cloth. “Saw Ron the other day, after work.”
Hermione nodded, taking another sip of her coffee before answering. “Yes, he’s doing well now. Business is big, and he’s up to his ears in it.” There was silence again, this time it was awkward and Hermione’s eyes roamed every individual object before resting on Harry. His was looking straight at her, his thumbs twiddling on the table.
“Ginny wants to talk to you when she arrives.” Harry said quickly, as if it were a huge burden to tell her so.
Hermione nodded and leant closer to Harry, lowering her voice a little. “And how is she? Since the miscarriage we haven’t talked much. I’m not as close to her as I used to be.”
He frowned and ran his hands through his hair. “Neither have I to be honest. It was six months ago, and since we…since we…” He broke off, and Hermione put a comforting hand on his. “Since we lost the baby,” he continued afresh, a troubled expression on his face, “I barely see her. She’s drowned herself into her work, and not given herself time to grieve.”
“These things happen, Harry.” Hermione said sympathetically. Ginny had been six months pregnant when she had an accident with her broomstick and crashed, losing the baby. The last six months had been hard for both Ginny and Harry, yet she knew they were coping in different ways. She looked at him, focusing on his tired eyes, the premature greys mixed in with his black hair, and her heart lurched. “How are you doing Harry?”
Harry sighed, and after a few silent moments, he removed his hand from under hers, suddenly got up and walked to the window, his back facing her. “Best as I can.” He said, in a small voice. Hermione followed him, abandoning her half-full mug of coffee and joining him by the window. His hands were on the window-sill, his arms stiff and his body tense. He purposefully looked away from her as she approached, studying the empty flowerbed by the fence. “It’s hard. Trying to keep up this pretence that we’re a happy family. Because we’re not. We have to, for Meredith, but Ginny and I, we’re both kidding ourselves. To tell you the truth, it’s…I…” He looked at Hermione, turning his whole body towards her so that they were almost touching. “It was hard before we lost the baby, and now, it’s even worse. I know it’s coming to an end, but I just can’t bring myself to do the deed, not with Meredith-“He broke off, his eyes filled with pain. “Leaving the first girl I’ve ever loved…I don’t think I can do it.”
Hermione was speechless, her mouth dry and her eyes fixed on Harry. After several moments of trying to find something right to say, trying to recover from his revelation and trying to figure out what this could mean in the future, she managed to string a few words together. “I had no idea you felt this way.”
He was still looking at her, his eyes intense, his gaze focused. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About everything. What could have happened if I did this, or this or this. Do you ever…?”
Hermione nodded. “Sometimes. When things get hard. But I don’t let myself indulge in it. I’ve made decisions in my life, some of which I’m not too proud of, others of which I am.”
Harry smiled and shoved his hands in his robe pockets, giving Hermione the impression that he was a little lost boy. “I’m the opposite. I think I indulge a little too much, lately anyway. Do you ever think…? Do you ever wonder…what would have happened…if you and I…” Harry grinned shyly and looked away, occasionally sneaking glances to witness Hermione’s fish imitation. “I was just wondering. That’s all.” He reassured, struggling not to laugh as Hermione’s mouth hung open.
“Um, it’s ok, I’m not shocked.” She said weakly, faking a smile. Harry grinned at her, his gaze focusing on her again. His eyes held hers for a moment, then she turned and walked back to the table, taking her seat and fiddling with the handle of the mug with her forefinger and thumb. “What, if we were married? You and me?” Harry nodded and she shrugged in surprise. “I know that I might be a bit happier. Because you would be home a lot more than Ron is. And there are things you and I share, that Ron and I don’t…you know?” She looked at him, their gazes locking. He made a slight move and her eyes tore away from him and she bit her lip with nervousness. “But I share a lot with Ron too. He was my first love, my only love as a matter of fact. And he makes me laugh, and I know he would do a lot for me, and I know he cares a great deal about me, even though-“
“Even though what?” Harry said, too eagerly for Hermione’s liking. He moved quickly from the window to the table, sitting down opposite her. His hands were on the table, inches from hers, and she had never felt such a strong urge to touch him than she did right there.
Hermione sat back, removing her hands from the table, placing them in her hair, on her lap, anywhere so she wouldn’t feel as uncomfortable. “You know, a glass of wine would be great.”
Harry frowned, confused by her answer but acquiesced, and moved to the cupboard to pour her some. She downed the half-full glass immediately, and frowning, Harry poured her another one, and got himself a small glass of Firewhisky.
“The children are quiet.” Hermione observed, glancing at the closed doors that separated them from the kids. She stroked the glass stem of the wine glass absently, glancing out of the window, not really seeing anything, her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I had a crush on you.”
His voice was deep and gravely, and brought Hermione sharply out of her day dream. She steadied the full wine glass on the table, leant forward and focused on Harry, who was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and anxiety. “What?” She said slowly, her eyes wider than they should have been.
“Only a small one.” He confessed casually. “In fifth year. Don’t know what triggered it or anything, but towards the end, I noticed more things about you. How you looked, how you talked, really small things. I never entertained the notion of you and I becoming more than friends, the crush drifted away after a while, by the time we were in sixth, but for several months, I had a small crush on you.”
Hermione blushed, hiding her head behind her hands and her thick curtain of curly hair. Harry laughed, enjoying her reaction.
“What would you have done if I had told you?” Harry asked curiously, after taking a cautious sip of his Firewhisky.
“Probably run out of the room screaming.” Hermione laughed, her body shaking as she pictured it. However, seeing the look on Harry’s face quelled her laughter, and her attention was brought to her glass of wine. “To be honest, I was too hooked on Ron to even consider such a thing.” She smiled at the memories of her fifth year, one of her most trying yet easy compared to the trials she faced the year after, in things she had never been experienced at. She had never felt so low and unworthy as she had when she saw Ron and Lavender, embraced in a heat of passion in the common room. She hated Ron for reducing her to such a petty, immature girl in her sixth year, and she was ashamed by the hateful things she said to him and how preoccupied her mind was, so much so that she was unable to support Harry.
Hermione looked up and froze at the look on Harry’s face. She had not been aware that he had been watching her as she had driven down memory lane, with a wistful smile on her face. He grinned, his eyes moving about her face, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable and hot, not used to him scrutinizing her like this.
“So there has never been any chance that you liked me?” Harry asked, holding her gaze, challenging her to look away. “Never at all?”
Hermione smiled secretly, holding his gaze and shrugged. “Well…”
“Yes?” He said eagerly, leaning forward.
“In first year, I might have had a small crush on you.” Hermione admitted, finally tearing her gaze from him. She laughed as Harry whooped, punched the air with his fist in a self-congratulatory manner. “Although, it was just hero worship.” Harry’s face fell. “But of course, the hero worship faded and I still fancied you from second till fourth year. Then I noticed Ron and how wonderful he was in comparison and forgot all about you.”
“Ron is a God in comparison to me.” Harry said sarcastically, but with a playful smile on his face.
“Absolutely.” Hermione returned, smiling at Harry. Their gazes locked once again, their smiles fixed on their faces, and Hermione could not remember a time when Harry had smiled like this, a real and genuine smile. It seemed that for every good moment in their life, there was several awful ones which temporarily destroyed their happiness. First, it had been Voldemort, the numerous adventures and trials during their school years, then when they had abandoned the closed-Hogwarts in search of the remaining Horcruxes. Then it was the defeat of Voldemort yet the amount of loss they had suffered did not seem worth it. Years followed with various trials that normal, unlucky wizards and witches experience, along with the death of Hermione’s mother by cancer, the premature birth of Angela who had taken several trying weeks to recover, and now Ginny’s miscarriage. It was one after the other, leaving barely any time rejoice in the joy.
In the difficult times that had been bestowed on the pair of them, it was the rare moments like these that Hermione cherished, they were able to be themselves and forget about anything that had been troubling them moments before, surrounded by a spiders’ web, momentarily oblivious to the world around them.
“Merlin, imagine what it would have been like if we got married.” Harry said, laughing at the image in his mind.
Hermione pictured several skinny and short children, with Harry’s black hair and startling green eyes and Hermione’s uncontrollable bushy hair and two long front teeth. She shuddered. “Thank Merlin we didn’t. Your determination mixed with my stubbornness and bossiness? Our kids would have been a mess.”
Harry smiled and headed to the kitchen counter, and gestured to the bottle of wine. “More?”
Hermione held out her glass, smiling as he poured, saying, “Just promise you won’t get me drunk, Harry Potter.”
Harry grinned, looking up at her with a twinkle in his green eyes and a lopsided grin on his face. “I promise, Hermione.”
****
“Oh! Merlin, Ron you gave me a fright!”
Several hours later and Hermione stood opposite the fireplace, half a glass of wine in her hand and a flattering pink tint in her cheeks. Floating in the green flames was her husband, Ron. He was an hour late, but Hermione was in no mind to chastise him, she was having a little difficulty standing upright.
Ron laughed as he took in the state of her, a little too unkindly for Hermione’s liking, and looked past Hermione to see Harry bounding toward him, closely followed by Arthur, Angela and Meredith.
“Getting my wife drunk, Potter?”
“Been wanting to for a while, Weasley.” Harry shot back, scooping Angela into his arms with casual ease that Hermione envied.
“’Fraid I’m going to have to take a rain check on tonight.” Ron said with a slight frown on his face. “Things ran a bit late, and we’re still not finished.”
“You’ll be home tomorrow?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.
“First thing.”
Hermione glanced back at Harry, who was busy tending to Meredith who complained of Arthur biting her. The culprit was crouched by the fire, firing questions at his father, and Angela was by his heels.
After a few moments of good-byes and promises to make it up at a later date, Ron had disappeared from the fire, and the children slowly traipsed out of the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the sitting room, with several bottles of unopened Firewhisky and wine.
“I guess it’s just us tonight.” Harry said, uncomfortably.
Hermione nodded, before collapsing on a couch ungracefully, the red wine sloshing around in her glass. “Pity Ginny couldn’t make it tonight. And Ron.”
“Not too bad though.” Harry said, carefully studying his hand. “Just the two of us, hasn’t been that way in a while.”
“Mm.” Hermione hummed, leaning her head back on the sofa, resting her glass of wine against the soft material. Her senses tuned out, the crackling of the fire and soft patter of rain on the window panes seemed to melt away, the warm, tingly feeling in her chest almost disappeared and the smell of wine, fresh flowers and handle polish vanished from her nose.
She was vaguely aware of the couch moving beside her, where Harry had been, but she paid no mind to it, and slowly took a gentle sip of her wine.
Her eyes opened as her mouth filled with the liquid, and quickly she spat it back out again. She spluttered, almost dropping the glass on the pristine white carpet, and set the glass on the side table.
“Harry! What on earth are you doing?”
He stood opposite her, his hands shoved in his pockets, his back slouching against the fireplace. He stood several feet from her; the only object between them was the coffee table. At her first glance of him, he had been watching her intently; with such concentration it shocked her. Now, he was trying very hard not to laugh, knowing how much it would infuriate her. But her cold gaze on him froze his laughter, and as she shakily stood, the wine fast taking a toll on her, his face turned into an expression of seriousness and regret.
“Well?” Hermione asked, feeling her cheeks flush with anger and humiliation. She was far too angry at him than she felt he deserved, yet she couldn’t quell the fury that rose from the pit of her belly. She wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to throttle him so, but it she had an inkling of an idea that it was due to the look on his face when he had been watching her, a look that used to belong to Ron.
Her mind was overcome with a mixture of rage and alcohol, and she took a determined step toward him. “Well?” She demanded again, with a tone so harsh that Harry looked shocked.
She stood waiting for an answer, watching Harry as he tried to formulate an answer, yet he still looked like a guilty teen. Without warning, he turned sharply on his heel and headed towards the stairs.
Hermione stood for a moment, and then followed him, curiosity winning her internal battle of whether to find out what she thought was true. Their footsteps were heavy on the floor, and she could faintly hear the children play in one of the rooms off the hall. He stopped at the end of the hall, turning abruptly to face her, and half his face was immediately cast in shadow. She let out a small gasp of fright, and stopped, several feet away from him.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, his tone truly apologetic.
“What’s with the dramatic exit?” Hermione whispered back.
“I…I couldn’t.”
“Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked, almost impatiently. He had never been an articulate boy, especially when he was nervous, and this was coming into play now. But somewhere, in the back of her mind she knew exactly what was wrong. It was plainly obvious to her now, the idle conversations, the frequent top-ups of wine, the looks and suggestive glances…it all made sense, and while Hermione would have welcomed it years ago, not now.
“Harry…” She whispered, her breath caught in her throat as she realised, and unnoticed by her, he took a step toward her.
“Hermione, I’m so sorry.” He apologised again, taking another step toward her.
She was frozen, she had lost the ability and the knowledge to move, but she knew that with every step Harry took, she was losing something she desperately loved, and gaining something she wasn’t sure she wanted. Yet she still couldn’t move.
His face was inches from hers now; her skin was on fire, her mouth dry with anticipation and her heart beat so fast, so loud, that she was sure he could hear it.
He raised his hand, painfully slowly; swallowing nervously as it slowly traced the air on her jaw line, her mouth, her collar. His skin never made contact with hers, but his tracings left a burn where his fingers hovered uncertainly. The odd fluttering movement in the pit of her stomach was suddenly making her feel sick, her heart felt it would burst from her rib cage from anticipation and her feet wanted to move, it really did, but it had lost the knowledge of how to.
“How long?” She managed to whisper.
His eyes roamed around the bare skin of her neck before resting on her eyes, his hands returning to his sides. “Months. Years. Always.”
“Pick one.” Hermione said slowly, and Harry smiled nervously.
“Always.”
“I was afraid of that.” Hermione whispered. He had moved his lips were mere millimetres from hers; she could feel his hot breath on her. The fluttering in her stomach was now accompanied by her burning skin, and this uncontrollable force that was pulling her toward him, to press her lips against his and find out if it was as kissable as it looked.
She saw it in her mind; he would put one hand under her ear, resting it under her mane of hair. The other would go to her wrist, clasp it gently but possessively, placing it just so to make her legs melt and her hair to stand on end. He would make the first move, placing his lips on hers in a short, chaste kiss, but it would be like a bolt of lightening, shocking her to her very core, awakening sensations that she never thought she would feel again. And when he would pull back, she would crave more, and all inhibitions would sail from her mind and she would kiss him fiercely, knowing that it was the only thing she wanted to do, for the rest of her life.
Her image of them kissing was firmly planted in her mind, the sensations she imagined feeling where coursing through her now as her eyes roamed around those lips that would kiss her neck, her chest, her forehead, and those hands that would take her possessively. She could feel these sensations as if they were real, feel his mouth on hers and his tongue battling with her own, and she almost did it, almost moved forward and placed her lips on his, almost placed her hand on his chest and around his neck.
But she didn’t. Her hand stopped just above the material covering his chest, and she glanced up at him, sorrow and regret in her eyes, but with a clear understanding of what she had to do. “I love Ron.”
Whatever she had expected from Harry, it wasn’t the fierce determination that she saw surge into his eyes and take over. “How?”
Hermione’s brows furrowed in confusion and almost rage on Ron’s behalf. “Because I do! I’ve always loved him, he’s kind and makes me laugh-“
“No, I mean, in what way.” Harry pressed, almost uncertainly.
“He’s my husband.” Hermione said clearly.
“That’s just a title.”
“Why are you pushing this?!” Hermione shouted in frustration.
“Because I saw something when you looked at me, something I’ve never seen you look at Ron with, and it gave me hope.” Harry said determinedly, his nervousness flung to the side as he became the dominant one. She saw something flicker in his eyes, and although she had always thought of Harry as a shy, inarticulate boy, she suddenly knew how he had defeated Voldemort all those years ago.
“You don’t know anything about Ron and I, so don’t you dare-“
“I know what it’s been like lately Hermione. And it’s not all too recent, the spark of your relationship went out a long time ago yet both of you seem to be too cowardly to admit. At least I can admit to myself that things with Ginny aren’t working out.”
Hermione glared at Harry, angry that she was not as emotionally aware as him, angry that he could see through her relationships, angry that he had said everything that she was too terrified to admit to.
She turned on her heel, heading downstairs with such a rush that Harry ran to keep up with her. She ran into the kitchen, Harry hot on her heels, and he quickly shut the door and faced her.
“My relationship with Ron has nothing to do with you!” Hermione said furiously, placing herself behind the kitchen table.
“But I’m here for you Hermione, in more ways than one.” He said fiercely, approaching the table. You know what I’m saying is the truth, you can’t deny it.”
The anger she had been feeling flushed out of her, and she was left feeling weak and alone. She leant back against the counter, closing her eyes in frustration and to quell the tears that had sprung to her eyes and she admitted to herself the truth.
“I have feelings for you Hermione.” Harry said dangerously close to her. Her eyes fluttered open and his green eyes pierced through hers. “And I know they’re not unrequited. No matter how much you want to pretend, I’m not going to go away, and neither are your feelings for me. Believe me, I’ve tried to pretend, I have tried.”
He attempted to smile then, yet Hermione could not see the funny side. All she saw was her life fall into two pieces, irreparable, and she was struggling not to cry. The image of her kissing Harry was replaced with two other faces, Angela and Arthur, and they were soon joined by Ron’s. Tears rolled down her cheeks then as she realised how much she wanted this, to kiss Harry, to touch him, to be with him in any way possible, and how much she was she was threatening to denying herself of that simple pleasure of being in love with someone, a pleasure she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
She made a decision. An argument for each case was formulated quickly, but she reached a decision in a matter of seconds, and she knew that as she opened her mouth and let out her words, there was no going back. Things would be changed, irrevocably, but she would try to make things better for them, for all of them, whether her efforts proved futile or not. That was something she could do.
But she couldn’t do this. She said it out loud as she thought it, and slowly, Harry stepped away from her in a mixture of anguish and surprise. Her tears were forced from her eyes and she stared him down, determination clear on her face. She explained to him of everything, of why she chose Ron and Angela and Arthur and their quaint little home with a garden and tiled kitchen floors. Of why she chose normality, simplicity, and tradition instead of him, and although it broke her heart to tell him this, to see him crumple like this, she had an obligation and that was that. She left then, leaving him rooted to the floor with defeat, and called Angela and Arthur. She remained silent as she threw the Floo powder in the fire, Angela and Arthur noiseless beside her, aware of the change that had happened, aware of their mother’s mood, aware of Harry drinking his way through his stock of Firewhisky in the kitchen, and Hermione stepped in the fire and hurtled back to her house, herself aware of the one thing she had denied herself with the simple action of walking away: her first and last chance to feel love.
End.
