Work Text:
July 2003
The Patronus came at lunch.
In the middle of St. Mungo’s cafeteria, as she poured over the file containing her patient’s latest test results and inhaled a sandwich, the giant silver stag manifested in a swirl of the purest magic.
It was ironic that something inherently happy could put her so on edge.
Her spine stiffened as she scanned the room for threats, taking note of the exits. It was almost imperceptible, the way she slipped from bystander to battle-ready; the façade ingrained in her DNA from her years as a child soldier.
It didn’t matter that it had been five years since the war.
Didn’t matter that she was no longer a soldier.
Nor a child.
The white-knuckle grip on her wand contrasted starkly with the unintentionally soft smile on her face as the warmth of the Patronus seeped into her skin. His magic called to her, and her own magic sang beneath her skin in response.
Mindlessly, she reached her non-dominant hand towards the Patronus, freezing when the stag opened its mouth. A voice she was unbearably familiar with spoke a singular word.
“Houdini.”
Hermione blanched as the stag dissolved into a silvery mist. Before anyone around her could even blink, she gathered her files and vanished her half-eaten lunch, before striding across the cafeteria directly to her boss’ office.
Her heels clicked across the floors almost frantically until she reached Head Healer Smythe’s office. She smoothed her skirt in an attempt to calm herself before she knocked twice on her boss’ door.
“Come in.”
Healer Smythe, an older woman who looked as though she were in her mid-sixties but was probably much closer to eighty, looked up with a smile as her most promising healer entered her office.
“Hello, Healer Granger. Did we have a meeting scheduled today?”
Hermione grit her teeth, attempting a smile as she broke the news. “No, Healer Smythe, I’m afraid I’m actually here on personal business. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to take some personal time starting immediately. I was just informed of a family emergency and it is of the utmost importance that I attend to it as soon as possible.”
She watched as her boss frowned but remained quiet, clearly trying to determine if she had a way to refuse her. Unable to come up with a reasonable excuse for her to stay, Healer Smythe nodded slowly.
“How much time are we talking?”
If Hermione attempted to hide her grimace, she was unsuccessful.
“It’s unclear at the moment. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause for the office or you personally.” As the furrow between her boss’ brow deepened, Hermione cleared her throat delicately, “I’m sorry, but I do have to insist. If the time off isn’t agreeable with the office, I’m afraid I will have to tender my resignation. Effective immediately.”
Her boss paled. “Healer Granger, I don’t believe that will be necessary. We would not want to lose someone of your calibre, not for any reason.” Hermione nodded and Healer Smythe’s shoulders slumped in relief, “Very well then. I hope everything is okay and we look forward to having you back.”
Hermione nodded as she stood, already mentally tallying how quickly she can get to the Floo and get to her apartment.
“Thank you, Healer Smythe.” Quietly, almost unintentionally, she added, “I hope so as well.”
It took one minute and twenty-six seconds to get to the Floo.
Fifteen seconds for her to land in her apartment. Almost thirty seconds to calm her magic long enough to conjure a Patronus and send her otter twirling around her living room.
Steeling herself, she stared at the spectral creature and breathed out, “To Harry. Houdini.”
It took her three minutes and forty-four seconds to calm her breathing and bring her back from the brink of a panic attack after using the code-word she never thought they’d need.
The code word they established half a decade ago.
It took her seventeen seconds to drop to the floor in her bedroom and pull up a loose floorboard, recovering the well-stocked beaded bag and the spare wand she kept beneath the slats.
Old habits died hard.
It took her one minute and twenty-two seconds to finish packing the beaded bag, her wand moving frantically as she directed everything she could think of into the bottomless clutch.
Standing, she gave the apartment a perfunctory glance to make sure she didn’t spot anything she had forgotten. Nodding to herself, Hermione approached the desk in her study and with a slight wince, sliced her palm with her wand. Placing her hand against the surface of the desk, she watched wordlessly as the blood sank into the wood. A loud click rang out as her blood wards activated and unlocked the drawers. Settling into her chair, she peered into the drawer until her eyes locked on the wooden box within. Ignoring the tremble in her limbs, Hermione pressed her still-bloody hand to the box and — after she removed her hand — whispered a wandless healing charm at the cut. Slowly the lid opened, revealing a slip of paper sitting on the velvet interior within. A relieved sigh slipped past her lips and she hesitated only a moment before picking it up and tucking it into her pocket.
Glancing at her watch, she smiled softly; momentarily lost in the significance of the Muggle timepiece that permanently adorned her left wrist. The memory evoked such fond yet bittersweet feelings, in the same way most things connected to her parents did now. They were safe and happy and alive — but they had not the slightest idea they had a daughter.
When she passed her Healer certification, Harry had given her the lovely watch, with a delicate leather strap and traditional face. He claimed — rather outrageously, she thought — that he had watched enough telly growing up to understand that it was some sort of tradition for Muggles entering the medical field to receive a watch. Hermione had secretly always speculated he just walked into Harrod’s and grabbed the first employee he could find for assistance but Harry always vehemently denied it. Regardless, he most certainly hadn’t been prepared for an armful of crying witch when he presented her with the gift nor had he any idea that when she was a young girl, her parents told her the story of very similar gifts: personalized watches, given to each other the day they opened their practice together.
Their memories might be lost, but Harry had unknowingly given her back a piece of them.
He had been so kind, simply drawing her into his arms and rubbing a soothing hand down her spine while she sobbed out an explanation; thanking him between loud, hiccoughing breaths.
It was priceless to her.
Staring down at the time, she realized barely ten minutes had passed since she first received Harry’s Patronus. Slightly shocked by her own ability to uproot her entire life in such a short amount of time, she stepped towards the Floo. Taking a deep breath, Hermione had the rather morbid thought that she was grateful she’d yet to find a replacement for her beloved half-Kneazle that had died last year.
It was easier that way, to disappear.
Tossing a handful of powder into the Floo, Hermione stepped into the grate and called out, “King’s Cross Station.”
In a whirl of green — her wards shuttering in her wake — she was gone.
Dusting the soot from her clothes, she palmed her wand as she moved across Platform 9 & ¾. It was too quiet, the lack of students and their parents left her unsettled. Hermione always found it strange to be here any time other than September first, although she knew some magicals used the platform as a frequent go-between the two worlds. Her gaze was drawn to the space where the Hogwarts Express normally sat and Hermione felt almost bereft in its absence.
Tearing herself away from the empty platform, she hurried through the divide between the Muggle and Magical worlds. Shuddering only slightly at the slimy feeling the transition left on her skin, Hermione moved quickly towards the designated meeting place, rolling her eyes fondly as she remembered the conversation that led to that decision.
Settling on a nearby bench, she cast a subtle Muggle-repelling charm on her person. As her eyes scanned her surroundings, she reflexively looked for messy raven hair. Hermione allowed herself to take a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh when she didn’t spot him. From the first time they’d ever discussed running to the time after the war when she’d put the contingency plan into place, Hermione had always known this was a possibility. But to see it executed was terrifying. She found herself drawn into the memory of that night in the tent as she stared, unseeing, at the train before her.
Unsure if the pains in her stomach were from hunger or laughter, Hermione collapsed on her cot. She didn’t know what possessed her to allow Harry to pull her to her feet and dance around the tent, but she was grateful she had gone along with it. Gods, they’d needed a laugh like that
Eyes stinging, she stared up at the vaulted canvas ceiling. It was a dangerous game she was playing, letting her feelings for Harry seep out from the carefully constructed mental box she’d locked them in. He was her best friend, nothing more. Even if that wasn’t true, Harry was Ginny’s — and that made her Ron’s, she supposed. Although, a bitter part of her chimed in, did that really count if he had left them to starve to death in the woods?
Hermione sighed, her carefree mood dissipating faster than it had arrived.
A quiet, “Hermione?” drew her out of her pouting.
She didn’t have to look to know Harry was staring at her with those piercing green eyes. Squirming under his gaze, Hermione huffed before sitting up to face him. She patted the spot on the bed next to her and Harry sat, curling his legs beneath him.
They relaxed in companionable silence for a few moments before Harry spoke.
“Sometimes I want to disappear,” he breathed on an exhale, so quiet that if she hadn’t already been listening, she would’ve missed it.
Turning her head, Hermione quirked a brow at him in silent question.
He raised a hand to run it through his hair and she bit back a smile at the familiar movement. She remained quiet, knowing Harry well enough to understand that the best way to get him to express himself was at his own pace.
Slowly blowing out a breath, he made a sort of frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I know this war is about more than just me and the personal vendetta He has against me but… sometimes it feels like it’s all my fault. That all of this would be better if I faked my death and ran off and was never heard from again.”
Frowning at that last bit, Hermione jokingly admonished him, “Harry James Potter, if you leave me behind when you disappear, I’ll be proper cross with you.”
Harry laughed and the sound was like a balm to her soul.
“Okay, witch. So you’d come with me, then?”
Hermione sniffed, “Of course. I don’t know how you’d get on without me. At the very least, you’d be bored.”
Snorting, Harry bumped her shoulder but fell silent.
Unwilling to let him brood over about his place in the war, she thought carefully about what to say next before settling on, “Like Houdini,” she wiggled her fingers dramatically, hoping he would understand the reference, “our very own disappearing act. We could go into the Muggle world and just… vanish.”
His expression turned thoughtful but he very carefully didn’t look at her before continuing, “My parents took a trip once, summer of 1977. Sirius told me about it one night, he—” his voice wavered but he continued, “—he was fucking knackered but he just kept talking, you know? And I didn’t want to stop him, even when he got a little sad. I wanted to know everything he could tell me...”
Hermione stilled, terrified if she so much as moved he would flee from the subject like a wild animal. Harry hadn’t spoken about his parents or Sirius in months. She had seen the pain written across his face anytime they were brought up and as such, avoided the topic altogether.
“He said they all went on this camping trip. The Marauders, my—” this time, his voice broke entirely but he soldiered on, “—my mum, and some of their friends from Hogwarts: Marlene, and Dorcas, and Mary. I think they were all in the original Order together.”
“Sirius said they camped near the coast in Cornwall. He said it was one of the best times of his life. I thought, at the time, that it sounded fun. Camping.”
Harry made eye contact with her and drily said, “I’m not so keen on it anymore, I don’t think.”
Hermione couldn’t hold back her giggle. Bloody understatement, if you asked her.
“But…” he continued, “I think if I were to disappear, I’d quite like to end up in a place like that. The way Sirius described it… was like magic, you know? The kind we grew up with. Innocent. Enchanting.”
An affectionate smile crossed her face. “Yeah, I know,” she whispered.
He went quiet once more.
“So,” Hermione said casually, “we would need a code-word.”
The furrow between his brows meant that Harry hadn’t followed her train of thought.
“For when you’re ready to disappear,” she clarified.
Understanding flashed across his features and he nodded at her to continue.
“I think Houdini would be perfect. Most purebloods — even the Weasleys — wouldn’t even understand what we were referencing.”
A half-smile crossed his face and bitterly, Hermione wondered if he was thinking about Ginny.
“If you send me a Patronus with the code-word, I’ll know it’s time. We’ll meet at King’s Cross Station, Platform Two—”
“Why Platform Two?” Harry interrupted.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Because there are two of us? I don’t know, it’s just the first platform I thought of. Would you prefer a different one?”
“No, no, do go on,” he acquiesced with a smile.
“Thank you,” she huffed, “so we’ll meet at Platform Two and we’ll take the train to Cornwall. We’ll find a Muggle town to crash in for as long as you want. We can even try and find the beach your parents visited if you’d like. Whenever you need to go, no questions asked.”
A beatific smile crossed his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Hermione breathed, her chest tightening at the sheer happiness radiating from him.
Harry pulled her into an embrace and she melted against him. Lips pressed against her hair, she felt him mumble, “Thank you.”
Closing her eyes, Hermione begged the Fates that this brave, kind boy would make it out of the war alive.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when she was drawn out of her memories by the same, familiar voice that spoke to her out of the Patronus that morning.
“Hullo, Hermione.”
Harry was panicking.
As he frantically threw things into a duffel bag, he tried to force himself to take deep, calming breaths.
It wasn’t working.
The only moment of peace he’d had since his conversation with Andromeda this morning had been when he conjured his Patronus to send the spectral stag in search of Hermione.
Harry couldn’t actually believe that he’d used the code-word. The singular conversation they’d had over five years ago regarding this escape plan was something that he’d always kept in the back of his mind, allowing the idea to bring him comfort when he needed it most. Just in case. Sending the code-word to Hermione was a bit of a risk. There was always the chance that she wouldn’t remember such a brief conversation that took place so long ago, but Harry knew her— and he would bet on his Firebolt that she hadn’t forgotten.
Unfortunately, in his frenzy, he had forgotten she would be at work today until after he sent his messenger. Harry hoped she didn’t panic or do anything rash, like quit her job. But he’d been almost paralyzed with anxiety earlier and hadn’t known what else to do, or who else to contact.
So he called Hermione.
Sweet, lovely, brilliant Hermione.
Who he’d been in love with since he was fourteen.
Of course, she didn’t bloody well know that. He’d known Ron fancied her and although he hadn’t grown up having many friends, he’d gotten rather attached to the ones he had. He knew if he acted on his feelings, it would’ve driven a wedge between the three of them.
So he stayed quiet.
And then there was Ginny.
Fiery, protective, loyal Ginny.
Who he thought he might be in love with, at one point.
Who — when the fighting finally ended, only for him to see Hermione and Ron locked in a snog in the middle of the Great Hall — he tried to throw himself into dating.
Who had very gently broken the news to him that she was actually quite gay and not all that interested in getting back together.
Harry pushed his glasses out of the way and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
Merlin, Hermione was going to fucking kill him for sending her that Patronus. Turning to face his fireplace with the mentality of a man heading to certain death, he took one last cursory look around his flat before grabbing a handful of floo powder and calling out, “King’s Cross Station!”
Stepping out of the grate and into the abandoned platform, he mindlessly spelled the soot away while cautiously surveying the area. Some might call him paranoid, but his instincts are what kept him alive for most of his youth, and even more so now as an Auror.
Well. That, and Hermione.
Bruskly, he moved towards the barrier. Once he reached the other side, he could sense her in the crowd. Her magic had always done that, called out to him, but she never mentioned it so he didn’t ask, mostly out of fear that he was the only one who felt it. As he drew closer to the platform, he spotted a familiar head of curly brown hair and a smile broke out across his face.
He stopped next to where she was seated, “Hullo, Hermione.”
The witch blinked a few times as if clearing her mind, before turning to look at him.
“Harry,” she beamed at him, “you’re here.”
She stood and Harry stepped forward to embrace her, familiar by now with Hermione’s particular brand of casual affection. The tiny witch wrapped her arms around his torso and he tilted his head so his cheek rested against the top of her head. It took all of his self-restraint to not bury his face in her hair and allow the familiar scent of her to soothe him. Instead, he settled for pressing a kiss against her head and pulling back to look at her. The crease between her brows was a telltale sign that she was stressed and with a sigh, he smoothed his thumb across the indention. Her face relaxed and as she gazed up at him with those big, brown doe-eyes, he knew he had to explain.
“I—” he began but Hermione cut him off.
“I have a portkey ready whenever you are.”
Harry stared at her, “What? You don’t have questions?”
She laughed, reaching over to poke him in the side where she knew he was ticklish. Traitor.
“That was the deal, remember? No questions asked.”
He frowned, thinking back on that night almost six years ago when she’d promised to disappear with him if ever he said the word. “I thought it was also part of the deal to take the train,” he rebutted.
Snorting, Hermione grabbed his arm and led them towards one of the apparition points. “I think you’ll much prefer this method of travel, at least for where we’re going. But if you’re that concerned, you can always take the train and meet me there…” she trailed off and he quickly shook his head.
She laughed loudly at his emphatic response and his chest tightened at the sound. Godric, he loved her laugh. It was the kind of sound that made him understand why they coined her the Golden Girl. When she laughed, she was radiant.
Walking through the Notice-Me-Not charms and Muggle Repelling Barriers that encased the apparition point, Hermione pulled out a dented and horrifically bright yellow watering can. He must’ve made a face because she snorted before rolling her eyes in his direction. Sheepishly, Harry reached out and placed a hand on the hideous metal.
He locked gazes with Hermione just as she whispered, “Portus,” and the last thing he saw before spinning away into nothingness was an indecipherable look in her cinnamon-brown eyes.
Bracing himself as they landed, Harry reached to steady Hermione as she wobbled. She looked up at him with a grateful expression and he nodded in acknowledgment. Resisting the urge to pull her close and map the freckles that dusted across her skin, he forced himself to look away. As he took in their surroundings, his brow furrowed at the lack of… well, anything in the area. They were standing in the middle of a rather large field, with a skinny dirt lane that led up to the cliff edge on one side and rolling green hills as far as the eye could see in all the other directions. Frowning, he looked back to Hermione only to see her practically bouncing out of her skin with excitement.
Wordlessly, she removed a scrap of paper from her pocket and placed it in his hand. Glancing down, Harry struggled to place the vaguely familiar handwriting as he read the short sentence.
Hermione Granger lives at Cariad Lane, Porthcurno, Cornwall.
His eyes filled with tears against his will as a small cottage manifested on the land before them. Every time he thought Hermione Granger couldn’t possibly be any better of a person, she surprised him. Five years ago, they had one conversation about wanting to run away to Cornwall if things got bad and the witch bought them a cottage. The bloody thing was under the Fidelius, for fuck’s sake. His heart raced at the sheer magnitude of the love he felt for her.
No one had ever cared for or loved him like this, platonic or not.
Not the Weasleys. Not Dumbledore. Certainly not his relatives.
He ran his hand roughly up his face, pushing his glasses out of the way as he wiped the moisture from his eyes.
Hermione mistook his silence and teary eyes for disappointment. “We absolutely do not have to stay here, I know we originally said a Muggle town but I thought this might be safer. I’m so sorry, Harry, I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous. If you’re unhappy with the house, we can go anywhere else, just name the place,” she fretted aloud, worrying her hands in front of her.
Merlin, he wanted to kiss her just to shut her up.
Holding out a hand, he tried to stop her frantic ramblings. She paused, eyes glassy as she stared at him.
“Hermione. This is the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me. I don’t even know what to say,” he stepped closer, pulling her into his arms. “You’re too good to me, witch. How can I ever thank you for this?”
Tucking herself under his shoulder, Hermione angled them towards the cottage.
“You could take a look inside?” she asked hopefully.
Harry grinned at her. “Oh, is that all?”
The cottage was perfect. It was fairly small, with only two rooms, a kitchen, a sitting room, and a bathroom — but perfect for the two of them. The most stunning part of the home was the view. The back wall of the main floor was entirely made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, which looked out over the cliffs. Hermione informed him they were charmed to keep anyone from being able to see in.
It reminded Harry vaguely of Shell Cottage, only in the way that it was comforting and homey but without any of the trauma he associated with the eldest Weasley’s home.
While he looked around, Hermione headed into the kitchen.
“Want a cuppa, Harry?”
He smiled to himself and called out, “Yeah, thanks love. With two—”
“Two sugars and a splash of milk. I bloody well know how you take your tea, we’ve been friends for twelve years,” she scolded him from across the cottage and he had to bite back a laugh at her tone.
The familiar sounds of Hermione preparing tea fell into the background as the stirrings of panic crept back into his mind. He had to tell her. Now, preferably. That was the whole reason he’d frantically put this plan into motion. The fear he’d felt coursing through his body this morning hadn’t been this bad in years and as a result, he’d panicked. Now he was hidden away in a secret kept cottage. In Cornwall. With the love of his life. Who didn’t know she was the love of his life. A groan slipped between his lips as his head lolled forward, forehead flat against the surface of the table.
The thump of a mug against the wood startled him, and he glanced up.
It was a mistake. There she was, smiling with her curls backlit by the sun as she moved to sit in the chair across from him.
She was always there for him.
A warm feeling burned in his chest, only to disappear as quickly as it had come.
She was there because she was a good friend. A bloody good friend, but a friend nonetheless.
Nothing more.
The words escaped from him, forcefully. Unintentionally.
“Andromeda is dying.”
Hermione froze.
“She doesn’t—” his voice faltered, cracking. “Her magic is failing. We’ve known for a while that the toll of losing Ted, Tonks, and Remus would wear her down. Bonds like that… they don’t just break. Apparently,” Harry ran his hand through his hair, huffing, “she’s lasted much longer than she thought she would. Through sheer Black family will. She said she was determined to spend more time with her grandson, but she doesn’t have much time left.”
A sharp inhale, followed by a slow exhale, came from across the table.
His throat felt raw. “She wants me to raise Teddy.”
Hermione’s hands wrapped around her mug like a lifeline, and Harry found himself wishing more than anything that he could take her into his arms.
“According to Andromeda, her intention was to give me time to prepare myself,” he explained hoarsely. Harry smiled sadly, “But I think she knew I would need the time to freak out. This is…” he trailed off with a huff, running a hand through his hair.
In reality, Andromeda had not only informed him of her ill health and his impending fatherhood but had also given him strict instructions to “get off his arse and tell that witch he loved her.” He had snorted to himself at the idea. As if the first two bits of information weren’t stressful enough.
“I’ve tried to be a good godfather,” he whispered at her continued silence. “I’ve tried to be everything I didn’t have when I was his age, everything I wished I did. I talk to him about his parents, about how brave they were. I bring him toys and I take him for sleepovers but I have no idea how to raise a five-year-old metamorphmagus.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of tears he felt pooling in the corners of his eyes. Gods, he felt like an idiot. Remus and Tonks had made a horrible decision when they chose him to be their son’s godparent. He couldn’t do this. He’d never even had a dad, not really. He didn’t know how to be a father. He didn’t know how to—
The feeling of her hands on his stilled his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he looked up and met her watery gaze.
“Oh, Harry,” she breathed, “I’m so sorry.”
And just like that, he was in her arms. Her comforting scent of lavender and mint embraced him and the modicum of control he’d maintained over his emotions shattered. Gently rubbing circles against his back, Hermione held him against her torso as he cried.
Cried for Andromeda.
Cried for Remus, for Tonks, for Teddy.
Cried for the little boy who lived under the stairs; with hand-me-down clothes that didn’t fit, and a little toy soldier hidden beneath the ratty mattress.
Harry didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally drew back, eyes puffy and rimmed with red. Hermione’s hand fell to his forehead, pushing his hair back gently, and he leaned into her touch instinctively. A soft chuckle brought his attention to the action and he blushed, the tips of his ears turning pink.
Settling herself into the chair immediately to his right, Hermione wandlessly accio’ed her mug from the other end of the table. She tucked one leg beneath her body and pulled the other up onto her seat, as though she were going to wrap her arms around her thigh and shin. Resting her chin on her knee, she watched him with brown eyes that had haunted his thoughts for nearly a decade as she waited for him to speak.
Harry traced the wood grain of the table with his finger mindlessly, trying to figure out how to put everything he was feeling into words.
“I know how it feels to be an orphan,” he started haltingly. “I know what that’s like, to understand that your parents are gone and aren’t coming back. But Teddy, Merlin, he deserves better than that. He deserves people who will love him unconditionally, the way parents should. Who will tuck him in each night and be there every morning when he wakes up. I want to be that person for him. Ideally, I want to give him a family but I can’t give him that. What I can give him is a father. I want to be his dad.”
“I’m so scared,” Harry confessed. “I’m scared for so many reasons but really, above all else, I’m bloody scared because I’m doing this alone.”
If he hadn’t spent years deciphering the emotions she hid behind those honey brown eyes, he might’ve missed it. A flicker of hurt flitted across her expression before it fled, turning into something more along the lines of concern.
“You’re not alone, Harry. You know the Weasleys will be more than willing to help and although Luna probably isn’t who you want to ask to babysit, she’s always been rather brilliant with children,” she said firmly. In a softer tone, she continued, “Plus, you’ve got me. I’ll always be there for you.”
Harry smiled sadly, “But I don’t have you, not really, do I?”
Hermione tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean? Yes, you do. I’m right here.”
Rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably, he tried to find a way to explain. “I know you’ll be there whenever I need you, especially right now, but there will come a time where you can’t be the person that drops everything for me. One day, you’ll have a husband and a family of your own, and Teddy and I will have to come second to that. I know that you’re not mine to keep. Not ours,” he sighed. Avoiding eye contact, Harry wasn’t able to shake the fear that he had just said something incredibly stupid and quite telling.
A strangled noise came from across the room and he looked up. Hermione’s chest heaved and a flush crept its way across her chest, brown eyes wide as they stared at him. Breathily, she spoke, “Is that— Do you want to keep me?”
Harry blinked. Twice. Three times. There was no way he’d heard her correctly.
“What?” he croaked.
Hermione visibly steeled herself. “You’d do well to remember that I’m nobody’s property, Harry James Potter. But—”
Harry winced. Probably not his best word choice.
She hesitated and there was a sort of vulnerability in her eyes that left him breathless. “But what if I don’t want that? What if I don’t want to be anything other than yours and Teddy’s? What if the only family I want is you?”
Spots danced across his vision. Sucking in a gasping breath, Harry realized he’d forgotten to breathe. Unable to tear his eyes away from her, he took forceful breaths until the dizziness receded.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of the cliffs he had seen earlier, wind whipping around and pushing him off balance.
That they were on the precipice of something important if only he could take that leap, tell her how he felt.
The reckless part of him — the piece that ran into danger headlong without a second thought — surged forward and Harry let it carry him across the dining room, falling to his knees at her feet.
“I’d tell you that I love you. That I’ve loved you since I was fourteen and you were the only person in the entire castle who stood up for me, who stayed by my side. That every single time you saved my life, I fell a little bit more in love with you. That I love the way you chew on quills and the way your hair becomes some sort of sentient beast when you get stressed and the sound of your voice first thing in the morning, when you’re still sleepy. That I want to map the constellations in your freckles. That I want to kiss you. That I want to taste you. That I want to drown in you. That if you’d have me, I’d be just as much yours as you’d be mine."
Harry didn’t realize he was crying through nine years of pent-up emotions until Hermione reached out, pressing her hands to his wet cheeks as she laughed thickly. Reaching out to cup her face, he brushed away her tears with his thumbs in return.
“Ours,” he breathed the word like a promise.
He didn’t know who moved first. One minute he was crying and staring into her eyes and the next—Oh Gods, their lips connected and his tongue found hers and he was seeing bloody stars behind his eyelids. Pulling her plump bottom lip between his teeth, Harry nipped at it before soothing the sting with his tongue. A whimper escaped her throat and he answered it with a groan. She smiled against his lips and pressed a light kiss to his mouth before pulling back.
Blinking, Harry stared at her wide-eyed. It felt like his brain was shutting down. All he could think was that she tasted like peppermint toothpaste.
Hermione beamed at him. Her hand reached up to cup his face, thumb moving in a soothing motion across his cheek.
“Do you mean that?” Her voice was soft.
Harry sighed and pulled her close, tangling his hair in the curls at the base of her neck. He admired her openly, unabashed in his staring; eyes tracing the curve of her cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the smattering of freckles. How he had yearned to hold her this close, to examine her so freely, as though she were priceless art. Pressing a kiss to her hairline, he chose to mumble against her skin rather than meet her eye while he spoke. Some bloody Gryffindor he was.
“I’ve never meant anything quite like the way I meant that, sweetheart. I’ve loved you since I was a boy and I fully intend on doing it for the rest of my life.” Harry cocked his head before hurrying to add, “If you’ll have me, that is.”
Her big doe eyes looked up at him soulfully, honey brown meeting emerald.
“I love you too,” she breathed and Harry felt something in the depths of his soul click into place.
He kissed her then, pouring almost a decade of love for her into the action. A groan caught in the back of his throat as her body pressed against his, fitting as if she were meant to be there the whole time. Her tongue traced the seam of his lips and he granted her entrance, allowing her to lead. The hand in her hair tightened involuntarily and Hermione whimpered at the sensation.
Harry’s eyes opened to meet hers, humming curiously. He gently tugged at her hair once more and watched as she squirmed where she stood. Interesting.
He moved to place open-mouthed kisses against the column of her neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin there. The red marks he left in his wake, marking this witch as his, had his cock twitching. Sliding his left hand beneath the hem of her shirt, Harry marveled at how soft she was; all curves and soft skin.
He wanted to taste every inch of her.
“Bedroom?” he whispered, voice husky.
Hermione nodded eagerly and he grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm before following her out of the kitchen.
She led him towards the slightly bigger of the two rooms and the moment they stepped through the threshold, Harry pulled her into his arms. Slanting his mouth against hers, he maneuvered them back towards the bed without putting space between their bodies.
Gods, her lips were so soft and warm. He never wanted to stop kissing her.
Her knees hit the edge of the bed and she fell back against the duvet, curls sprawled out behind her like a halo. As he stared down at her, a smile on his face, something in his chest tugged at the sight of her.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Hermione blushed and as he watched the flush travel beneath the collar of her shirt, Harry was overwhelmed with the need to see her. “Take your clothes off for me, sweetheart. I want to look at you.”
Her honey eyes were bashful as she looked at him but she slowly reached for her shirt, pausing for only a moment before tugging it over her head. Lifting her hips, she slid her jeans and knickers down her legs until she was laid bare for him.
The air left his lungs in a rush, as the girl he’d been in love with for most of his life stared back at him.
She was everything.
He drank her in like a man drowning.
The freckles on her cheekbones were no match for the ones that covered her shoulders in droves, swirling designs he wanted to map with his tongue. The scar that bisected her torso; from the edge of her left hip to beneath her right breast, purple and faded so many years later. Her belly and thighs were covered in silver stripes, and he wanted to kiss each and every one of them. The mudblood brand on her arm had finally faded to thin, white letters that still made his gut churn when he thought of the noises she made that day. There was a cluster of white half-moon scars near her left hip, from where she had thrown them through a window that Christmas Eve in Godric’s Hollow. There were soft curls at the apex of her thighs that he wanted to bury his face in.
She had scars, but so did he.
Gods, she was so lovely.
And she was his.
As she reached up behind her back to unclasp her bra, Harry’s eyes trained on her chest. Achingly slow, the garment slid away to reveal her rosy nipples, and his mouth watered at the sight. Moving to cover her body with his own, a small hand against his chest stilled his movements. Hermione looked up at him from beneath dark lashes and smiled coyly.
“Turnabout’s fair play, Harry. Take yours off as well.”
“Cheeky,” he murmured and she giggled.
Moving back, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off in one smooth motion. He stepped out of his trousers and pants, his cock already hard and bobbing for attention. Harry’s once scrawny body had filled out, the years he’d spent as an Auror had been good to him. And from the hungry look in her eyes, he assumed Hermione agreed.
She sat up, greedily reaching for him. He went willingly.
Hermione’s hands traced the scars that covered his body. From the old scar on the inside of his right forearm to the newest one across his left pectoral and everything in between. Gently, she tugged him down on top of her and he allowed it, hovering above her as they admired the parts of each other than they’d never seen before. Hermione’s hand found his forehead, pushing his hair back and brushing her thumb against the lightning scar she found there. Faster than he could blink, she tilted her head and pressed a featherlight kiss against the mark.
When she pulled back, her eyes were glassy.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I’ve loved you since we were kids.”
Harry dropped his forehead against hers. “Oh, my love. And I, you.”
The need to be close to her, to taste her, to please her was overwhelming. As he captured her lips once more, Hermione dragged his bottom lip into her mouth with his teeth, biting at his lip bruisingly and then soothing the sting. Harry pulled away to move down her body, brushing open-mouthed kisses across her breasts, and she moaned. Ducking his head, he laved at her with his tongue before pulling them into his mouth. He held eye contact with her, cataloging her reactions as he paid extra close attention to her tits. Grazing her tight bud with his teeth, a smirk played across his face as she writhed, her nails raking down his back. Releasing the pert nipple with a wet pop, he continued his path down her body.
As he moved to lay between her legs, she tensed.
“You don’t have to, I know my thighs are too big and—” she protested before he cut her off.
Harry looked down at her softly. “Your thighs are perfect, sweetheart. If I were to suffocate between them, I would surely die a happy man.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he dipped his head lower to meet hers, “But if you truly don’t want me to, I won’t. You have all the power here. But please know that I adore your thighs. All of you really. But I’ve wanked to the thought of them wrapped around my head and my waist more than once.”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she stared at him, silently contemplating. Harry gave her the space to think, never wanting to pressure her into something she wasn’t ready for. Hesitantly, she nodded and he grinned.
Spreading her legs to settle himself between her thighs, he moaned at the sight of her glistening folds on display. He reached for her, grabbing one of her hands and guiding it into his hair.
“If you want me to stop or it’s too much, you can pull me up, okay?” he explained and she nodded once more.
Harry moved his head to press a kiss against her inner thigh and muttered, “Good girl,” against the soft skin there. He chuckled at the sound of her breath catching and cataloged the response for later. Turning his attention back to the apex of her thighs, a groan slipped out of him. She was fucking dripping.
“Look at your pretty little cunt, all laid out for me. So pink and enticing and positively soaked,” he murmured before glancing back up once more to make sure she was okay. “Can I taste you, love?”
At her nod, Harry licked a hot stripe from her entrance to her clit.
Hermione’s hips bucked up off the bed and he locked an arm across her abdomen, smirking against her pussy. The hand in his hair tightened briefly and he froze, before she forcibly pushed him further into her folds. He moaned as he lapped at her juices, and she shuddered beneath him. She whined as he flicked his tongue against her throbbing clit and incoherent pleas and praise fell off her tongue indiscriminately. He hummed his approval against her in response.
“Oh, fucking Merlin,” she whimpered.
He brought a hand up to tease her slit, waiting until she pressed against his hand to slide a finger into her pussy. He moved slowly, fucking her gently with one before adding a second. The wet noises coming from her cunt were obscene, and Harry rocked his hips against the bed, desperate for friction. Moving his fingers in tandem with his mouth, he sucked at her clit while he crooked his fingers just so. Hitting that spongey spot against her inner walls, Hermione came with a shout.
She was glorious like this, falling apart for him.
As he licked her through her orgasm, Harry needily rubbed his aching cock against the mattress. He didn’t stop until the hand in his hair tightened and she pulled him off her cunt, juices dripping down his chin.
“Hi love,” he whispered with a smile.
Hermione responded by tugging her up to him, and he slanted his mouth to meet hers. A whine escaped the back of her throat as she tasted herself on his lips and Harry couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten so lucky. Breaking the kiss, she pressed her forehead against his.
“Need you inside me,” she gasped. “Right now.”
Harry swore under his breath at the urgency in her voice. Pressing a gentle hand to her abdomen, he muttered the contraceptive charm they’d all learned in third year and her belly glowed purple for a moment before fading, indicating the spell was active.
Taking his dick in his hand and lining himself up with her entrance, he paused just to be sure.
“Are you sure?”
Hermione lifted her leg, wrapping it around his hip and digging her heel into his bum.
“Harry, fuck me right now or so help me Gods...” she trailed off, but the threat was clear.
He groaned through gritted teeth. Who was he to deny her? Snapping his hips, he entered her fully in one swift motion, and she keened.
Harry froze, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion as he tried to stop himself from coming instantly. Tilting her hips, Hermione clenched around him as she hissed, “Oh for fuck’s sake, please move.”
Slowly, he drew almost entirely out of her before burying himself in her pussy once more. Setting a punishing pace, he repeated the motion over and over again. Hermione writhed, lifting her hips so he fucked deeper into her and Harry groaned.
“Christ, you feel so fucking perfect,” he panted. “If you keep making noises like that, I’m going to fill your tight little cunt with my cum so fast.”
Hermione whimpered at his words, and he swore. Gods, he loved this witch.
“Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you until you’re leaking?” She nodded frantically and he crooned, “Oh, that’s such a good girl. My perfect girl, wanting my cum so bad she’s throbbing.”
Her pussy clenched at his words and he slammed into her relentlessly, obscene noises echoing around the room. Harry grabbed the back of her knee and lifted her leg, the angle allowing him to fuck deeper into her. Hermione gasped as he hit the spot against her inner wall, and he repeated the motion. Pleas fell from her lips unfettered as she grew needier, her orgasm within reach.
“Harry,” her voice took on a desperate note as she begged, “please .”
The sound of her begging sent Harry dangerously close to the edge, his bollocks tightening and hips stuttering as he tried to restrain himself until after her release.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed. “There’s a good girl. Come for me, sweetheart.”
She did as she was told, her walls clamping down on him with such force that he followed her over the precipice, shooting thick ropes of cum into her perfect cunt. Groaning, Harry buried his face in her neck as he came. Arms shaking from the strain of holding himself up, he collapsed next to Hermione and pulled her up to lay on his chest. His cock remained nestled in her warm pussy, still pulsing around him lightly as his cum leaked out of where they were connected.
Hermione nuzzled into his chest and mindlessly, he smoothed a hand over her hair and down her back. A tiny noise of contentment escaped her and he smiled, once more overwhelmed with how encompassing his love for this witch truly was.
Pressing a kiss against her hair, Harry said, “I love you.”
Tilting her head to look up at him from where she laid on his chest, the corners of her eyes crinkled with happiness. “I love you too.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence and his mind wandered back through the events of the day that led them here. A particularly concerning thought crossed his mind and Harry’s eyes grew wide.
“Oh— Oh Gods no. Teddy’s got Marauder blood and Black family blood. Merlin, Hermione, do you know the only other Marauder to have that combination?” His voice rose frantically in pitch, “Sirius,” he answered before she had a chance to. “It was Sirius. We cannot raise a baby Sirius. We won’t survive.”
“We?” Hermione questioned, a soft smile on her face, and Harry froze.
“I mean—” he stammered, “you’re under no obligation, of course. I just—”
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, silencing his ramblings the best way she knew how.
“Of course, I’ll be there by your side. In whatever capacity you want me, love. Whether that’s as fun Aunt Hermione, or a godmother, or—”
He cut her off. “As his mum?”
“You want me to be Teddy’s mum?” Her voice wavered.
“Only if you want to be,” he whispered.
A sob clawed its way out of her chest and Hermione hid her face in the crook of his neck. Wrapping his arms around his witch, Harry held her with tears in his eyes as she cried. It was so quiet at first, he almost didn’t hear her.
“Yes,” she whispered thickly. “It would be my honour to be Teddy’s mum, if he’ll have me, that is.”
He cupped her cheek, wiping the moisture away from beneath her eyes and brushing a kiss against her temple. “Nothing has ever sounded as wonderful to me as the sound of life with you. I think we can do this if we do it together.”
Hermione pressed a kiss to his chest and muttered, “That was so cheesy.”
Harry snorted, pulling her closer until she was wrapped around him like a second skin; content to simply hold her while the sun set around them.
Waiting until he thought she was asleep, he whispered, “You kept me alive for seven years and I’m arguably much more self-reliant now. Teddy will be a breeze.”
She huffed, evidently very much so awake. “He’s a five-year-old metamorphmagus, Harry. The son of a Marauder and a Black. He’s going to be a nightmare.”
There was a pause.
“But there’s no one else I’d rather suffer with.”