One Night Standards

One Night Standards

“So, you’re really moving then?” Lupin said, leaning against the doorway with his arms casually folded over his chest.

Without turning around, Harry nodded and continued his packing.

Remus Lupin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I frankly didn’t think you actually meant it.”

“Well, I did,” Harry said curtly. He closed his trunk and then lifted it off of his bed. Glancing quickly at Remus and then avoiding looking at him altogether, he said, “I’m not going to stay here when I don’t have to.”

“You’re not going to sell it, are you?”

“No.”

Remus seemed relieved.

“But I’m sure as hell not staying here,” Harry said. He looked around Sirius’ old bedroom and released a heavy, difficult sigh. “I don’t know what I want to do with this … place, but for now it’s just going to sit here and collect dust by itself.”

“And Hermione?”

“She’s already moved – last week, she left to move into a flat with Ginny. She likes it enough,” Harry said stiffly, his tone almost robotic.

“Harry, you don’t have to … brood anymore,” Lupin said calmly.

Turning his back once more to Remus Lupin, Harry busied himself with collecting the last few remnants of his possessions left scattered throughout the room.

“Harry, it’s … it’s over.”

“It still happened, though, didn’t it?”

“Well … yes, but you can’t change the past,” Lupin said wisely, “and so there is no use overly fixating on it. Trust me, I have learned that lesson the hard way. Losing – losing James and Lily … and then losing Sirius …” Lupin stopped himself there, pausing as heartbreak flashed across his facial features. “It has scarred me for life, but there is no use in my fixating on it. There is the present and then the future.”

“Yeah, well, that’s smashing, Remus,” Harry said sarcastically. “Have fun with Tonks.”

“Harry—”

“No! Look, it’s fine. I’m fine. And I’m going to deal with what happened in my own way,” he said, coming to a stop before Remus. “I’m sick and tired of being a hero, the Chosen One! I just want to be Harry for a bit, and Harry deals with things however the fuck he deals with things. All right, Remus?”

Remus stared straight into the face of the man before him, looking right into his emerald eyes and seeing that Harry Potter was dead serious. He wanted his distance and he was going to handle his new life how he saw fit.

Nodding respectively, Remus could do nothing else. “All right, Harry,” he said, a bit disappointed that Harry was not listening to his advice. “Well, I better be going. I have a job interview in an hour. I suppose I’ll see you when – well, some time will come.”

Harry nodded himself, watching as Remus turned and excused himself from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

The moment the door shut Harry wasn’t sure after all if he were even making any sense.

All he knew was that the War was over, and now that it was he was sick and tired of being the Harry Potter he had been – brave and noble and constantly saving people, always sacrificing himself and his needs. No more. He wanted to be selfish, he wanted to indulge in his own needs for once.

And no matter how many times Remus or anyone tried to tell him that the War was over, that the War was in the past, that didn’t matter. The War had scarred him – tainted him. He wasn’t nearly as ‘sane’ as he had been going in. He had witnessed things and taken part in things he had nightmares over late at night.

He had tortured. He had killed. He had … endured the most horrifying experience in facing Voldemort completely on his own. On that night, there was no one – no Ron, no Hermione, certainly no Dumbledore – there was no one but him and Voldemort, and only one of them was going to survive. It was a funny feeling knowing he was either going to live or die on that one fateful night.

He wasn’t the same and he never would be. No one was the same. No sugarcoating done by the Ministry in the aftermath of the War could make him feel better.

“Knock, knock …”

Harry was brought out of reverie of thoughts by the voice of his best friend Hermione Granger. He looked over his shoulder and saw her there, standing in the doorway, in the very same spot Lupin had been standing minutes before …

“Hello,” she said simply.

The tightness in his chest lessened. He didn’t say anything, though … just nodded.

“I knew you’d be packing,” she said, taking half a step into the room. She had her hands neatly folded in front of her, as if she were timid about talking to him, like he was some sort of stranger. “I saw Remus on the way out …”

“Lovely. Did he mention how I’m behaving like a bad little boy?” Harry asked, smirking cynically.

“Oh, well, no, he didn’t. But, I know you have been anyway,” she said. “You’ve been in the tabloids, of course.”

“Since when do you believe the manure they write?”

“I don’t believe the words, really; I believe the photographs,” Hermione replied.

“All right. Thanks for having confidence in me, Hermione.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling in disbelief with how defensive he was these days. “Harry, you act as if I’m against you.”

“It feels like everyone is. For a few quick days I was a hero in the press, ‘Chosen One defeats You-Know-Who!’, blah, blah, shit. And then, a week later I’m a spoiled, rich, brooding brat of a young wizard who is turning ‘bad’ and who is no longer ‘heroic’. You know what, honestly? They could fucking sod off, OF THEM!”

“I know,” she agreed. “They’re ridiculous. They only love you for a moment, so long as it makes for a good story, but as soon as people get bored with such a golden hero, it’s time to blacken that hero’s image to make for an even better story than the one before it.”

“What are you doing here?” he questioned. He grabbed a few shirts he found lying on the dresser cabinet and began folding them to toss into his trunk.

“I wanted to see you …”

“Why?”

“You never used to ask me that before – before I didn’t need a reason to see you.”

“You moved out on me, remember?”

“Yes, after you mentioned you didn’t want to live in Grimmauld anymore now that … that the War is over,” Hermione said with difficulty, voice trembling. “I realized then that I had to move on too. You said you were fine with it.”

“I am.”

“I don’t understand the point of this conversation then, Harry,” Hermione confessed.

Harry opened his trunk and tossed in the shirts. He kicked it shut with his leg, a quick and brusque movement, and when it slammed shut, he spun around.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

The question was random and abrupt, and Hermione was surprised, but she was hungry. She nodded. It was very difficult to predict what Harry would say or do those days. He was becoming completely unpredictable and it scared her; she was usually able to read him so well …

“Yes, I am,” she answered, nodding a second time.

“Then let’s go get something. I’m starving,” Harry said. He walked past her and left the room, and eventually she followed.

###

“How is it?” Harry asked, taking a bite out of his roast beef sandwich.

”How is … what?” Hermione stared at him in confusion.

“Your flat. How is it living in your flat with Ginny?” Harry elaborated.

Hermione shrugged and picked at her own sandwich. With the food actually in front of her, she wasn’t so hungry anymore. She had been this way for over a year now; ever since leaving Hogwarts at the end of her sixth year she could not hold the same appetite.

“It’s interesting, definitely,” Hermione responded. She smiled as her eyes rose to Harry’s face. “Ginny and I are so different it’s sometimes difficult; and sometimes it’s hard with, well, you know …”

Harry didn’t say anything.

“But, I think I’ll room with her for a while, for now.”

Harry was no longer looking at Hermione, but instead around the pub of the Three Broomsticks. In the far corner Madam Rosmerta was serving two Ministry officials out for a drink. At the sight of Rosmerta, Harry smirked.

“Ron would have been flagging her down for some attention,” he said quietly.

Hermione’s entire body language changed, and so did her facial expression. She tensed and paled, and her eyes widened as if she were afraid. She didn’t say anything; she felt nauseous and lightheaded just thinking of Ron.

Harry’s eyes snapped back to her, and he looked irritated at the sight of her.

“I’m sorry, I can’t pretend he never existed. Shame on me,” he said coldly.

She simply shook her head frantically and continued to grow paler.

“Hermione, I want to talk about it,” he told her. “You’re the only other one that was there … that – that was there.”

She shook her head again, clasping her hands to her mouth to stifle a terrible cry. Her hands muffled the sound and she stood, hurrying from the pub as fast as she could. She knocked right into a hag entering the pub, but didn’t care; she kept going.

Harry rose and went after her. He caught her a few shops along, looking as if she were going to be physically sick.

“Hermione! Hermione! I’m sorry,” he said, catching her by the arm and forcing her to come to a stop.

She pulled her arm from his grasp, turning to look at him, breathing quite erratically. “Why do you constantly do this to me?” she said tearfully, looking pained. “I … I never wanted to be there. I can’t even handle the thought.” She swallowed with great difficulty, still feeling sick.

“I’m sorry. But I need to talk about it.”

“Well, I can’t!”

“Why not?” he said, voice rising to the volume of a shout. He let out a frustrated growl and put both hands to his head, pulling at his hair angrily. “Hermione, I NEED to talk about it! I can’t pretend!”

“I can’t either!” she replied in her own shout. “I’ve tried and I can’t, but I wish I could.”

“Why? So you could just erase Ron from your memory?” Harry asked, sounding disgusted with her.

“NO! So that I can have my last memory of him be of that morning – when I played him at a game of wizarding chess and lost miserably! I want that to be my last memory of him … not of … oh, I’m going to be sick!”

She turned her back and dashed for the nearest bin, which was in an alleyway in between a wizarding pawn shop and a shoe and socks store. Harry slowly made his way over as his friend stood before the bin, trying to resist the urge to vomit.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” Harry apologized as some color slowly came back to her face.

She swallowed hard again, holding her stomach. “Harry, I just can’t. I just can’t handle the memory; it makes me sick to my stomach … it was utterly horrifying.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said again, in what was the softest tone he’d used in a long while. He put his arm around her and led her away from the bin and out of the alleyway. “I shouldn’t have … I’m sorry. It’s just, you know, the nightmares.”

“I have them too. B-But it’s just too much, Harry … I can’t …”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated. A silence fell between them as they walked along the cobblestone street of Hogsmeade. “Do you … want to help me finish packing?”

She looked up at him as they walked, noticing the stubble he’d allowed to grow in, and noting how much of a man he’d become. She remembered when he was just eleven, just a confused boy with scrawny limbs and baggy clothes. It was amazing to her that it was the same person.

“Yes,” she replied. She paused for a second, working up the courage to say what she wanted to next. “Do you know this is the first time you’ve really asked me to do something with you. Like old times.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

From Hogsmeade, they Apparated to the abandoned street Grimmauld was located on, and then from there, they walked the rest of the way. By the time they reached the unplottable house, it was stark darkness outside and very cold.

Hermione was shivering as she and Harry finally stepped into the house.

###

They ended up playing a game of wizarding chess. Harry won. Hermione didn’t care; chess had never been her game, to be honest. She seemed to over think every single move and so she lost almost every time.

Harry then made some tea, and the two drank it in mostly silence, once in a while talking quietly about whatever came to their mind.

Both were content with the silence. Harry liked spending time with Hermione; he liked spending time with her more than anyone else left on the earth. Everyone else seemed to feel compelled to keep him entertained, as if that’s what he wanted out of their company. He had long ago grown tired of Ginny’s immature jokes and outrageous opinions. He didn’t want to be entertained, not in the way Ginny tried, which involved going out of her way to try and be funny. He just wanted company; someone to just be there.

Hermione never seemed to feel the need to entertain him. She was herself, and he appreciated that she was one of the last true people left in his life.

“I better be going,” Hermione said, draining her third tea cup. She looked at her wristwatch and rose from the table.

Harry watched her for a moment, feeling angsty and the need to brood again. She was leaving him and with his lone silence he felt no choice but to wallow in his pit of despair.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said honestly.

She seemed taken aback, pausing as she stood at the table. “Well, Harry, it’s late. I have to work tomorrow. I really can’t stay much longer …”

“I feel like you’re the only true person left, Hermione,” Harry said softly, “you and Remus. Everyone else is a sham. It’s just you and Remus left, Hermione. The list is dwindling down by the year too.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, trying her best not to let her emotions take over. “I know. I feel the same. You’re my best friend and you always will be.”

He nodded, his jaw set, and he didn’t say anything.

“Harry,” she said, now tearfully. “Harry, I don’t like you this way. Please … stop it. It … it scares me.”

She made her way over to his chair and dropped down to her knees next to him, grabbing his hands and holding them tight in hers. She looked up at him pleadingly with watery eyes. “Please, Harry, I don’t like you like this.”

She smiled sadly at him, reaching up and placing a hand on his cheek. She met his eyes as she caressed it gently, and she rose a bit onto her feet, to meet his lips too. She kissed him lightly on the mouth, hoping she could somehow recapture some of the old Harry.

When she drew back and opened her eyes, he was already looking her in the face. There was a moment of fierce intensity in which they searched each other’s eyes, time passing, though they were unfeeling of it. Then, slowly, they met midway, their lips touching for a second time, this time deeper than the first.

Harry pulled Hermione closer as they kissed, pulling her toward him, into his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as their tongues danced passionately together. Soon her hands had made their way up to his hair, running her fingers through the unruliness of his strands, as he pulled his lips from hers, moving them over to her cheek, then jaw, and then neck.

Every thought in their minds were abandoned, pushed aside and bid farewell … for the moment. There was a primitive feeling being awakened in both of them, as Hermione moaned softly from Harry’s expert kissing of the skin of her neck.

Somewhere between all of the snogging, they rose, Harry grabbing Hermione and lifting her up into his arms, hauling her and himself upstairs to Sirius’ old room. Hermione didn’t protest. She was searching for the same vent Harry was.

It almost felt as if they were the last two on the planet, left alone to do as they wished.

It was a dark and unsteady trip up to Sirius’ old room. Harry kicked the door open and set Hermione to her feet. She didn’t give him a chance to close the door before she pushed him to the wall and kissed him harder than ever.

There was a need for them to escape, to get far away from their selves, to rid themselves of the pain and anger and sorrow that haunted them everywhere, even in their sleep. They needed some sort of outlet, some mean of release …

Hermione was quicker than he was. She pulled his shirt over his head and then drug her lips all over him, his neck, his chest … Harry enjoyed her attentions.

She stopped suddenly, looking up at him, breathless. “Is this right?”

It was a bit of a strange question to ask after starting something that couldn’t be taken back.

“Do you honestly care?”

“It’s … it’ll change everything.”

“Everything’s going to change eventually.”

He was right. She stared at him for a second longer before he interrupted by kissing her. Never separating, they moved from being pushed against the wall to the bed, where they collapsed, Hermione on top.

She stared down at him as she straddled his waist, only able to see him in part, because of the shadows of the room, and as she looked down at Harry Potter, her best friend, a fraction of her wanted to cry. Everything was so tragically confusing and messed up; she had no idea why she was there, about to cross a line she had promised she’d reserve for Harry for good.

Everything was going to be ruined come morning, she knew it.

But, she didn’t want to think. There was a seed growing in both of them, of primal need, and they could not leave without finishing what they had started. They never had been quitters.

At that moment she saw Harry in a lusting point of view, not as her friend. He had what she wanted and she had what he needed, as she had what he wanted and he had what she needed.

She pulled her blouse over her head, tossing it somewhere far off into the shadows, and she didn’t pause before she unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts.

Harry also didn’t pause before touching them, kneading them and appreciating how lovely and soft they were. So perfectly, achingly soft …

They switched positions, now Harry over her, and roughly they did away with his pants and then his boxers. Hermione kept kissing him over and over, and he kept feeling her breasts, kissing them too, causing Hermione to moan and tremble and twist beneath him.

Harry lifted his head from where it had been hovering over her chest, and he reached and unzipped her jeans. She wiggled out of them, and then he drug her knickers down her legs and past her ankles, positioning himself perfectly between her.

Kissing again, hard, she tugged seductively on his lower lip, her hands all over him just as his were all over her, touching and feeling. There was no romance about it, just an animalistic need and want on both ends.

Even through his haze of thick, strong arousal and lust, Harry forced himself to think a bit coherently, forcing his erection to stop at the entrance to her sweet, tight treasure.

“Hermione,” he breathed, unable to hold back any longer. “Hermione, are you – have you?” He didn’t want to hurt her, and if he were going to have to, he wanted to know in advance so that he took proper care of her.

She shook her head from side-to-side, looking extremely impatient. “No,” she said throatily. She wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked, urging him in.

He abandoned logic there, not bothering to be curious as to since when was Hermione not a virgin.

He entered her in one quick movement, sheathed by the cove of her tight, wet, precious treasure. He wasted no time in going slow, quickening his pace with each thrust, Hermione moaning and thrashing hungrily, tightening her legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with eager pleasure.

There came a point where she stopped squeezing her eyes shut and opened them, looking up at him and staring into his eyes as he moved inside of her. It was intense, as they stared right into each other’s eyes as he thrust harder and harder, her telling him to go deeper in between moans and screams of bliss.

It became too much for Harry to handle. He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore, not when he was meaninglessly shagging his best friend, the one person he cared about more than anyone; the one person he would sacrifice absolutely everything for. He could not look her in the eye as he did this to her; he was using her body for the release of his own angst, and though she was doing the same with him, he could not bear to meet her eyes any longer.

Her cove finally clenched around him, squeezing his cock tight and tantalizingly, as she hit her climax and flew through a sky of ecstasy. She arched her back, throwing her head back as she called his name; her hands were on his arms, nails digging into his skin.

He came shortly after, spilling his hot seed inside of her. Making a few more shallow thrusts as they both came down from the great throes of ecstasy, he collapsed onto her.

In silence they breathed and breathed. Eventually, he slipped out of her and rolled off of her, lying beside her on his back. They continued to breathe heavily, both sweaty and both physically and emotionally exhausted, and they stared up at the dark ceiling above them.

Hermione sat up and climbed off of his bed, searching the dark for her clothes. Harry sat up too and watched her.

“You never helped me finish my packing,” he said. Whether he intended for his words to be a joke or to be serious, she could not tell.

She didn’t say anything at first. She put back on her knickers and zipped up her jeans, next searching for her bra and blouse.

“Harry,” she said wearily, “I still feel the misery.”

She hooked her bra and pulled her white blouse over her head. She looked just as lost and confused as he did.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he still felt the misery too. Having sex with Hermione had helped him release his anger and frustration, but suddenly it was all coming back to him. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs so that the whole world heard him and knew the great enormity of his dark feelings.

“Good night,” he told her finally, almost quiet enough to be a whisper.

She nodded, something of a smile on her face before she left him alone.

Harry listened to the sound of her footsteps descending down the stairs and then to the sound of the front door shutting.

He wondered if they’d ever speak of this night again …

###

Please review. Chapter two coming very soon; likely tomorrow soon.