A Tale of Two Gryffindors

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or magical concepts in this fiction. All characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, and no infringement of copyright is intended, nor is anyone making any money whatsoever from this piece of writing. Please do not reproduce any of the content without contacting me first.

A/N: So, yet again, an evil plot bunny bites me savagely (on the arse, if you're curious) while I'm attempting to work on my long fics. It proceeded to sit on my bed, staring at me with it's squinty, red eyes until I had written two chapters. This is the first fic, besides Macaroon Crumbs, that I have ever uploaded without having it completed first. I'm writing purely by stream of consciousness. The premise of this fic may seem a little far-fetched, but the reasons for their choice should become clearer as the chapters go by. See author's note at the bottom for more. I don't want to babble too much at the top of a story. Also, I don't think I have ever seen a fic with the same title as this, but if there is one, do let me know so that I can change it. Thanks for reading! Thanks to Southern_Witch_69 for corrections.

"Harry, that was not part of the agreement at any point, and we have previously had somewhat similar discussions before this one, the subject of which, may I add, we specifically agreed not to dig up anymore. Mostly, because it's not even relevant to us. Why is it on your mind again, and why now? You know that we agreed we could see other people casually if we got... frustrated. Why don't you just... I don't know... go out on a boy's night with Ron?"

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his ridiculous hair. She was completely right, and quite frankly, he had no idea what the answer to her question was – he really had no idea why it was on his mind again, but it was, and it was distracting him. From everything. And he knew it would distract him until he came to a resolution.

"I don't know, Hermione. But, from almost all aspects, our marriage is the type of marriage people can only dream about. How do we know that it couldn't be perfect?"

"What makes you think that sex would be the thing to make it perfect though?" Hermione challenged.

"Because it's the ultimate way in which people express how they feel about each other."

"Yes, but Harry, the feelings that people express through sex are either sexual attraction alone, or the fact that they're in love with the person that they're sleeping with, and sexual attraction is inevitable then anyway. You and I love each other, yes, but not that way."

"But maybe we do and we just don't know it!" he exclaimed.

"Harry, we would know!" she laughed. "We would know if we were in love with each other."

"No, not necessarily. We're so used to being such close friends that we could easily miss it evolving into something deeper. And it's not as if our friendship has been entirely predictable. I mean, we got married, didn't we?! Sex could be the litmus test as to whether there's even more to... us."

"Or the way to dissolve everything good and stable about our connection, and destroy the happiness and contentment of both of us in the process."

"No way." He shook his head vigorously. "Nothing could do that. Our reasons for going through with that stupid childish pact to get married in the first place prove that very fact. We decided to do it because we knew that there was no one we had met, or could ever meet, that we would have enough of a connection with to want to literally spend the rest of our lives by their side. We did it to secure ourselves to each other."

"Yes, and I still believe in that, with all my heart, but we agreed that we could sleep with whomever we wanted, because we knew that we were compatible in every other way but romantically. We married for each other's assured eternal companionship, and I honestly can't imagine loving or connecting with another 'companion' in the way that I do with you, but it just so happens that our 'soulmate' connection, or whatever you want to call what we have, is platonic. Yes, maybe, I had hoped that my soulmate connection would include romantic love, but apparently it is possible that it can come without."

Harry ran his hand agitatedly through his hair again and she tapped at his wrist gently to stop him.

"You'll make yourself go bald if you insist on tugging on it like that everyday," she admonished, half-joking and with a fond smile.

"No chance," he replied, smiling wryly. "For either of us, actually."

He tugged at a curl of her copious amount of hair, letting it go so that it bounced up and down like a jack-in-the-box, and she smacked his hand playfully.

"Look, Hermione. Don't you ever wish you could have that romantic type of love? That 'in love' love. That... what do you call it again?"

"Movie love."

"Movie love – don't you ever wish you could have that?"

Hermione looked away from him and bit her bottom lip, perplexed. Actually, the question made a surge of emotion well up through the centre of her chest. She did. She really did. But she had accepted that she wouldn't. She had accepted that the type of love she would have in her life would be unique in comparison to the type of love in the vast majority of people's lives. Platonic love as her constant, and physical satisfaction with a willing partner, should she find herself requiring it, and if she was lucky, some additional romance.

"And," he continued, "don't you ever wonder how we can have this connection, openly proclaim ourselves to be soulmates, and yet somehow, expect to find love somewhere else in addition? Let alone someone who could possibly understand or tolerate our marriage, no matter how platonic we insist it is?"

Hermione had no answer for this either. Harry felt rather smug that he had managed to ask, not one, but two questions to which Hermione had no answer. The frustration was clearly evident on her face, and it always amused Harry greatly that she had designated facial expressions for every emotion she felt. Frustration was evidenced on Hermione's face by a rather petulant setting of her jaw and furrowed brow and a bottom lip caught beneath her two front teeth. He laughed, and she scowled.

"Oh, I don't know, Harry."

"You don't know?! You don't know something? What has happened?! Did you hear that? I thought I just heard a massive crack – is that... is that the earth splitting in two?"

Hermione huffed.

"No, that sound you just heard was the sound of my skull being cracked in two by the blunt force of your rubbish sense of humour."

"Uh-oh," Harry moaned. "When you break out the sarcasm, I know conversation is fruitless."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and scuffed her toe against the carpet of their living room, where they had been standing in the middle of the floor throughout the entire impromptu conversation. It was typical of Harry to start a conversation of such depth and consequence just as she was trying to leave and meet someone at a pre-arranged time.

"Harry, you know that I'm somewhat sceptical about the whole 'true love' thing. You're the romantic in this duo, not me. Which is another thing I will never understand about your enthusiasm regarding us getting married. If you believe so steadfastly in true love, why would you jeopardise your chances of keeping it, should you actually find it with someone, by tying yourself to someone who would remain your platonic soulmate whether you married them or not?"

Harry became boyish at that point, which Hermione always found rather adorable, and it made her want to give him a lollipop, and ruffle his ridiculous hair. He kicked the toe of one shoe against the other and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not really sure I'm looking for 'in love' love, Hermione. That's why I think we should try... it. To see if we already have that type of love as well as the type of love we know we have. Because we're both as bull-headed as each other, Hermione, and if we already have that other type of love, we'll never admit it to ourselves until we have solid emotional proof. And don't go off on a rant about the nature of emotions, and how they're intangible, not solid, blah blah blah. If we did... you know... it could spark off the only part of our connection that we haven't acknowledged. I don't want to look for anyone else anymore. For anything. Including sex. You're... Well, you're enough for me, Hermione. More than enough."

Hermione was all set to be very insulted indeed at the use of the word 'enough', until she reminded herself that Harry wasn't quite as adept at converting his emotions into words as she was, though he made up for that by being far more willing to try. But something stopped her from reacting impulsively, and his words replayed over in her head several times, reverberating against the inside of her skull until her brain was forced to absorb them.

And she suddenly found herself utterly shell-shocked. She was enough for him? More than enough? What did that mean?!

"What does that mean?" she blurted.

The way he was watching her reaction was making her shoulders tense up, the way they always did when his expression took on that intensity, but it was rarely directed in her direction unless he wanted to wangle information out of her that she was unwilling to divulge. It always amazed her how quickly he could flit between boyish bashfulness and authoritative and intense maturity.

"It means exactly what it sounds like," he replied.

He closed the few steps between them and drew her into a tight hug. Hugs were actually fairly rare between them. Hermione had hugged him at times of great import in Hogwarts, and the same since then, and it was never awkward, but they weren't really common or spontaneous, and she wasn't really expecting one to accompany what he had just said. Hermione needed space when trying to process words and proclamations that she didn't immediately understand – a rare event, indeed – and his hug was making it hard for her to breathe properly as her brain whirled.

"It means," he continued, "that you've always been the most important person in my life and always will be. I don't need anything more than this marriage we have. And if it never includes sex, that's fine. You're enough for me. Just you. But I think that we owe it to ourselves to ensure that we're getting the most out of something as rare as what we have. And I know you, don't forget. You're as much a romantic as I am. Don't try and pretend otherwise – you can't fool me."

The last part was murmured in his deepest of tones as he squeezed tighter around her waist, and when he put a hand to the bare back of her neck, Hermione felt her windpipe narrow. Deciding that she may suffocate if she tried to analyse their bizarre conversation right now, particularly while being hugged, and particularly while he had his hand on her neck, she decided to simply accept the hug, rush to make her lunch appointment with Luna, and think about it at a later date. This called for some serious analysis. Maybe some lists. Maybe even some flowcharts. All of which at least meant one thing, for certain.

Hermione would simply have to go stationary shopping. She grinned happily.