Recovery

Author’s Notes: This started out as a small idea about a hurting Harry, a troubled Hermione, and their first time. It turned into a ridiculously wordy exploration of the pain of…well, people who are in pain. I have a lot to say about things. It’s a curse. If you stick with this and read the whole thing, I thank you. I can’t seem to silence the voices in my head. I’ll leave you with that scary thought.

WAIT! I am mentally challenged, that’s for sure. I keep forgetting to thank my beautiful beta, CheeringCharm, when I first upload these things. She is wonderfully thorough and endeavors to ensure that I don’t make a complete ass of myself. (No one could stop that, though, let’s be honest.) Thanks, CC, for all your help!

Disclaimer: These characters are obviously not mine. But I do love them.

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Keep your gob shut, Mudblood. Or I’ll let young Malfoy take you as his pet. He has some fascinating ideas on how to make you useful. How would our young hero feel about that, eh?

"Hermione?" The sound of her mother’s voice on the other end of the telephone pulled Hermione out of her stupor. She shook her head to get that vile voice out of her mind.

"Hmm? Yes, Mum, you were saying?"

"I said, are you feeling quite useful in your new job? I’m sure they’re thrilled to have you, given the shortage of good teachers in that part of the country."

"Oh. Yes, they’re pleased to have all the help they can get. It’s been a perfect fit so far. I feel like I’m connecting with the children already. I know you and Daddy think I’m wasting my talents, but I’m absolutely positive that this is where I’m meant to be right now."

"That’s wonderful, dear. I’m happy for you. I won’t deny your father and I were a bit surprised by your choice, but if you’re happy, that’s all we care about."

"Yes, Mum, I’m happy." She took a deep breath and said in a rush, "Must go, though. I have a million and one things to do to prepare for our book fair next week. Me being me, I’ve taken charge of the whole thing. You wouldn’t believe the deplorable lack of selection they had last year. Love to Daddy. Bye, Mum!"

In truth, she needed to end the same old conversation she’d been having with…well, seemingly everyone lately. If it wasn’t her parents questioning why she didn’t want to pursue a degree at Oxbridge, it was Professor McGonagall inquiring via owl as to whether she’d be accepting the slot Stonehenge had offered her. Or Ron reminding her that Arthur wanted to speak to her about certain openings at the Ministry. "Great things are expected of Hogwarts’ top student, Miss Granger," the Minister of Magic had said to her.

Funny. I should have thought aiding in the defeat of the Dark Lord was a ‘great thing.’ No pleasing some people.

Tom Riddle’s downfall was the highlight of her seventh year. Some people celebrate the end of their school career with parties that never end, drinking binges, or snogfests. Not Hermione. No, she and her best friends celebrated the end of their school career by conquering a rather scary, psychotic wizard who had designs on taking over the world. All in a day’s work, really. Exams? What exams?

When Harry defeated Voldemort, he had done so with Ron and Hermione at his side. They had fought with him every step of the way, refusing to allow him to martyr himself for them. This friendship that they had started during their first year at Hogwarts had now become bigger than the sum of its parts.

Harry had, of course, done his level best to keep them hidden from the fray. He had to face Voldemort alone. It was his destiny, he had told them. Hermione will never forget Ron’s response.

Bollocks. I’m sorry, mate, but you sound like you’re doing a bad impersonation of that dark invader bloke.

Darth Vader, Hermione had contributed.

Whatever. This isn’t some muggle movie script, Harry. This is your life. And I think I speak for Hermione when I say you’re completely off your rocker if you think we’re going to let you give it up without a fight. Quite frankly, mate, we can’t trust you. You’re a bit thick at times. Admit it. You need us. Even if it’s just her you need, you’re getting both of us. With this last statement, Ron had pointed to Hermione with emphasis. ‘Cause let’s face it – you’re nothing without me. Sure, you’re the world’s biggest hero and she’s a fucking genius, but how incredibly dull is that?

Hermione smiled at the memory. Ron had, in his own inimitable style, lightened the mood and made his point without going overboard. Something she was known to do, especially when it came to Harry’s well-being. Harry caved. And Hermione couldn’t help but think it had more to do with the Star Wars reference than any common sense argument.

They were caught unawares when Voldemort came calling, but they faced him together. Harry had tapped all of his power and found the strength to defeat him, but Ron and Hermione were instrumental in leveling the playing field for Harry. In the end, when the Order of the Phoenix had mobilized and Voldemort’s minions were overpowered, the Dark Lord had played his last card. While Ron was incapacitated, he focused his fury on Hermione, knowing that it would hurt Harry in the worst way. Unfortunately for Tom, Harry did not back down paralyzed with fear and hopelessness. He struck out in anger and rage.

When the dust had settled, Lord Voldemort was no more. And Harry Potter was elevated in the minds of wizards and witches everywhere from a boy hero to a god. For their part, Ron and Hermione became heroes. Many in the wizarding world, grateful for the strength of these three teenagers, had theorized that this special friendship was destined. That they were meant to find each other at Hogwarts. That a greater power had delivered the trio to the wizarding world as a way to defeat the evil that was Lord Voldemort.

It was all very intimidating. Hermione had no desire to be seen as a "saviour," and she knew for a fact that Harry was extremely uncomfortable with the moniker. Ron…well, he didn’t mind the odd free tickets to a quidditch match, but on the whole, he could live without people shoving their cameras in his face every time he walked down Diagon Alley. Hermione had, in fact, written an eloquent and impassioned letter to the Daily Prophet on behalf of all three of them requesting that people no longer send them gifts or bequeath their inheritance to them or name their children after them or offer them, er, favors. In response to her letter, she received three marriage proposals, several hundred galleons, and a lurid detailing of what one grateful wizard was willing to do to lower her stress level. It was all too much.

So she retreated to an undisclosed home in the countryside, far away from Diagon Alley, far away from Hogwarts. The village was a muggle one, but that didn’t stop Hermione from practicing magic in the confines of her home. The rental had been a surprise from her parents for her eighteenth birthday. Although they had found it for her and secured the first few months’ rent, she wouldn’t allow them to pay for any more than that. Her job was enough. She didn’t get paid a lot, but she was earning a living. She was safe, she was satisfied, she was at peace and undisturbed. She was making a difference in the lives of children. They were making a difference in her life. No more evil, twisted wizards. No more prejudice over bloodlines. No more searching for some ancient, arcane spell to save the day. No more worrying that Harry’s life hung in the balance. No more losing sleep over it. Well…she was still losing some sleep, but that would fix itself over time, she told herself.

After a peaceful month or two, Hermione decided she was in her element. Life at Hogwarts had been so…loud at the end. Fighting, agonizing, organizing, teaching, learning, revising, bickering, withstanding, upholding, battling. Harry had once confided in her that the noises in his head had gotten so distracting that he found it hard to concentrate in class. War is loud, she thought. Hero worship is loud. Hounding reporters are loud. I want some peace and quiet. Here, in the English countryside, she wrote in her journal and read books and gardened and planned lessons. She was friendly with the villagers, but Crookshanks was her only companion. And he’s nice and quiet.

Ron had chosen, instead, to put up with the fame and live the life he’d always wanted to in wizarding London. He was sharing a flat with Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom, going out every night and sleeping in every day. He had a job managing Fred and George’s shop in Diagon Alley while they looked into expanding into other wizarding communities.

And then there was Harry. Harry had looked like a lost puppy, in Hermione’s estimation, at the many celebrations of his defeat over Voldemort that they were forced to attend. He withdrew into himself when faced with the outpouring of appreciation from wizards and witches all over the world. It had worried her at first, until he came to talk to her before he went away.

* * *

"Hermione? Are you there?" Harry peaked around the corner of the house over the gate to the garden.

"Yes, Harry. Hang on. Let me unlock the gate." She jumped up from her spot on the grass where she had been pulling weeds.

"Hiya." He bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. In return, she hugged him fiercely, as usual. Looking around, he sized up her new home. "This place is great, Hermione. How ever did you find it?"

"Oh, friends of Mum and Dad. It’s not a wizarding village, so I guess I’m agreeing to go ‘incognito’ for a while, but it’s so restful…and so remote. I reckon I can live without magic outside of the house for a year or so. If not, I’ll just move. Do you want a look at the inside?"

"Course I do." He couldn’t hold back that disarming grin of his and gestured for her to lead him into the house.

"Ever the gentleman." She chuckled and bounded indoors for the grand tour. When she was done showing off her new home, they settled into the kitchen and cracked open the bottle of wine he brought with him. She started making dinner as they talked.

"Do you want a hand?"

"I wouldn’t mind some help chopping up the veg. Are you safe with a knife, Potter?"

"Probably not. Me and the word ‘safe’ don’t exactly co-exist, but I say we throw caution to the wind and live dangerously. That is our speciality, after all. Hand me that knife, Granger."

She chuckled and handed him a knife and a cutting board. "Have you spoken to Ron recently? He hasn’t owled me back since I gave him my new address. Is he angry with me for leaving London? Do you think he’ll come visit? I owled him and suggested he come here with you, but no word. Is he too busy for us now? I mean, I understand he’s got a life of his own, but really…."

"Whoa. One question at a time. Did you manage a breath in all that?" Harry laughed at her and she smirked at him. "Yes, I have spoken to Ron — last night as a matter of fact. We went to the Leaky Cauldron for a few drinks. Of course, we were accosted by some reporter who was eating dinner there, so we quickly made our way to a muggle pub across town. I’m telling you, these people are complete plonkers."

"I know, Harry," she said in a quiet voice. "That’s why I’m all the way out here in the country.

"Do you know what that wanker asked me? He wanted to know if I had flashbacks. If killing ‘you-know-who’ had damaged me for life. ‘Our readers want to know, Mr. Potter. Are you haunted by the murder you committed? Could you do it again? How did it really feel?’ What the fuck do you think, Einstein?"

She put a hand on top of his, stilling the motion of the knife, which had gotten quite aggressive as the conversation progressed. "Oh, Harry, I’m sorry you have to endure this. It’s not fair." She leaned into him and rested her head in the crook of his neck. He leaned his head on hers and sighed.

"I keep hoping it will let up, but it never does. Here we are into the next school year, and they’re still badgering us. Why won’t they leave us alone, Hermione? Why can’t they just let us be?" His voice ended in a whisper. Sensing his pain, she choked back tears and put her arms around him. He gladly reciprocated. They stood that way for a few minutes.

Harry then shook his head, as if clearing it of cobwebs. He let go of her and returned to the task at hand.

"You should have seen Ron deal with that reporter." He laughed, but it was obviously not sincere. "I thought he was going to knock him into next week, not that he didn’t give it a go, mind you."

"Oh my, he didn’t hit him, did he?" She braced herself for disappointment.

"Hang on. Let me try to remember the ‘safe to tell Hermione’ version of events. Hmmm…oh, right." He cleared his throat dramatically and put on his best Queen’s English. "Ron asked the gentleman if he would kindly return to his table, then inquired as to whether he needed help in doing so. When the gentleman indicated that he might need some help, Ron gladly escorted him. They then, er, how did he put it? Oh, yeah. They then colorfully engaged in a free exchange of ideas about how the gentleman should spend the rest of his, er, life. You know, career goals and such."

Hermione stood with her hands on her hips shooting Harry her most reproachful expression.

"All right, all right. He threw him to the floor, threatened to kick him back to the Daily Prophet, and told him to…do I really need to spell it out for you? I don’t like to use such language in the company of the gentler sex."

"Oh, please. Since when do you even consider me a member of the ‘gentler sex’? Save it for the tarts who go for those lines. Did Ron even consider the possibility that his assault on this reporter might end up on the front page of the Prophet?"

"C’mon, Hermione. What’s the difference? Either they print that we’re heroes or they print that we’re fallen heroes. Who cares? Personally, I enjoyed the scene. You know you’re not really cross with him." He went back to his chopping. "At least, not as cross as he is with you…."

"Pardon? Ron’s cross with me? I knew it! Honestly, what does he expect me to do? Punch every wretched reporter or groupie who accosts me in London? You’d think he’d understand." She, too, went back to her work peeling potatoes, her eyes never leaving the potato at hand. "You’re not cross with me, are you?"

He smiled at the shy, almost scared way she asked the question. "No, sweet. I could never be cross with you. Not for long, anyway." He leaned over and gave her another peck on the cheek. "Besides, I reckon you’ve got the right idea. Maybe if we hide away long enough, they’ll forget about us." He smiled and she smiled and they set about the work of making their cottage pie.

When dinner was done and they finished washing up the dishes, they rested in front of the fire in the lounge. She sat in a squashy chair with her feet pulled up under her. He sat on the floor, leaning back against her chair. Without realising what she was doing, she started running the fingers of her left hand through his hair. He took off his glasses and closed his eyes. They were silent for a while.

"So. I’ve decided that I need to get away for a while." Her hand stopped moving through his hair.

"Hermione? Did you hear me?"

"Where?"

"Well, I don’t rightly know. Remus suggested a muggle trip. Maybe around the world. If I do anything in the wizarding world, I’ll be hounded wherever I go."

"Around the world? Merlin’s beard, Harry, how long are you going for?" She sat up, quite alarmed at this news.

"Dunno." He shrugged his shoulders. "Does it matter?"

"Does it matter? Of course it matters. When will we see you again? Are you going on your own because we haven’t helped you enough? Do you not want to be around us? Did I say the wrong thing? Do the wrong thing?"

"Hey, hey…." He scooted in next to her on the chair and pulled her into his arms. "You haven’t done anything wrong, Hermione. Don’t be daft. I’m not running away and I’m not going to stay away forever." He rubbed his hands up and down her back and she welcomed the contact. He swayed a bit back and forth, soothing her like a baby. She closed her eyes, content in his arms for the moment.

"I just need…I need some time, some space. I, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Hermione. I wake up in the mornings and I struggle to find a reason to get out of bed. I don’t think I want to be an auror now the war is over – I’m just tired of it all. I mean, I’m completely knackered. And I’m not interested in being paraded around the country on a quidditch team of my choice, wined and dined and propositioned by strangers that don’t know me from Adam." She couldn’t hold back a small "hmph" noise to show her disapproval of this last scenario.

"I do have flashbacks, Hermione." His voice was so quiet, she struggled to hear him. "I still have nightmares. I still see his face when he had you in his clutches. And I still feel the rage that consumed me. I still feel the fear and hatred that enabled me to destroy him once and for all. And then there are…other…issues." She squeezed him tight and felt a tear run down her cheek. She thought to question what he meant by "other issues," but she was too comfortable in his arms. Truth be told, she was frightened of the answer.

"I reckon I’m hoping to find some clarity, somewhere out there in the world. You told me you had thought about going abroad. Why is it so hard to conceive of me traveling?"

She stirred a bit, not happy about having to speak while so warm and comfortable and relaxed in his embrace. "It’s not. It’s just, well…I guess I don’t want to let you go. I couldn’t bear the thought that you left because we’d failed you in some way. I suppose I’m afraid of losing you." She blushed a bit and buried her face in his chest to hide it.

"You silly girl." He tightened his arms around her. "As if I could exist in this world without you. You’ll never lose me, Hermione. I’ll be back and you’ll be sick of me for all the time I’ll be here with you, interrupting your reading and messing up your house. Course, I reckon Ron will be right chuffed to fill in where that’s concerned while I’m gone." He smiled but didn’t release her from his tight grip.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you have to hold Ron in your arms after you told him you were going away?"

"Well…let’s just say there was some spooning involved." She laughed.

"I love you, sweet. You know that, don’t you?" She moved, pulling back to look in his eyes while another damn tear betrayed her. His expression was serious and sad and her heart was close to breaking.

"I love you, too, Harry. Always. Please come back."

* * *

A year later, and Hermione had barely heard from him. A postcard here and there. A nice card last Christmas with a single muggle photo of him in front of the Great Wall of China, but nothing of substance since. Her birthday present to him had been a less-than-subtle quill and writing paper set, with owl treats to boot. He sent her a quick thank you and "I got the hint" message a week later. She was still waiting for a real letter, though.

Ron had received the same treatment. Of course, it didn’t bother him as much.

"Go on, Hermione. You make it sound like he’s dropped us altogether. I got a postcard from Peru just a few weeks ago. He sounded fine. It’s not like he’s got time to sit down and write us a book, now, is it?"

"What else does he have to do, Ron? Honestly. How thick can you be? He’s got all the time in the world, and he’s not spending it thinking of us, that’s for sure. Besides, that’s not the point. The point is he was unhappy when he left, Ron. I want to make sure he’s all right. How can I do that when I’ve no idea where he is minute to minute and he refuses to share anything with me…us."

"Maybe he’s with someone else. Maybe she’s taking up all his time and healing all his wounds." He wiggled his eyebrows. Hermione was so infuriated, she punched him in the chest, stood up from the table, and tried to leave their lunch early. Ron grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down to her chair.

"All right, tiger, calm down. I was just winding you up." She crossed her arms and huffed, but otherwise gave in to his pseudo-apology. "He’s fine, Hermione. We have to give him his space. No use worrying yourself sick over it." He pointed to her half-eaten lunch. "Are you going to finish that?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed the plate in front of him. "I suppose you’re right. It hasn’t been a year yet, after all. Although it is coming close! And I swear, if he doesn’t send a letter by Christmas, I’ll hunt him down and hex him into next week!"

"You’re sexy when you’re raving. You know that, don’t you?" His attention turned back to his meal, but he was still pondering. He mumbled, "Tiger, indeed."

She blinked. Her eyes narrowed. "You are a gigantic pile of human excremant."

Ron chewed and laughed at the same time, causing Hermione to wince. "Will you ever grow up?"

"Don’t need to. Hermione Granger just said I was right about something. I can die now." He smiled broadly and squeezed her hand. She laughed and shook her head.

* * *

Ron had treated her to lunch that day in honour of her birthday. He would be busy on the nineteenth of September and he knew she’d end up spending the day alone in her cocoon, writing lesson plans for the class of eight year-olds she taught at the local primary school. He didn’t understand her decision to start teaching muggle children in that remote village of hers. He didn’t understand why she didn’t even spend much time with her parents in Oxford. But she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure she understood it herself. It was just…comfortable. It was comforting. It was right.

And so she found herself curled up in front of the fire once again, reading through the book reports she had assigned her class the week before, when the bell at her door rang. Crookshanks sprang to life and ran to the door.

"All right, Crookshanks. Don’t go getting excited over a misplaced stranger."

When she opened the door, her heart leapt. Harry was standing in the rain, an overnight bag thrown over his shoulder and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. She stood there, dumbfounded.

"Are you going to let me in or do I have to find a B&B for the night?" He smiled hesitantly.

She moved aside and allowed him to enter. She pulled the door closed as he dropped his bag unceremoniously on the floor. He shed his coat and hung it over a nearby chair. He turned and looked at her, obviously trying to size up the situation.

"Are you angry?"

"No."

"Are you upset?"

"I was."

"Are you shocked to see me?"

"Yes."

"Are you happy to see me?"

She wasn’t sure how to answer.

"Hermione?"

"Dunno."

"Throw me a rope, Hermione. I’m dying here. I know you’re mad that I didn’t write more often. I know you’re probably thinking I’m a right cad for waltzing back into your life expecting you to be here waiting for me. And you’re right. As usual. I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I couldn’t find the strength to write to you. I’m sorry I didn’t know where I was going until I found myself rounding your street corner. I’m sorry. I apologize profusely. I feel awful.…

"Now, where’s my customary hug that would squeeze the life out of Fluffy, the three-headed dog?" He opened his arms tentatively.

After a moment’s hesitation, she ran into him, nearly knocking him over with the force of her hug. Harry laughed. He lifted her off her feet and twirled her around.

"I missed you so much, sweet. I can’t even tell you…."

"Apparently not. Apparently you couldn’t tell me anything, you big…stupid…jerk." She was stuttering, searching for the right words to express her anger. And she was crying. She pushed herself out of his embrace and half-heartedly beat his chest with her fists.

He gave her a half-smile and wrapped his arms around her, whispering in her ear. "I’m back now, Hermione. I need you. I need you so badly. Please forgive me."

She squeezed him tightly and nodded her head. The lump in her throat wouldn’t let her answer verbally.

She took his hand and led him into the lounge, picking up the bouquet of flowers on her way. She settled him in front of the fire and fetched a towel for his hair. She arranged the flowers and set them on the table next to him. Then, she made him some tea and he felt warm all over. Like he was home.

For a while they didn’t speak. Hermione was happy just to have him in her presence again. They were comfortable in their silence; being together was enough. After some time had passed, she asked him about his journey.

"It was all right. I certainly saw a lot. But I don’t know if I accomplished anything."

"And what exactly were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Well, let’s not talk about that. Dreadfully boring. How have you been? Enjoying life as a muggle teacher?"

"I am, actually, despite the fact that nobody believes me." She eyed him suspiciously. "Even you sound cynical."

"No, not cynical. Puzzled, maybe."

"Harry! I thought you of all people would understand."

"Hear me out, Hermione." He held up his hands in defense. "I simply don’t get it. You’re brilliant! The smartest witch, the smartest person, I know. You love learning and you love magic. I can’t figure out how teaching muggles how to read is satisfying you."

"It probably won’t forever. It’s not my life’s mission, Harry. I’m just nineteen, for heaven’s sake, do I have to…."

"Bloody hell! I nearly forgot! Happy Birthday, Hermione! Today’s the day. I can’t believe I forgot about it! What a prat I am." He got up and walked to the settee where she was sitting. He pulled her to her feet and gave her another bear hug followed up by a kiss on the cheek. In the circle of his arms, she smiled sweetly up at him.

"I’ve missed you so much, Harry. I couldn’t imagine a better birthday present. Thank you for coming home." And on impulse, she reached up and kissed him on the lips – briefly, chastely – but on the lips, nonetheless, where they had never connected before. She pulled back in trepidation, shocked at her own boldness.

He looked into her eyes and didn’t blink. She looked up at him, eyes wide, willing him to make the next move. He did. He licked his lips and leaned toward her with caution, waiting to see if she would move toward him. When she did, his confidence was boosted and he closed the distance between them. His lips met hers again, but were in no hurry to leave this time. Slowly, he kissed her and opened his mouth a bit wider to taste her lips. She, in turn, darted her tongue out to taste him. Her hands found their way around his neck and his went around her waist as they became more and more comfortable with this new territory they were exploring.

After a while, they dropped down on the settee, but their mouths never stopped working. They were kissing each other’s faces and necks and would work their way back to the lips every so often. Hermione had balled up Harry’s shirt in her fists and was clinging to him. For his part, Harry held her tightly, as if afraid to let go.

He released her hair from the clip that held it up off her neck and pulled it to surround her face. He stopped kissing her and ran his fingers over the features of her face and stared at her. She usually felt embarrassed when she was under this much scrutiny, but his attention made her feel loved. Supremely loved. His eyes were full of devotion and yet she saw pain there that she couldn’t deny. And all she wanted to do was erase it. She wanted to ease his pain and make him whole again. She wanted to love him now physically the way she had loved him for so long with her heart and her mind and her soul. She wanted to make him understand.

She reached out and caught the tear that had escaped his eye.

He spoke at last, with the voice of a scared little boy. "Will you have me, Hermione? If I give myself to you, will you accept me? No matter what? I don’t think I could stand it if…." She quickly put her hand over his mouth. She wouldn’t allow him to put that thought into words. She didn’t want him to even conceive of it.

She gathered her thoughts and spoke deliberately, praying he would comprehend the depth of her feelings.

"I love you, Harry, with all my heart. I always have. I always will."

He couldn’t stop the free flow of tears that now ran down his cheeks. Barely above a whisper, he said, "Why?"

Her heart broke. It broke in two. She looked at him in disbelief. She was shocked that he didn’t know. Shocked that he didn’t get it. Her tears were now mixing with his as she couldn’t resist kissing him in an attempt to heal him. She held his face tenderly in her hands and kissed him with all the love she could put into a single kiss. When she pulled back, she took a deep breath. For once in her life, she was nervous about speaking her mind. She couldn’t mess this up. She couldn’t fail him now.

"Harry. You are without a doubt the most beautiful person I have ever known. How is it you can’t see that? I’ve loved you for so long, I’ve stopped counting the reasons." She looked into his eyes and saw that he truly didn’t understand. He wasn’t fishing for compliments or pleading for reassurance. He was convinced that he wasn’t worthy of her love. She started to tremble. And grabbed his head with more ardor.

"You listen to me, Harry Potter. No one in this world deserves to be loved the way you do. What can I say to make you understand that? Oh, Harry, please understand that. You’re so very special. You’ve never done anything but reach out to people, to help them, to include them, to make them feel needed and wanted and important. Just because no one did that for you doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve it. The people who you lived with, Harry – those people whose names I won’t utter in my home – they were vile people, Harry. Incapable of loving or understanding what an amazing boy you were. They were fearful and bigoted and ignorant and evil – yes, Harry they were evil. Don’t shake your head at me." She was nearly yelling now, needing to make her point. Desperation evident in her tone and her tears.

"They were evil, Harry. Just as Voldemort was evil. You’ve been faced with a lifetime of evil and you didn’t back down from it. Not when you were a small child and not when you were a young man. You fought, Harry. You fought those people by surviving and proving them wrong and not giving in to their hatred. And you fought Voldemort by standing up for what’s right, by resisting the temptation to give up…all because of the strength of your heart. You think it was fear and hatred that gave you the power to defeat him, but it was love, Harry. Your love for your friends, your love for your family, your love for the wizarding world, your love for life in all its forms, and your love for…," she trailed off.

"You," he managed to choke out the rest of the sentence for her. "My love for you. That’s what did it in the end. When he had you, Hermione, when he was holding you and threatening you and torturing you to get to me…I couldn’t even see straight any more. I was blinded by whatever emotion it was running through my body at breakneck speed. Maybe it was a combination of everything, I don’t know. But what I do know is that I loved you then and I love you now. And if anyone ever threatens to hurt you again, I’ll likely react the same way. They can print that in the Daily Prophet."

She studied him with a circumspect expression. She wasn’t sure if she had broken through his pain or if he was simply appeasing her now. He seemed to pull back a bit, not wanting to reveal any more of his raw emotions. She smiled meekly at him and he kissed her again.

She stood up and pulled him up by his hands. Looking in his eyes one more time, she said, "You are everything to me, Harry. I love you so much. Never doubt it." Then she turned and led him to her bedroom.

* * *

Harry was unsure of himself, now more than ever. He often felt like a freak of nature, inexperienced and abnormal, and never moreso than at this moment. At nineteen, and having just traveled around the world on his own, he had encountered his share of opportunities to end his run as the world’s oldest virgin, but he hadn’t accepted one of those offers. Not one. He tried to deny it, but in the back of his head the voice that sounded eerily like Hermione explained to him that he was waiting for her.

Honestly, Harry, you know you want me. You want it to be special. You want it to be your best friend. No, you perv, not Ron. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

He shook his head, attempting to relieve himself of the craziness he knew lived inside his mind, at least for the next little while. He needed to be alert now. Hermione had excused herself to "freshen up" in the loo. He was now wondering what the hell to do next and why he was so scared of the phrase "freshen up."

Well, let’s see…there are two options as I see it. You could challenge her to a nice game of chess, or, perhaps, you could shag her senseless. It’s not rocket science, mate.

"Smashing. Thanks for that boost of confidence. And, Christ alive, since when did you start sounding like Ron of all people?"

Since you started shedding clothes and becoming fully erect in my best friend’s bedroom. And I’m not referring to your posture, you randy git. Is that a broomstick in your pocket or are you happy to see me?

"Shut it, already. She’s in the other room."

Hello?…Harry? I’m in your head, mate. She can’t hear me. Blimey! If you’re this unaware of the mechanics of your own schizophrenia, how in Merlin’s name are you going to deal with intercourse? Might want to find the nearest exit and make a mad dash for it. Surely, you don’t want to show Hermione yet another side to your incompetence, your ignorance, and your helplessness.

"I said shut it!"

"Pardon?"

He turned his head so fast he almost had whiplash. Hermione was approaching him with a questioning gaze.

"Hermione…I’m sorry. No…it was just…I, er, that is to say…I wasn’t talking to you. I was, er…."

"Harry," she breathed, having stopped his words once again by placing her hand over his mouth. "It’s all right. I’m nervous, too. I…well, may as well be completely honest about it…I’ve never done this before." She blushed furiously and looked down at the floor. She started to wring her hands.

The voices in Harry’s head quieted as his concern for Hermione’s peace of mind overtook him. He took her small hands in his and gently squeezed.

"I reckon we’ll figure it out together. And besides, we don’t have to do this, Hermione. If you’re not ready. Please don’t think I came here to, well, to get you, er…you know, to do this." He blushed as hotly as she had only a moment ago. In fact, they were both in a constant state of embarrassment at this point.

"No!" Hermione cringed, looking mortified at the sound of eagerness in her voice. "I mean, of course not, Harry. I know you’re not like that. And I am ready. I’m so ready it’s downright humiliating." She let loose a nervous chuckle and he smiled in response to her candor.

"I’m glad."

"Harry? Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to."

"I’ll tell you anything you want to know."

"Have you ever done this before?" She looked so young to him at that moment as she turned her gaze downward, apparently steeling herself for his response. He lifted her chin with his fingers forcing her to meet his eyes.

"No."

Her brow furrowed.

"You didn’t meet any girls on your travels?" She sounded skeptical. "A young, good-looking bloke all on his own? I can’t believe there wasn’t a single girl who…."

"I reckon I was waiting for the girl of my dreams," he interrupted. Hermione beamed. "What’s your excuse, Miss Granger?" Then she scowled.

"Please. The offers are few and far between. I don’t exactly fit the profile. Have you seen the girls Ron chats up? Or Dean or even Neville? I’m not in their league, that’s for certain. It’s bad enough looking at me. As soon as I open my mouth, they run away screaming."

He was genuinely puzzled.

"What on earth are you on about, Hermione? None of those girls could hold a candle to you." Then he framed her face with his hands, examining her closely. In a soft voice, he stated with conviction, "You’re beautiful. Exquisite, actually. I’ve always known it. And it’s all in the details," he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "As for those blokes who scare so easily, they’re as thick as the birds Ron pulls. And personally, I’m grateful they’ve left you alone."

She blinked back the tears in her eyes. Standing on tiptoes, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth a bit to greet his warm lips once again. They kissed slowly at first. Each afraid to make the first move to something bigger.

* * *

Hermione was enjoying Harry’s tender kisses, but somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if he was ever going to make a move beyond kissing. After a time, she decided that Harry had been the hero often enough. It was time for her to be brave for him. She pulled away from his warm embrace and looked deep into his eyes. What she saw there gave her the courage to continue.

With her eyes locked on his, she began to unbutton her shirt, inwardly thanking all the gods in the universe that she hadn’t removed her bra when she got home from school like she normally would have. They were both breathing heavily as she came to the last button. Harry looked extremely nervous, and for that she was grateful. He was as nervous as she was, and it gave her some comfort.

She stood for a moment, with her shirt unbuttoned, staring at him. She wanted to give him the chance to move things along at his own pace. He hesitantly reached out and pushed one side of her shirt off her shoulder. The contact his fingers made with her skin sent shivers down her spine and had rippling effects throughout her sensitive body. Seeing that this move pleased her, he did the same to the other side with less fear evident in his expression. Her shirt fell down her arms and to the floor.

Her chest was heaving and his breathing was audible. Hermione felt her own arousal dampen her knickers. And she could see the bulge in Harry’s trousers, although she was trying like the devil not to look there. For all her inexperience, she had, of course, read about sexual intercourse. Her mind was feverishly reviewing all of the notes she had taken, and memorized, on the subject. She couldn’t contain a grin at the thought that she was with the one man she had always dreamed she would be with when at last she crossed this line.

Harry grinned back. "What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking…I’m glad you came home. I’m glad it’s you." Her smile elicited one from him.

"So am I."

* * *

Grinning like guilty schoolchildren, they hugged each other and held on tightly for a few moments. The feel of her skin was driving Harry to distraction, however, and he had to get a hold of the rest of her. Still wrapped up in her embrace, he ran his hands over her arse in appreciation, coming to rest on her hips. He couldn’t help but swallow before he set to work unfastening her jeans, his mouth feeling oddly dry as a bone. Hermione softly held onto his wrists while he worked.

Freeing the button and lowering the zipper, he ran his hands under the waistband and found his way back to that glorious arse, sighing when he felt the cotton of her knickers. She was clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention, so she hungrily attacked his neck, working her way up and over the side of his chin and back to his sweet mouth.

Their tongues battled for supremacy as he held firm to her bottom. Harry opened his eyes to watch her facial expressions as they snogged. His heart was aching with love for her. She must have felt his stare because she opened her eyes as well and stared back at him. Eventually, they smiled against each other’s mouth and chuckled. That effectively ended the kiss to end all kisses and reminded Harry of his intentions.

Moving his hands to her hips, he squeezed gently to reassure her. Then he pushed her jeans down her legs…her soft, shapely, smooth legs.

Great Merlin’s ghost, is it hot in here?

* * *

As she kicked off her jeans, Hermione suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. Harry was staring at her with a hunger that made her feel exposed and, somehow, inadequate. How would she ever satisfy him when she had no idea what she was doing. Her head went down to stare at her socks. She covered her chest with her arms and fidgeted.

Harry smiled, easing her mind a bit. He gently pried her arms away from her body and placed them around his waist. He kissed her neck, just under her ear. He kissed her jawline and her forehead, her cheeks and her nose. He peppered her face with butterfly kisses and murmured in her ear. "You’re lovely, Hermione. So very lovely." She couldn’t hold back a grateful smile against his cheek.

Hermione began to move her hands up and down his back. She lifted his shirt out of his trousers. In one swift movement, Harry pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, and Hermione wondered how she could have waited this long to be skin-to-skin with him. It felt so good.

She kissed his neck and his shoulders and ran her hands over all of him – his chest, his abdomen, the waistband of his trousers, the bulge below it. He jerked involuntarily, apparently not expecting her to be so daring. She jumped away from him as if she’d touched a hot cooker.

"Oh! Sorry!" She covered her mouth, blushing profusely.

"No! No. Don’t be sorry. I just, er, wasn’t expecting that. Please don’t stop." He pulled her close again and whispered, "Don’t ever stop."

She shyly looked up at him and gave him a kiss. Then, feeling the need to draw the attention away from Harry’s trousers, she took another brave step. She reached behind her back and unlatched her bra.

* * *

To this point, Harry thought he’d made quite the valiant effort not to touch Hermione’s breasts. Her round, pert, soft breasts.

Merlin, is every part of her body soft?

As she unhooked her bra, he couldn’t help but lick his lips. Not wanting her to reveal herself, he took over from her, grabbing her hands and placing them on his hips. His breathing sped up again and he lightly pulled the loose straps on her shoulders until the pink bra fell forward down her arms to join their shirts on the floor.

Her eyes darted everywhere. He noticed how she avoided looking down at her exposed body, while also avoiding his eyes. His light touch caused her to gasp. His hands slowly covered her breasts, causing her already erect nipples to harden even more. Her head dropped back and her eyes closed as her breathing became more labored. He cupped her breasts ever so gently and ran his thumbs over her nipples. Not wanting to attack them like a wild dog, he started kissing her neck. He was hungry, of that he was certain, but he was determined not to fuck up the best thing in his life.

* * *

Running her hands over his back, Hermione began to moan. Everywhere their bodies were in contact, she felt fire beneath the surface of her skin. She never thought it would be like this. It didn’t matter if they fumbled or embarrassed each other or floundered a bit here and there. She loved this man wholly. And his attentions were driving her to delirium. Whether he helped her to an orgasm or not this night, she would never forget being loved like this.

Finally, his tongue grazed one of her nipples. At that point, both of their bodies responded, pushing themselves into each other. Hermione arched her back and pulled his head into her breast while Harry’s whole mouth ravaged first one, then the other. She grinded her hips toward his erection and he responded in kind, rubbing himself against her. Things sped up at an alarming rate.

She grabbed at his belt buckle and unfastened his belt. Taking her lead, Harry’s hands left her body and made quicker, safer work of freeing his rock-hard penis. He was clearly relieved to be free of the constraint. He pushed his trousers to his feet and kicked them off with impatience.

Hermione took advantage of his compromising position. Her hands stole into his boxer shorts and grabbed his arse.

And what a fine arse it is.

After she pulled him to her, they rubbed up against each other like animals, clearly in need of relief.

They resumed their fervent kissing while he got harder and she got wetter. As she started to remove his boxers, he pushed down her knickers until all that was left between them was…socks.

They both looked down and giggled. Taking a second to remove their final items of clothing, they looked at each other one last time, questioning.

"I want you, Harry. So badly I could scream."

* * *

That was all it took. He grabbed her up in his arms, cradling her like a child, and carried her to the bed. Tenderly, he placed her down and he kissed her in as loving and undemanding a manner as he could, considering all the blood in his body was now resting below his waist. Running his hands over her body, he rested the heel of his hand on her pelvic bone, while his fingers danced lightly over her sex. He was staring at her, making sure she was ready. He had waited so long for this, he wanted to savor the moment and do it right. Then he ran his fingers up and down her wetness, sighing as he felt exactly how much she wanted him. He took a deep breath and slid his middle finger into her.

Hermione sucked in a breath and moaned in response to his touch. Her legs fell wider apart, naturally opening up for him.

He dropped his head to her chest and rested, feeling her rapid heartbeat pounding through her skin. He continued to slowly explore her, caressing her inner thighs and feeling every inch of her most intimate body parts. She groaned and squirmed under his touch. She surprised him by removing his glasses and dropping them on the bedside table. He was embarrassed he hadn’t thought of that himself. Free of that impediment, he turned his head and suckled her right nipple and she gasped.

She pulled him on top of her and he positioned himself between her legs. He leaned his forehead against hers. Both of them were breathing in short, raspy breaths. She bit her lip and he closed his eyes trying to gather his courage. He pushed himself against her and made it clear, without words, that she would have to guide him. She grasped hold of his cock and it twitched, surprising her. She pulled her hand back as if she had touched a hot poker and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. To assure her that it was okay to grasp hold of it, he guided her hand back to his penis and took a deep breath as she firmly took hold of it.

* * *

She positioned him at her entrance, closing her eyes in resignation. She had read about the pain involved in losing your virginity and she was beginning to understand the mechanical difficulties. Hermione had no idea whether Harry was "big" or not, but she knew that he was bigger than the place he was headed. She felt herself tensing at the thought of it.

He kissed her eyelids gently, and they fluttered open. She found herself looking straight into his bright green eyes. He obviously wouldn’t enter her without one last invitation. She kissed him and urged him forward by pulling his bum toward her. She took a deep breath, as did he.

"Go quickly, Harry. Please," she breathed.

He plunged into her with one swift stroke. She cried out but held tight onto his back, making sure he didn’t pull out in fear. He looked at her with wide eyes.

"Oh, God. Are you all right?"

"Yes. I’ll be fine. This is normal. Just…stay still for a moment."

He squeezed his eyes tight, and she knew he was working hard to control his body’s basic need to move inside of her. Her breathing steadied and she relaxed.

"It feels so good, Harry. Now that the shock is gone. It feels so good to have you inside of me." She blushed and buried her head in the crook of his neck, hugging him as hard as she could.

"It feels good being inside of you. But…I need to move, Hermione. Are you all right now? Can I move? Please?"

She kissed his neck and nodded her head, lifting her hips to encourage him. He started out slowly, moving in small strokes. As they both became accustomed to the fit, understanding fully for the first time the glory of friction between a man and a woman, he began to move quicker and took longer strokes. Hermione, too, sped the movement of her hips. The tension inside of her now was delicious, not painful. Her body comprehended what she could not. This was nature at its very best.

It did not last long. Harry was soon moaning in pleasure, burying his sweat-soaked head in the crook of her neck and sighing at last. He collapsed on top of her. She hadn’t quite reached her release, but she wasn’t sure she would this time, given the soreness that now existed between her legs. It didn’t matter. Harry was inside of her. He had come inside of her. That felt wonderful in and of itself. She was elated.

As their breathing steadied, Hermione realized that they were still on top of the duvet. She started to grab the top of the blankets to push them down when Harry caught on to her plight. He slipped out of her and rolled off the bed. She managed to get under the covers and pulled them aside for Harry. He scooted into bed beside her and took her in his arms.

She looked up at him and whispered. "I love you."

He looked down at her with a serious expression. "Thank God," he breathed.

With one last kiss, they closed their eyes and fell asleep in a tangle of limbs. The last sound she heard was the steady beat of his heart.

* * *

The first sound she heard upon waking a few hours later was the sound of sobbing.

It was muffled, but she heard it nonetheless. She rolled over to look at Harry, beginning to feel a panic rise in her chest, but he wasn’t lying in bed with her. He had slid off the mattress and was sitting on the floor leaning against the bed. He had pulled his trousers on but was otherwise naked. His glasses still sat on the bedside table. He was hugging a pillow to his face, trying to drown out the sound of his tears.

Hermione’s fears were beginning to mount. What if he regretted it? What if he had wanted to wait for the girl of his dreams…and she wasn’t that girl? What if she had been so completely useless at sex that he was horrified about being with her? Somewhere in the deep recesses of her above-average brain, she understood that some of her fears were nonsense. But faced with a hysterical man following your first sexual encounter – an encounter that left you speechless – all sorts of insecurities leapt to the forefront and knocked logic on its proverbial arse.

She scrambled off the bed and quickly hunted down her shirt and her knickers. She felt the irrational need to at least cover up the private parts.

"Harry!" She knelt before him, attempting to take the pillow out of his hands. He was stronger than she thought. She grabbed him wherever she could – his shoulders, his head, his knees. Nothing felt right. "Can you tell me what’s wrong? Did something happen? Did you have a nightmare?" She continued to touch him however she could. She stroked his hair, running her fingernails over his scalp in a vain attempt to soothe him.

"Harry, please. What’s wrong? Please tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me." His sobbing was slowing down, but he hadn’t made a move to even look at her. "Oh God, Harry. Did I do something wrong?" She felt tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She whispered, "Do you regret…do you regret…are you upset about…what we did?" She could barely get the words out before a few tears fell.

He shook his head. She felt a degree of relief. With her newfound confidence, she reached for him with stronger arms and brought him into her embrace. This time, he didn’t resist.

She whispered words of comfort in his ears. She pressed her body against him, holding him close and wanting him to feel every part of her. Her tears mixed with his as she kissed his face and saw him looking at her with concern. She was certain he could see his own pain reflected in her eyes.

She had thought that he was settling down when suddenly his chest was wracked with sobs once again. She ran one hand over his back in circles, while the other hand held the back of his head. His face was buried in her chest and he held onto her with a vice-like grip. Her concern was growing.

Finally, he quieted and his breathing slowed to normal. She was beginning to think that he had fallen asleep in her arms, which wouldn’t have bothered her, when he pulled back to look at her. She reached up to the table beside the bed, grabbed a couple of tissues, and handed them to him. He took a minute to compose himself and leaned back against the bed again.

"I can’t do this, Hermione." The panic returned. Hermione took a deep breath. "I can’t do this to you."

"Wh-what…what are you on about? I thought you said…I mean, you shook your head when I asked if you regretted us being together like…this…that…last night…a few hours ago." She shook her head in exasperation. "Oh, sod it! I thought you didn’t mind us having sex! Harry! I…I thought we both enjoyed it." She started out yelling and ended up muttering. Her emotions were all over the charts and yet she wanted to be careful, since he was clearly vulnerable at this point.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and smirked. He looked straight ahead, avoiding any visual contact with her eyes. "I can’t even treat you right after all we just shared. After everything you gave me. How can you trust me with your heart? You must be as certifiable as I am."

Her brow was furrowed. Hermione Granger, top student at Hogwarts in half a century, was cataloging in her head everything that had transpired between them since he walked through her door the previous evening. Every look, every touch, every word. She was reviewing all the books she had read since the final battle about post-traumatic stress and the long lasting effects of legilimency and the cruciatus curse.

Hermione Granger, vulnerable girl in love with her best friend, was chiding herself for everything she had ever done to hurt him, which, of course, included such heinous crimes as forgetting to say goodnight to him on the fifteenth of November 1997 and not thoroughly reviewing his potions homework to make sure he received all the possible points for it in March of 1995.

Hermione Granger, force to be reckoned with, told the first two Hermione Grangers to stuff it. If he wasn’t going to accept her into his life and share the good and the bad with her, then she shouldn’t have to completely bend over backwards to figure out his problems for him. She’d spent her entire adolescence doing that and she was tired.

She literally gasped and covered her mouth, frightened and ashamed of these last thoughts. Harry threw her a questioning look.

"You’re just figuring it out now, aren’t you?"

"What, Harry?"

"You’re the one regretting last night. You’ve just had your ‘a-ha’ moment and now you’re wondering how we go back to ‘just friends.’ You’re chastising yourself for giving in to pathetic Harry. You realize now that you just made a huge mistake. A mistake the size of Mount Everest. A mistake that could dwarf Ron’s appetite. A mistake so enormous…."

"Shut up, Harry! I get the point. And you’re as daft as you are adorable."

"Pardon?"

She couldn’t take it. "Oh, no," she said sardonically. "I’m sorry. You’re right. One hundred percent correct. It was a mistake to tell you how I REALLY feel. To let you see what I’ve wanted to do to you since SIXTH YEAR. It was a mistake to let you touch me in ways I’ve dreamed about you touching me for YEARS. It was a HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE to make love to the man I love. The man I’ve been in love with for AGES. Call me crazy for losing my virginity at age nineteen, ON MY BIRTHDAY, I might add, to the most selfless, caring, lovable, adorable…frustrating, EXASperating, ANNOYing PRAT IN THE WORLD! Sign me up for the nuthouse!"

He studied her, seeming to work his way through everything she just said, word for word. In a very quiet voice, he murmured, "You’ve been in love with me for ages?"

She wanted to scream, but the filter between her runaway emotions and her mouth succeeded in stopping her. She sighed. "Yes, Harry, ages."

He looked down at his hands. "You shouldn’t be."

The filter took a holiday. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Argh!" She clenched her fists, stood up, and starting pacing around the room.

"It means, you deserve much better, Hermione. I know you’re angry, but look at me. Take a good, long look. I’m a mess. A complete and utter nutjob."

She stopped her pacing and stared at him, at first in disbelief. But soon her anger dissipated. Soon, she felt like the world’s worst friend. The look on his face reminded her of the shattered man she’d encountered last night, when he couldn’t believe that she could love him. Her shoulders sagged.

"I am looking at you, Harry. I’m looking at the man who gave everything to save everyone he loves. I’m also looking at the boy who risked all he had to save a classmate’s remembrall and stand up for his dignity. I’m looking at the young man who risked all he had to save his godfather. I’m also looking at the boy who risked everything to save his best friend’s sister. I’m looking at the man who withstood an all-out attack from the world’s most powerful dark wizard. I’m also looking at the boy who jumped on a troll to save a busy-body girl he didn’t even like.

"I could go on and on. I love you for your heroism, Harry, but I love you more for you. For everything you are and all that comes with it. Everything you think is worthless inside of you…every insecurity you have…every doubt…everything that’s eating away at you right now, at this very moment? I love all of that, as well. Because it’s part of you, Harry. Part of who you are. I hate that it hurts you, but I accept it because it’s you."

"No, Hermione." His voice was cracking. The tears began to well up in his eyes again. "You can’t. I’m broken, and I won’t ever be fixed. No matter what you do. Even you can’t fix me." He took a steadying breath to calm himself.

"I went to sleep with you in my arms, my wildest dreams having come true…and he still found me. He found me all over the world, no matter where I went or what I tried. He takes great pleasure in mocking me. Tonight, he focused on you. He laughed at me, reminding me of all the times I couldn’t even buck up the courage to tell you what you meant to me. He reminded me of how you were tortured, how you were hurt because of me. He asked me why you would ever want to be bogged down with a freak like me. He…he told me that you were with me because you pity me, because you feel sorry for me. And he’s right. I could see it in your eyes last night…and I can see it in your eyes now."

Hermione was stunned. These nightmares were worse than she ever thought possible. She considered her next words very carefully.

"How often does he speak to you, Harry?" She tried to keep the tremors out of her voice.

He shrugged. "At least once a week. I went a few fortnights in a row without any visits when I was in Australia in the spring. Then again, I was pissed beyond belief then. I just kept drinking in the hopes he would stay away. Would have easily become an alcoholic to put him off, but I don’t have the stomach for it. Kept hurling every night. So I gave it up."

Hermione was processing what he told her, trying to come up with the best course of action.

Once a week. He’s hearing voices once a week. Or is it just night terrors? Perhaps it is post-traumatic stress or could there be some residual effect of the connection he shared with Voldemort all those years?

"Give it up."

Her head jerked up and she found his wet eyes, naked without his glasses, squinting in her direction.

"There’s nothing you can do about it, Hermione. It’s not what you think." His head dropped again.

"Harry, there’s always hope. You had a powerful, life-long connection with the most deranged wizard in recent memory. It’s not surprising that he’s haunting your dreams. We just need to…."

"Uncle Vernon." His voice was cold, detached, quiet. But the words were somehow loud to her ears.

"Wh-what?"

"It’s not Voldemort. It’s Uncle Vernon."

Hermione’s legs could no longer hold her. Her knees buckled and she unceremoniously flopped on the floor. She found it hard to breathe.

Oh, God.

"Pathetic, isn’t it? He agrees with you, and so do I for that matter. I fought Voldemort for years, held him off when I was a child and bested him when he had us cornered. I dealt with deadly threats and painful injuries and insanely scary mind intrusions. And I can’t banish the memory of a bigoted fat bastard from Surrey who was mean to me."

Hermione sat stock still for a few moments, taking in the gravity of the situation. Then she took one look at Harry, her Harry, and she knew what she had to do. She scooted over to where he was on the floor and lifted his face with her hands. Looking deep in his eyes, she sealed her fate.

"Harry? I need you to hear me. Not just listen to me, but really hear me." He gave her a slight nod.

"You were abused, Harry. From the time you were one year old and had survived a scene that included the callous murder of both of your parents, scarring you figuratively and literally for the rest of your life, you were abused and neglected by the only family you had left in this world. They underfed you, they emotionally abused you on a daily basis, they physically abused you from time to time, and they used you as an indentured servant. They kept you hidden in a cupboard unfit for a dog, Harry." Her eyes were leaking at an alarming rate, now, but she would not be deterred.

"That man…,"she choked, swallowed, and started again. "That man was the freak, Harry. He was the pathetic one. And right now, at this very minute, wherever he is, he’d better be grateful that he’s dead. Of course he died of a heart attack. A weaker, more useless organ has never existed in a body." She was starting to let her rage take over and she knew that wasn’t good. She took a cleansing breath and continued.

"Anyone, anyone who’d lived through that childhood would need help, Harry. Anyone. Do you hear me?" She grabbed his head for emphasis. "Do you hear me, Harry? It’s all right that you need some help. Please, please let me help you. We’ll get through this together. I promise. I love you so much…."

"NO!" He put his hands over his ears in protest. "NO! YOU CAN’T!"

She steadied herself and wiped her eyes with the bottom of her shirt. She took his hands away from his ears with a gentle but firm grip. "Yes, Harry. I can and I do. I love you, Harry."

"No!" He shook his head.

"I love you with all my heart, Harry. I do."

"No. No. No. No." He continued to shake his head.

"I love you, Harry, so very much. I love you."

He struggled in her grip, but only half-heartedly. "No."

"Yes. I love you. And what’s more, there’s nothing you can do to change that. No amount of guilt, no amount of fear, no amount of self-hatred, no amount of pain exists that can push me away from you. Do you understand? You’re stuck with me. I won’t let you run away from this again. We’ll face this head-on, and we’ll survive and we’ll get better and life will go on. It won’t be perfect and it won’t be without its troubles. But we will live and love together. I promise."

The pain etched in the lines of his face was nearly breaking her. She gently held his face in her hands and she kissed him, sealing her promise. When she pulled back, she dropped her forehead to his, still holding his face in her hands, and he grabbed hold of her wrists. Quietly he inquired, "For always?"

She nearly laughed out loud in relief. "Yes, Harry. For always."

He whispered, "I love you. I love you, Hermione. He says I’m not capable of it, but I see you and I know that he’s wrong. Because if my heart were more full with love for you, it would burst. All I want is your happiness…I’m just so scared my problems, my sickness…I’m just so scared I’ll suck it all out of you. I couldn’t bear it, if I caused you any more pain."

She silenced him with another kiss. She smiled a small smile and whispered back to him. "There is no happiness without you." And she kissed him again. This time, he grabbed her around her waist and he squeezed her so tight, she thought breathing might become a problem.

He released her and stood up, bringing her up by her hand. He took off his trousers. He tilted his head to one side and looked at her appraisingly, the scared little boy having finally been comforted for tonight. He hooked his thumbs in her knickers and pushed them off of her, then pulled her shirt over her head, ignoring the more complicated button procedure. Then he pulled her into bed with him and curled up around her. He laid his head on her heart and fell into a seemingly peaceful slumber.

Hermione didn’t get to sleep for hours. She held him, she ran her hands through his hair. She thought of how to cure him – how to help him get past the pain, a lengthy to-do list of research and letters of inquiry taking shape in her head.

She wasn’t a vengeful person, but she also took advantage of her insomnia to think up some horrible ends to Vernon Dursley’s life. A fruitless task, given that Vernon was already dead, having collapsed dead of a massive heart attack a few weeks after Tom Riddle’s demise.

Hmph. How appropriate is that. Two evil bastards for the price of one. If he were alive today, I’d kill him. Stay away from my Harry, Vernon Dursley. Stay away from us. You can’t hurt him any more. I won’t let you hurt him anymore.…

Sleep finally claimed her.

* * *

Hermione started coming home from school as soon as the last class ended every day. In the past, she would have stayed an extra hour or two cleaning up her room and preparing for the next day. But after Harry had come to her that September night, she found it hard to concentrate on anything but his recovery. She still did her best for the kids, but she made Harry her priority.

She would meet Harry for lunch almost every day and they would spend her half an hour on a bench outside the school or alone in her classroom, with sandwiches and snacks he’d prepare for them in the morning. She felt that they had crossed a bridge that night, the night they had become lovers, but not by making love. The bridge they crossed was far less romantic and far more important. It was a bridge that brought a scared little boy, locked in a cupboard, to safety.

They had talked a bit each day about how he had been suffering since the defeat of Voldemort. Uncle Vernon’s voice started bellowing in his head, ironically, when the old man had snuffed it, falling dead of a heart attack merely weeks after the destruction of Harry’s other foe. It was the night he’d received the news. That was the night the voices started. Hermione was, of course, horrified that he had been suffering for so long without telling her, or anyone, about it. She had surmised that the defeat of Voldemort had freed his mind to finally deal with the appalling behaviour he received as a child at the hands of the Dursleys.

But that was all in the past. That was their mantra…some things are best kept in the past, where they belong. Survive it, let it bleed, acknowledge it, learn from it, and move on.

Hermione contracted with a muggle psychiatrist her parents knew to provide Harry with therapy every Tuesday and other times when necessary. Sometimes she would sit through it with him, holding his hand while he poured out his heart. Other times, she waited outside for him. She never let him go alone. No matter how long it took or how much time off she had to ask for, she was there with him…no matter what.

Harry had initially been surprised that such old wounds could still fester. But once he felt comfortable enough to open up to his doctor, the visits from Uncle Vernon became less frequent and Harry saw the benefit in getting things off his chest. The pain became bearable. The good days started to outnumber the bad days.

Finally, he felt whole…for the first time in his life.

* * *

"Ron flooed. He wanted to know how your twenty-fourth birthday was last week. When I told him how we spent it, he fussed at me a bit, calling me a git for not owling him yet. He prattled on about being tossed aside by his two best friends, how we’ve likely shortened his life span, how his heart is broken, blah blah blah. In exchange for that marvelous guilt trip, I sort of clued him in on the details. I hope you don’t mind."

"Are you joking? I’m thinking of taking out a full-page advert in the Prophet. How else can I let all those shameless tarts who throw themselves at you know that you’re off the market?" She smiled and kissed him hello with a little extra enthusiasm. He sported a goofy grin and returned the favor, pulling her even closer to him.

"No need. They’re working up the article as we speak, or so my sources say. Front page."

"Ron?"

"Right."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to tell me what his reaction was or not?"

"Oh. He was pretty stunned, actually. Gobsmacked, I think was his term. Not that we chose to get married on our own, but, well, how did he say it? ‘I can’t fucking believe that you conjured up the stones to marry her at last. And I can’t fucking believe that she allowed herself to get all sprogged up like that, before you dropped the ring on her finger.’ Something like that, anyway. Oh, and he said he always knew you were a scarlet woman."

"Prat. Trust Ron to send us best wishes wrapped up in insults."

"He did offer some sage advice, though."

"Really?" She lifted her eyebrows.

"He, er, suggested we tell Molly – and your mum and dad, for that matter – that the chicken came before the egg, if you catch my meaning. You know…a bit of creative accounting with the dates."

"Excellent." She crossed her arms and sighed. "Exactly how old are you two? I think my parents are well aware that we’ve been shagging for years, Harry. Given that there’s only one bed in this house." She rolled her eyes. "Lies are such hard work. I want to celebrate our real anniversary, and I don’t want to tell anyone that our baby was premature when he or she was right on target. What do we care what they think? You asked me to marry you a full two years ago, for pity’s sake!"

"I know. I’m just trying to protect the family jewels, Hermione. I love your dad, I really do. But he’s a bloody dentist! Do you realize what tools dentists have at their disposal? Don’t you want a sibling some day for little Harry Junior?" He patted the bulge in her belly.

She laughed. "I thought Harry Junior was that thing in your trousers that started all of this trouble."

"Lovely. Do you kiss your parents with that mouth?"

"What?! I didn’t even use any bad words."

"You were thinking them. I swear, Hermione, if we go in with your attitude, I’m a dead man. No matter how reasonable a man your father is, there’s now proof that we’ve had sex for sure. I guarantee you, he was denying it before. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. ‘Harry is NOT humping my little girl. Harry is NOT humping my little girl.’" He mimicked Dr. Granger with his hands over his ears and his eyes shut.

Hermione looked at her new husband appraisingly. "I have a bigger concern right now, darling."

He opened his eyes, dropped his hands, and raised his eyebrows, waiting for her explanation.

"My child has a raging goofball for a father."

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"I’m going to be a father."

She smiled back at him. "Yes, you are."

"I’m going to be a good father."

"Yes, you are."

"Life goes on."

Her smile got wider.

"And love conquers all."

_________________

*Seinfeld reference – anyone catch it? There’s a Seinfeld reference for almost anything, I swear! Do you like muffin tops? Are you a calzone fan? Do you live in Bizarro world? Do you pick or scratch? Do you know anyone who could use a manzier or a bro? Is anyone here a marine biologist? And, yes, I want to know…are you the master of your domain? No soup for you! Ahhh…the good old days.