Promises to Keep

Bingblot

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 03/03/2005
Last Updated: 03/03/2005
Status: completed

Sometimes it takes suffering and the sight of tears to realize the truth... One-shot and SWS. The companion fic/sequel to "This".

Chapters

1. Promises to Keep

1. Promises to Keep

Disclaimer: Nothing HP-related is mine; it all belongs to JKR, etc. etc.

Author’s Note: This is the companion fic/sequel to my other fic, “This”. It’s not exactly necessary to have read “This” first but I’d recommend it, if only to see the other side to the story.

Thank you, everyone, who reviewed “This” and, in particular, fenriswolf, as this fic was partially inspired by his review.

For Gil, a.k.a. romulus lupin, whose reviews never fail to brighten my day. *glomps*

~*~

Promises to Keep

He was reliving a memory, dreaming… Dreaming of some truth he didn’t yet know, didn’t quite realize…

“I’m tired of knowing you kiss me and wish I were someone else.” Alicia’s voice sounded more resigned than angry.

He stared at her, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

She half-smiled and the effect was somehow even more moving than a frown or tears would have been. “You don’t care enough about me. You care more for--” she broke off abruptly.

“For who?” he asked in honest confusion.

“Never mind. You’ll figure it out for yourself. I’m sorry, Harry, this just can’t go on. I’m tired of it.”

She turned to go and he stopped her, turning her around and bringing her mouth to his, feeling an inexplicable need to kiss her again, to see if things had really changed.

The kiss began softly, more a kiss between friends than lovers, none of the initial flare of attraction. That was gone…

When suddenly things changed drastically, passion flaring and the kiss deepening and he felt a jolt of arousal stronger than anything he’d ever felt for Alicia, or for anyone else for that matter, before.

He tore his mouth from hers with a gasp—and found he was staring not into Alicia’s blue eyes but brown eyes. Brown eyes he knew. Hermione’s eyes.

Dear Lord. Hermione—he’d been kissing Hermione.

Alicia had become Hermione—and that was why there’d been the sudden flare of passion.

It was Hermione. He could only stare, shock coursing through his system, when suddenly Hermione stepped closer and began shaking him gently by one shoulder.

“Harry. Harry, wake up.”

Her voice was choked with tears, filled with grief so poignant it pierced straight through any lingering drowsiness.

His dream utterly forgotten, he sat straight up, slipping on his glasses so he could see her clearly, dismay and worry filling his chest. “Hermione? Hermione, what--”

He never finished his question as before his eyes Hermione seemed to crumble, sobs beginning to rack her entire body.

Oh God! He flinched at the depths of sorrow in her eyes, reaching for her and gently tugging her to sit on his bed, half-cradling her in his lap. He tightened his arms around her as she turned her face into his chest and wept, wishing he could somehow simply absorb all her pain and grief into himself.

He felt a stab of fear. Something truly tragic must have happened to reduce her to this. Hermione—his Hermione, he thought suddenly—was so strong, not breaking down like this over trifles. He’d seen women cry before—Cho, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny—and while the sight of their tears had made him uncomfortable and left him feeling a vague wish to help them (combined with an instinctive male wish to flee)—nothing prepared him for the sight of Hermione crying like this, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs. Every sob tore him to the heart and filled him with an absolute need, desperate in its intensity, to comfort her. He needed to help her somehow, needed to act, to do something. Because he couldn’t stand to see his Hermione like this.

His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, holding her in an agony of helpless sympathy, murmuring soft words of comfort, anything that came to his lips. “Sssh, Hermione, sshh. I’m here, Hermione. I’m here. It’ll be alright. I won’t leave you. I’ll help you. I’ll do anything,” he promised softly. And knew he meant it, meant every word with more sincerity than he’d ever said anything before.

He would do anything to help her. He needed to help her and he would, whatever it took.

Because he loved her. And he suddenly knew that Alicia had been right. He hadn’t cared enough for Alicia—how could he when his entire heart and mind were filled with Hermione? He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it before; it seemed to self-evident now.

Her sobs finally quieted enough for her to speak haltingly, and answer his unspoken question of what had brought her to this. He listened quietly, his heart breaking for her.

“It’s my father. He- he’s dying, Harry! Dying!” Her voice broke and he flinched at the raw anguish in her tone.

“He was diagnosed with cancer a week ago and the doctors—they said it was already too late, that they couldn’t do anything for him, because the cancer had spread too much. I- I couldn’t believe it, refused to believe it.” Her breath caught on another sob and she audibly swallowed back more tears. “I’ve been researching cancer in both Muggle medical journals and wizarding healing manuals. I was sure there must be something magic could do, something I could do, to help him, cure him. But there isn’t. I can’t do anything!” Again, the despair in her voice tore at him, cold dismay filling his own soul as he realized he couldn’t help her father either. All his own power, all the force of his love for Hermione, couldn’t fence out this tragedy with all its grim inevitability.

“There’s only a few things magic can do and it’s too late for my dad. But even if it wasn’t, they won’t work because he’s a Muggle and wizarding magic doesn’t work on Muggles because wizards’ bodies are different, which is why they age slower than Muggles do. He’s dying—the doctors give him a couple months to live—and I can’t do anything!” She turned her face into his shirt in a futile attempt to muffle another anguished sob that was wrenched from her throat.

And Harry knew what it meant to despair. He wished desperately that he could do something to save Hermione’s father. If he could save Mr. Granger by sacrificing himself, his magical ability, anything, he would do it to save Hermione from this suffering. But he couldn’t. He could only be here for her, providing any strength, comfort and support she needed—and he would, he vowed to himself. He would. He tightened his arms around her yet again as if by holding her tighter he could really draw her pain into himself.

“I- I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he finally said softly, his heart clenching with sorrow at her distress.

He drew back a little intending to kiss her cheek in a gesture of simple comfort. What happened next was never very clear to him but at the time, it didn’t even occur to him to wonder. It didn’t matter.

He drew back and his lips brushed not her cheek but her lips. And for a moment, his heart stopped.

He had a sudden, fleeting memory of the New Year’s party they’d been at last year, the chaste close-mouthed peck they’d exchanged at the stroke of midnight. That had meant nothing; he’d felt nothing beyond friendly affection. But somehow this brief brush of his lips on hers, hardly enough to be called a kiss, awoke a flare of sudden desire. Tentatively, he brought his lips to hers again, keeping his mouth closed, hesitating, wondering. But then something changed. Her lips softened almost imperceptibly, then parted on a silent sigh—and he was lost. He forgot who was kissing whom; it didn’t matter. They were simply kissing each other, kissing with a passion that swept everything else away.

He felt himself harden, desire going through him like a bolt of lightning. His hands splayed on her back, flattening her body against him, moving restlessly across her back in a desperate need to feel her, touch her.

He felt her hands slip under his shirt to run exploring hands over his chest and he finally broke the kiss with a gasp, needing to feel more of her skin.

Their clothes were an unnecessary, unbearable barrier and he pulled her jumper off over her head then made quick work of her bra, pausing to let her lift his shirt off as well. His mouth returned to hers, his tongue slipping in to tease hers as his hands busied themselves in removing her trousers, taking her knickers with them and lifting his hips allowing her to strip him of his own boxers and sweats, freeing his erection.

He felt her hands clutch at his back as he moved his hands from where he’d been exploring the smooth skin of her back and stomach before finally sliding up to cup her breasts.

She had beautiful breasts, he found himself thinking, with an odd flicker of surprise breaking through his lust-clouded mind. But then he’d never thought of Hermione’s breasts before, not really; he’d known she had them and the part of his mind that was purely male had noted her figure with admiration a few times over the years, half-guiltily since she was his best friend. But beyond that, he’d never considered her breasts before. And he was realizing he’d missed out. Her breasts weren’t overly large but they were lovely and just full enough to be perfect for her body, perfect for his hands.

His hands cupped, caressed, his thumbs brushing across her nipples and he heard her gasp as she arched into his touch. Heard her moan his name, “Harry!”, and felt a flare of sheer masculine satisfaction at the breathless desire in her voice.

His mouth moved down from her lips, down her neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses until he reached his destination and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. She arched even further, and gave another breathless moan.

Her hands, that had slid into his hair then flattened on his shoulders and back, moved to his chest and she brushed her hand teasingly over the male nipple, sending another bolt of white-hot arousal shooting through his body. She moved her hands around to caress his back, then his butt and his thighs. He shivered involuntarily at the touch of her hands, his hips rocking, and he felt her smile against his neck before she pressed a kiss on the spot between his neck and shoulders. He’d never known before what an erotic place that particular spot on his body was. Then again, he reflected fuzzily, he was so turned on right now she could probably touch his ankle with just a finger and he would find that erotic.

He made a sound in his throat and abruptly switched position, rolling with her until she was on her back beneath him.

Rational thought chose that inopportune moment to assert itself, breaking through the haze of his need for her. And he felt a flicker of doubt and wondered for the first time what was happening. Was this only passion or comfort for her or was it something else entirely? Was she ready to go on, taking this final, irrevocable step in changing their relationship—ending their platonic friendship of the last 12 years—forever? He knew he was; his body was screaming that he was beyond ready to continue. But was she?

“Are you--” he began, his voice husky from desire, needing to ask to make sure. Although he was going to die on the spot if she said no…

Her eyes met his, filled with the same lust he felt and some other emotions he couldn’t quite identify—but there was no doubt.

Her answer wasn’t in words; she only brought her mouth to his, kissing him and he felt her certainty in her kiss.

I need this; I want this. I want you. Now, Harry.

Thank God was his last coherent thought, so fervent it was almost a prayer, as he kissed her again, deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth tasting the by-now familiar taste of her as his hands slid down her body to caress first her thighs and then touch the spot between them. The spot that was wet for him. He slipped a finger inside the moist warmth of her and she cried out, making him smile with another flare of masculine triumph.

She was so ready for him. He was so ready for this.

He sheathed himself inside her in one thrust of his hips, his hands returning to her breasts as his lips lowered to take her mouth again.

For a second, he simply rested there, glorying in the feeling of her under him, surrounding him. Dear Merlin but he loved her and she felt so good around him like this… And then he began to move, withdrawing and then plunging in again…

He kissed her, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth in time with his hips, one hand still caressing her breasts while the other slid down to bring her hips in to meet his.

Her hands moved from his butt to clutch at his back, her nails pressing into his skin and then he felt her muscles clench around him as she climaxed and heard her cry out his name, “Harry!” He opened his eyes wanting to see her and the sight of her, her face flushed, her head thrown back, the cords of her neck standing out, her hair spilling over his pillow, combined with the sound of his name in that breathless cry of ecstasy (the most erotic thing he’d ever seen or heard) pushed him over the edge. And he came in a mindless rush, thrusting inside her one last time, her name on his lips. “Hermione!”

His arms gave way as he collapsed on top of her, before rolling on to this side, his arms automatically drawing her closer to him.

They could talk about this later, he thought fuzzily, succumbing to a wave of sleep…

He awoke slowly, the vague consciousness of someone watching him tugging him back into awareness. Awareness that was accompanied by a knowledge of who was lying next to him and why… and the feeling of peace which that knowledge brought.

He opened his eyes and saw her, simply watching him, a mixture of emotions on her face and in her eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

“Hi,” she responded but something in her tone gave him pause. She sounded uncertain, vulnerable, hesitant—as if she was regretting their shared passion.

“Are you-” he began, then paused, looking away, mentally bracing himself for her answer, before meeting her eyes again. “Are you sorry?”

For a moment she looked as if she were going to cry and he held his breath. Then, “No,” she answered in a whisper, and he let his breath out in a silent sigh of relief. “Are you?”

She glanced away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him, in case he said he was sorry—and he felt a surge of tenderness.

“No. No, I’m not,” he answered, keeping his voice soft but with a thread of certainty in it.

And she looked at him again, her gaze searching his eyes.

He hesitated, then heard himself ask, quietly, “Was this only because of your father?” He didn’t know why he was asking, why he suddenly needed to know. It shouldn’t matter; didn’t matter, he tried to assure himself. He loved her and if this had managed to comfort her, ease the agony of her sorrow for even a minute, allowing her to forget, in purely physical pleasure, her own grief—then he could be satisfied. He’d promised himself he would help her however he could—and he would.

And yet he couldn’t help feeling a sick sort of apprehension that this really had only been about her seeking comfort, that it hadn’t meant as much to her as it had to him.

The silence stretched out in a long moment and then she shook her head, slowly. He felt the tension leave him in a rush as she spoke. “No. It was because- because I- I think I love you,” she finished softly, just above a whisper, addressing the sheets rather than him.

He felt happiness well up inside him, filling his heart. The tentativeness of her words didn’t bother him; he knew she wouldn’t have said the words unless she knew they were true.

He used one hand to lift her chin so her eyes met his and she could see his smile. “I think I love you too,” he echoed her words.

She audibly caught her breath. “You do?”

He had to smile, feeling his heart swell with half-amused, half-solemn protectiveness that Hermione, who was usually so confident and was the one to strengthen him, now was the one needing reassurance. “Do you think I sleep with every girl who cries in front of me?” he teased gently.

She choked on a laugh, returning his smile. “No.”

He slipped one hand behind her neck to bring her lips to his, kissing her leisurely, tenderly, the passion of earlier muted.

He loved her and he would stay with her and help her to get through these next few difficult months.

Whatever it takes, I’ll help you, Hermione, he promised her silently.

~~~~

Doug Granger shifted his weight on the sofa, a spasm of discomfort contorting his features for a moment.

Hermione caught her breath in automatic alarm, leaning forward further in her chair. “Dad?”

Doug managed a reassuring smile for his daughter. “I’m fine, Hermione. Could you just get me a cup of water, love?”

“Of course,” Hermione answered immediately, leaving Harry alone with Doug.

Doug met Harry’s serious gaze with an appraising one of his own. “You love Hermione, don’t you, Harry?” he began. It was more a statement than a question.

Harry straightened slightly in his chair. “Very much, sir,” he answered simply, sincerely.

Doug smiled slightly. “Yes, I can see you do. And so I want to ask you to do something for me.”

He paused, a flicker of sadness darkening his eyes, the same eyes Hermione had. “I’m not too worried about Clare,” he said softly, his far-away gaze fixed on the family picture on the mantelpiece. “She’s strong and I know Hermione will take care of her mother.”

He returned his gaze to Harry’s face. “I do worry about Hermione though. She can be so stubborn and she’s so strong-willed she can usually persuade her mother to agree with her. She doesn’t take enough care of herself. Will you promise me to take care of her, or at least make sure she takes care of herself?”

Just then, Hermione returned with a cup of water in her hand, which her father accepted with a grateful smile and a “Thanks, love.”

So Harry only nodded, his gaze holding Mr. Granger’s, the strength of his promise in his eyes.

And Doug Granger nodded in satisfaction, leaning back against the cushions. After a moment, he closed his eyes and both Hermione and Harry stood up.

“We’ll let you rest now, Dad,” Hermione said, trying to sound normal. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Doug opened his eyes briefly. “Yes. See you tomorrow.”

Hermione kissed her father’s forehead gently and Harry took the hand Doug held out to him, gripping it firmly, if gently.

For a moment the two men’s eyes met and held.

Take care of her. I leave my daughter to you.

I will. I promise.

Hermione took a shuddering breath once they were outside of her parents’ house, blinking back the tears. Harry put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him and kissed her hair in silent understanding.

She turned her face into his shoulder, clinging to him for a moment before she straightened, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.

She looked up at him with an attempt at a smile. “Let’s go home, Harry.”

He nodded, tightening his arm around her and closing his eyes, feeling the familiar sensation of Apparition go through him.

Once they were back in his flat, she flattened herself against him, her arms going up around his neck, pulling his head down to hers.

“Make love to me, Harry,” she breathed into his ear, her hands already pulling his shirt out of his trousers.

Her lips clung to his as he kissed her, at first gently then with mounting fervor.

He understood her sudden need for closeness, after the long draining hour spent with her father who, while he always made an effort to appear better, was visibly weakening before their eyes. Harry had begun accompanying Hermione to see her father shortly after their relationship changed and now, after a fortnight of going every day or so, Harry suspected Doug Granger would have worried if he didn’t come and Hermione came alone. Hermione’s moods after these visits varied from simply wanting to be held to throwing herself fiercely into the work she brought home from St. Mungo’s to this, wanting him inside her, fast, some tangible proof, an affirmation of life and love.

And so he kissed her, feeling his automatic reaction to her nearness, her words and more than anything else, her hands, caressing his chest.

She dropped her hand to his trousers and open-palmed began to stroke him and he gasped, his body immediately coming to full attention.

His hands stripped off her shirt, then her bra and then he was cupping, kneading her breasts and she moaned, arching frantically into his touch.

They walked backwards towards his bedroom leaving a trail of clothes behind, still kissing, their hands busy, caressing, stroking.

They were naked by the time they reached his room and landed on his bed through more luck than judgment, preoccupied as they both were.

He slipped one hand down between her thighs to find she was very ready for him and buried himself inside her with one thrust, both of them crying out at the moment of joining.

He had hardly begun to move before she came, her nails digging into his back, her muscles clenching around him.

There was nothing on this earth more arousing and more erotic than the sight of Hermione at her climax, he decided yet again. And God, he loved to see it, loved knowing that he had given her this pleasure, loved knowing he could bring her to ecstasy…

She was still trembling when he followed her over the brink, emptying himself inside her with one last powerful thrust, a sound, half-groan, half-cry ripping from his throat in which her name was barely recognizable.

It was some time before rational thought came back as he lay there, sated, next to Hermione.

He turned his head to look at her as she lay, half-dozing, one hand idly resting on his chest. Her eyes were closed and there was the ghost of a smile on her face, the lines of worry and tension erased for now.

He reached his hand up to lace his fingers with hers as it rested on his chest, remembering the promise he’d made to Doug Granger.

Take care of her.

I will. I promise.

“Hermione,” he began slowly.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Mm?”

His eyes met hers, his mouth opened and he heard himself say, “Marry me.” And felt a rush of emotion, mingled with a growing sense of purpose, at saying those words. He’d been thinking of proposing for a week now and hearing Doug Granger’s words today had only solidified his decision.

Marry me… For the first time in his life, he didn’t doubt himself. Yes, this was what he wanted…

She sat bolt upright, all lingering lethargy vanishing abruptly. “What?” she asked blankly.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his gaze steady as they held her eyes, his hand tightening its grip on hers. “I know this is sudden but I also know this is forever. I love you. I- I want your face to be the last one I see every night and the first one I see every morning for the rest of my life. I want to be your strength, your support, your lover, your partner.” He stopped, his voice husky from the sincerity of his words. “Marry me, please.”

She blinked back tears, smiling shakily at him. “But we’ve only been together for a month now,” she protested feebly.

“I know. But we’ve known each other for 12 years and I’m sure about this.” He hesitated, a pang of fear going through him. “Unless you aren’t…”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sure too.”

He sat up straighter, his gaze still holding hers. “Then, will you marry me, Hermione Jane Granger?”

She threw herself against his chest, smiling up at him. “Yes, Harry James Potter, I will.”

Their eyes met and held as slowly the smiles faded from their expressions as the mood shifted from half-teasing happiness to serious to tender joy at the commitment they had expressed.

He was smiling slightly again when he bent his head and kissed her, feeling his body come to life at the feel of her bare breasts pressed to his chest.

She moved her hand down his chest to stroke him with a teasing smile curving her lips and they sealed the promise they had just made with a lot more than just a kiss.

They were married three weeks later at her parents’ house so her father could witness it, in a simple ceremony, incorporating parts of both the Muggle and wizarding wedding ceremonies. It was a very small wedding with only the Grangers, the Weasleys and Remus, their nearest and dearest, there to witness it.

And as he said the words promising to love and keep Hermione for the rest of their lives, sensing the happiness and approval in Doug Granger’s eyes, Harry knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was right. It was the easiest thing he had ever done, a promise he knew he would keep: promising to love and take care of Hermione through good times and bad, forever…

Take care of her.

I will. I promise…