Us

lonelywriter

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/04/2005
Last Updated: 20/04/2005
Status: completed

Sweet nothings, late in the evening...

Chapters

1. Us

1. Us

Just one more step….

Harry Potter wiped the sweat off his brow for what seemed like the millionth time as he forced himself to stay upright.

At least until after he had stepped into the confines of his cosy home..

The thought brought an unwilling smile to his face, almost as a rebellion to his current grumpy mood and he tried to quicken his pace while mentally realising that it was futile to do so.

Come on Harry, you can do it. One step after another, that’s it…

He snorted quietly. He had defeated Voldemort and was an acknowledged rival of Dumbeldore himself in sheer magical prowess (although he still vehemently protested the latter laurel) and here he was trying not to trip over his own two feet which seemed determined to let him collapse painfully. Much worse, he couldn’t even risk apparating – it was a definite possibility that he’d splinch himself. Of course, his sheer magical ability meant that he could apparate more easily and with lesser effort than his peers (a fact which they tirelessly and often grumpily reminded him of), but he was just simply too tired to even see beyond his nose at this point, much less focus his mind even if it was for a fraction of an instant.

He gritted his teeth again but sighed thankfully as the driveway and fence-like wall of his house became visible. Trudging up to the door, he leaned against the house and channelled all his energy into a firm push against the doorbell.

And waited. And waited. And waited.

When there still wasn’t any reply, anxiety warred with his present mood and he was torn between banging rudely and finding out if there was anything wrong with his family. He shook his head, patted his pockets for his copy of the house key and unlocked the door.

Stepping inside, he toed off his muddy and wet shoes and socks and muttered a quick cleaning charm on himself. While it didn’t completely make him springtime fresh and shining bright, he was at least somewhat presentable and his shoes didn’t nearly stink as much.

Harry moved down the corridor and came into the living room. Yet again, an unwilling smile nudged at his grouchiness and crept over his face at the sheer domesticity of the scene. The fireplace was crackling away cheerfully and the flames seemed to have enveloped the room in their warmth. Plush armchairs called out to him and he noticed with another sigh - albeit an affectionate and indulgent one this time - that the children hadn’t put away their things yet – toys, dolls, books, stationery were haphazardly adorning every corner of their capacious living room. .

‘Harry! You’re home!’

He halted his path to the armchairs and turned around with a grin as Hermione stood at the archway between their living and the dining room. She was wiping her hands on the dishcloth which had one end tucked into a pocket on her apron. Not for the first time, he marvelled at finally being given the opportunity to lead a normal life for sorts and at actually having a family of his own. And with Hermione Granger, no less. If somebody had told him that even in their fifth year, he would have conked them on the head. It was only in the final year of their time at Hogwarts did Harry even begin to entertain the idea of himself with Hermione and wonder what that would be like. Her smile made him feel a hundred times better – her happiness at seeing him gave him a feeling of peace and he smiled back wearily.

Hermione’s cheerful countenance instantly morphed into worry and she rushed over, placing a hand on his forehead. ‘Are you alright, darling? You look so tired. How was work today?’

Harry wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes, drinking in the soft touch of her cool hand on his flushed forehead and exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. He involuntarily swayed and vaguely registered Hermione leading him over to the chaise that they had put by the huge French windows that looked out over the hills in the faraway distance. He sank down thankfully onto the cushions and murmured in protest as he felt her remove her arms from around him.

‘Hush dear…’ she remonstrated gently. ‘I’m right here. Let’s get you properly comfortable first. Come on now, move a bit, that’s it…’ She bustled about efficiently disposing of cushions and a well-worn but beloved afghan around Harry’s person and looked him over again, biting her lower lip in increasing worry. He was so pale and looked so drained. She made up her mind that at the first possible opportunity, she would enforce a vacation on him.

Even as she decided, she knew it was useless. Harry would never consent to go gallivanting off on a vacation completely alone. Even without the kids, he would still want them to go as a couple. And truth be told, she would also be completely consumed with anxiety if she dispatched him off like that. But still, she thought, running a soothing hand over his sweaty brow, time off was a topic they seriously needed to discuss.

Harry moaned in gratitude as her fingers began easing the day’s tension from his temples. Her fingers worked quickly but steadily and within minutes, Harry felt the pounding in his head become duller and ebb away gradually. He opened his eyes with some effort to find his head in her lap, her arms wrapped lovingly around his upper body or as much of it as she could reach and stretched out in the warmth of a familiar afghan on their chaise. Although her eyes twinkled down at him, a close familiarity brought about by ten years of friendship and twelve years of marriage told him that something was wrong.

‘Hermione?’ he questioned, making her smile at him. He reached a hand up to stroke her cheek and grinned as she leaned into his touch. Oh God. They really needed to spend more time with each, she mused. She suddenly opened her eyes and murmured holding his stare, ‘I miss you, Harry. I miss us.’ Harry sighed deeply and nodded tiredly. ‘I know, love.’ Then after a minute, he stared at her thoughtfully with the merest ghost of a grin on his face, ‘It has been rather a while, hasn’t it?’ The grin morphed into a wicked smile and it only continued growing as he observed his wife’s furious blush. Somehow, he still had the ability to make her blush as instantly and deeply as he could throughout the three years of their courtship and even after all these years of marriage.

For all that she had had a stable family upbringing and he had not, Hermione was still very much shy when it came to matters of her own intimate life and physical life. Harry discovered that he had always been more confident in himself and his body than she had which came as nothing short of a monumental shock to him, especially given her normal self-assured manner and the way in which she so immediately took the lead in even discussing his sorry state of affairs regarding Cho Chang all those years ago at Hogwarts. Harry could certainly never imagine that Hermione being so shy about her body or physical intimacy. He did expect a certain degree of nervousness given that when they consummated their marriage, it had been a first for both of them, but Hermione had been positively trembling on their wedding night and he had known her long enough to realise that it wasn’t him she was afraid of but the baggage of insecurities regarding her looks that she had secretly always carried with her even before coming to Hogwarts. He frowned as he recalled that for some reason very elusive to him, she had always thought of herself as unworthy of Harry’s love because she supposedly wasn’t his equal in wealth, fame and heritage. Quite a few newspapers had taken a nasty glee in pointing out that The Boy Who Lived had ‘settled’ for a Muggle-born witch who didn’t even have the looks or the Gringotts account to match. Harry couldn’t count the number of times he’d had to reassure Hermione over the years that he loved her, wanted her and would definitely not be better off without her.

It was on the eve of his final battle with Voldemort that he knew - he simply couldn’t fathom coming back to a world without Hermione in it. Throughout their seventh year, they had become quite close. With the prophecy and the war hanging like twin albatrosses around his neck, Harry had relegated matters of the opposite sex to the bottom of his priority list. Hermione and Ron had attempted dating in the first term of their sixth year, if their one and only date could be called that – and had come to the conclusion that they were better off they way they were. Harry sincerely hadn’t been bothered at the time and had even been happy for them, hoping that being with each other would distance them from him and thus keep them safe from Voldemort’s death list or at least lower their ranking on it a few notches. But it hadn’t worked for them and anyway, the trio itself wasn’t just a trio any longer.

Neville, Ginny and Luna had begun to get more involved with them although the use of the Marauders Map and the Invisibility Cloak had only been given to Ron and Hermione and more recently Luna. As they began to know her more, Harry in particular found himself drawn to the girl who also understood parental loss and took her under his wing as a little sister. She made no secret of the fact that she liked Ron and they all admired her greatly for being so gracious when Ron and Hermione had made their singular dating attempt. Hermione respected her maturity and felt awful imaging the agony Luna would have endured but then it was only one date and towards the end of their sixth year, Ron and Luna had become firm friends. It led to them becoming an ‘item’ over the summer and returning on the Hogwarts Express for their final year presented Hogwarts with the news of Ron having officially asked Luna to be his girlfriend. Considering that Ron now divided his time between studies, Quidditch captaincy, Luna and the training for the war, Harry had become closer to Hermione. They resumed their walks around the lake and Harry was slowly beginning to see that there was a lot more to his female best friend that he had imagined. Exactly what was his female partner in crime hiding under that genius brain of hers?

For the first time they really talked.

Not just about homework but about themselves. They exchanged dreams, hopes for the future, strategies for the war and Voldemort and soon enough found themselves confiding their insecurities. Their friendship became so firm that it seemed perfectly natural to ask Hermione to the Yule Ball that year (an idea for morale boosting from Dumbledore). Besides, he didn’t have any romantic interests and to the best of his knowledge, she didn’t either.

It was then that he received the first of his many epiphanies.

Hermione, he learnt upon asking her, had already been asked to the ball by one Terry Boot. Apparently Terry had been wanting to ask her out ever since the DA meetings in fifth year wherein he had become singularly impressed by her intelligence (she blushed furiously as she mumbled that), but hadn’t mustered the courage to do so. Harry felt a bludger lodge in his throat.

And registered a new feeling for the first time where Hermione was concerned. Jealousy. It coiled around his very soul, creeping into his heart and he felt like he could have cheerfully handed Mr Boot over to a whole truckload of Dementors. Harry was feeling supremely uncomfortable. Was this how Ron had felt when he had seen her with Viktor Krum in their fourth year?

And then he had a second epiphany. Dear Merlin! He wasn’t feeling what Ron felt, was he? He couldn’t possibly have a…a….a crush on Hermione????!?!?!?!?!?

Harry shook his head vigorously to clear himself of the thought and wondered why the thought of her going on someone else’s arm to the Ball was causing such unpleasantness to him. And why was he getting angry thinking of her dancing with some other bloke? Surely they were just friends and it wasn’t as if Hermione was going to be with him forever, she would fall in love and have her own life…

And therein came a third epiphany, trotting serenely into the annals of his mind. What in the world would he do without her? What would he do if she wouldn’t be waiting for him when he got back? For the last few times, Hermione had been constantly taking care of him. Harry had never consciously realised it, but he had felt wonderful to know that there was someone waiting to soothe his worn mind with gentle hugs, dress his wounds affectionately and look after him. And he was…

‘Hey, there. You ok?’, Hermione smiled down tenderly at him.

Harry grinned back and closed his eyes, reaching out for her hand and entwining the fingers with his. Ah, well…all’s well that ends well. Hermione hadn’t accepted Terry’s offer, had gone to the ball with Harry after all, at the end of which he had somehow managed to kiss her and then share mutual joy and warmth at the confessions of love that spewed forth from both.

He brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. He caught his wife’s blush from the corner of her eyes, and his heart raced on knowing he could still unnerve her after all these years.

‘The house seems rather quiet today,’ he raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Where are the little demons anyway?’

‘Harry!’ she smacked his shoulder in a mild reproach and then rolled her eyes as he unrepentantly stuck a tongue out at her in response. ‘They’re upstairs…Hugh’s reading to them..’ she gave a wide smile and Harry sat up so fast the blood shot to his head.

‘He’s reading ?? To them?? When he’s on vacation?’ Harry let out an incredulous snort and lay back down. ‘What, did the Longbottoms get too boring for him, then?’ And as another evil grin crept across his face, ‘Is Alice not interesting enough?’

Hermione rolled her eyes, ‘For heaven’s sake Harry! Alice Longbottom is all of 11 years old, and so is our son. There is nothing remotely fishy going on between them at all.’

‘Oh sure, love, you keep telling yourself that…’

‘Harry,’ she said warningly, although there was a reluctant tinge of mirth colouring her tone, ‘Now look here, don’t you and Ron go and…’

But what she was going to admonish him and their best friend about, Harry never knew because a loud whoop of glee shattered the peaceful quiet of the living room.

‘Dad’s home!’

‘Ooof!’

Hermione extricated herself in the nick of time as four children catapulted their bodies directly upon the prone figure of their father. The youngest, three year old Hannah waddled over to the couch and then stopped as if to apparently assess the consequences of attempting to get into the wild tangle of arms and legs underneath which a masculine voice was currently inching towards a distinctly feministic squeal, ‘Hermione! Help me, for Heaven’s sake…they’re killing me!’

Nine year old Hailey Jane Potter paused in the commencement of another attack on her father’s ribs, looked up to level a stern gaze at her mother and sniffed, ‘You help Dad, you get attacked too.’

Hermione heaved a sigh, ‘Sorry, darling’ and then clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her chuckles as she saw the sudden movement of her husband underneath their children. He lifted himself in a fluid and seamless gesture, upending the kids chaotically all over the couch. Hermione leapt in to salvage Hannah innocently still standing by the chaise and alarmingly in the direct path of a flailing arm or leg and then blinked back tears as her eyes met Harry’s over the four heads that were now tucked under his neck from side to side like a human necklace of love. His arms were wrapped around two children each and Hermione knew what he was thinking when he smiled like that.

Like how grateful he was to have survived the war and those terrible injuries after.

Like how much he loved his family and adored all five of his children.

Like how much he loved her and how he would plan to have his way with her…

Erm…yes, quite, and he was smiling like that now.

The smouldering gaze was broken by a loud wail from Hannah who almost tumbled headlong to the floor in a desperate attempt to wriggle amidst her siblings. Hermione laughed softly as she came over and gently deposited the toddler in her father’s arms, while accepting hugs from the rest – Hannah seemed to be extremely possessive of Harry and was quite jealous if any of her other siblings encroached upon what she considered her Daddy. It was harmless and misguided and Hermione knew that she would eventually grow out of it.

For his part, Harry too seemed to have a special regard for their youngest – oh she knew that he loved all their children and would willingly give no less than his life for any of them – possibly because of the battle she had fought to stay with the living upon her arrival into the world.

‘Daddy?’

‘Hmm?’ Harry placed another kiss on the top of Hannah’s brown curls and turned to look at Hazel, Hailey’s twin, ‘What is it, sweets?’

‘Would you read to us tonight please, you haven’t for so long…’ the small voice trailed off uncertainly and Harry felt guilt course through him as he realised that he had lately been so exhausted due to work that he had completely neglected his nightly bedtime routines with the children. He and Hermione made it a point to jointly read to them, tuck them in and talk before retiring to bed themselves but the past week at Auror HQ had been nothing short of utter hell. Granted that he wasn’t doing field work anymore, but between handling the duties of his new promotion as deputy director of the academy as well as training new recruits, he was all but able to concentrate enough to carry out the most basic of walks home.

He closed his eyes briefly to compose himself and then opened them, training his gaze on his daughter, ‘I’m very sorry, sweets. Why don’t you all go on up to bed soon and I’ll be right by with Mum…Hugh, would you take Hannah?’

His firstborn grinned as he already motioned towards his arm, where his hand was firmly clasped around his little sister’s, ‘Already done, Dad. Come on you lot, go on up first.’

They scattered in a excited flurry of chuckles and whispers with Hugh following behind more sedately making sure that Hannah was alright as she toddled along placidly beside him. Harry smiled in pride at his son’s care for his younger sister and wrapped an arm around his wife as she leaned in to him, ‘You’ve done a great job with them, Harry. Don’t ever doubt yourself, ok?’

He brushed a kiss across her forehead and simply grinned. He then kissed her cheeks and moved to whisper softly against her ear, noticing the shiver she gave with the utmost satisfaction, ‘first we read to them and tuck them away and then its time for you and me to get to bed, Mrs Potter.’

‘But…uh…oh…your dinner…aren’t you…oh…hungry?’

‘Mmmhmm….it can wait, want you first.’

‘DADDY!’

‘Yes, yes we’re coming.’ Hermione shook her head and then playfully pushed Harry away, linking an arm through, ‘Come on Don Juan, your faithful fan club awaits upstairs.’