River's End

MPotter77

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 01/07/2005
Last Updated: 01/07/2005
Status: completed

Set sail on a river called Denial.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

I’m fairly certain that we’re both aware of what’s going on. Whenever we’re together, there are a multitude of glances and loving stares, and neither one of us makes any effort to look away when we’re found out. We both know; it’s inevitable. We’re in love. We just haven’t done anything about it yet.

We get together once a week with Ron and Luna. It’s usually Friday night, and we try to do a variety of activities. Sometimes we’ll go out to a pub or a night club, and other times we’ll just order in and watch movies. I feel weird about it sometimes since Ron and Luna are together, and Hermione and I are still in the pit of denial. We might as well call them dates—we both know that they really are—but on the surface they’re nothing more than Harry and Hermione hanging out with their friends.

This Friday night, we’re at a Muggle night club just outside of London. Ron and Luna have been wrapped up in each other on the dance floor for well over an hour, and Hermione and I are sitting at our table in the corner. As we sit in silence, my mind wanders. I’ve long ago admitted that I’m in love with her, and I can tell by the looks she gives me that she feels the same way. But, we’ve never talked about it. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because we’re both scared to be the first to say anything, or if we just haven’t had the right opportunity. I think it’s about time I make an opportunity for us.

I glance over at her, and I can’t help but smile. She’s leaning back in her chair, her legs crossed at her knees. I’m so used to seeing her in skirts and “business clothes,” but tonight she’s wearing simple blue jeans and a dark blue jumper, and she looks absolutely beautiful. Her hair is as bushy as it’s ever been, but it looks beautiful as well. And the look on her face is classic Hermione; she’s thoughtful. I can only hope those thoughts are about me.

A slow song starts to play over the sound system, and I suddenly feel the urge to have her close to me. I’ve been thinking all evening that it’s time for us to quit kidding ourselves, so I decide to take the initiative. If she says ‘no’, I’ll blame it on the alcohol, even though my mind is as clear as it’s ever been. I look back over at her, and see her staring out onto the dance floor, seemingly deep in thought. I reach out and grasp her hand softly to get her attention, and my heart almost melts when she looks over at me. I can see it in her eyes, and hopefully she can see it in mine, too. Finally, I get the words out. “Would you like to dance?”

She smiles faintly and squeezes my hand. Apparently she has lost the ability to speak, as she simply nods. We’re still holding hands as she follows me out onto the floor. I’m incredibly nervous, but at the same time I can’t help the small smile that crosses my face. This is it. It’s do or die now, Potter.

Once on the floor, I turn and look at her. My heart is in my throat, or maybe it’s in my toes; wherever it is, it’s somewhere other than where it should be. My eyes lock with Hermione’s immediately, and I lose track of how long we stand there just staring into each other’s eyes. I seriously don’t think we would have moved if someone didn’t bump into me from behind, but I’m thankful that it happened. My arms move around her waist, and I can’t help but close my eyes when she wraps her arms around my neck and leans her head onto my chest.

The second song is half over before I realize the first one is over to begin with. I don’t think we’ve even really moved; we’re both just too content in each other’s arms to care. Now that I’m aware of everything going on around us, my mind is racing. Hermione’s jumper is riding up ever so slightly…the waitress is clearing the empty glasses from our table…Ron and Luna are staring at us and probably wondering what the bloody hell is going on…and now Hermione’s hand is brushing against my cheek, and I wonder if it’s by accident. I bring my hand up to cover the one that’s on my cheek, and she looks up at me.

Our eyes now seemed to be locked together. In the recesses of my mind, I recognize that the song has changed once again. This song is slow as well, but it has a feeling to it that is distinctly…sexual; it has a similar effect on me. My hands begin to wander slowly, all without breaking eye contact. We’re transfixed, and I think the world could cease to exist around us and we would never notice. I find it hard to distinguish the beating of my heart from the beat of the song, and my breaths aren’t normal anymore—they’re short pants—caused not only by the closeness of her, but also the way our eyes are boring into the other’s soul.

One of my hands finds Hermione’s face, and my thumb slowly brushes her cheek as our eyes continue to be connected. My hand moves to push a strand of hair behind her ear so I can see her face better, and it keeps moving until I’m moving her hair off her neck. I can’t believe what I’m doing; the moment is finally here. I start to lean my head in closer to hers, and our foreheads meet. I can not only hear but feel her heavy breathing, and I’m sure she can do the same. I want to kiss her so much right now it’s driving me crazy, but I don’t want our first kiss to be a public affair, especially with Ron and Luna gawking at us from just a few feet away. Instead, I whisper in her ear, “Want some fresh air?”

Her eyes close, and she nods in agreement. And while I’m excited about what could happen in the next few minutes, I’m finding it hard to move. I keep telling myself that she’s waiting for me to make the first move, but the fact remains that the same reason I’m excited is the same reason I’m still standing here. It’s also the same reason neither one of us has done anything yet. We’re afraid, and if that’s not a cliché I don’t know what is. But it’s the truth. I don’t want to mess this up; she means way too much to me.

I feel Hermione take my hands in hers, and I finally move from my spot and start to walk us to the door. I get a glance from Ron as we walk by; I wonder what is going through that wanker’s mind right now. He’s probably thinking that we’re going outside to snog. Then again, a part of my mind hopes that snogging is on the agenda somewhere. But I hope he doesn’t figure that out from the look I give him. I hope the look says “we’re going out for a breath of fresh air,” but I know he knows something else is going on. We don’t need to hold hands to find the door, after all.

Once we find the door and get outside, I seem to become myself again…to a certain extent. We stand in front of the night club for a moment, and I look around for somewhere private for us to have some time alone to “get some air.” I find an alley between the night club and the restaurant next door, and I silently point it out to Hermione. She nods, and we walk silently into the alley. It has to be one of the cleanest alleys I’ve ever seen in my life; there’s even a clean-looking bench to sit on.

We sit down next to each other and stare off into space for a minute. This could go two ways; I could just start kissing her, or we could actually talk about what’s going on between us. I think we need to talk about it. We obviously both have some fears about a possible change in our relationship, and it could only help us to talk everything through before we go plunging into whatever lies ahead of us. I turn toward her to speak, and find her looking at me, in the process of speaking as well.

“Harry…” she starts before trailing off. She’s been quiet for most of the night, so I’m anxious to hear what she has to say. I notice she’s fiddling with the hem of the jumper, and I’m strangely relieved that I’m not the only one who’s nervous. I take her hand and look at her intently, and I suddenly forget what I was going to say. Out of frustration, I breathe a heavy sigh and, staring straight ahead, I sit back on the bench.

We sit silent for a moment, and when Hermione lays her hand on my knee, I can’t help but flinch just a bit. Not the reaction I want from her touching me, but we’re taking baby steps here. The thought of taking baby steps for the rest of my life angers me, and I steel myself to fix that problem. I finally look at Hermione; her face gives me the courage I need. I brush a strand of hair out of her face, and let my hand linger on her cheek for just a moment. “What are we doing, Hermione?”

Her face is questioning for a moment, but soon she gets the meaning of my question. “Other than sitting together in an alley, I’m pretty sure we’re doing our best to make ourselves miserable by denying how much we really want to be more than friends.” God, I love her smile. I’m also glad that she is the one who came out and said it; the way she said it wasn’t too shabby either.

“I don’t want to be miserable anymore.” I’m doing a horrible job of keeping eye contact with her; I keep venturing slightly lower to her lips. I’m imagining how great a kisser she must be. Give it time, Potter; you’re getting there.

I try to decipher the look on Hermione’s face, but for the first time in a long time, I can’t. Okay, so maybe I’m not as close to kissing her as I thought. The longer I look at her, the more pained her face becomes. And it’s not a bad pain, either; she almost looks tongue-tied.

I open my mouth to speak when I realize that my hand is still cupping her cheek. I take advantage of this fact and lean in close to her ear to try to reassure her. “I want to be happy, Hermione. I want to be happy with you.” Our positions aren’t lost on me, and I decide to take advantage of my closeness to her by softly kissing the skin behind her earlobe. If I had any doubt of her feelings before, they’re gone when she shivers in reaction to the kiss. I pull back to look at her face, but she lowers her head and once again starts to mess with her jumper.

Now I’m starting to think that I should have just kissed her instead of all this talking crap. I’m horrible with words to begin with, and I’m probably only making matters worse. Hermione seems to have withdrawn within herself, and it’s starting to terrify me. The last thing I want to do is scare her off, but I honestly believe that she feels the same way I do; her reservations are just stronger than mine. “Hermione,” I ask, needing to know the source of her reservations, “will you please talk to me?”

Much to my dismay, she pulls away from me and walks to the other side of the alley. She’s biting her lower lip, just like she does every time she’s either nervous or deep in thought, and I have to keep myself from thinking thoughts that are inappropriate at this time. She turns around, and I finally see clearly the pained expression on her face; it’s a mixture of love, fear, and confusion. “What happened out on the dance floor tonight, Harry? It’s not that I’m unhappy about it, but why tonight?”

I don’t really know how to respond to her questions. I must look like an idiot sitting on the bench looking at her, but I have no idea what to say. When I finally figure it out, it doesn’t really make sense, but it’s better than saying nothing at all. “I honestly don’t know, Hermione.” She looks irritated that I don’t have a better answer, so I get up and walk over to her. I take her hands in mine, and wrap her in a light hug. “We both knew this was going to happen sooner or later; I’ve seen it in your eyes for over a year, and chances are you’ve seen it in mine. I don’t want to hide anything from you, Hermione. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” I see a tear form in her eye, and I’m suddenly afraid that I’ve said the wrong thing. My hand caresses her cheek, and my thumb wipes the tear from her eye.

“I’m scared, Harry.” She’s almost crying full out now, and it’s breaking my heart. Why would she be scared? We’ve been best friends for almost ten years; she should know by now how important she is to me. Maybe it’s time I tell her. I lean forward so our foreheads are touching, and close my eyes.

“There’s absolutely nothing to be scared of, Hermione; you mean too much to me. You’re everything to me.” Our closeness makes it possible for me to whisper this to her, and it seems to only intensify the meaning. For that moment it isn’t Harry and Hermione outside a busy night club in London, but just…us. I move my head so I can look into her eyes, and tell her, finally, how I feel. “I love you, Hermione.” I don’t wait for her reaction, but instead lean in and press my lips to hers. I’m simply testing the waters here, and hoping that she doesn’t push me away and run screaming from the alley.

I soon find out that she has no intention of running. Instead, she’s falling into the kiss just as I am. It starts out very tentative, and then there’s an urgency in both of us that’s been building up for who knows how long. Her hands start to weave through my hair, and I can’t help the sound that rattles in my throat. I let my hands trail down to her shoulders, and they slowly find their way to her waist. The jumper she’s wearing is riding up again, and I take advantage of this fact as her mouth opens under my urging and our kiss deepens.

I’ve been waiting for this my whole life. I never knew I was waiting for it, but everything is clear to me now. She is my purpose in life, not Voldemort or any sodding prophecy, but Hermione. As we continue to kiss in the alley, she’s the one thing on my mind. When I finally pull back and see her beautiful face, I can see the future. Once again, a horrible cliché, but it’s true.

Hermione wants to say something—I can see it in her eyes—but she’s holding back for some reason. I want nothing more than to hear her say she loves me, too, but I also know that I can’t push her into saying it. The longer she stands there and stares at me, the more anxious I get for her to say what’s on her mind. She takes my hand and leads me back over to the bench, keeping our hands intertwined.

“Harry, do you have any idea why I’m scared?”

Of course I know; I’d bet my Firebolt that it’s the same reason I’m scared. But instead of saying that to her, I reply with a simple, “I have an idea.”

She hesitates by messing with that bloody hem on her jumper for a few seconds. When she finally makes eye contact, I can tell she’s been searching for just the right way to say what’s on her mind. “In so many ways, I already feel like we’re together. Right now, we’re on what can only be described as a double date with Ron and Luna. We’re so comfortable with each other, Harry.”

I have to stop her. It sounds like she’s coming up with excuses. “What are you getting at?”

“I-I’m just scared about what happens when the conscious decision is made, and it changes the best relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

And there it is—possibly the biggest cliché of them all. I probably look like someone ran over my puppy right now, but I have an idea. This is Hermione, after all; her mind is always at work. I cup her cheek with my hand and decide how I’m going to say this. “Hermione, do you ever turn this off?” I point to her brain as I ask the question.

She pulls my hand down; she looks slightly offended. Great. “What do you mean by that?”

“Can you just follow me for a moment? Please?” She nods. “I want you to close your eyes, and do your best to clear your mind. In fact, it would be best if you stop thinking completely.” Her eyes fall shut, and she begins to relax, if only slightly. “Now, allow yourself to envision your favorite place to relax—where you are most at peace.” I wait a moment and eventually I see her exhale, and I take it to mean that she’s found ‘her place.’ I gently take her hand and place it on her heart, even as my hand stays on hers. I lean in and whisper to her. “Now, Hermione, tell me what your heart says.”

She doesn’t answer immediately, and I start to think it really is impossible for her to turn off her mind. I only realize how close our heads are and that my eyes are closed when she brings her other hand to my cheek. My eyes open and I see her staring at me, a new look on her face and a tear trickling down her cheek. When she speaks, there isn’t a shred of doubt in her voice. “It says that I’m in love with you, Harry…that I’ve always loved you. And most of all, it says that I’m not losing a best friend, but gaining everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And at those words, I start crying, too. She notices, and lays her head on my chest. We don’t move for a long time; we just hold each other. Now I’m glad that we had this talk, even if it was hard getting to this place.

When one of us finally does move it’s Hermione, and she’s looking at me very curiously. I have to smile, simply because I know she’s deciding how to word a question. “What?” I ask, and she immediately looks down at that damn jumper. This causes me to chuckle, and briefly I realize that the majority of the tension that existed when we entered this alley is gone. What a relief. “Just spit it out, Hermione.”

“How long have you known?”

“That I was in love with you? I—”

“No, that’s not what I meant. You knew that I was in love with you. How long have you known?”

Oh. That’s a really good question, and I’m not sure that I have a good answer. “I don’t know if I can put an exact date on it, Hermione. I knew I was in love with you, and after that, everything between us—the not-so-accidental touches and prolonged stares—well, I just noticed it more. Not to mention, I caught the glare you gave Dean’s sister when we went out a few months ago. That was jealousy. Misdirected jealousy, but jealousy all the same.”

“Well if you would have told me you were just being nice and that you weren’t really interested in her, then there wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“Oh but you see, I didn’t know until then that I needed to make it clear. Notice I haven’t been out on a date since; I was worried you would get the wrong impression. And anyway, you knew by then, too.”

This conversation is starting to go down a dangerous road. In fact, it almost sounds like an argument. Hermione stands up and begins pacing, almost looking mad. And now, I can’t decide if I should wait for her to say something or get up off my arse, go to her, and reassure her, even if I’m not exactly sure what she needs reassured of. I stand up tentatively while she’s facing the other direction; I don’t want her to clam up and get scared again. I initially reach for her hand from behind, but instinctively my hand goes to her waist instead. She stops, her other hand in her hair, and I use this small opening to get as close to her as possible.

From behind her, I take the hand that’s in her hair and bring it to rest in front of her as our hands intertwine. We’re silent, but after a few moments I turn my head slightly and kiss her cheek as soft and slow as I know how. I’ve been using this silence to figure out what to say—because I know I need to say something. When the words finally leave my mouth, they’re almost whispered in her ear. “Listen, I’m sorry. I just…I can’t lose you, Hermione. We both knew and didn’t say anything, right?” She nods slightly and squeezes my hand. “So can we share the blame for this one and call it even?”

She doesn’t answer me right away, but she doesn’t exactly move away from me either, which is encouraging. I don’t want to feel like I’m pressuring her, but I really need to see her eyes. I’ve always been able to read her thoughts just by looking in her eyes, and I know this time is no different. I keep hold of her hand as I walk around to face her, her eyes dart to the ground. I don’t want to let go of her hands, so instead I bend my knees so I can make eye contact and get her to look me in the eye. And she’s smiling. That little witch is smiling. It’s the brightest smile I’ve ever seen on my Hermione’s face. When did I start calling her my Hermione? Oh hell, she’s always been my Hermione.

Our laughter at her little joke gradually dies down and is replaced with the same electricity from earlier on the dance floor. Subconsciously I’m walking her up against the wall of the night club, but I’m too busy staring at her to notice until we can’t go any further. We’re still staring into each other’s eyes, and I want so bad to kiss her right now. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, and lean in and gently kiss her. It starts out slow, but quickly becomes heated and full of desire. She’s going to be the death of me, but at least I’ll die a happy man. And that’s her tongue—shit, I’m dead.

My lips leave hers and travel down her neck. Her breaths are coming out as short pants, and when I graze one particular place behind her ear, I hear, “Oh God, Harry…I love you.”

I immediately stop what I’m doing and look at her. She looks a little upset with me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says simply but with a smile on her face. “I love you.”

I want to ask the question, but for some reason I’m still apprehensive. “So, does this mean…you’ve gotten over your fears?” My heart’s hammering in my chest while I wait for an answer from Hermione. It feels like I’ve been waiting for minutes—even hours—when in reality it’s only been a few seconds. She smiles that smile again and nods heartily. “Do I have to take you on dates now?”

“Harry, we’re on a date right now. And speaking of which, we better get back inside or Ron and Luna will start a search party to find where we’ve run off to.”

She’s right. Big surprise. “So when we go back inside, do I get another dance with my girl?” My girl?

“Of course.”

“And while we’re dancing, if I wanted to kiss my girl, would that be okay, too?”

“I would hope so.”

I give Hermione a quick kiss, and our hands intertwine as we leave the alley and find our way back into the night club. This is much different from when we were leaving earlier; our hands were clasped, and I was practically pulling Hermione behind me as I walked to the door. Now, we walk side by side. We start to walk to our table but the DJ starts playing another slow song and a look is all it takes for us to be out on that dance floor again. The only difference is, this time everything between us is out in the open. We’re together—I know it, she knows it, and pretty soon I’m sure every person in this club will know it.

When we reach the dance floor Hermione’s arms immediately go around my neck and my hands find her waist and that wonderful jumper of hers. Our eyes meet and on my face is a smile that I’m sure reaches from ear to ear. And Hermione looks just as happy, and that makes me happy. I can’t take my eyes off her, and really our “dancing” is more like standing really close to each other on the dance floor; there’s no moving involved.

I start to walk with Hermione back to our table after the song is over when I catch Ron blatantly staring at me. Once he knows he’s caught my attention, I see him look down to where I’m holding Hermione’s hand. I think she sees the look he’s giving me because she pulls me close and whispers in my ear, “I’m going to use the loo.” And then she’s off and I’m left to answer the barrage of questions that Ron undoubtedly has about me and Hermione. But I have to laugh because Luna gets up from the table to head for the loo as well. Good, at least I won’t be the only one being interrogated.

He doesn’t waste any time when I get to our table. “Do you ever plan on telling me what the bloody hell is going on, Harry?”

My first instinct is to immediately tell him exactly what the bloody hell is going on, but I’d rather mess with him. “Pipe down, Ron. I don’t think the drag queen in the back corner heard you.” We sit down at the table, and he continues to give me a glare I honestly have never seen from him. “What do you think is going on?”

Now this look I know. He’s giving me the same look he has when he’s about to beat me at chess; it’s a look I see often. I think I’ll just sit back and see how much he has figured out.

“Hell, Harry. I didn’t think anything of it when you and Hermione went out on the dance floor earlier, but you weren’t dancing! I saw hands roaming, Potter, and that’s not the kind of thing you do with someone who’s just your best friend. And then the two of you walk out of the club—holding hands—and when you came back something obviously had changed between you. Mind filling in the blanks for me?”

I’m having so much fun with him; I can’t help the next words that come out of my mouth. “You sure you want me to fill in all those blanks?” The look on his face is classic; I wish I had a picture.

“Dammit, Harry. Would you just tell me what’s going on?”

I suppose I’ve held out on him long enough. And I suppose he’s already figured it out, but he wants to hear it from me. “You’re right. Our relationship has changed.” I’m smiling as I tell him, and he probably thinks I’m joking with him. But I’m not. Quite the opposite, actually.

He really looks like he’s trying to comprehend what I just told him, as well as figure out if I’m pulling his chain. His words are coming out at a snail’s pace. “You mean…you….Hermione…”

“Yes. Me and Hermione.”

“When did this happen?”

“Officially, about 15 minutes ago.” I stop for a moment and notice the change that has come over Ron’s face. I really think he thought I was joking.

The disbelief drains from him face quickly, and becomes serious. “You’re not…you know, just messing around with her, are you?”

For a second, I wonder what he would say if I told him that’s all it is. I stop myself from laughing at the thought and regain my composure. “No, not at all. I love her.” I’m completely serious when I say this, and I hope he doesn’t think I’m joking. I take a drink of my butterbeer, but keep my eyes trained on his face. It looks like he’s processing the information, which is a good sign. He’s nodding slowly and looks very contemplative.

It’s at this moment that Luna and Hermione return from the ladies’ room. Hermione comes up and stands behind my chair and runs her arms down my chest. She turns her head and kisses my cheek as my hands join with hers right below my heart. I see her glance around the table, her eyes finding Ron’s, and asking, “Everything okay here, boys?”

Luna’s arm goes around Ron’s waist, and he appears to come out of the trance he was in from the time I told him I was in love with Hermione just a minute ago. He simply nods ‘yes.’ Just like everything else tonight, this little act of asking Ron’s blessing wasn’t planned. I’m sure Hermione and I will have the discussion in the very near future about why we felt it so important to make sure he was okay with us. Right now, the reason comes in a distant second to the fact that we know each other well enough to know the other was concerned about how he would take the news.

The rest of our evening at the club feels different from all the other nights we have been out with Ron and Luna. When Ron moved in with Luna a couple of months ago, it left me and Hermione alone in the house the three of us moved into after we finished at Hogwarts. And if we thought there was tension before, it’s doubled—if not tripled—tonight. When we walk in the back door and into the kitchen, it’s the first time we’ve been really alone since we were in the alley earlier. It’s after two in the morning, and a small part of my brain reminds me that Hermione is supposed to meet her mum for brunch in less that eight hours. The other part, however, decides to pin her against the refrigerator and snog her senseless.

This is what I’ve been waiting for since we left the alley earlier. Our kisses in the club weren’t chaste, but they weren’t like this. We’re spinning out of control quickly, and that swirling motion she’s making with her tongue and her hands running through my hair aren’t helping matters much. Our bodies are getting closer together, and her hands are starting to move lower as we do so. Oh, shit. I desperately need to breathe so I pull away, only to get a questioning look from Hermione.

As much as I want her right now, my mind goes back to our conversation earlier in the alley. She was afraid of the change in our relationship. And if we continue down the path we’re on right now, there will certainly be a huge change.

Hermione slowly opens her eyes, and rests a hand on my cheek. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

I avert my eyes toward the floor, and sputter out the first thing that comes to mind. “Oh, I just remembered that you’re supposed to meet your mum tomorrow, and I would hate for you to be tired.” I look at her briefly in the darkness of the kitchen and know immediately that my excuse didn’t fly with her. “You’ve got me,” I confess, and her expression softens. I take a deep breath, take hold of her arms, and look her directly in the eye. “I don’t want you to regret anything, Hermione, and as much as I would like to make love with you, I also know how you feel about our relationship changing.” I have to steel myself to say my next words. “I think we should ease into it for now.”

Silence. I was expecting more of a reaction, I guess. She’s contemplative—at least I think that’s what it is—for a few minutes, then she returns to my arms and kisses me. I mean, really kisses me. And while I try to keep my attention on her, I can’t decide if this is a ‘thank you’ kiss or a ‘take me to bed’ kiss. She pulls away and caresses my cheek. “You’re the best, Harry. I love you.”

And with those words, she retreats down the hallway to her bedroom while I stand in the kitchen. When she reaches her door, she stops, smiles, and repeats her words from just a minute ago. Without moving, I answer her and watch her enter her bedroom and the door close behind her. It’s a weird end to the evening, but at the same time it’s good to know that we no longer have to live in denial.