Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
AN2: I will be out of town this week, and this chapter is a little short, so I've uploaded a two-fer. Hope this tides you over. I would love to get back and see many reviews!!
Oh and none of these people are mine…
What Might Have Been
Chapter Three
Harry stood in the middle of the battle-scarred Great Hall, tapestries aflame, and great gouges in the heavy stone. Smoke filtered through the air like fine mist. The Death Eaters had the opposition backed into a wall. Harry saw their eyes, clear and unafraid, but knowing what was to come. He saw Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Lupin, Dumbledore, the other members of the Order and Hogwart's staff.
Hermione's gaze was dark and troubled, and she stared at him, with something like accusation. The Death Eaters had lined up before them, wands at the ready, and Harry trembled at what was to come. He clutched his wand, wondering why he still had it, and then realizing, with sickening nausea, that he couldn't save them. He would save one - who? - and then another Death Eater would stun him, and save him for Voldemort. Then, the one he'd saved would die anyway. When he saw the sneers of cruel laughter on the Death Eaters' faces, he knew he was right.
With muttered curses and flashes of light, one by one they fell. He saw them topple over each other like discarded dolls, and felt as if the agony would rip him into pieces. Ron was dead. Hermione was dead. He heard someone screaming, a raw primal scream full of pain and rage and despair. He realized that the scream was being ripped from his own soul.
"Now," said a voice, brimming with malicious satisfaction. Harry turned slowly to see the Dark Lord standing nearby. "Now it is your turn to die."
Harry felt his wand drop from limp fingers, and clatter noisily to the floor. What was the point? He had failed. They were all dead.
Burning pain scorched through him like acid flames. His body thrashed convulsively, but there was no escape…
There was no escape.
"Harry! Harry! Harry, wake up," Hermione called him urgently, as he struggled into consciousness, writhing about, tangled in twisted bedsheets.
He looked around frantically, his eyes glassy, until they finally rested on her. His troubled countenance cleared, and he crushed her to him in a tight embrace.
"You're all right," he said, his voice partially muffled by her fluffy hair, disheveled from sleep.
"Of course I'm all right," Hermione tried to say lightly, but concern for him laced her tone.
"I - I had - I was dreaming. Of - of then," Harry ran one hand shakily through his tousled hair. She threaded her fingers through his, and leaned on his shoulder comfortingly. "Only - only Voldemort - he won. And I had to watch everyone die. He killed everyone…he killed you. And then, what did it matter whether I lived or died?" He was staring at her, staring through her, seeing a painful scenario that had never happened, seared on an already tortured soul.
"Harry, Voldemort is gone. You won. Everybody didn't die." Hermione said matter-of-factly, kissing him lightly on the lips.
Harry felt the effects of the dream slowly loosening their hold, and he seized on something else she had said.
"You did it again," he pointed out. "Said that I won…when you and Ron were standing right up there beside me. Everyone keeps treating me like I'm the sole conquering hero."
"Ron and I are certainly not lacking in the hero-treatment department, don't worry about that," Hermione said with a small laugh. "Besides, you might have been able to defeat Voldemort without us, but we certainly couldn't have done it without you. You're still the Boy Who Lived, and no one begrudges you that, least of all me or Ron."
"Speaking of Ron…" Harry began hesitantly.
"What about him?" Hermione said, in a slightly higher pitched voice.
"We haven't told him."
"About what?" she asked faintly.
"About us?"
"Us?" she squeaked. Harry was starting to get annoyed. "We haven't told anyone," she countered quickly. Harry eyed her suspiciously.
"You don't want to tell him," he observed, watching her reaction.
"Maybe I don't," she said defensively, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"Why?" Harry asked, although he had not been too keen on telling Ron himself. He was worried about what it would do to their friendship dynamic.
"What if he feels left out, or betrayed, or something?" Hermione suggested, her brows knitting together in anxiety.
"Betrayed?" Harry was incredulous. "Why would he feel betrayed?" The color rose up in Hermione's cheeks. Harry's eyes narrowed. "What are you not telling me?"
"Ron asked me out over the summer holiday," Hermione said, faintly, not looking at him. "I turned him down."
"What?" Harry exclaimed. "That's an important piece of information that you conveniently neglected to tell me, Hermione!"
"Why?" she asked, in a little-girl voice.
"Why?!" Harry echoed. "Do you know how this looks? Do you know what he'll think?"
"But we never -" Hermione began, but Harry interrupted her.
"Doesn't matter. He'll still see me as a bloke who moved in on a girl he fancied. He'll hate me. How could you not have told me?"
"Okay, okay, you're right," Hermione said, and she spoke in that voice that she used, when her mind was racing. "We'll tell him together, tomorrow. And I'll explain that you didn't know about his asking me out."
Harry looked like he didn't believe it would work, but appeared slightly mollified. "All right, then," he conceded, after a moment of thought. She smiled, and he watched her shoulders relaxed a little.
"I'm sorry," Hermione offered tentatively. "I should have told you what Ron did. I should have told Ron why I said no."
"Why did you say no?" Harry asked.
"Because I… I fancied someone else," her voice was very low.
"Really?" Harry arched his brows in surprise, and leaned closer to her. "Do I know him?" A pink flush slowly stained Hermione's cheeks.
"Maybe," she said slowly. She was unused to flirting, and it made her voice low and unsure, quite unlike the strident tone of confidence she normally used.
"Should I be jealous?" Harry whispered, almost breathing into her mouth. Hermione felt a tingly warmth all over, as her insides melted.
"Unh - " Hermione made a noise in the negative, and started to shake her head, when his mouth closed over hers. It was like the kiss in his bedroom that afternoon, heady and passionate and full of abandon. He pulled her closer against him, and then checked his movement suddenly, when he realized that she was in a short nightgown and in his bed. Harry pulled away from her, and she looked at him, a question in her eyes.
"Hermione," Harry gasped with difficulty. "You should go back to your room." A flash of hurt appeared in her eyes.
"Whatever you want, Harry," she said evenly, and started to get up. He reached out and caught her arm, with a quick movement.
"What I want," he said, hoarsely, opting for frankness, "is to … well, to do ungodly things to you, and … and howl at the moon, or something." Hermione put one hand over her mouth, and a laugh burbled between her fingers. He shot her an annoyed look, but belied that with a gentle touch, running his hands up and down her bare arms. "I'm not teasing, Hermione. You need - you need - " His gaze ran up and down over her silhouette, just barely visible beneath her pale yellow gown. "Merlin, Hermione, I'm trying to be a gentleman." He ran one hand shakily through his hair.
The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up in a smile.
"I suppose it is all a little fast," she conceded. "Thanks, Harry."
"Don't mention it," he croaked, looking like he desperately wished she would change her mind.
She brushed a light kiss across his mouth, that still somehow managed to crackle with energy, and then, like a golden wraith from his imagination, she was gone.
TBC
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