Where These Dreams Go

midnight pain

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 27/11/2005
Last Updated: 27/11/2005
Status: completed

Three years is thirty-six months. Thirty-six months, 2 weeks, and a day had passed, and he is still trying to convince himself that he isn’t really counting.

Chapters

1. Where These Dreams Go

1. Where These Dreams Go

Where These Dreams Go

I

Three years is thirty-six months. Thirty-six months, 2 weeks, and a day had passed, and he is still trying to convince himself that he isn't really counting. He often thinks of the way it should have been, the three of them and the lives they should have lead together, and now they are anything but - they had gone their separate ways changing everything they once knew, and subsequently changing each other. Separation was never something he thought would concern them, and it hurts more than he thought losing friends would, but they were more than that, weren't they? What hurts most is remembering the way things used to be, their closeness, their laughter, and sometimes his heart just hurts because he misses them and he just wants things to be as they once were.

(he thought of visiting more times than he could count but it never seemed the timing was right, because how could he get back what they had when he wasn't sure what made them fall apart?)

Something is different this time. He's alone, and it's what he hates most in life. He needs them, and he's tired of this distance. It's painful and it's unnecessary; it's a part of life to resolve differences and he wasn't going to just let them abandon everything. It's too important for that, it meant and still means too much. A silly break-up shouldn't have been enough to rip them at the seams.

(part of him blames them and the least they could do was put it behind them for his sake after all he went through for and with them because the loneliness was painful and the emptiness of everything without them was too whole)

He wants a reconciliation. Three years of wasted time had already gone by, and he decided he was going to fight for their friendship before it was too late, if it wasn't too late already. Because without them there didn't seem to be much meaning in anything. This time there is no room for hesitation. It hurts too much to walk by Flourish and Blott's and think of Hermione and wonder if when she saw a Firebolt if she thought of him, too. It hurts too much to walk by the Quidditch supplies store and think of Ron when he saw anything with the Chudley Cannon's, and wonder if when Ron went to a Quidditch game if he thought of him, too. He just couldn't do that anymore. They weren't meant to live their lives apart this way.

(and not when he feels this way about her, when he always felt this way about her; he couldn't just let her go for good and never try)

After scribbling hastily on a piece of parchment, he sends a letter off to Ron, knowing well enough that his invitation would be accepted. Ron couldn't want to be apart like this, not really. For his own peace of mind, Harry has to think that it's tearing him apart too.

(if they were best friends how could it not kill him like it killed Harry every day?)

A phone call to Hermione. It isn't as easy as he had hoped, and it hurts to have to persuade her when he remembers a time that wanting to spend time with each other was as normal to them as breathing.

(because Harry I can't just drop everything she says)

But he needs her to, just this once, because they were reaching a point of no return; they were reaching the point where what was left of the friendship that should never have ended was falling even further from their grasps.

(Please Hermione he begs)

He just wants to see her. He just wants to talk to her like they used to. He just wants the three of them to sit down by the fire like they used to in the common room, and just pretend for a moment that nothing could ever have torn them apart like this, pretend like they hadn't really lost track of where all their dreams had gone. He just wants to fix this, whatever went wrong, he only wants to fix it, and he wants her to understand.

(her voice is soft over the telephone when she says you can't always be the hero Harry)

And the truth is that he isn't trying to be a hero, he never wanted to be anyone's hero, except for maybe hers now and then. He only wants his friends back, because all they had been through together had to mean more than this. After everything, it shouldn't be this way, not for them.

(and she says alright and he can't explain the relief he feels almost to the point of tears)

But things have changed and he knows this, and she knows this, and it's just something they can't overlook. Their relationships to each other had changed; whether or not that change was irrevocable none of them were sure.

(he says but it's still you Hermione and that's all that matters)

The sadness in her voice is foreign to him, foreign to the Hermione that he knows (or knew). And it's that unfamiliar sadness in her voice that makes him less excited than he should be, and simply more apprehensive. Hearing the sound of Hermione's voice is better than anything he could even try to compare it to, but he is beginning to wonder if he's making a mistake and pushing too hard.

(and he won't allow himself to accept that it's a mistake because he needs to see her and needs to see Ron because what did he have without them?)

It rains the entire day before they're supposed to come, and he finds himself sitting and watching the rain traveling down the window pane in long, winding rivulets, and wondering if it's some kind of sign. No matter what it does or doesn't mean; a sign good, bad, or indifferent, he doesn't care. He felt this was a last chance, and he was taking it. Just hours before Hermione shows up, it stops raining, and he smiles knowing that at least if nothing else, her punctuality hadn't changed. He opens the front door and isn't sure what to say. He had thought of a million different things he had to, or wanted to say, and nothing is coming out now. Her hair is much longer now, and she's thinner than he remembers, but she's still beautiful. Always beautiful. And he can't stop staring at her, because there is something else.

(she's mine she says softly and he doesn't know what to say because a baby wasn't a change he expected and how could she be a mother and he not be part of it?)

She just looks at him now, as he leads her inside, through the foyer and into the sitting room. He takes her coat. The awkwardness is unusual to him, unusual to them, and he tells her to have a seat on the sofa. She sits, holding her baby. The words roll around in his head, in his mouth, but they don't seem to come out.

“What's her name?” he asks looking down at them, mother and daughter, and he can't help but notice how much she looks like Hermione.

“Jane,” she answers. “She's ten weeks old.”

He wants to ask, but he isn't sure what the line is between them now. He isn't sure what boundaries there are, and which he isn't supposed to cross. But she sees him, the way he looks at her and the question in his eyes, so she answers him before he asks.

“Does it matter whose she is? She's mine, and that's all that counts.”

“That's all that counts,” he says quietly. For lack of anything better to say, he says what he can. “So, how are you?”

“I'm a single, working mother, Harry. I'm tired,” she says quietly. He can see clearly that she's tired; he can see it in her eyes, and he can hear it in her voice. He finds that he misses the way her voice used to sound when they were young, finds that the subtle difference in it now makes him wonder what's happened to her over the last three years. And he supposes it doesn't matter, because she's here, and that's all he wanted. She looks up at him and realizes that he, too, has changed. He's taller, his shoulders are a bit broader, and he's even more handsome. When she looks at him she wishes she never left, they never parted, none of it had happened. And the sound of the doorbell interrupts them. He excuses himself to answer the door. He can't help but smile when he sees Ron, his red hair as messy as it used to be. Ron smiles back at him, and Harry knew that he was right; Ron had missed him, too.

“Hey Harry,” he says with a smile.

“Hey Ron.”

(and it's so good just to see him standing there)

They shake hands and Harry brings him inside, leading him, too, through the foyer and into the sitting room where Hermione is sitting. Her back is to the doorway, giving Ron the opportunity to notice first that her hair is longer, and she turns at the sound of their footsteps. She and Ron don't speak for a moment, and Harry's heart beats faster, hoping so hard that this doesn't blow up in his face.

“Hey Hermione,” Ron finally says. He's looking at her, and finally at the baby, but doesn't say anything. She looks at him, then at Harry, and back to him.

“Hi,” she finally replies. She feels stupid for not saying something more. Ron looks at Harry in confusion over the baby in her arms. She looks at Harry, and somehow he understands what she's asking, like they've always understood each other without words.

“Go ahead and make yourself at home,” he says to Ron. “And um, Hermione has a big surprise for us,” he says gesturing to her. Ron turns to face her.

“This is Jane,” she says, “my daughter.”

There is momentary silence, but Ron recovers quickly and smiles. “Wow… that's… Congratulations, Hermione.” She smiles and nods appreciatively, and Ron touches the baby's hand. “She's beautiful.”

“Just like her mother,” Harry says, and he's not embarrassed. There isn't any room for embarrassment, not if he wants to hold on to her. They all watch the baby for a moment and Ron takes a deep breath.

“I have a big surprise of my own,” he says. “I got married.”

(and for a moment Harry feels a sharp pang in his chest because he always thought he would be a part of Ron's wedding)

“That's wonderful,” Harry says smiling.

“I'm happy for you,” Hermione says.

(and she is because she knows and he knows that she was never really in love with him)

“Anyone we know?” she asks.

“Luna Lovegood, actually,” he replies.

(and the easiness of their childhood seems to come back and they fall into comfortable conversation and this was all Harry wanted was to be this way again the only way that felt real)

Talking becomes easier, and the atmosphere relaxes. They talk about their lives, their jobs, and they reminisce with a slight sadness about years that had passed, about the times when they were most happy. He can't help but look at Hermione and feel what he had felt years ago, what he has always felt, and he knows now that even three years of separation could never change that. The fire was warm and the time was forgotten. This felt good, right. It was something like it used to be, with laughter and warm smiles, and a bond between them that felt unbreakably strong. This, he knew, was how it always should have been. And when the evening was drawing to a close, he felt they needed to know.

“I, um, I actually have a bombshell of my own,” he says. Their laugher was dying down and they looked at him with smiles. He wished he didn't have to ruin that, but he needed them to know the truth.

“What is it?” Ron asked, grinning cheekily, and Harry knew he expected it to be something juicy, something big. It was, but not the way he knew Ron was hoping.

“I didn't kill Voldemort.” The smiles vanished from their faces immediately. He felt the sudden silence seep into his skin, and he swore his heart was beating loud enough for them to hear it.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asks softly.

“He's not dead. I couldn't kill him. He's out there too weak to be what he was, just barely alive.” he says. “No one will find him, and he's not a threat. He should be dead soon, anyway.”

“Harry…” Ron was staring at him wide-eyed. “Why didn't you tell us before?”

(he shrugs but he knows why and he doesn't want to admit it and he knows he has to)

“I was afraid,” he answers. “I just couldn't kill him and I thought you would hate me, both of you.”

“Where is he?” Hermione asked.

“The cave. No one will find him there,” he says avoiding their eyes. “And Malfoy helped me.”

“Why are you telling us now?” Ron asked. To Harry's surprise he didn't look angry, just shocked.

“Because if I want us to get back everything we used to have, I wanted you both to know the truth.”

(and part of him wishes that he never told them because now it's real to him more real than it was Voldemort's alive he's alive alivealivealive)

“Your secret is safe with is,” Hermione says softly, and looks down at Jane for a moment. She looks at Ron and then both of them look at Harry.

“I'd die before I'd tell anyone,” Ron says. “No amount of years, not even a lifetime, could change that, Harry.”

(and somehow he feels like everything will be ok again they will be ok again and now they can all pray together that Voldemort never gets out never gets help never comes back because he knows and they know that it isn't impossible that nothing is impossible)

They change the subject. They laugh and they smile again. And they pretend to forget because it's easier than remembering the pain. When it's later than they intended Ron says goodbye, says he'll call in the morning. Harry knows that all is forgiven between them all.

(but he doesn't want Hermione to leave and he just wants to be with her and never let her leave him again)

Baby Jane sleeps in a little bassinette that he conjured for her and Hermione thanks him again. He stands beside her and looks down, adoring the infant, wishing that somehow he could have been there for Hermione, wishing he knew how this tiny, beautiful little girl came about. He looks at her.

(she's beautiful always was and he just wants to hold her now and make up for all the lost time)

“I've missed you,” he says softly. “I've missed you so much, Hermione.”

She looks up at him and it's so easy to get lost in a sea of green. She searches his eyes for something, not sure exactly of what it is, but knowing that it's there. “I've missed you, too, Harry,” she says softly in return. Somehow they are impossibly closer, and he brushes the backs of his fingers against her cheek and her eyes fall shut, reveling in his touch. “Harry…” she breathes his name, and the space between them is slowly closing. He can feel her warm breath on his face, and his lips touch hers, tentatively at first. And then she's kissing him back. Her arms find their way around him and they were no longer aware of time, only each other and this feeling, of an endless sea of emotion they could easily drown in. When he pulls back his lips tingle and her breath becomes cool against his moist lips.

(this felt right more right than anything he's ever known and he's so afraid to lose it)

“Hermione…” he says softly, looking at her.

“Why, Harry?” she whispers. “Why now?”

“Because three years is too long,” he says. And then he whispers, “Because I love you.” He wanted her to say something, anything as she looks down at her feet. When she looks back up at him he can see the sheen of tears in her eyes, and as she blinked they rolled down her cheeks. Without a word she pressed her lips to his, and that said enough. This was the one thing that felt right in a long time. And this time when she pulled back slightly he pulled her close, resting his cheek against hers. “I'm never letting you go again.”

“Harry,” she whispers, “I…”

“Stay,” he whispers softly, his breath warm on her skin. He pulls back to look at her.

(and she whispers his name again because she can't think of any reason to go)

“Just stay,” he whispers again. Tears roll down her cheeks again, and she looks up at him.

“I could never leave,” she cries in a whisper. And that's all he needs to hear.

He pulls her close, kisses the inside of her wrist, her palm. She stands on her tip-toes and kisses his lips, and she doesn't pull away. She can't and he can't.

(and they pull each other so close they can't breathe but it doesn't matter because they just need this and each other)

The sofa barely fits two bodies but it doesn't matter because they are so close. She tilts her head back and he kisses the exposed skin of her neck. It's almost amazing how easily their clothes fell, how natural it felt to be this way. She can feel the insistent hardness pressing against her, telling her without words he wants this, too.

(and it was real and real and they never wanted it to end)

Her arms wrap around him tightly, her legs around his waist, and his hips move against her in a steady rhythm. She sighs his name, kisses him with discordant passion, because this was all she ever needed. It feels like she can't hold him close enough as her body arches against him, as her body quakes and shivers with intensity. He buries his face in her neck, feeling her pulsing around him, and she can feel his muscles tighten as she's filled with sudden warmth.

(she knows she's always known that she loves him the way she's never loved anyone else and she wishes she could erase the three years they were apart because she wishes they were with him)

He caresses her cheek and presses and gentle kiss to her lips. Looking down at her he knows that he loves her, he's always known, and he knows that he was meant to be here with her, always.

(he pulls a blanket over them and holds her as close as he can because it's where she belongs where he belongs where they have always belonged)

“What now?” she asks quietly. He knows she doesn't just mean them; she means Voldemort, too, because she knows that it's not over.

“We'll worry about it in the morning,” he says softly. Because he doesn't want to think about anything but them; the threat otherwise is too deep and too dark, and it's easier to wait until daylight. He kisses her softly. “All that matters is right now.”

(all that matters this)

II

Some time in the night the fire had died down to nothing more than glowing embers, giving off a subtle heat that won't nearly be enough with the morning frost. He watches her. She moves almost silently, slipping on his shirt; she takes her wand from inside the baby's bag and mumbles a charm to set the fire ablaze again. He can hear the baby fussing, making small indistinct noises. He watches Hermione shush baby Jane, bending down and picking her up carefully and cradling her to her chest. She quiets almost immediately. She unbuttons three or four buttons down and he watches with reverence as she holds the baby to her breast, and Jane immediately starts suckling.

“That's amazing,” he says. She looks up from the baby and smiles at him a little.

“No, not really,” she says. “That's nature, Harry.” She says with a slight laugh and he smiles. She moves back to the sofa, sitting down next to his body stretched out across the cushions. He props himself up on one arm and rests his chin on her shoulder; he can't tear his eyes away, and he wonders why he's so in awe.

“You're beautiful,” he says softly and she smiles, looking at him, and he kisses her neck gently. As he looks down at the baby girl he wonders what she'll look like when she's older. Will she look just like Hermione with long, brown hair and brown eyes? Or will she look differently? Will she be as tall? He can't help but wonder, and suddenly all the questions he'd pushed down came dancing once more in the back of his mind.

(and he wishes she were his)

“I wish I had been there,” he says quietly, unsure if he should have said anything at all. But she doesn't pull away, her body doesn't tense, nor does she look at him in reproach.

She doesn't look at him at all, even when she speaks. “Me too,” she whispers. He can hear the hurt in her voice, and he wonders why she never called, never told him before now, why she never asked him to be there - he would have been in a moments notice.

(the guilt rises like bile in the back of his throat because he should have done more to see talk to her anything so she wouldn't have had to do this without him he knows he should have tried harder and he's sorry)

“Hermione,” he says softly, questioningly, and she looks at him, and she knows.

(don't ask me please don't ask me because she knows he will)

“How did this… how did she…” he doesn't know how to ask her, and he doesn't want to upset her. But there's a bigger part of him that just needs to know. “I mean… who?”

(she knew he would ask and she doesn't want to tell him because she wanted needed wished it had been him)

“It's complicated,” she says softly, looking down at the baby girl latched onto her.

(it should have been him)

“We've got time,” he says gently.

“It's not that I don't have time, it's just…” she shook her head slightly. “I just… I don't think you really want to know, Harry.”

(he can't because she doesn't want to hurt him and she doesn't want to think about it because haven't they been hurt enough?)

“I do,” he says softly. “It won't change anything.”

“Can you promise me that, Harry?” she whispers and he's afraid she might cry. She looks at him with raw emotion and he knows; he knows that whatever happened was difficult, and he knows that she trusts him.

“I promise you, Hermione,” he says softly as he sits up. He kisses her softly. They look down at the baby.

“What do you want to know?” she asks quietly.

(this is going to hurt and she knows it and he knows it but it's too important to avoid)

“Can you start from the beginning?” he asks and after a moment she nods, tears sliding down her cheeks.

(she can start from anywhere for him)

X_X

She had known for some time that her life would come to this; though, she hadn't expected to be so alone. She was always the smart one, always level headed and well balanced. Sometimes she'd wondered if she were better friends with her books than people. She'd always been the one to sacrifice play for work because work and real life were always more important. And so she resigned herself to the fact it would come to this when she was a child.

(because sometimes it was just easier hiding inside the pages of her books than facing her own demons because it seemed easier to just be a coward and let everyone think she wasn't)

Her adult life, at least the beginnings of it, were much the same. Relationships had failed her where books and facts had not. So she buried herself in work - at the Ministry, at home, and sometimes at Hogwarts to help out former teachers who needed it. Every now and then she'd remember to breathe and she'd stop at The Three Broomsticks, or The Hog's Head, even The Leaky Cauldron for a drink and try not to remember how it used to be.

(she didn't want to remember what it was like to be happy because she'd have to admit that she couldn't)

It was a mistake. A wrong-place-at-the-wrong time (it had to be because there was no other way to justify it). She knew from the moment the seat beside her had taken up residence that it was a mistake, and she knew that everyone made them, but she expected more from herself. She felt him looking at her and she avoided looking back or acknowledging his presence for as long as possible.

“I've seen you here before,” he said. His voice was deep but young. She knew he had to be somewhere around her age.

She still didn't look up from her drink. “A lot of witches and wizards come here,” she said.

“I'm Noah.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see his hand, waiting for hers. Unable to avoid it any longer she looked up at him and wished she hadn't as she took his hand. He reminded her of Harry. Dark messy hair. Deep eyes. Maybe his voice (but not his touch no not his touch).

(I miss you)

And against her better judgment she told him her name. She got caught up. She brought him home, and they made it blindly up the stairs and closed her eyes when he kissed her. The bed was inviting and soft and they seemed to fall in so easily. She didn't want to get lost in this. Maybe she did. Maybe it didn't matter anymore.

(she just didn't want to feel so empty and I miss you)

III

She never expected things would turn out this way. She knew no one could ever be sure of how their life would turn out, but she knew what hers should have been and she never thought it would be this. She knew that it couldn't be perfect, because she learned long ago that perfect was an illusion better left unacknowledged; she knew that this happened to people all the time, but she least expected to be one of them.

(because she was smarter than that and knew better and this just couldn't happen to her)

Days passed. Weeks passed. She stopped counting. She didn't feel well and she started to worry. She told herself over and over that it was only one night - it was one night this couldn't have happened. Yet, she stood there in her bathroom, splashing water on her face, rinsing the taste of vomit from her mouth. She stood there looking at her reflection wondering when she became someone she didn't know, denying that it was real as she held the little blue stick to prove it in her trembling hand. She was going to be sick again.

(and she just wanted to wake up from this nightmare because this couldn't be real because she couldn't handle this it couldn't happen without him because it should have been him always him)

She was distracted at work. She tried hard to avoid anyone, to avoid looking anyone in the eyes, tried to pretend so hard that everything was ok but everyone knew her, and her reputation was more promising than the day had proven to be. When they asked if she was ok, their eyes concerned, she lied.

(she wished so hard that he was there to make it better that her insides ached but what was done was done and what they once had was gone now)

At the end of the day she didn't want to go home. She couldn't go for a drink. She wasn't sure what to do short of falling apart alone in the stall of the women's lavatory. Her vision blurred with tears and she just couldn't think, but she couldn't stay there, she had to go somewhere, anywhere to get away from the achingly whole aloneness. In a moment of confusion she found herself in her parents' drawing room looking at her mother's startled face.

(I need you mum I don't know what to do and it just hurts and my heart just hurts)

For a moment they didn't speak, neither of them sure why exactly she was there. Her daughter looked shaken and she was trembling slightly. She was pale and her lips quivered. Mrs. Granger rose from her soft chair, walking across the room to stand in front of her daughter, their gazes never faltering. Hermione felt the prickle of tears as her mother wrapped her in a warm embrace.

(I'm so sorry I'm so sorry if I've disappointed you please forgive me but she knows that nothing she could do would ever disappoint)

“I've ruined everything, Mum,” she whispered. And her mother questioned nothing, holding her, feeling her thin frame as it began to shake as she started to cry.

(because it wasn't fair and where was her happy ending where was the fairy tale she was never sure she deserved but wanted so desperately)

She was curled with her mother on the sofa, who was gently stroking her hair. She had listened and that was all Hermione had expected, all she thought she had needed, but she knew that her mother loved her too much to leave it at that. She held her daughter close and gently stroked her cheek as she lay across her lap crying.

(it wasn't supposed to be this way)

Her insides hurt. Her heart ached in ways she didn't think it could, and prayed it would just dissolve because it might hurt less than breaking like this. She said nothing. She cried everything. She wasn't sure she could ever move again from her mother's arms until her father came home. When she saw him the tears started fresh, and after struggling to get up she flung herself into his embrace. He didn't ask her any questions, simply held her tightly while she cried. And she knew that he, too, loved her too much to see her this way and not know the reason why.

“Daddy, I'm pregnant,” she cried softly. He closed his eyes and hushed her, and only held her tighter, wishing he could just take away his baby girl's pain.

(because it wasn't supposed to be this way and it hurt so much more to accept her fairytale was dead and gone dead and gone and I need you to save me from this)

IV

She always imagined this would be different.

The pain is getting worse and she is sure she's going to die from it, never having felt anything like this before. There is a doctor, nurses; someone has a cold cloth on her neck, someone else is telling her to sip some water, and someone is telling her to breathe, just breathe. Her mother wipes her sweaty forehead, brushing away locks of hair sticking to her face.

(this is too hard too much and she just can't do this)

She throws her head back in exasperation, in terrible pain; she is too tired and she can't do this, she can't push anymore. She cries. She can't; she just can't.

(and she does because she has to)

She squeezes her mother's hand too tightly and she's sorry if she's hurting her, but she's trying so hard… She screams. “I can't…” she gasps. “I can't do this,” she cries shaking her head weakly. She closes her eyes. The pain isn't subsiding, only progressively getting worse.

(I need him)

“You can, baby,” her mother says gently, smoothing back her sweat-slicked hair. “You can do this, baby.” Hermione starts to cry again, shaking her head.

“I can't. I can't… I can't…” she cries. And the doctor is telling her to push and push, and push hard. She cries and cries harder, pushing and pushing. She screams “Harry!”

(I need you)

She wants to give up. She wants so badly for him to be there, because he would make everything alright, because it should be them. She wishes he was there to hold her, to tell her it would all be ok soon. She knows he would give her the strength she doesn't have. She pushes and cries and screams.

(and I wish this was for us)

V

It wasn't easy then, and he knows it isn't going to be simple now as he stood looking down into the bassinette. Things were complicated and he knows that it's going to be a rocky path; he knows that no matter how much he loves her that things will not be so easy as they once were. Still, he can't help looking down at this child. “My father acted the same way,” she says. “He was so in awe of her when he first saw her. I thought he might have fallen in love with her as much as I did when I first saw her.” He smiles as does she. He takes her hand and brings her back to the sofa. He sits and she sits beside him, curling against him.

(he wonders if in the morning this will all be real because he can't bear the thought that it isn't and yet there are things he needs to know that he doesn't want to ask but he will)

“Does he know?” he asks.

“No,” she answers. “I don't want him to.”

“He's her father.” he says and strokes her hair.

“He's her biological father, yes,” she says. “But that makes no difference, Harry.” He nods though she can't see it and they sit in silence for some time. It isn't uncomfortable, but it isn't quite as easy a silence as she remembers. Finally, she says softly “Where do we go from here?”

(and she doesn't really care as long as where they go is together always together because now that she's here with him like this she can't ever go back)

“I don't know, exactly,” he says. “But, I want you to know, I'm not going anywhere. I lost you once, Hermione, and I can't do that again. I can't live my life alone like that, without you, without Ron. It's not a life if you're not in it.” She bites back tears. She rises up on her knees and straddles his lap. She takes his face and holds it gently in his hands.

“I wanted it to be you,” she whispers. “The whole time I was pregnant, Harry, I prayed that somehow she could be yours.”

“She is if you want her to be,” he whispers in return, gently touching her cheek.

“I do,” she whispers softly and the light reflects off of the tears that roll down her cheeks; he wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. She leans down and kisses his lips softly. His hands find her hips as her tongue pushes gently passed his lips.

(he doesn't know anything he's wanted more than this he wants this for the rest of his life because she is where he belongs)

Her fingers twine gently in his hair and the barriers of clothing are lost somewhere on the floor. He only wants to be this close to her always, and she can't seem to pull him close enough. She knows he can feel the heat of her arousal as well as she can feel the hardness of his pressed up against her thigh. And she forgets the rest of the world when he pushes inside of her. His lips are warm, soft and gentle as they touch the exposed skin of her neck, as they return to her lips. The movement of his hips rocking against hers makes the heat rise in her body, makes her kiss him with passion she wasn't sure she knew she had.

(and she needs this always needed this needs him always needed him and it always should have been this way)

He can feel his muscles tightening and he knows it's only a matter of moments. He hears her breathe his name, feels her body arching up against him, and feels her legs squeezing him. She curls her toes and throws her head back and suddenly she is pulsing around him. He buries his face in her neck and groans softly as she feels herself filling with his warmth over and over. They are still for a pair of moments.

(because nothing in the world could ever feel like this)

He lifts his head and looks down at her with heavy lidded eyes and kisses her softly. He moves to the side and envelopes her in his arms. She rests her head against his chest and breathes in the smell of him. She closes her eyes knowing that with Harry she and Jane are safe. “Everything is ok now,” he says softly and places a gentle kiss in her hair. She breathes in contentedly and softly kisses his chest. She knew that he would make everything ok, and he knew that with her he was whole.

(and everything is right)

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