What Once Was Lost by Bingblot

Rating: NC17
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 17/02/2006
Last Updated: 23/02/2006
Status: Completed

"I never thought we would have this..." Years before, his heart had broken-- but now,
what he had never dared to hope for was happening... The sequel to "Loved I Not Honor
More." SWS.




1. What Once Was Lost
---------------------

Disclaimer: JKR owns all, still. (Unfortunately…)

Author’s Note: The sequel to my angst-fic, “Loved I Not Honor More”- which you should probably
read before you read this as otherwise it won’t make much sense, although it’s not strictly
necessary.

I borrowed a few lines from Lori’s ever-so-wonderful, “Crossing the Line” and also drew some
inspiration from her AU angst-fic, “Gettysburg”.

For **Goldy**, **oh_honestleigh**, and **avidbeader**.

**What Once Was Lost**

There was a knock on his door.

For anyone else, it wouldn’t be such a momentous event but not for Harry Potter, living alone in
his cabin up in the mountains. He hadn’t particularly tried to get to know any of his neighbors (it
didn’t help that his nearest neighbors were about a 10 minute hike away) and he‘d never been
particularly sociable in his occasional visits into the nearest town for groceries and other
necessities. He lived a solitary life—and while he wouldn’t say he was happy, he rather preferred a
solitary life to the everyday questions about his past and where he was from (and how it was he
could afford to live alone with no job) which would naturally come from getting to know the Muggles
around him.

He started up out of his chair, tensing automatically. He knew that whoever was outside didn’t
intend any harm, thanks to the wards he had set up (more from the force of habit than from
suspecting any threat.) But who could possibly be here?

He opened his door and then stared, for a moment convinced he was hallucinating, that his (all
too frequent) imaginings of her had made her materialize out of his fantasies, as it were. He
stopped breathing, was convinced the world and time simply stopped too.

It couldn’t be…

And then she spoke. “Can I come in?” she asked, with a twitch of her lips that tried to become a
smile but never quite made it.

He moved back out of the doorway to let her in silently, still not quite convinced that she was
real and here and he wasn’t having some very odd dream.

She stepped in, closing the door behind her and for the first time, he realized she had a
suitcase with her.

His heart was beginning to pound until he was nearly dizzy as he continued to stare at her.

He saw her glance around quickly, curiously, as if she wanted to see how he lived—saw her gaze
pause, as her eyes widened slightly, on the one personal picture he had on display—taken during
their 6th year of him in between Ron and her, all of them grinning happily.

She was there; she was there; she was really there, standing just a few feet away from him… She
was there—looking much as he remembered her. She hadn’t changed, he thought with an odd feeling of
surprise, looked the same. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Marriage hadn’t changed her—the word twisted in his mind and cut through his shock.

He had so many things to say, so many questions to ask, questions tumbling over each other in
his mind in confused eagerness to know. But what he finally said was the most inane question of
all.

“How did you find me?”

It was a silly question, he thought, valid though it was—but somehow, it managed to break the
spell of awkwardness and unreality of the situation.

She smiled, slightly. “Did you honestly think I couldn’t find you if I really wanted to?”

He blinked and then answered with a small, self-deprecating smile, “No, I guess not. You weren’t
the cleverest witch of our year for nothing.” In some part of him, he was amazed at how
very—normal—his voice and his words sounded.

“It wasn’t that hard. I guessed that you’d have told Remus where you were; I knew you would have
told him, kept in contact with him, just in case, even when you didn’t tell anyone else. So I went
to him and he told me.”

“Oh.”

It was surreal how—normal—their words had sounded. They might almost have been talking casually,
as if it hadn’t been more than five years since he’d seen her, more than five years since they had
really talked… As if he hadn’t bared his heart and soul to her the last time he’d really talked to
her—as if he hadn’t missed her like he would miss a part of himself, hadn’t longed for her every
day of the past five, nearly six, years since he’d left her…

His eyes met hers as their smiles faded and he saw the same love, the same emotion, in her eyes
and took an involuntary step forward before he remembered and stopped himself mid-stride.

His throat seemed to have closed up from the tension inside him. “Ron?” was all he could ask,
his voice sounding almost strangled.

In answer, she held up her left hand without a word. There was no ring on it.

*Oh my God…* He sucked in his breath sharply, his eyes growing wide in his suddenly pale
face. But there was one more thing he needed to ask.

“Is- is he okay?” he rasped. He knew he didn’t have to say Ron’s name, knew he didn’t have to
explain what he meant in asking. He needed to know that Ron wasn’t hurt—wasn’t going to be harmed
in some way.

“Yes,” was all she said simply.

There was so much more to be explained, so much more he wanted to know—everything of what had
happened after he left and why she had come here, now—but they would wait.

For now, all he needed to see was the truth in her eyes, the- the *freedom* in them—and he
knew that, no matter how it had happened, no law of man, no duty, no rule of friendship or honor,
stood between them now.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides, pulling her into his arms as they
closed around her with stunning force, a sound like a strangled groan escaping him. His hands
roamed greedily from her shoulders and down over her back, as if trying to assure himself that she
was real and she wouldn’t suddenly disappear. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply
of the scent of her—lavender and the hint of old books—which he still remembered so well.

His hands slid into her hair as he moved his head back to brush his lips across her face in
quick, fleeting kisses, on her forehead, the tip of her eyebrows, her eyelids, her nose, the little
hollow on her cheek right before her ear, the corners of her lips, learning her face with his lips…
“Hermione, Hermione,” he murmured against her skin, “tell me you’re really here.”

She smiled softly and said, “I’m here—and I’m yours.”

And as if the sound of those words had finally broken through his incredulity, his hands cupped
her face and his lips finally found hers.

She’d rather been expecting that this first kiss would be a passionate one but it wasn’t. His
lips were soft, undemanding, as they moved over hers. There was still some uncertainty as if he
couldn’t quite believe that she was real, his tongue exploring her mouth, savoring the
never-forgotten and long-remembered taste of her…

When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. “I missed you so
much,” he finally said, quietly.

“I missed you too.” She tightened her arms around him in another hug, holding on to him.

He kissed her forehead and they both moved to sit next to each other on the couch, Hermione
fitting herself snugly in beside him and within the circle of his arms, her head resting on his
shoulder.

“What happened?” Harry asked softly, after a few minutes of silence. He didn’t need to specify
that what he meant was what had happened between Ron and Hermione, what had happened to bring her
here.

She sighed. “Nothing—everything. We just—grew apart, I think. We were happy at first. He was so
sweet and he cared so much and I did love him. We *were* happy…” She paused and then
continued, thoughtfully. “I think it started when Arthur Weasley became Minister of Magic. You know
I’d been planning to get legislation passed to increase rights for house elves, werewolves,
centaurs and other magical creatures. With Mr. Weasley as Minister and sympathetic to the cause, my
chance had come. I worked every spare minute I had with Remus, with Dobby, with Mr. Weasley and a
few other people to get the Magical Creatures Equality Act passed.”

She paused again and he spoke up. “I heard about it when it happened. Remus mentioned it. I was
so proud of you then, love. I knew if anyone could do it, you could.”

She smiled slightly and kissed him quickly. “But the thing was that I was so busy during those
months. I had the legislation to push through along with my usual work and research for St.
Mungo’s. I hardly saw Ron at all. I hoped things would go back to normal once the bill passed but
then it was right before the Quidditch season began and Ron was away for practice every day. So
again we hardly saw each other. Then there was an epidemic of dragons-fever so I wasn’t home.
Eventually it just got to be like we were living separate lives, seeing each other just a few times
a week at dinner. It- it was no one’s fault and it wasn’t anything dramatic. It just happened and
we started acting more like—well, best friends than husband and wife.”

A humorless, rather ironic smile crossed her face fleetingly. “The odd thing is, the main sign
that told me our relationship had changed so much and gotten to be more like room-mates and friends
is that we started bickering again. You know we’d stopped that for the most part after we started
dating—but now it started again, somehow. When we were together, we found we didn’t have much to
talk about and when we did talk it usually was either very stilted and awkward or it became more
like the way we used to bicker over everything. And we both hated it but weren’t sure how to stop
it. So we spent even less time together than we could have, to avoid the awkwardness.”

Harry sighed and brushed his lips against her hair but didn’t say anything.

She continued on, more quietly. “I don’t know if anything would have happened but then Ron met
Luna again at some Cannons event that I couldn’t go to.”

“Luna? As in Lovegood?”

“Yes. She’s taken over at the Quibbler you know and she took it into her head that it was a
curse from a Glumbumble—don’t ask what that is—which had kept the Cannons from winning for so long
and wrote a story about it. Anyway, Ron saw her and somehow they kept on running into each other by
accident and then at nearly every Cannons match because Luna went to most of them. They started
talking often and, well, Ron fell in love with her.”

Harry stiffened. “He cheated on you?”

“No!” she answered quickly and emphatically. “No, he didn’t,” she repeated more quietly. “He
told me he didn’t, that he kissed her once—by accident, really—but she stopped him and refused to
see him after that. He told me everything that happened and I trust him. He- he felt so terrible
about it. He was nearly crying when he said he thought we should get a divorce…”

Her voice trailed off and she was silent for a long moment. “I think it’s one of the first times
when I’ve failed at something I really wanted to succeed at.” Her voice was quiet, a small thread
of hurt in it.

He sighed and for a moment, could almost wish that Ron and Hermione were still happy together,
if only to banish the pain in Hermione’s voice. He brushed a kiss against her forehead but didn’t
say anything. After all, what could he say? He was—happy—to have Hermione with him, but he hated
the idea of what Ron and Hermione had had to go through to get to this point.

“He came to see me a couple months ago just after the divorce went through. We talked—and then
just before he left he said, asked really, ‘You’re still my best friend. Right?’ And I told him,
‘We’ll always be best friends.’”

*We’ll always be best friends.* The words struck at Harry’s heart as he thought about Ron,
thought about Hermione, thought about what he had given up for Ron’s sake. “I miss him, you know,”
he said quietly. And he *had* missed Ron. For all his occasional bouts of jealousy when he’d
felt he could almost hate Ron for being the one to have Hermione, to get to see her every day, he
had missed Ron too. He had missed the teasing, the laughter—the friendship. There had been so many
times he had just missed the Trio and the simple, perfect friendship that had always existed
between the three of them—enough that he had sometimes thought of returning to England after all,
if only so he could still have the friendship.

“I know,” she said quietly and then tucked her head in under his chin as she shifted closer to
him.

He tightened his arms around her, reflecting that somehow, those two words seemed to summarize
his and Hermione’s relationship in some ways. She did know—somehow; she always had…

They sat there like that, snuggled together, for hours, not talking. There was no need for words
between them; the important explanations had been said and everything else, they both simply
knew.

They didn’t talk then and they didn’t talk when, finally, they got up and slowly walked,
hand-in-hand, towards his bedroom.

He hesitated at the door and broke the silence between them for the first time. “Uh- I- that is-
I can sleep on the couch if- if-”

She cut him off with her lips, kissing him deeply, letting her tongue explore his mouth, rub
sensuously against his tongue. When she pulled back, he blinked, his lips still parted, staring as
if he’d quite forgotten what he’d been about to say, which was in fact the case.

She smiled slightly. “If you think I came all the way out here to sleep alone, you must be
mental.”

“Well, Ron always did say…” he began half-teasingly, before trailing off, as he kissed her
again—and they both promptly lost any interest at all in whatever it was Ron had always said.

His arms went around her, roaming hungrily over her shoulders and back and down to her hips, as
they stumbled backwards into his room.

They kissed with all the passion and need and desperation with which they hadn’t kissed before,
their hands, lips, tongues greedy, touching each other as if to reassure themselves of the reality
of it.

They finally broke apart to gasp for breath, both of them flushed. He lifted one hand to touch
her cheek lightly, thinking that the sight of Hermione’s face when she was aroused was worth the
entire universe and more.

“I- I want to see you,” he said quietly.

She smiled, slowly, into his eyes, and then deliberately began to unbutton her blouse and then
step out of her trousers.

He pulled his jumper off, beginning to take off his trousers when he stopped, his hand still on
the button of his trousers, to take in the sight of her in only her bra and knickers.

*Holy Merlin…*

She was—she was—beyond beautiful. Definitely the sexiest thing he had ever seen or ever hoped to
see… She was—everything he had ever wanted…

Hermione smiled, feeling herself blush in spite of herself, at having Harry stare at her, the
heat of his gaze sending a jolt of heat and arousal through her body and straight down to her
knickers. He looked at her the way every woman dreamed of being looked at one day, looked at her as
if she were a goddess, as desirable as Aphrodite.

She unfastened the clasp of her bra, stepping out her knickers—until she was completely bared to
his fascinated and aroused gaze.

He still hadn’t moved, looked as if he’d momentarily lost the capacity of movement, so she
stepped closer to him, until her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

She kissed him, her tongue delving into his mouth to rub in a deliberately titillating manner
against his tongue as her hands went down to his trousers, opening them and pushing them and his
boxers down as she wrapped her hand around him.

He let out a guttural groan, his hips thrusting forward automatically as his head fell back.

At first she kept her touch light, almost playful, as she traced the hot, hard length of him
with her fingers and then she wrapped her hand around him, stroking him slowly.

Harry wondered if it was possible to go insane from pleasure as he felt her hands on him. God,
she was driving him crazy, touching him like this…

She stopped, her hand no longer touching him, and he opened his eyes, a small sound of protest
escaping his lips that turned into a groan as she went down on her knees and took him into her
mouth.

Hermione had never initiated oral sex before, had always needed to be asked or begged—but not
now, not with Harry. With him, somehow, she felt confident, comfortable, enough to give him this
pleasure—she *wanted* to give him this pleasure. Wanted to experience everything with him.

*Oh God.*

It must be possible to go insane from sheer arousal, he decided, and he was more than half-way
there.

Her mouth—dear God, her mouth on him, around him, the hot, wet warmth of her… It was torture; it
was heaven; it was agony; it was ecstasy…

He could feel himself on the edge of exploding and managed to summon up the coherence to gasp,
“wait,” with a Herculean effort.

She stopped, releasing his length from her mouth, smiling up at him with a glint in her eye he’d
never seen before—and he realized with a jolt that it was the smile, the look, of a woman, a woman
who knew she was desired and knew her own power. *She had changed, matured; this wasn’t the
Hermione he knew so well. She was a siren, a temptress… This was a side of her he had never
seen.*

And she was his.

He hastily kicked off his trousers, sending his boxers with them, and this time, it was his turn
to kiss her, to touch her.

His tongue explored her mouth leisurely and then more forcefully as his hands wandered at will
over her naked back and down to her butt, her thighs and up again.

Vaguely he was aware of pushing her backwards until they both toppled onto his bed with him
landing on top of her, his legs tangled with hers, still kissing.

Her hands slid into his hair, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair, tugging him
closer.

He finally released her mouth to trace her jaw-line down to her neck with his lips, pausing to
flick his tongue at the hollow of her throat and smiling to himself at her gasp.

He wanted to give her everything, wanted to drive her as mad with arousal and lust and love as
she had made him. He wanted to imprint himself on her until she forgot she’d ever been with anyone
else. He wanted to lose himself in her. He wanted to touch, kiss, explore every inch of her skin.
And as she gasped at his touch, he set out to do just that…

He nuzzled her, kissed her, caressed her with his lips and teeth and tongue until she moaned his
name, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

Meanwhile his hands slid up her sides in a slow caress until finally they reached her breasts,
cupping them, squeezing them gently, his thumbs flicking over her hardened nipples.

She arched her back, her head falling back, and he smiled against her skin. *Yes, this was
what making love should be, when her pleasure was his and knowing she was aroused fueled his own
lust.*

Hermione moaned when his lips finally closed over her nipple, sucking, nipping gently, before
moving on to pay equal attention to her other breast and then further down.

*My God…*

Her hands wandered aimlessly over his shoulders and down to clutch at the sheets in mindless
reaction to the pleasure he was evoking in her.

His lips were making their slow, leisurely way down her body, stopping to drop a kiss here, lick
there, nip yet another spot, sending jolts of arousal straight down her body to the place between
her legs. She’d never known her body had so many erogenous places—but Harry’s lips and tongue were
finding every one until she thought she might lose her mind from the sensory overload. Every nerve
in her body was on fire…

And then his lips were on her, closed over the center of her, and she cried out, her hands
fisting in the sheets. His lips and his tongue moved over her wet flesh, licking, sucking, his
tongue moving in circles and swirls.

She was close, he could tell. He could sense how close to the edge she was, her breath coming in
quick, short gasps as her hips rolled on the bed—and he stopped his ministrations. When he made her
come for the first time, he wanted to be inside her, wanted to see her…

He moved back up the bed in one quick, fluid motion and before she had time to catch her breath
or wonder at his stopping, he slid inside her in one smooth thrust, kissing her again.

*He was home.*

She gasped at the feeling of him fully buried inside her, breaking the kiss to stare at him. His
eyes met hers and she saw the same emotion she was feeling in his eyes.

He was inside her; they were joined, together, so close she couldn’t tell where she ended and he
began. He filled her, completed her as if she had been made for this, for him, as if they were half
of the same whole… Finally… After so many years, after so much hurt, after thinking they would
never, could never, have *this*…

And all the emotion she felt was expressed in a single word, a single breath. “Harry.”

“Hermione,” he answered, his tone equally soft, as he lifted one hand to touch her cheek so
lightly she could almost think she’d imagined it.

Then he kissed her again, slowly, deeply, and as his tongue thrust in her mouth, he began to
move, his hips imitating the action of his tongue.

She met his every thrust, arching into him, her legs wrapping around his of their own volition,
welcoming him, her hands on his arse, encouraging him deeper, to move faster.

“Hermione,” he said again, her name coming out halfway between a gasp and a groan. The sound was
half-swallowed by her mouth as he kissed her again and again and again…

Until he felt her muscles clench around him, her fingers digging into his skin as she came with
a cry, her eyes opening at the last moment to meet his gaze.

And in another second, he slid over the edge, exploding inside her, driven to it by sight and
sound and feeling of her. He cried out, he gasped, he died, he went straight to heaven…

He collapsed on top of her and Hermione wrapped her arms around him, dropping a kiss on his
hair, as she felt her crazily beating heart gradually slow down, felt his heart do the same.

Finally, after several minutes had gone by, he let out a breath that was more like a sigh and
with what seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort, lifted his head to look down at her.

He didn’t say anything; neither did she. There were no words to be said after the intensity of
what they’d just experienced, a bonding that both knew had gone beyond the physical.

She blinked back sudden tears and realized with shock that there were tears in his eyes too,
before he brushed his lips against hers.

“I thought we’d never have this,” she whispered against his lips.

“I know,” he breathed. “Hermione…” And her name was an endearment and a caress and a prayer all
at once.

He kissed her again, gently, as he slid out of her, and she felt a fleeting pang of loss which
was immediately lessened as he drew her close to him as he rolled over onto his side.

She snuggled close to him, her head resting against his shoulder and her hand holding his.

They lay there in silence, as their breathing slowed down to normal and the sheen of sweat dried
off their skin, no words necessary between them, occasionally brushing kisses against the other’s
skin and hair.

He lifted his free hand to brush her hair away from her face, smiling slightly at how thick and
bushy it still was, though less so than it had been when she’d been a girl.

Hermione drifted off to sleep first.

He stayed awake, oddly alert now that the lethargy of fulfillment had left him, slowly moving to
prop himself up on one arm and keeping the other arm around her as he simply looked at her.

Drank in the sight of her, lying next to him, naked and satisfied. The sight of her sleeping
peacefully, which he had thought he’d never get to see.

Some small corner of his heart was still incredulous and disbelieving, that Hermione could be
here, with him. Part of him still couldn’t quite believe it; he had resigned himself to never
having this, never being able to be with Hermione like this, never see her like this…

And yet here she was.

He knew she couldn’t stay long. He guessed that she must have asked for a leave of absence from
her work and didn’t know how long it was for but he knew it couldn’t be long.

They would only have a few days, probably, to stay here, away from the rest of the world, before
she would need to return to England and her life there.

Before he would need to return to England and the life, the identity and the fame he had left
behind.

He had gotten so used to being a nonentity away out here where no one knew him and no one paid
much attention to him, left him alone. Thinking of returning to England and all the inevitable “The
Hero Returns” fanfare—to say nothing of Ron’s, and everyone else’s, reaction and questions when
they found out about him and Hermione—was almost enough to make him cringe.

But not for a moment did he consider doing anything else.

Hermione’s life was in England—and his life was wherever Hermione was.

He had lived without her for years, had tried—and failed—to stop loving her. He had watched
Hermione marry Ron and felt as if someone were reaching inside and ripping out his insides, and
then he had walked away, feeling as if he were walking away from part of his soul.

And he knew he could never do it again.

Saying goodbye to her that one time had nearly killed him. Now, when they were finally together,
he was going to hold on to her, hold on to their love, with both hands, no matter what else
happened.

*From this day forward…*

He looked down at Hermione’s sleeping form and, very lightly so as not to wake her, brushed his
lips against her hair.

And then he settled down beside her, closing his eyes, and said, very softly, the words barely
more than a breath of sound, “I love you.”

~*~*~*~

A/N 2: I hope I managed to convey what I meant to in the way Hermione talked about her divorce.
It wasn't that she didn't love Ron and they did not divorce because of Harry or because of
Luna or even because R/Hr just can't work or anything. It was circumstances- with some measure
of fate- all coming together. And I wanted it to be a blameless divorce where neither of them is at
fault. I hope I succeeded.
There is a very short Epilogue to come.



2. Epilogue: For Friendship's Sake
----------------------------------

Disclaimer: See the first part.

Author’s Note: The end of this fic, for good. Thank you all for reading and reviewing!

*Epilogue:*

*For Friendship’s Sake*

Harry’s eyes wandered—inevitably, as they always did—to Hermione as she chatted with Bill and
Fleur. Unconsciously, his smile softened fleetingly, before he turned his attention back to
Ron.

Ron noticed the momentary lapse of Harry’s concentration with the equanimity that came from
having seen it all too often before—and while he had, at first, been completely stunned at the
knowledge that Harry and Hermione, his best friend and his former wife, were in love, he had come
to accept and realize that they were much better suited together and to be happy that they were
together.

On that thought, Ron changed the subject rather abruptly. “You really love her, don’t you.” It
was a statement rather than a question.

Harry looked momentarily discomfited but he nodded and answered simply, “Yes.”

“How long?” Ron asked, with rather uncharacteristic terseness—something he had wondered before
but never before put into words.

Harry flinched but he met Ron’s eyes directly and answered with the honesty that their years of
friendship deserved. “Since 7th year and the final battle.”

Ron caught his breath, his eyes widening in surprise. He’d never known, never even suspected
that Harry might have more than friendly feelings for Hermione back then… For so long—and he and
Hermione had been together then… Harry had loved Hermione and then stood up with *him* as his
best man when he married Hermione… “Dear Merlin,” he breathed—and then stiffened as he realized
something else. “That was why you left right after the wedding; it wasn’t just wanting to get away
from your fame, was it.”

Slowly, Harry nodded.

Ron continued quietly, “It was because you didn’t want to risk getting in between me and
Hermione, wasn’t it?”

Harry hesitated almost imperceptibly, a flicker of some expression Ron couldn’t quite read
passing over his face, before he nodded again, just once. *It wasn’t a lie,* Harry thought,
*it simply wasn’t the complete truth either.* He was—not for the first time—very glad that he
had done what he had, that he hadn’t stayed to risk completely betraying Ron’s trust and Ron’s
friendship. He felt a momentary pang of renewed guilt at the one kiss he and Hermione had
shared—that one, never-forgotten kiss—before he’d left. It had been a betrayal—but one which Ron
need never know, now, that all was right between the three of them.

“I don’t—I don’t know what to say,” Ron finally said. After all, what could he say on finding
out that his best friend had done so much, for the sake of friendship, for the sake of trust…

Harry shifted in his seat, looking ill at ease, now that the secret he’d kept from Ron for so
many years was finally out.

Ron looked at Harry who was refusing to meet his eyes and knew at least one thing that needed to
be said. “You know I’m happy for you two, right? I have no real regrets.”

Harry finally met Ron’s eyes, in some surprise at the seriousness of Ron’s tone. The seriousness
that Ron didn’t often exhibit, made all the more striking by its very rarity.

Ron continued, quietly, his gaze now on Hermione and, then, Luna talking animatedly to Ginny. “I
have no real regrets because I can see that things are better as they are now. I can’t say that I’m
sorry Hermione and I were together; I’m not and we were happy together and I did love her. But it’s
better as it is. I- I’m happy with Luna, happier than I ever was, and I think it’ll last. And I can
see that you and Hermione are happy together…” He paused and then glanced at Harry with a slight
smile. “Just stay that way, okay?”

Harry’s gaze returned to Hermione—who looked up at that moment and smiled, quickly, at Harry,
before turning back to Fleur who had just begun to say something.

“We’ll certainly try,” Harry said softly.

“And, mate, one more thing,” Ron added, meeting Harry’s questioning eyes. “When you marry her, I
claim the privilege of being best man.” He paused. “As you were for me.”

Harry smiled. “Done.”

And so it was.

Three months later, Harry and Hermione were married in a very small, simple ceremony with only
their nearest and dearest in attendance—Hermione’s parents, the Weasleys, Remus and Tonks, and
Professor McGonagall.

And while Hermione walked down the aisle alone—giving herself—she smiled as she met the eyes of,
first, Ron standing beside Harry, and then, finally, Harry’s eyes filled with love and not a little
wonder.

And no one watching that day could doubt that, whatever might have happened in the past, on this
day every member of the Trio was perfectly happy.

Ron smiled as he watched Hermione walk down the aisle to Harry, remembering the other time he
had seen her walk down the aisle, not with any bitterness or even sorrow but simple acceptance and
a vague feeling of remembered warmth. She was radiant today, glowing with love and happiness and
absolute certainty that this was right. He met her eyes briefly before her gaze moved on to Harry
as she stopped at Harry’s side.

He let his gaze wander to Luna’s, his heart warming at the love he could see in her eyes and her
smile. And Ron thought, *yes, this is the way it’s supposed to be. Harry, Hermione, be happy and
I’ll be happy for you both.*

And Harry thought, *thank you*, gratitude at whatever Higher Power there might be, who had
given him this, that he was marrying Hermione with Ron by his side and happy for them. There was
nothing more in the world he wanted.

And Hermione thought, *yes, this joy would last… From this moment and for always…*

*~The End~*

*A heart that once was broken
Can now finally mend.
A person once alone in life
Can now call you a friend.

Dreams that once were longed for
Are now all coming true.
The love I once thought was gone
I have now and forever in you.

- Dawn Ballard*



3. Cookie: Missing You
----------------------

Author’s Note: I honestly didn’t intend to write any more of this fic but the plot bunny bit and
I listened.

Inspired by the “West Wing” promo and borrowing a line from “West Wing” that was the inspiration
for this. So, this is a little cookie, of sorts, which takes place after “Loved I Not Honor More”
and before “What Once Was Lost.”

**Missing You**

“Do you remember that the first of the Season’s matches is next Saturday?” Ron asked, coming
into Hermione’s study with his Quidditch bag on his back. “Can you come?”

Hermione looked up from the patient diagnostics she’d been analyzing with a slight frown. “Oh
Ron, I’m sorry but I promised Elspeth and Stanley I’d spend the afternoon testing the new Potions
we’ve developed.”

“You can’t reschedule? It’s the first match and you know how important that is for how the rest
of the Season goes.”

“I know but I can’t. We’ve been pushing off the testing for weeks now because first Elspeth got
sick and then Stanley’s children were in an accident and so I really can’t ask them to reschedule
again. We have to finish this.”

“Why must you always--” Ron cut himself off, stopping his words with visible effort. “Never
mind,” he said curtly. “That’s fine. I have to leave for training camp now; I’ll be back on
Thursday.”

“Ok, I’ll see you then.”

“Right. Bye,” Ron said briefly and left the room without giving her the customary kiss on the
cheek or even another look. And a few seconds later, Hermione heard the sound as he Apparated
away.

She attempted to return her attention to her work but found, after 15 minutes, that she hadn’t
read a word and gave it up for the moment.

She stood up, one hand going to massage the tense muscles of the back of her neck from being
bent over her desk for so long.

She mentally replayed the conversation with Ron in her head, sighing as she did so. It was
becoming more and more frequent, these little tiny spats that never blossomed into real arguments
and were usually interrupted by one or the other of them and then brushed aside as if ignoring it
would make the problem go away.

Of course it didn’t.

Hermione felt—and could sense that Ron felt it too—the growing distance between them. Somehow,
somewhere along the way, it seemed like their lives had become separate, parallel to each other
without meeting anywhere in the middle anymore.

Admittedly she and Ron had never had too much in common but they had always before somehow
managed to bridge the differences with the few things they did share. Now, with each of them
getting busier, it didn’t work.

Because, the main thing connecting her and Ron had always been… *Harry…*

She sighed again, her breath hitching slightly at the thought.

She tried not to think about Harry too much; thoughts of Harry almost inevitably led to sadness
and regrets and disloyal thoughts about Ron and futile wishes and painful memories.

But it seemed whenever she and Ron had their little tiffs—which were becoming more and more
frequent—the thought of Harry would intrude.

She sometimes wondered if she weren’t simply idealizing Harry in her memory, building him up to
be a paragon of understanding simply because he wasn’t there—but then she would remember some of
the things he had done and said over the years and she would know that she really wasn’t.

It wasn’t that she pictured Harry as being perfect. It was that she knew he’d always been more
understanding of her. Harry had somehow always understood how important her work was to her, how
important it was to her to feel like she was making a difference. He’d made allowances for it, for
how she tended to get lost in her work and he knew when to let her be and when to gently force her
to take a break.

Ron, on the other hand, only wished she could always take a break. He had never completely
understood or sympathized with her love of her work, had always rather resented the attention she
paid to her work for her own lack of attention to him (as he saw it). She knew Ron tried but he
simply didn’t get it sometimes. He had grown up with his mother as an example of what a wife and
mother should be, completely engrossed in all things pertaining to her husband and her children and
the household to the exclusion of just about everything else. And while he tried to understand that
Hermione simply wasn’t like that, in his mind, conscious or not, Hermione was always aware that he
considered his mother to be the model wife and mother. And Hermione was increasingly aware these
days that she could never be that.

She knew Ron cared about her, loved her still but she could sense on his part a growing and
vague dissatisfaction that he was simply not the single most important thing in her life.

And she cared about Ron too, loved him as she always had, for how he could make her laugh, how
he always seemed so untroubled, so willing to be happy (so unlike her)… She wished—with an almost
desperate longing sometimes—that she could be more like Ron’s model wife, but she knew she
couldn’t. She couldn’t change herself like that, no matter how she tried, and to act like she
could, would be false. She tried to reserve a certain amount of time for her to stay home but her
timing didn’t always work out with Ron’s training schedule and so she would bring her work home
with her—which wouldn’t please Ron if he came home during those times.

She was failing, she sometimes thought, in her promise to make Ron happy—but to actually make
Ron happy would require her becoming someone she wasn’t. She hated knowing she was failing, though,
as she had always hated failure.

And she missed Harry. At times like this, whenever she felt down over her and Ron, she always
knew she missed Harry—not for love but for his friendship, the sympathetic ear to listen while she
talked.

She was fond of Ginny and saw her as often as their schedules allowed; she got along well with
her partners at St. Mungo’s, Elspeth Bradders and Stanley Keyworth, and considered them to be good
personal friends as well; but she couldn’t talk about her worries and her troubles with any of
them. Ginny was Ron’s sister; Elspeth and Stanley didn’t know Ron all that well.

There was no one she could talk to—except for Harry and Harry wasn’t there, was Merlin only knew
where. The Weasley clock at the Burrow which had had a hand for her and Harry added on to it always
had Harry pointing at ‘Traveling’ so that was all she knew. (Admittedly, the clock only identified
a very few select places as being ‘Home’ so she didn’t know whether Harry had settled down anywhere
but still, he was ‘Traveling’ somewhere.)

He never wrote—as she’d known he wouldn’t—and Hermione irrationally found herself missing the
owls which never came and which she didn’t expect.

Almost of her own volition, her feet moved into her and Ron’s bedroom where she stood looking
down at her jewelry box.

Slowly, she opened the box to the small compartment at the very bottom of it and took out the
necklace and locket Harry had given her for her 19th birthday. Inside the locket,
wonderfully folded to make it fit, was a piece of parchment, which she took out and unfolded with
slightly trembling fingers.

She read the two lines in it though she knew perfectly well what they said, could never
forget.

*Be happy, Hermione.*

*I love you—always.*

It was the note he’d left her to say goodbye when he left which she had kept and put away.

She let out a long trembling sigh and slowly kissed the piece of parchment before folding it up
and putting it back inside the locket, which she also kissed, and put back.

*Oh Harry,* she thought, wondering with a pang where he was, what he was doing, whether he
thought of her often or sometimes or never, *if you think I don’t miss you every day…*

*~The End~*

*(Or not, as the actual story continues in ‘What Once Was Lost’…)*