Blood of Me

A/N: The biggest thanks EVER to my absolutely, positively WONDERFUL betas, who read and re-read this story all this past week without complaint until I finally got it right. THANK YOU BOTH SO MUCH! The line about blood on the moon is taken from the movie “Practical Magic.” Fic loosely inspired by the song “Blood of Me” by Heather Nova.

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8.

The moon is shining, silver and full, surrounded by a bright red ring - blood on the moon, a sign of trouble not far behind. She sits at the window and stares. And waits.

1.

It all starts with a battle.

The war is raging on, battles being fought on a daily basis, the hunt for the final Horcrux - Hufflepuff's cup - finally over.

She was injured in the field a few days prior, and is stuck in the infirmary, worried sick about her friends, praying to whatever deities would listen that they would come back to her safely.

The door bangs open suddenly, and she stands as Harry walks in the door, a wounded but very much alive Ron leaning against him for support.

She almost cries with relief when Madame Pomfrey comes rushing in and flutters around Ron as he moans that it's “only a scratch.”

Harry slips quietly from the infirmary, hoping no one will notice, but she does - she always notices him - and follows him to his room.

She finds him with his forehead pressed against the wall, his hands balled into fists to stop the shaking.

“Ron almost died today,” he says, his eyes shut tightly against the tears that threaten to fall. “He almost died. I almost didn't save him.”

She wraps her arms around his waist and presses her cheek to his back, laying her hands over his. She feels the fine trembling in his arms, the tenseness in his body, and wishes that she could make everything better for him. But she can't.

He turns around suddenly and she puts a finger under his chin. Her hand shakes as she puts her other arm around his waist.

“What are you doing?” he asks as she stands on tiptoe to brush a kiss first to his forehead, then to his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his neck. He shivers, but it's a different shaking now.

“Saving you,” she whispers close to his ear before kissing him.

She means the kiss to be soft, gentle, something to soothe and quiet him, but as she pulls away, he wraps his fingers around her wrists.

He slides his hands up her arms before crushing his lips to hers. His fingers squeeze and press into her flesh, and she presses herself closer to him, giving into the blissful pain, succumbing to her desire.

What was supposed to be slow and gentle is now frantic and rough. Heat flashes through her as he rucks up her skirt, but she pushes him away.

Her breath comes in gasps as she holds her hand to his chest, keeping him at arms length.

They stare at each other, eye to eye. She can feel his gaze burning into her skin, and her arm begins to fall asleep, but neither of them moves, not for a long time.

Finally, she lowers her arm, straightens her skirt, and walks quickly from the room.

She can feel his eyes on her back, watching her leave.

2.

She remembers waking in the middle of the night to the muffled sound of crying.

She quietly rises out of bed and tiptoes to the next room, where she is unsurprised to see Harry sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

She slowly approaches him, and kneels in front of him, placing her hands on his knees. He leans forward and buries his head in her shoulder, shaking with sobs he is unwilling to release in front of her.

“It's okay if you need to cry,” she says, wrapping her arms around him, running her hands soothingly up and down his back.

Those seem to be the magic words, because now he is crying, sobs wracking his body from head to toe. She can only hold him, wishing that she could take his pain away, make everything easier for him, but knowing full well that she can't.

The sobs quiet and he lifts his head. He stares at her as she wipes the tears from his face. When she is finished, they are both perfectly still, quiet and still, the silence filling the room.

She is just a little surprised when he leans forward and presses his lips to hers.

This kiss is not gentle - it is hot and frantic. He kisses her as if his life depends on it, as if kissing her is all that matters, as if she is the only thing keeping him rooted in this world. He slides his hand up her shirt, and this time, she lets him, moaning at the sensation of his cold hands on her skin.

3.

When she was little, she remembers, her mother's favorite movies were old war movies. She remembers the black cars that would pull up outside of a young, married woman's door, an omen of doom in the guise of a short letter delivered by a young soldier in a uniform, one who had somehow survived while her husband had not. She remembers how each of the women had different reactions - some would cry, some would faint. Others would simply take the note in silence and watch as the young soldier got in his car and drove away.

She feels like she is living in one of those movies now, only the owls are the portents of doom, looming over their heads with messages of despair in their beaks. Each of the students in the Order safe house wait with baited breath, Neville and Luna trying not to be obvious in their sighs with relief as the owl passes over their heads - the doom is meant for someone else.

This morning, the letter is meant for Ginny. She stares as the owl - brown with black markings on its feathers and a black line running down its beak - lands in front of her friends' plate and drops a note in her lap before shaking his feathers and flying off again.

Ginny's hands shake as she pries open the letter, finally breaking its seal and letting it fall open.

Ginny,

Bill is dead. We found out this morning. I've already spoken with Professor McGonagall - You need to come home.

-Dad

Ginny stands on shaky legs, and Hermione puts her arms around her as she stumbles. The kitchen is silent as they leave.

4.

She stands around the black casket in between Harry and Ron. The funeral is small and quiet, as most are these days - small, quiet, and held in secret, somewhere where the battles can't reach those who are grieving.

Ron's eyes are empty as he stares ahead of him, but Harry's eyes hold a fire, a fury she's not sure she's ever seen burning the air around her. He lifts his eyes to hers. He stares at her, and she sees another emotion behind those furious eyes - resolution.

When the service is over, she watches as Ron and his family gather together to comfort each other. Harry approaches Remus, who has been standing to the side, alone, the entire time.

I'm ready, she sees him mouth, and Remus simply nods his head.

Only now do the tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

5.

She feels like she's on fire.

He is kneeling in front of her, trailing white hot kisses down her belly. He slides his hands up her legs and settles them on her hips. Everywhere his skin touches hers, she feels like she's going to burst into flame.

She was unprepared for this response to the most recent battle. No one was killed, but many were injured, and that resolve in his eyes was beginning to slip even as his training with Remus became more and more grueling.

She did not expect to see him standing in her room when she returned from the library with her research on soul splitting, didn't expect for him to pluck the books from her hands and crush his mouth against hers, didn't expect to feel his tongue slide into her mouth, didn't expect him to start working on getting her clothes off, kiss every inch of skin as it was revealed to him, and end up on his knees in front of her, making her writhe.

She pulls him up so that she can kiss him, shaky hands working on getting his clothes off as fast as possible so that they can lie down and she can feel him against her, skin on skin.

When he enters her, she sees stars in front of her eyes. He moves quickly, almost roughly, as if he wants to crawl inside her, and all she can do is grab onto his shoulders and hang on for the ride.

She knows he is getting close as his moans become louder and he grabs her hips, her shoulders, any piece of skin he can. He slips one hand between them and circles her clit and her orgasm rocks through her so suddenly she screams. He thrusts into her once, twice, three times and he's right behind her, moaning her name, collapsing on top of her as they tangle in a sweaty, trembling heap.

They lie still for seconds, minutes, hours - time has no meaning to her here, as she strokes her fingers up and down his back. She barely hears his murmured Thank you before he dozes off to sleep, still half on top of her with his head on her shoulder.

“You're welcome,” she whispers almost silently.

6.

He is standing alone when she finds him, his eyes on the horizon, distant and seemingly unaware of her approach. His hands are in his pockets, his robe blowing around him in the wind, billowing around his form in a way that makes him seem like he is a shadow, like he is blowing in the wind too.

Harry didn't show up to training in the morning, and Remus was worried. “Find him,” he told her, and she nodded her head, following the trail that leads into the forest.

She walks up to him slowly, not sure that he wants to be disturbed, but her foot catches on a fallen branch, and she stumbles, making her presence known.

He glances behind his back, and then turns his attention back to the sky.

She stands behind him and leans against a tree, an old oak in a circle of new, young trees. She stares up into the canopy, watch what's left of the brown leaves blow in the wind, and waits, knowing he'll speak when he is ready.

“I don't know if I can do it,” he says finally, his eyes still focused in front of him.

She doesn't have to ask what he's talking about - it's written all over his face. How can Remus and McGonagall and everyone expect this seventeen-year-old boy to be the savior of the wizarding world?

She takes a few steps towards him so she can cup his cheek in her hand. His skin is warm to the touch, and he flinches a bit at her touch. “Cold hands,” he says to the questioning look in her eye before she closes the distance between them and presses her lips to his.

His lips are dry and chapped, but she doesn't care as she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. She takes his hand and leads him back to the house, comforting him in the only way she knows how.

7.

All he left her was a note.

She was unsurprised that she'd woken up alone, nothing but a small sheet of parchment on the pillow next to her.

You can't come with me. Remus needs you here in case Voldemort…

You can't come with me.

--Harry

There is a knock at her door, a loud incessant noise that continues until she throws on a robe and turns the doorknob.

Ron is standing there, his fist still in the air. His hands fall limply to his sides. “He's gone,” Ron says simply, and she sighs, handing him the letter so he can see.

“I know.”

Ron reaches out to hug her, and she lets him, letting her arms go tightly about his waist.

“He's going to survive, Hermione,” he says, and she can tell he is trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to convince her. “He's going to live.” He pulls back and gives her a watery smile. “He's going to save us.”

She looks up into Ron's face, not even trying to smile in return, before burying her face in his shoulder.

“But who's going to save him?” she whispers.

8.

The moon is shining, silver and full, surrounded by a bright red ring - blood on the moon, a sign of trouble not far behind. She sits at the window and stares. And waits.

The celebrations had been going on for hours, the cheers and fireworks in the air visible for miles. Voldemort was dead; the war was over.

But Harry still hadn't returned. Everyone else was gone, out surveying their losses and searching for him, but still she sat at the window, waiting for him to come home.

She stands as she hears the door open slowly. She sees his shadow, a dark figure in the doorway, before she sees him.

His face is covered in dirt and blood, some his, some not. His breathing is labored, his breath coming in white puffs from his mouth. The rain is falling in torrents behind him. She wants to run to him, to throw her arms around him and tell him that everything will be alright, but their friendship left that comforting familiarity behind long ago. Come to me, she thinks, hoping that if she thinks the words hard enough, he will hear them and feel the same. Come to me, Harry.

They stare at each other from across the room. Neither of them moves, not for a long time.

Harry is the first to move, one foot carefully shifting in front of the other. He walks slowly but surely towards her. She holds her breath.

One, two, three steps, and he is in front of her. He says nothing, but gently cups her face in his shaky hands.

When she tries to speak, he silences her with a kiss. He then whispers the three words that she's long been waiting for, but was sure he'd never say:

“You saved me.”

And, in that moment, she knew he'd saved her too.

~Fin

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