A Most Advantageous Match
Chapter 7: Taking a Tumble
Harry watched his wife and Lupin dueling in the library, surrounded by a shimmering safety field to protect both them and the room around them. Hermione was fighting fiercely, although Harry sensed that Lupin was still holding back a bit, which he was grateful for. His wife's ambitions were sometimes larger than her physical capacity to attain them, as they'd learned their third year, when Hermione had to be given a Time-Turner to accommodate her many courses. She'd run herself ragged that year, and Harry knew she was still susceptible to overworking.
Harry was feeling a little more protective of Hermione than usual, although he suspected she needed to be protected from him more than anything else. She'd come to him again last night, looking like a beautiful dream in her thin summer nightgown, that he'd almost used the excuse she gave him of procreating to make love to her. Once again, however, the thought had come - this time all too vividly - of his wife lying rigidly beneath him, little more than a prop to be used for his pleasure. That he could not bear.
She'd felt so delicate in his arms as well, so soft and fragile and warm that Harry felt more profoundly than ever the need to guard her, to preserve her and her spirit in any possible, by any means necessary. She was so pure and sweet. He could not blemish that by taking her with anything less than love - true and requited love.
The indifference Hermione seemed to feel at his refusal convinced Harry of the correctness of his behavior. If Hermione had felt any of the passion that was growing within him for her, any of the longing, then surely she could not have accepted his rejection so passively.
Just as Harry was beginning to become lost in his musings, Lupin managed to hit Hermione with a tickling curse, and she fell to the floor shrieking with laughter. Harry smiled as she rolled about on the rug and Lupin stepped forward to remove the spell.
"Again," she huffed, fighting through a tangle of skirts to stand. "I need more practice."
Breathing hard, Lupin chuckled and replied, "Mrs. Potter, I have not your speed of recovery. Perhaps you can convince your husband to assist you while this old man rests."
Hermione looked to him challengingly, eyes flashing with determination. "Harry, will you?"
Harry hesitated, not because he feared hurting his wife, but because he knew he could not - and his tentativeness would anger her to no end.
"Very well," Harry replied, feeling she would be less insulted if he made an attempt, at the very least.
"Think you can best me?" Hermione taunted, grinning.
Harry could only smile vaguely. If he could use the full extent of his powers against her, he could disarm her within seconds, but those powers would cause her pain…so, no, he could not best her.
"On three," Hermione said, wand leveled at his chest. "One, two, three!"
Harry conjured a shield before she could finish the word "expelliarmus." Thus, their duel began, but it had little opportunity to progress further because Mr. Granger came into the room and took issue with the events transpiring therein.
"What are you doing to my daughter?" he barked at Harry, rushing forward as if to shield Hermione.
"We were dueling," Harry said, fighting hard not to take offense as he cancelled the remaining active spells in the room.
"Dueling?" Mr. Granger said incredulously. "But she's a woman!"
"Papa!" Hermione interjected.
"She wishes to learn," Harry said as coolly as possible, but inwardly he was bristling with anger.
"She could be hurt!"
At this, Harry did take offense. "I would never knowingly hurt your daughter, sir, and there are shields in place to prevent accidental injury. She is quite safe."
Mr. Granger shook his head vehemently and stormed out of the room.
Harry struggled to calm himself as he turned to Lupin. "Are you prepared to resume dueling?" he asked.
Lupin nodded. "Certainly."
Harry nodded to Lupin and his wife and strode out of the room, seeking a way to clear his thoughts.
~
For the first time since her arrival, Hermione felt the need to escape Godric's Hollow. After the spat between her husband and father the day before (and she could characterize it as nothing more manly than that, silly as they were being), the mood in the house had been very tense. Harry brooded, her father glowered, and she and her mother could only shake their heads in exasperation.
Today her mother was doing her best to distract his father from his current ill-will toward his son-in-law, and Hermione thought it best to let her own husband brood in peace - especially because he tended to snipe at her when she tried to make him see sense. So she'd leave them all to their private woes, and she would make an excursion onto the grounds, to explore some of those nooks and crannies yet uncovered.
It was a cloudy, rather muggy day, and Hermione knew she ran the risk of being caught in the rain, but she cared not. So long as she could have a little peace and solitude, a little water was nothing.
Today's wanderings led Hermione along a quietly trickling spring located on the edge of their property. It led her into a thick wood, but she pressed on, feeling that the further she was from human contact, the better.
Even had her husband not been brooding or her mother not occupied with reasoning with her father, Hermione felt she could not have enjoyed their society. Her mother might have asked how she was progressing with her husband, and she did not think she could bear the embarrassment of having been refused. And Harry…
Harry had always been her closest, most beloved friend. Their relationship had been comfortable and easy, harmonious, almost. They rarely tired of each other or quarreled, and only then in extreme circumstances. Now, however, she felt a rift coming between them, and she knew it was somewhat her doing. She had broken their agreement of an amicable, friendly marriage by beginning to see him as a man, a man capable of pleasing - loving - a woman. But he did not love her, though she felt herself growing more attached to him with each day, and in that knowledge, how could she be easy in his company?
Deep in thought, Hermione had paid little attention to where she walked, and found herself deep within the forest, where the stream had gone very narrow. Unfazed, Hermione continued, pushing through the undergrowth, until she felt a distinct drop of water hit her face. Looking up through the leaves, she was met with what was quickly becoming a heavy downpour.
Hermione decided she had better turn around then, and took several steps toward doing so, until she slipped on patch of wet leaves - and found herself tumbling down a steep hill.
Then everything went dark.
~
"Where could she be?" Mrs. Granger asked. Harry didn't respond as he paced the drawing room and Mr. Granger tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.
Supper was ready to be served, and still Hermione had not shown her face to anyone in the household.
"Tripsy!" Harry called, summoning Hermione's aptly named, clumsy maid.
"Yes, master?" came her reply before she fully materialized, stumbling.
"Did Mrs. Potter tell you where she was going?"
"Only that she was going walking on the grounds, sir," Tripsy said, wringing her hands in her apron. "I told her, sir, she should not go out when rain was so near, but she wasn't hearing it."
Harry smiled ruefully. No, Hermione never listened to perfectly sound advice unless it suited her aims.
"Thank you, Tripsy," Harry said. "You may go."
The elf disappeared with a pop, and Harry turned to the Grangers. "I'm going to look for her. You may as well eat. I cannot say how long it will take me to search the grounds, even on broom."
Harry did not wait for their response, but hurried out of the room, down a side corridor where the brooms were stored. A ready elf stood nearby with his cloak and gloves. Harry took them gratefully and took out his fastest broom.
Moments later, he was out the door and in the air, flying low over his property. He would scan the open areas first, and then, if necessary, venture into the woods. He hoped she had not lost herself amongst the trees, and felt a sense of foreboding at that thought. If Hermione were lost, she would be able to use magic to find her way home. If she were not on her way back now, something more sinister must have transpired. Harry felt sick at the thought.
A thorough perusal of the grounds proved Hermione was not within sight, and Harry's heart fell further toward his stomach with every minute that passed without the sight of the pile of brown curls atop her head.
Resigning himself to the unpleasant, Harry landed on the edge of the woods, shrunk and pocketed his broom, and, on instinct, began to follow a small stream into the trees. Harry walked deep into the forest, until he was forced to light his wand to see, and would have continued further, had he not caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye.
Harry saw that he stood atop a steep hill, and, to his horror, he realized the flash of color was Hermione, sprawled out on the ground in a tangle of skirts, covered in mud and soaked to the skin.
Panic seizing his mind, Harry fumbled down the hill without thinking, running to her side.
He put a hand to her face. She was so cold, so pale…but he felt a whisper of breath against his wrist, and hope flared within him. She was alive. If she was alive, she could be well again.
Harry quickly assessed the state of her injuries, seeing bruises, but thankfully, no blood or visibly broken bones.
He quickly took out his broom and resized it before gathering Hermione in his arms and mounting carefully. He shot upward through a clear patch in the tangled braches above them and flew her speedily home.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been keeping watch and met them at the door, but Harry hurried past them, carrying his wife up the stairs.
"What on earth has happened?" Mrs. Granger asked.
"I know not. This is the state I found her in," Harry called over his shoulder. He took her to her room, where Tripsy was waiting.
"Change her into dry clothes - her nightgown," he instructed, setting her gently on the bed. "And light a fire. She needs to be warmed."
Thank Merlin for magic, Harry thought to himself as Tripsy performed the allotted tasks within five seconds. Then he took his wife's care into his own hands, gathering her into his arms beside the fire, waiting to feel some warmth in her skin under his fingers, and waiting for the moment she opened her eyes.