------------------------------------------------------------
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.
------------------------------------------------------------
A/N:
I'm back with a new chapter! Did you miss me? Hehehe!
I'm so sorry for the long wait. Really, I am. I've been working on this chapter for sooo long. I open the document and try to find the words to type, but they weren't coming. And then I just sat down last night and said, "You're finishing this whether you like it or not!"
And then halfway through, I just got around to typing everything continuously.
Anyway, I've recently noticed upon re-reading my favorite romance novels, that it is quite normal for the pace to be quite slow in the beginning, and then once it gets in the middle, it does start to go really fast up until the climax.
So a warning here, I don't know what would happen in the future chapters, but I figured since they're married and all that, the pace would be faster. But this chapter is only one day worth. So it's not fast at all.
For now---
So go ahead!
Read! Read! Read!
…and review?! Ok?!
-----------------------------------------------------------
The wedding of the most controversial Duke of Godric's Hollow to the ever elusive Countess of Ravenclaw would have been the most remarkable event of the year --- had it not been for the tiny bit of fact that it was done in private, with only the closest friends and family of the bride and groom in attendance.
No one who was not part of the family was informed even when the scandal of Harry and Hermione in the cottage a few days before had already heeded an impending marriage. It was done out of the request of the groom who didn't want the entire ton up to date of their sudden wedlock.
Of course, that excuse could only be considered lame, noting that the couple was as infamous as ever and a marriage between them could only be kept a secret for as long as they remained in the mansion.
The ceremony took place in Sirius' drawing room three days after Harry came waltzing in the mansion, with Hermione safely tucked in his arms, sleeping. It had been close to dawn when they had arrived, and everyone in the entire household had been asleep, save for Sirius who had been informed earlier about Harry's disappearance, by Luna and Ron who were equally awake and frantically waiting.
No one dared to speak, in great fear of setting off Harry's temper, which was already flaring even without anyone saying anything. Mesmerized, all three had just stood exactly where they were and watched, transfixed, as Harry carried Hermione up the stairs.
"Harry---" Sirius had dared to begin but he had said no more than a few words when his godson glanced briefly at him.
"We'll be married in three days."
And no more had been said after that as Harry disappeared around the corner where the stairs to the west wing was. Hermione's chambers, he had recalled with great accuracy, could be found in that part of the mansion.
A quarter of an hour later, Harry emerged from his own chambers and came bounding down the steps with the intent of letting out his frustrations by riding the day away. No one had seen him until it was time for supper. But even then, nary a word came from him.
His fiance, who happened to be Hermione, of course, had been just as quiet.
Although her silence was no longer foreign to anybody, the eerie stillness coming from her seemed to include something else, and it puzzled and concerned the majority of the people in the party. Her injury gave her the excuse of hauling herself in her chambers for the most part of the day and having her dinner in the comfort of her own room.
But whenever people inquired about her condition, all she bothered saying was that an unfortunate event had happened, and then immediately just shut off.
Harry came to see her once during the time between their arrival and their wedding. And it was only to inform her of the arrangements that had been made. He had not bothered to ask of her certainty regarding the impending marriage, nor did she try to consult him regarding his own thoughts.
Perhaps both had realized the time for talking had passed and actions were now desired.
The special license needed for Harry and Hermione to get married had already been drawn before any of them realized it. It had been Sirius who had handled all the details, his excitement evident, but trimmed down by the fact that neither the bride nor the groom looked too thrilled.
As soon as the last of the guests had left, a priest had been called to perform the ceremony, and it had been over before anyone could savor the occasion.
The service was simple, abrupt and direct.
Harry said his vows in a low audible voice --- his words muffled and contained, almost as if they didn't want to come out. And Hermione said hers breathlessly, as if wanting the words spoken before she had the nerve not to say them.
There had been no celebration, following the command of the duke who seemed to have developed the sudden itch to remove himself and his new wife from the place as soon as possible. And once the congratulations had been given, although no one really wanted to say anything, they were out the door and into Harry's carriage.
They had been traveling for almost half a day now, the ride uncomfortable and awkward. Not just because Hermione's broken ankle was still in pain, yanking a yell out of her every now and then, but also because they had yet to say anything to each other, their silence only lengthening their 3-day journey.
Hermione kept tossing and turning, trying to find the perfect position to stay in while doing her best to endure the uncomfortable silence inside the carriage, while swallowing the small whimpers of pain the throbbing in her ankle caused.
She reminded herself for the nth time, that she should not complain about anything --- not about the space she could maneuver in, not the uncomfortable position she had to bear, and especially not about Harry's treatment.
If he was being cold because he had to marry her, she could live with that --- for now.
She did rather take him by surprise when she announced, without even a hint of what was coming, that she would marry him. Even though it had been his idea in the first place, he hadn't asked again after that one time, which only signified that he didn't really mean to ask at all.
But still, she couldn't help but carry on a tiny bit of hope that what had transpired over the last fortnight would have at least been enough to raise the temperature around them to considerable warmth.
To her obvious chagrin, it even lowered to a degree that could only be possible when she's around him.
Normally, she wouldn't have cared.
And normally, she would have cherished the peace.
But they were husband and wife.
They couldn't very well ignore each other for the rest of their lives, could they?
But obviously, her husband meant to die trying!
She shuddered.
A husband…
Really…
She never thought she'd have one. After all those years of successfully evading the sweet nothings of the gentlemen coming to her doorstep, she thought she would be a spinster for good.
It didn't bother her at all. She'd embraced the idea, actually, when it had settled in her mind after hitting the age of 22.
But she did think of it sometimes.
And during those times, she'd always imagined that she'd feel something different the moment she wore his wedding band. But, as she stole a quick glance at Harry, her fingers idly twisting the plain platinum wedding ring he had inserted on her finger, she decided nothing felt different.
She couldn't say that it was a bad thing, but she couldn't say it was a good thing either, could she?
One thing was for certain, though, nothing would ever be the same again.
If that didn't make sense, then obviously, she was far more confused than she thought.
As she tried out what seemed to be the 10th position the carriage would allow, she huffed out a breath, clearly indicating the length of her patience was about to come to an end.
"I say," Harry suddenly said, turning to her with an irritated scowl. "Is something the matter?"
Hermione jumped in surprise. So now he was speaking to her? If only she had known that her restlessness would be enough to annoy words out of him, she would have doubled her efforts earlier.
"I shouldn't like to think that my company is so appalling that you feel the need to distract yourself by finding out how spacious this carriage is."
She glared at him, recovering herself. "How considerate of you to notice my --- er, distress --- your grace, seeing that your mind seemed to have been somewhere else this entire time."
"Oh, it wasn't all too hard, my lady," he retorted, ignoring her innuendo. "As you have been far too kind to flaunt your feelings over the last three hours."
Hermione's face turned a bit red, with anger and little touch of embarrassment. "I apologize for the inconvenience. I shan't bother you any longer."
Her dramatic comeback would have had its wanted effect, had it not been for the wheels suddenly colliding with a rather large stone on the road, the commotion causing the carriage to land quite roughly on the road.
Hermione involuntarily winced when her injured foot, which was propped up on the empty seat on the other side of the carriage, recoiled twice.
"Bloody leg," she cursed in pain and just shut her eyes, willing the throbbing to cease.
Beside her, Harry just shook his head and then tilted his head back to feign sleep.
`Some husband he is…' Hermione thought as she reached as far as she could to rub some ease into her leg. In her attempt to forget about the infuriating man beside her, she chose to look at the view outside.
The road they were taking seemed endless. On its side was a barren field, carpeted only by tall, green grass, shimmering with the drops of the recent rainfall. Over at the end of one pasture, the sun was about to set, casting an ethereal glow across the meadow.
Hermione had never been to this side of the country, her life having been spent only in Ravenclaw. But she loved its lush scenery. The smell of grass, wet after rain, was so fresh it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
When she was in Scotland, she had been fascinated with everything about the country, their culture, their rough outdoors, but nothing compared to the one-of-a-kind feeling that England had always given her.
Despite the memories that she'd rather forget, it would always be her home.
Hermione was just about done enjoying the sunset, when something caught her attention. She squinted and realized after a moment that the flash she just saw was lightning.
She bit her lip and turned to Harry.
"Begging your pardon, your grace," Hermione said. "But how much longer until we stop for the night?"
Harry opened one sleepy eye and looked at her. He yawned. After peering outside, he leaned his head back again and closed his eyes. "There's an inn half an hour away."
Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and mimicking her husband's pose. Although she didn't need or want the sleep, she dozed off merely five minutes after she closed her eyes, her head coming into contact with a very comfortable shoulder.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sudden stillness of the swaying carriage brought Hermione awake. The moment she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed that it was pitch black outside. If it weren't for the candle that a woman in a red robe was holding up near her face, she wouldn't have seen anything at all.
She nearly screamed when she saw the unfamiliar face, but when she heard movement beside her, and tilted her head to see that her husband was beside her, albeit staring at her in a strange way, she let out a breath of relief.
"We'll stay here tonight," he explained. "Best we alight from the carriage."
She nodded and said nothing more but just watched him get off first. She saw him look up and for a moment, was worried that he would actually decide to continue their journey. She was then surprised when he suddenly took off his coat and covered her with it.
Wondering why he thought she'd need his coat, Hermione stepped out of the carriage and found her answer when she felt the tiny pats of rain on her head as soon as she alighted, with his assistance.
She felt him gently place his arm around her shoulders for support and they made their way to the cottage just up ahead.
They entered the inn buzzing with happy and loud clatters coming from the other guests who had also taken refuge for the night.
Harry looked around, his instincts forcing him to scour the area first for any suspicious-looking fellow. He didn't get to finish his perusal, however, because the landlady, whose name he found out was Mary, was already ushering them up the stairs.
The 2nd floor consisted of a narrow, wooden hallway, with an array of doors on both sides. The walls were also lined with wooden frames, each displaying their own individual artworks of landscapes and portraits of different sizes. A bit of a tawdry display for decorations, but if someone asked her, it suited the place.
With her keys jangling against her hips, Mary led them across the lengthy hall and they rounded the corner which led to another long hallway pretty much the same as the one that preceded it. They stopped in front of the door at the very end when their hostess opened the door and then turned around.
"Your room, your grace," she said, looking uncertainly at Harry. "Tis the only one left. Packed, we are for the rest of tonight. I am ---"
Harry held up his hand to stop a tirade of excuses that would surely follow. "It's all right, Mary." Harry sighed, and then looked at the woman with knitted brows. "There are two beds, aren't there?"
Her instant pallor told Harry what he needed to know. He bit back the urge to growl and shake the woman in frustration. A room with two beds, he could do. But a room with only one was just unfair for a man in his state!
He could barely control his desire for his wife when they were in the carriage. How was he supposed to a handle a night with her beside him?
He cleared his throat. "I will require a cot."
Mary looked appalled but seemed to remember that she was threading on Harry's already too-thin temper. She simply bowed her head in understanding and hastily left their presence with a frantic "I'll have my sons prepare it for you."
As soon as they were alone, Harry escorted Hermione inside the chambers and helped her up the bed, careful not to bump against her injury, knowing full well how it was still tender after their bumpy ride.
"I'm not an invalid, your grace," she murmured when he began to tuck the covers around her.
Harry said nothing, but he did stop the pampering.
He walked over to other side of the room where the dressing screen was. He loosened his cravat and shrugged off his coat. Hermione watched him, puzzled by his indifference. She wanted to ask, but knew that the simple lack of interest would keep him from answering.
"You shouldn't have tormented the poor woman." Silence really didn't sit too well with her, she thought. "We did come by without notice."
Harry glanced at her. "I was not tormenting her." He unbuttoned the buttons on his vest. "If you think I was, I wasn't doing it on purpose."
Hermione didn't respond to his statement because she was too busy eyeing him curiously and wondering why he was undressing in front of her. "Whatever are you doing?"
Harry's fingers stilled. "Loosening my clothes?"
"Y-you said you were sleeping on the --- uh --- on the cot." She hated stammering, but the bored expression on his face combined with a growing interest did something to her brain that made it difficult to string words together.
"I will be," he said in a voice so deep she barely heard him. "But---"
"But?" Hermione whispered, unable stand the tension of waiting.
"---but you could change my mind." He smiled at her suggestively, unbuttoning the last button. "Would you care to try?"
She swallowed.
Now he was being charming --- or seductive, if she would take his innuendo that way. But she wasn't prepared for intimacy. Was she? She stole a glance at him and felt a mixture of emotions that she didn't want to name just yet, but she was fairly sure she knew at least two of them.
"N-no?"
"No?" He asked, advancing on her. "Are you certain, my lady?"
Hermione scooted away, her hands clutching the bed sheets for support. Each step Harry took meant an edge farther on the bed for her. Not too long after, she hit the headboard, her head coming into full contact with the wooden panel. This didn't bode too well for her.
"Your grace, stop." She protested weakly as the bed dipped where his knee smoothly descended.
On all fours, he slowly crawled to her, his arms trapping her in between, preventing her escape. Hermione watched, no longer protesting, as his face and body drew nearer and nearer to hers.
She closed her eyes, hoping that he would leave her alone. But when she opened them again, he was still there, beside her, everything from his waist to the side of his arms up to his head was bent, blocking everything else from view.
He was looking at her intently, no longer was he smiling, and no longer did he look teasing. Hermione felt something change between them and she was afraid of what it meant.
"Harry," she whispered his name, her breath touching his face. "W-what are you doing?"
"Convincing you." He whispered back.
Hermione had sworn before that she would forget everything she felt where Harry was concerned. Especially his kisses. And she thought she really had. But the moment his lips touched hers, every sensation that he made her feel came rushing back to her in a sea of waves, a thousand times more powerful than ever.
It was the lightest of all his kisses, yet it was the most intimate she had ever received. Somehow, it felt different, more sacred. Just the simple thought that they were married had suddenly changed everything between them. Somehow, there was more meaning.
His lips were soft as they brushed hers, slanting back and forth to claim her as his, brand her as his wife, as he did with words merely hours before. His one hand came to rest on her shoulder, and as her mouth opened to welcome his sweet invasion, his hand began to play with the hollow of her collar bone.
It stayed there even as he drew an inch away, his eyes searching hers for an answer he already knew. "Are you convinced yet?" He asked, the corner of his lips lifting.
He kissed her swiftly before she could answer. He moved away, seeming to enjoy the way her eyes were still glazed even after he'd ended the kiss.
"I---don't know." Came her tentative answer.
Harry's eyes were burning as his gaze dropped on her lips, slightly swollen and inviting. He wanted nothing more than to sway her further, but the tone in her voice made him think.
He had tried to control his desire since that morning in the carriage, but the longer he stayed close to her, the more it grew to an alarming height. He shouldn't have given in to the temptation of what should be for their wedding night, but he had no idea when that would be --- or if there would ever be one --- and no more could he take the agony of not tasting even a little bit of her freshness.
He did not want their first night together to be in the small confines of an inn, and he thought that he could satisfy himself with just one kiss --- a kiss enough to last him for who knew how long.
But he had been wrong.
It only intensified what he felt for her, this raging desire to consume and make her his as a husband should his wife. With this excruciating pain, he doubted it would even last him the night.
Before he could convince himself to abandon his decency, a knock on the door thankfully brought him to his senses, and regrettably made him aware of the awkward position they were in.
Harry was nearly sprawled on top of Hermione, his hands braced on either side of her body, and he was leaning so close to her, he could see himself in her eyes.
It took a few uncomfortable movements to right themselves and when they did; neither of them seemed keen on dealing with what should have been just right for any newly married couple.
Except they weren't an ordinary couple.
Their story weren't as conventional as others' courtships.
He couldn't say he liked the idea of being different, because it sure as hell had given him a hard time, but he wasn't up for anything ordinary either. Neither was Hermione, he believed. Her very being was not normal.
Or as she would rather coin…
Special.
Yes, that was her.
Special.
Harry shook his head as he strode to the door and opened it.
Two young boys were standing there, their hair slightly wet from the outpour outside, and they were carrying what looked to be his makeshift bed. Their arms were laden with rolls of blanket and two pillows.
Harry watched as they entered upon his command and began to arrange his sleeping place for the night. All throughout the process, he kept sneaking small and swift glances at Hermione, trying to see what her reaction was. His years as an assassin had given him the ability to make out the profiles of his victim with barely a second of a glimpse.
Her face was impassive, and she was biting her lip, which twisted something in his gut, but he just shoved the thought away, but her eyes were somewhat confusing to read. They were anxious, yet somewhat uncertain.
He shoved his hand into his hair. If he had it his way, he would have abandoned his respect for Hermione's preference and slept with her on the same bed.
But knowing that she was still adjusting to having a man in her life, he let her have it her way, although she really didn't say anything about it. He just knew that it was on her mind.
When they boys had finished, Harry fished inside his pocket for some coins and gave them their tip. Thanking him gallantly, they went off, leaving him alone with his wife.
The door was left slightly open, and when Harry walked over to close it, the noise below was at its height, somewhat inviting and very tempting. Booze and perhaps, some women…
He turned to Hermione to tell her of his sudden plans for the evening, and was not surprised, but still slightly discomforted, when she jumped in alarm, as if fearing that he might pounce on her again in a second.
For a moment there, he considered trying to make amends with her. But since he was aware of where that could possibly lead, he decided otherwise. What he needed was a drink, he thought, as he reached inside his breeches for his pocket watch.
And something to occupy his mind.
By something, he meant someone.
It was still early and he had nothing else to do that was not invading in a sort of way. He couldn't very well take one of the horses and ride out his frustration, seeing that it was already dark and the weather was not very friendly either.
Deciding that something was better than nothing, Harry reached over the knob and turned it.
"Where are you going?" Hermione looked at him.
"Downstairs," he merely said, prepared to keep the matter as quiet as possible.
"Why?"
Harry turned around. The warmth of his passion had somehow gone missing. He wasn't too keen on explaining anything that would involve tonight, as he wasn't all too comfortable with the thought of doing it either.
"The answer to your question, my dear, is something I doubt you would want to hear."
The look on her face, which wasn't supposed to do anything to him in any way, clawed at him and it dawned on his mind --- not to mention another part of him --- that other women were definitely out of the question.
Shocking as it seemed, the thought of him fulfilling his unsatisfied state in the company of another was not too good --- not for him, not for Hermione.
She didn't say anything after that, though, and Harry felt very much the villain that he was in her eyes.
With a low growl of irritation, he yanked open the door. With an "I'll have someone bring you supper," he walked out of the room, leaving his very bewildered wife with her own bewildering thoughts.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hermione kept her eyes on the door Harry had closed behind him on his way out, half-expecting him to open it, half-hoping he would not. Frankly, she was quite tired of trying to think of what he would do next. She'd probably be too old to care before she finally cracked his code.
Ever since they had met, the man had nearly driven her insane.
His behavior was difficult to read; his actions not even coherent. She was always so hesitant to believe anything he did because she was afraid that it might only be her own wishful thinking.
If she'd had been the most cunning escape artist in the world, she might already be halfway home by now.
Did she regret marrying him?
Twice before the wedding, she'd almost changed her mind.
She wanted to call it off, thinking that the only reason she was going to marry him was because she'd just gone through another terrifying ordeal and she'd just experienced one of those white light moments that made you regret some past actions,
The first time she almost backed out was because somehow, her mind had not yet forgotten that she hated him and that her pride would not allow her to stoop low and let her bind herself with him through marriage. But, since she'd already come to realize that Harry's role in the death of his father was unintentional, as hard as it was for her to accept that, she let the matter go.
The second time was when he came by to tell her of the wedding plans that had already been made. His tone then had been impassive, uncaring. The way he said it gave Hermione a glimpse of what their future would be like --- or at least what his behavior at that moment was letting her see.
She nearly broke their engagement because of that.
But, in all honesty…after thinking of the pros and cons, she chose to marry him even with second thoughts because everything just came down to one thing:
She felt safer with him.
And she was…
Truly.
But now that they were married, he was starting to build these thoughts and feelings, causing turmoil of unwanted emotions churning inside her, making her feel things she had constantly denied before. Because of this, she was starting to believe that she was no safer with him than without him.
She was already in danger.
In danger of feeling something for him that was not hatred.
And that was even more risky…
How could she let herself fall for a man like him, whose actions, thoughts and emotions are equally hard to read?!
Could she bear the thought that after all this time, everything she felt and would feel for him, be it hatred or love, would be unreciprocated?
Harry was a difficult man. And while he was unaware of what he can do, she was an easy woman to hurt. How would it be possible for them to leave a life together wherein no one would get hurt, if from the start, everything was a simple farce?!
Briskly, Hermione touched her face, feeling the moisture settling on her cheeks. She was surprised to find out that she had been crying, all the more stunned that she had been unaware until then.
Since when had she mocked her character with tears? She'd tried so hard not to lose herself, to keep what was left of her intact, but she had been reduced to this frailty.
She hated it.
Yet she couldn't do anything to stop.
The consent, as it had been given, gave her the liberty to bury her face in her hands and succumb to this moment of weakness, the sky outside echoing the very feelings she had tried so long to keep.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the time Harry reached the barroom downstairs, it was already raining hard outside, he could feel the chills from the wind seeping through the cracks of the windows.
When he and Hermione had entered just a while ago, the barroom had not been full yet. But now that he was here, trying to look for a seat on which to take his brandy, he couldn't help but think the place needed a bit of clearing.
After some time of searching, he found himself slouched just in front of the bar, his heavy mood evident with his posture. "Whiskey." He muttered to the man tending the orders. "One bottle." He added and then slapped a big sum on the counter.
He wanted to drink the night away so that by the time he went up to bed, all he would need is a good night's sleep. Half an hour later, he was down to his last glass of whiskey, and his head was quite fuzzy. But it was still not enough to diminish any of the feelings and frustrations he had been feeling half an hour ago. He raised his hand to the bar tender, and held up one finger for one more bottle.
The man beside him chuckled.
Harry turned his head.
"Not a happy night, eh?"
Harry grunted. He was not that drunk yet, so he could pretend to be just to smack the face of the meddler beside him. With his face turned forward, Harry shifted his eye slightly to study the man.
Despite the hazy feeling he had, Harry's sense were still quite sharp as he observed his unwanted companion. The guy looked to be in his late twenties, with brown hair and blue eyes. His hair was a little long for the conventional clean-cut required of the ton because it was touching the top of his collar.
He was leaning on the counter, looking bored, indicating that he must be a traveler who had already seen all there was to see in different places, well, in England, at least. His black coat was somewhat thinner than necessary, signifying that he must be used to the cold weather, as any Englishman should be, and his well-worn boots didn't hide the fact that he usually took on his adventures without any ride.
He was sipping his drink gradually but not too slowly, savoring the taste but not worried he would not have enough money to buy more. The way he cocked his head showed that he was not waiting for someone, but rather he was aware of what was happening around him.
"Have you finished your inspection, detective?"
Harry blinked. Not too many was skilled or sensitive enough to be aware that Harry was observing them. If this man had been one of his targets, what a messy one his mission would have been!
Harry scoffed and then coughed. "And here I was thinking I haven't lost my touch. Must be one of those days."
He wasn't up for a conversation tonight, but what the hell…
"Trouble in paradise?"
"Hell, maybe. But not paradise." Harry shook his head. Then he looked around. "How did you---"
"Your ring, my lord," And then he squinted his gaze. "Beg pardon, I meant your grace."
"Harry's fine." He offered, feeling a little bit friendly, and not to mention dizzy.
"Lye," he extended his hand.
Harry shook it and returned to his drink.
"The ring, huh?" He mentioned a little later, his words somehow slurred but not offending. "I forget it's even there."
"Not good for the wife. How long have you been married anyway?" Lye asked, eyeing Harry through the rim of his glass.
Somehow, Harry found this laughable even though it wasn't. "This morning."
Lye whistled. "You must be in love with her, then."
Harry stilled, his drink swishing in the glass. "What made you say that?"
Lye shrugged. "You haven't looked at any of the women who have been trying to get your attention since you sat down."
"There are women here?" Harry asked, looking around.
Lye just chuckled, as Harry's actions confirmed he wasn't really paying attention, or perhaps he was just drunk. "So, yours was a match made in --- er--- hell, was it?"
Harry sighed, his head clouding. "Wasn't supposed to be a match at all…"
Lye looked a bit uncomfortable. "Compromised?"
"You could say that." Harry snorted, not at all liking the word but it was the best that could describe the reason for his marriage. "Nothing happened, of course, as always is the case. I didn't want to marry her. But I offered for her, anyway. She refused."
"And you're married, how?" Lye asked, taking a sip of his drink.
"She accepted three days ago. Still don't know why she did, and I won't bother finding out. Women are so fickle. They decide on one thing, and then turn everything crazy when they do something else."
"Er---you're not complaining because you happen to prefer someone else, are you?" Lye asked again.
"Wasn't planning on marrying at all until she came barging into my life."
And then Harry decided that there was something wrong about his statement. Perhaps, it was he who came barging into her life. But still, she didn't have to be so vulnerable or hardheaded that she needed saving, did she?
"Then, you're lucky." Lye muttered. Something in his tone told Harry that he was about to hear a love story that ended up in tragedy. "I wanted to marry this woman I've loved nearly all my life. But when I had the courage to ask, she told me to leave."
"I'm---sorry." He offered tentatively.
Lye laughed a bit. "Don't be. I've always believed she did that for another reason---at least nothing as painful as she didn't love me back."
Harry nodded, not really understanding the feeling, but of lack of anything to say. "How long has it been since you last saw her?"
"Years."
"Is she married?"
"Last time I heard, she is." Lye took a big gulp from his glass. Slamming it down with a little bit of force, he shoved his hand into his hair. "But it doesn't matter."
Harry whipped his head around. "What do you mean?"
"I'll see her again." Lye explained, looking at Harry in the eye. "And when I do and I find out she's not as happy as she should be, I'll do what I can to convince her to come with me." He said this in an indifferent tone as if coveting somebody else's wife was not a sin.
"What, run away with you?" Harry asked, incredulous. "Wouldn't her husband file a case against both of you? You'll spend your life running away from the authorities."
"That's the price you pay for true love, isn't it?" Lye muttered, laughing slightly.
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he had to admit. "I wouldn't know. I've never been in love."
Lye inclined his head in his direction. "You don't love your wife? Not even a bit?"
"We've known each other barely a month. How could I possible love her?" He knew he sounded quite cruel, but the thing was, he just didn't know what else to say to a stranger who now knew one of the most private parts of his life that shouldn't have been shared to anyone at all.
"Does she love you?"
When had this conversation turned to a session with some sort of therapist? But what the heck? He'd never see him again anyway.
"I doubt she does." Harry found himself admitting yet again. "She hates me."
"Why are you married again?" Lye tried laughing the matter off.
"I reckon even though she hates me, she still needs me."
"For what?"
Harry shrugged. "What other reason could there be?"
Lye nodded. He clapped Harry's shoulder. "What if you find out she no longer needs you?"
"I guess, then there would no longer be a reason for us to stay married." Harry said, getting all riled up.
Hermione would need him forever, wouldn't she? If she wanted an earl for Ravenclaw, he would be necessary to her for as long as possible.
"You say that now, but when one of you falls in love with the other, you would be saying something else."
"I doubt either of us will," Harry shook his head. "If one of us would do one thing first, that would be killing each other."
"That bad?" Lye joked. And then he splayed his hands. "Divorce is one solution. You don't have to deal with the mess of murdering somebody."
"Yes, but that would still be messy. Divorce is considered social suicide, at least for her."
"But what if she asks for it?"
Harry stilled. His finger toying with the rim of the glass he was holding. After one and a half bottle of whiskey, it all boiled down again to her.
He came down, wanting to forget, yet he met someone who wouldn't let him.
But it was a good thing that Lye had been there to prevent him from stop thinking about who he was with.
Now, he was facing an important question, how important exactly, he wasn't too certain, but he had a gut feeling that Lye didn't just ask questions out of the blue, he had something in mind. And for now, Harry wanted to believe that he was some sort of guardian angel who was looking out for him and Hermione.
As of now, he really didn't know whether he loved Hermione or not. He had feelings for her, yes, feelings that were too strong to deem as worthless. But he still had no idea whether they would mature into what people called love.
For now, this question was hanging in midair, waiting for his answer.
If Hermione asked for a divorce, would he give it to her?
But then, would she want to leave him?
Smug as the thought was, it did make sense.
Hermione was the one who sealed their fate. She accepted his proposal, despite the fact that it had been a late acceptance. And even though right now, she most probably would want to take back his wedding vows and shove it up his nose, but in the future?
In the future, when everything else had fallen into a routine, and they had both disappointed each other, which would most probably happen, would she give up? Would he give up?
And if she would, would he let her leave?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was nothing else to describe Harry as he swayed against doors after doors, trying to reach his room for the night. Foxed, though he may be, he still took great pride in the fact that he managed to find his way without having to knock somebody just for helping, or what he preferred to call, meddling.
He had always been a superb drunk, but never a poor one. Tonight had just been a different one. The drinks he had with his new friend Lye had caused him all his pocket money, leaving him a pauper, for the rest of the evening at least. Tomorrow, he'll retrieve some from his trunk.
But first, he had to get some sleep. One never knew when one's strength should be needed in case there was an emergency. With the storm at its peak, Harry doubted the morning will come by without a little bit of hazard in between.
His mind was fuzzy and his feet were swaying as he trudged over to his bed. Then through his swirling vision, he made out a form of a sleeping woman occupying the medium-sized bed he would be sleeping in.
What was a woman doing here? He wondered, nearly staggering backward for staying upright too long.
He didn't order for somebody to be brought up, did he?
Then he loomed nearer, nearly falling on top of the sleeping figure.
He couldn't make out who it was, and frankly, didn't really bother all that much to find out. He had no concern whatsoever to familiarize himself with whoever the lady was, if she was even a lady. What he wanted was some rest, and he'll be dead first before he allowed his aching body to lie on the hard, wooden floor.
Without another thought, since he wasn't really capable of any more, Harry lay down on the empty space next to her and dozed off even before his head hit the pillow.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first few cries had caused him to stir, but they weren't enough to keep him awake for long.
But when the soft sounds became harsh ones that came like warning bells into his head, Harry bolted upright. The first immediate thought that came to his mind was that he needed medicince.
His head was throbbing, his eyes were hurting.
But his ears were definitely working right.
At first, he couldn't hear anything, the harsh pounding of the continuous rain making it hard for him to distinguish any other sound. But because the whimpers were coming from somewhere close, beside him to be exact, he didn't waste time trying to fathom who was causing it.
Reaching over, Harry tried to grab Hermione by the shoulders, but found this a difficult task because she was covered with mounds of blankets. Harry briefly wondered where she had gotten the extra cloths and recognized one of them as the material that should have been part of the cot he had been supposed to sleep on that night.
Remembering the cot, Harry reached up to rub his forehead, if only to remember why he wasn't sleeping on it when he should have been.
But Harry's thoughts were interrupted when Hermione began to shiver, despite the many blankets that should have been competing with the sun for its scorching heat.
With one curse for each blanket, Harry began to peel them off her. This didn't prove to be a very easy task, because even in sleep, Hermione was adamant to keep them on.
At first, he thought it was just a normal reaction to the cold night, but only when he had begun to realize that her reaction was strange did he become more alarmed.
"Hermione," he said, as he managed to take off the last of the extra blankets, leaving her with only one.
Still, she didn't stir.
But her puckered brows told him a different story.
She must be having a nightmare.
Nothing else could explain the whimpering.
Harry leaned close. "Hermione," he called out again, a little firmer this time.
It was hard, trying to call out to her when the rain was beating furiously against the roof, and wind was howling like a mad animal against them.
And then when he thought that she'd quieted down, her eyes flashed open the same instant a lightning flashed across the sky.
The sound of the rumbling thunder that followed startled him.
But his reaction was nothing compared to hers.
It was almost as if she lost control of herself and became a different woman. No longer was she the strong Hermione he had met, the one who defied him at every turn. This woman was vulnerable, scared.
Harry couldn't help but stare as her wide eyes gave away every emotion she was feeling.
"Hermione," Harry murmured, reaching out to her.
"Don't touch me!" She slapped his hand away and backed up against the headboard, drawing her knees close to her, wrapping her arms around them.
She started swaying back and forth. Harry moved closer. She didn't seem to be aware that he was Harry. Just that he was somebody. And he became more worried. What could possibly have caused her this fear? Granted that he'd never slept with her before; he should know something as serious as this, shouldn't he?
"Hermione," his tentative tone was nothing like he'd ever used before, and he didn't like it because it made him sound like pathetic, but with the way Hermione was right now, he didn't want to take a chance with his normal voice.
And then lightning struck again.
And in the barest of seconds, he saw her flinch the same moment the lightning came.
"Is it --- is the storm?"
Somehow, his words had put the life back in her, but the fear never left her eyes as she looked up at him. "Harry?"
He hated the way she said his name, almost as if she didn't believe he was there, coming to her rescue. It was as if she didn't trust him enough to be there when she needed him. But wasn't that his fault? Despite the fact that he had come to her assistance before, he had never so much as indicated that he would help her with anything.
"How long has this been going on?!" Harry asked, taking hold of both her arms, shaking her when she didn't say anything. And when everything else was too much, she broke down, crying. With each sob that passed from her mouth and tore his heart, Harry heard bits and pieces of her story.
"I---I tried to f-forget. I r-really did." She took a deep breath, and then she shook her head, her body suddenly feeling very weak. "But that night --- oh God --- that night."
Just the way she said that, as if she was being eaten alive, was all it took before Harry knew what she needed. He didn't know where he got the strength, but he hauled her into his arms, wrapping them around her, trying to protect her from the memory, even though he knew in his heart, it was all up to her.
"Shh---" He murmured in her ear, rocking her back and forth, trying to make her see where she was and whom she was with.
But she was inconsolable.
"I still feel their---their hands on me. And their faces…" She nearly broke down. Harry began to rock her like the child she was lost in her own dream. "I s-see them in my d-dreams. C-coming…tor-tormenting me. I t-thought after that first night, they would go a-away."
"Hermione," he tried to interrupt.
"B-but they became worse," she hiccupped, "Each time, each d-dream," She looked up and touched his face. And then she began to cry earnestly again. "I tried to be b-brave until y-you came along." He tried crooning to her, but as she looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears, he was silenced. "B-but---you weren't t-there to s-save me."
Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm, trying to absorb her pain, telling her that her dreams told her otherwise. She sobbed even more after this, but appeared to be taking things in more calmly. "I---"
Then she stopped and looked away. Harry had the feeling that what she was about to say had something to do with him. It took a great deal of coercion and quite a long moment to make her speak.
"I---I knew it would happen again t-tonight," she said.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He whispered to her. Silent tears were now falling down her cheeks. He tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming that Harry stopped altogether. "I would have stayed with you."
He reached for a blanket to stop her chills, and then, at the back of his mind, he suddenly realized that she must have wanted him to sleep with her all along.
The blanket she'd used to cover herself with was from the cot that was supposed to be his bed. She must have woken up in the middle of the night, saw him sleeping beside her and then retrieved the cot from the floor.
She wanted him to stay.
"I---I wanted to." Hermione admitted; her words soft and barely audible. "But I didn't know how---"
"Just ask me." Harry interrupted, tightening his hold on her. He still couldn't believe that he had spent his night enjoying himself with his drinks, while Hermione had been all alone up here, trying to conquer her fear by herself. He should kill himself for this, or at least, crack his head against the poles of this bed. "I'm your husband. All you had to was ask."
Hermione nodded and then looked down again.
Then Harry shook his head. "No," he said, tipped her chin up again. "I'm your husband, Hermione," he said, and then he kissed her lightly. "You shouldn't even have to ask."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hermione woke up the next morning, with a light heart and beside her, an empty bed.
She reached over to smooth the place where Harry had lain last night, holding her as she tried to sleep. She had thought that just like before, even with him near, she would have a hard time sleeping after a nightmare. But surprisingly, his words had done more to her than what she was hoping for.
She'd gone to bed, thinking that she would suffer for the rest of the night, but she didn't.
For the rest of the night, she'd slept soundly and had not woken until she felt the bed sag beside her and saw that Harry had gotten up.
Noticing that his movement had awakened her, he crossed over to her side of the bed, crouched down, inquired how she was feeling, and then kissed her forehead like a child before preparing himself and walking out of the room, saying they were to leave after luncheon.
Exhausted from last night's ordeal, Hermione had fallen asleep as quickly as he had left and didn't wake up two hours after.
As she got up and did her morning routine, she pondered on Harry's gentleness the night before, thinking that it was one more point for this marriage of theirs. He'd seen that side of him, but they were but glimpses. Nothing could have prepared her for the full impact of it last night.
Half an hour later, she finished changing into her morning dress, her hair up in a messy bun, tendrils of it falling at the side of her face. She felt fresh and very much renewed for the day. As she was walking down the stairs to meet Harry, her injured leg causing her to take the steps one at a time, she began to wonder whether his behavior would last. Knowing that his moods had the habit of changing and were as unpredictable as the weather, which was now sporting a very sunny day, Hermione doubted it would.
But, she decided, not all good things last after all.
And she was prepared to deal with it if he was.
As she hit the bottom step, Hermione scoured the first floor for the sight of her husband. She found him seated behind one of the round tables, talking to a man seated just opposite him.
Curious as to how Harry had acquired a companion in barely twenty-four hours, Hermione slowly made her way to him.
The inn was not as busy as it had been last night, so Hermione had no trouble reaching their table, even with an injured leg. She arrived just in time to hear Harry say, "My wife, the Duchess of Godric's Hollow."
Hermione had no idea what to say, taken aback by Harry's introduction of her as a duchess. She wasn't used to the idea yet, and that was just all right since she'd only been a duchess for one day.
So she fixed upon her face a smile with which to greet Harry's new friend, hoping he would be ready for the tirade of questions she would bombard him with. As for her, she was quite ready to be all courteous.
But what she wasn't prepared for was whose face had turned to meet hers.
"William?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N:
This was quite the hardest and obviously, the longest, chapter I'd made so far! It's 24 pages! Can you imagine that?
I've just finished, and it's 4:34 in the morning here. I have done my last minute editing, but I would still consider another one later, after I've had some sleep. Anyhow, this update should do for now.
I hope it was all right. It was such a long chapter because I needed everything you just read to be included in this one. As you all know, I really love cliffies, so I just couldn't resist ending the chapter with one.
I would also like to say, I'm pausing Dare Me for a while, until I've finished with Caught in the Past. I really think I should because I can't focus on two stories at the same time. As you may have recalled, writing Dare Me was just on a whim. I really didn't intend to write two stories all at once. This is tentative, for now, so I might update, I might not. But rest assured, with only one story to focus on, I will finish Caught in the Past faster.
Cross your fingers for me.
Thanks for reading….
And kindly, review.
This is all for now, until then!
-->