Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is my first fic in the HP fandom for several years. As this is a more character-driven fic, and my knowledge of the books is a bit rusty, you won't likely find many spoilers in here. It takes place about four years after the series will end.
I have a suspicion that this storyline may have been attempted before by other fic writers, because it's certainly a very intriguing one - to me at least. If that's the case, please know that I despise plagiarism in any form and I mean absolutely no disrespect.
If you're interested in reading a more aesthetically pleasing version of this story, check it out at my livejournal: http://louisalorin.livejournal.com/10241.html. You'll have to friend me first, but go ahead - I love new friends! :)
And with that, let's begin!
---
CHAPTER ONE
---
"Sir? Excuse me? Sir, aren't you-"
"Yeah," Harry Potter said, with an embarrassed glance around him. He stood in a shady patch of Diagon Alley, doing a bit of window shopping outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. There wasn't much of a crowd on this cloudy Tuesday afternoon, but if the pretty young witch raised her voice any more she would start to attract attention.
"Cor," she breathed, taking a step closer. She stared at his forehead, then at him, with frank curiosity. "Where have you been all this time?"
"On holiday," he answered with a small smile. "Quite relaxing, actually."
"But you're back now? In England, I mean? For-for good?" Her voice was shaky, as if she couldn't believe her own daring.
"Looks that way," he said lightly, then strode off in the other direction. "Have a nice day!"
"You too," the witch replied, her voice heavy with awe. "Blimey!" he heard her mutter after a moment. "Harry bloody Potter!"
Despite himself, Harry grinned. Being recognized on the street was the thing he missed least about the civilized world, but it sure made London feel like home again.
It had been quite a while since Harry had set foot in Diagon Alley. Three years, to be precise. After Voldemort's defeat he had found himself utterly worn down, sick with sorrow and fury and exhaustion. The very same day he'd taken off to the remotest spot he could think of, with absolutely no notice at all.
But not before he'd managed to spoil things spectacularly between him and one of his two best friends in the world, Hermione Granger. Or so he feared.
Harry stepped into an old bookstore, much more out of the way than Flourish and Blotts. Surrounded by large and imposing-looking tomes, the memory of Hermione weighed on him heavily. Harry ambled over to a display of Hogwarts: a History, the special 500th edition, remembering with painful clarity those strange few hours after Voldemort's final downfall. Ron was off with rest of the Order, battling untold numbers of Death Eaters and dementors - but Hermione had followed him to his final confrontation, despite the danger, despite his fervent wishes, despite everything.
One upside to her stubbornness was that she was there with him afterward, to tend to his many injuries. They had to be stealthy, they couldn't just apparate back to London with the news that Voldemort was gone for good, because if any Death Eaters found out they'd either flee back into hiding, or promptly fake the effects of the Imperious curse, and slip through the Ministry's grasp once again.
With one hand wrapped around the thick spine of Hogwarts: a History, Harry closed his eyes. He found he could still smell the dry grass and burning wood, taste the metallic blood in his mouth, as Hermione half-walked, half-carried him back to their stronghold in the forest.
*
Come on, Harry, she had panted. Almost there, now. I'll heal you, you'll be good as new.
She was right. His injuries, though numerous, were remarkably superficial. He had a broken arm and collarbone, cuts or burns on every inch of his skin that was visible, but Hermione's considerable self-taught healing skills would take care of those in a jiffy.
Her support in walking was necessary not so much because of the injuries, but because Harry had descended into in a state of paralyzing shock. The actual fact that Voldemort was gone had overwhelmed the small part of his brain that was still functioning properly. The Prophecy had been carried out, and he was the one left standing. Barely standing, but standing all the same.
The overall cost to his psychological state, though, had been immense. Dear friends had been lost along the way. Harry himself had faced his worst demons a thousand times, had walked through hell simply to survive.
Not to mention save the world.
But, looking over at Hermione, whose arm was wrapped tightly around his back, Harry could push that all away and let relief flood through him. One of his best friends, at least, had made it through with nary an outward scratch. And Ron - well, Harry had a strong feeling that Ron was going to pull through too.
Hermione, he ground out in a voice that didn't sound like his own. You're okay.
They had reached the doorway to their tiny unplottable wood cabin. She turned to him and smiled, a smile that lit up her eyes.
And so are you, she said, voice thick. Oh, Harry.
He wanted to embrace her, but couldn't, what with the state of his arm. Hermione seemed to sense this, and helped him inside.
Lay down, she murmured, hurrying over to the makeshift sink and wetting some clean cloths.
A moment later she was kneeling by his side on the large, soft cot, muttering a charm to relieve the pain, magically setting his bones, pouring healing potion over the raw, exposed skin. After an hour of care, and a long, hot shower, Harry felt right as rain.
Madam Pomfrey's got nothing on you, he said, stepping out of the tiny shower stall, a towel wrapped around his midsection.
But Hermione wasn't immediately visible. Harry glanced around the small space and spotted her in the corner, curled up on the dirt floor, absolutely motionless. Her face was hidden by her arms and hair.
Hermione? he said gently.
She looked up. He'd expected her eyes to be red, but beyond her wild hair and the dirt still smudged under her eye, she looked fine.
Yes? she asked calmly.
Are you okay? He reached out a hand to help her to her feet.
Hermione took it, looking with wonder at his fingers interlaced with her own, and stood.
I'm fine, she said slowly. I just can't believe you're all right.
I am, he said. I really am. We both are.
They stared at each other, eyes wide, letting reality sink in. And then Hermione flung herself into his arms, heaving a sob that came straight from her soul.
Harry, Harry, you're all right, you're all right, you're all right-
Hermione. He took her face in his hands, raised her chin up to meet his eyes. Her lashes were damp, clinging together. Her chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths. She was so warm against him, so god damn alive.
They brought their lips together in the same instant, as if by mutual unspoken agreement. Pure joy at having survived, Harry thought, in the instant before raw desire pushed everything else from his mind.
Hermione's hands were all over him, and he returned the favor. He pulled at her clothing roughly, with all the raw strength he'd gained from living off the land and training in advanced battle magic for ten long months, and she let him. Encouraged him, even, with quick breaths and quiet moans.
Harry felt so damn human again with his lips against her neck, feeling the vibration of her growl through her skin - the feeling intensified when Hermione's hands went to his towel, the final piece of fabric that remained between them, and dropped it to the floor.
He backed her up against the large cot, intent on only one thing. Entering her body. Becoming one with her. Cleansing his rage and exhaustion and regaining his personhood through this most primal of human behaviors.
Thankfully, she seemed every bit as intent on the very same thing. Their bodies collided on the cot, stomachs and chests pressing together. A loud groan spilled from Harry's mouth as his erection met the giving wetness between her legs - Hermione whimpered as he skidded a hand across her breasts, their unbearable softness making him even harder -
And then he was inside her, and it was like no feeling he'd ever experienced before. The storm cleared from his head and it was just him and Hermione. As close as two people could physically be to each other, yet straining to get even closer. Her heels pressed into his backside, urging him on. He buried his face in her neck, smelling her Hermione smell, everything about her driving him wild with lust.
He thrust harder and harder. She welcomed every bit of it, bucking up to meet him and shouting her pleasure. It wasn't too long before she let out a long wail and laced their fingers together as she came apart, clenching around his cock.
It was too much, too much. Harry watched tears spill onto her cheeks, and felt a lump in his throat as his climax approached. Hermione, he rasped, looking straight into her beautiful brown eyes.
Harry, she moaned back. Oh my God.
He came inside her, buried as deep as he could go. Hermione whimpered again, the sound full of her tears.
Recovering, he looked down at her with concern, wiped away one tear that had made its way down to her earlobe. Are you all right?
Just…overwhelmed, I guess.
He nodded, and slipped out of her, flopping backwards onto the next pillow. That was intense.
Yeah, she agreed softly.
Harry watched as she regained control of herself, wiped the rest of her tears away briskly and sat up. She dressed efficiently, fixing each torn and ripped article of clothing with a quick charm.
On your way somewhere? he asked.
Azkaban, she confirmed. The fight's not over, Harry.
Harry wanted to protest, wanted to keep her from putting herself in harm's way after it had seemed for one blessed hour that they were safe. But he knew Hermione would never listen. I'll go with you, he said quickly.
No, she said, you won't. As soon as you show your face, the Death Eaters will know they've lost. They'll become desperate and even more dangerous, and most will probably escape. The Ministry will lose the chance to put them away forever.
Harry knew all this, so he could do nothing but sit in silent agreement, watching her dress.
Finishing, Hermione grabbed her wand and slid it into its holster. Her hair was a bit wild - she secured it with an elastic.
You'll be here when I get back? she said, her expression gentle. You won't get any mad ideas and run off somewhere dangerous?
He smiled at her reassuringly. But even then, as the haze of sex faded, the four cabin walls were already starting to feel stifling. That cloudy, desperate feeling was seeping back into his brain.
Hermione ran a hand through his messy hair, smiled, and disapparated with a loud crack.
*
That, Harry reflected, was the last time they'd seen each other in three years. He'd gone somewhere no owl could find him with nothing more than the clothes on his back, only waiting to leave for good until he heard, secondhand, that Ron and Hermione had made it through the war safe and sound.
Now, though, he was back. He'd returned to British soil ready to confront his life again. He hadn't meant to stay away for so long, but time had seemed to make returning harder and harder, especially when he thought of the two best friends he'd left behind.
Harry wondered, yet again, if the wizarding community had come to believe he was dead. He thought not, since there were magical ways to determine if someone had kicked the bucket, complex spells he was fairly certain would be employed in his case. But he'd taken up residence on the world's only unplottable island; perhaps those spells wouldn't function properly.
Aimlessly, Harry wandered toward the back shelves. The bookstore was empty of other patrons, and thankfully the shopkeeper had completely ignored him, sitting silently behind the register and peering at a book through wire-rimmed glasses.
Harry knew he had to contact Ron and Hermione. He was waiting, though, for an idea as to how to go about it. He knew Ron would be understanding in the end, even if he was initially - and rightfully - angry and hurt. But Hermione, well, she was another story.
What kind of man, Harry had thought to himself often over the past three years, shags his best friend and then skips town with not so much as a by-your-leave? Even if the circumstances had been extenuating, Harry knew that Hermione would make no excuses for him. Nor should she. He was convinced, therefore, that her good favor would be much more difficult to regain.
The strong need he felt to see her again did relieve some of his fears, however.
He'd been a boy then, Harry thought. A boy who had to grow up much too fast, but a boy nonetheless. And now, in many ways, he'd become a man. He just hoped he was man enough to fix whatever was left of his friendship with Hermione.
Behind him, Harry heard the faint jingle of the door. He was hidden behind the back shelves, but he could see the shopkeeper rise from his seat, old face crinkling up into a wide smile.
"Miss Dotty," the man said, looking at a spot close to the floor. "How are you this fine afternoon?"
"Good," came the cheerful voice of a little girl. Clearly this `Miss Dotty' had only recently learned to talk. "Mummy's coming too."
"We have some new kid's books on the back shelf," he told her kindly. "Want to take a look?"
"Where are they?"
"Right back there." Harry watched the shopkeeper point in his direction.
He heard little feet skipping toward him, then watched as a blur of brown curls shot straight for the next shelf over. Right at her eye level were a bunch of brand-new children's books with bright, colorful covers.
As enraptured as she was by the books, it took the girl a moment to realize someone else was there. When she did notice Harry, she looked shyly up at him. Startled, he found himself confronted with the greenest eyes he'd seen since looking in a mirror that morning.
"Hello," he said with a smile.
"Hi," said Dotty uncertainly, eyes wide, mouth open a little. She was wearing a blue cotton dress and had a pretty, heart-shaped little face.
He knelt down beside her. "So you like books, huh?"
She nodded, still uncertain.
The door jingled again. Dotty spun around. "Mummy!" she cried, stretching out her arms.
"Dorothy Ann Granger," came a harried woman's familiar voice. "What have I told you about running ahead of me down the street-"
The voice faltered, then broke off. Harry, knowing with mounting certainty who he was about to see, looked up at the new arrival.
Hermione stood there, mouth open in plain shock, her arms full of grocery bags. All color had drained from her face.
"Harry?"
Harry stood, feeling his body go numb. "Hello Hermione," he said slowly.
"Mummy?" Dotty looked between the two of them, impatient. "Mummy, can I get this?" She held up her book for Hermione to see.
"Sure, sweetie," Hermione said faintly. "Why don't you bring that to the counter and show it to Mr. Umbrillo?"
Dotty skipped away obediently.
"Where have you been?" Hermione managed, just as Harry said blankly, "you have a daughter?"
"Yes." Hermione paused for a long moment, looking at him with a mixture of anger, apprehension, and deep sadness. "And so do you."
*
End of Chapter One. Thanks so much for reading, and please review!
-->