Back to Her

Back to Her

Summary: He always comes back to her.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


Author's Note: This is a little ficlet I just couldn't get out of my head. It has some none-H/Hr in it, but it's brief. It's definitely a little darker than your standard PWP-type thing. I can't resist at least a little bit of angst. :P Hope everyone enjoys! By the way, this has nothing to do with my chaptered fic, A Long Way From Home, and I have to warn you: it's un-betaed. All mistakes, grammar or otherwise, are all mine.
Thanks for reading - please review, if you like, on your way out!

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Long, thin fingers grasped the cigarette. It was about the only thing he could see in the dark room. He saw the outline of her hand, saw the perfectly manicured fingernails. There was a spot of orange light and he could vaguely make out the curl of smoke seeping from the end of the cigarette.

She handed it to him and he took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He waited as the nicotine coursed through his system, lulling him deeper into the warmth and silence of the familiar room.

“Will you stay?”

“Of course.”

The silence continued then. She finished her cigarette and with a casual flick of her fingers, its remains disappeared.

They curled against each other, the smell of fine tobacco weaving amongst the scent rising from their own bodies. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the smell of shampoo and that perfume she used just for him. It was a signal, a lonely light calling him from across the shore. Every day she wore that intoxicating scent it was a guarantee that he would be in her bed that night.

The next morning, she arose early for her shower and cup of tea, but not necessarily in that order. He joined her at the breakfast table, silently stirring a thing stream of milk into his own tea. She read to him from the paper and he told her about the coming day at work. They were friendly and warm,

just like they had been for the past fifteen years. He joined her in the shower, but when they parted at the door, he was just… him. Her old friend, her best confidant. It was exactly how she wanted it.

They worked in the Ministry building together, but in different departments. He reported to the MLE every day while she went down into the Lair, as she had learned to call it. Unspeakables resided there.

At lunch, she saw him across the room, pulling out a chair for an old flame. The redheaded witch smiled at him, flirted with him. They left the room arm in arm.

He saw her in London. She wasn’t alone. The wizard worked at…some private American corporation. He was wealthy and untouchable. A clean record and a philanthropist. He had checked the records in the Auror office. The man was a saint.

He ducked into a small coffee shop as they walked by, hand-in-hand. Her hair was smooth and straight, hanging to mid-back. As he watched, the wizard-saint brought his hand to her lower back and he saw the slight caress. He saw the secret grin pass between them.

His bed was empty that night. He was done with his old flame, nothing ever changed. The long, long list of reasons that they hadn’t worked before still applied. Sighing, he rolled onto his side, back to the empty stretch of bed next to him. He closed his eyes against the vision of that little grin.

It was the worst day of his career. A family had been senselessly murdered. He had found the little girl with the bushy-brown hair, hiding under her bed. Someone had AK-ed her and she had still clutched a stuffed unicorn in her hand. When he returned to the Ministry, he met her in the elevator. Her eyes searched his, full of sympathy.

“I heard on my lunch hour; got the owl at home.” She didn’t say another word as the elevator reached her floor. When she moved past him, he caught that scent.

It was different this time. It had been nearly three years since he’d been in her bed. She had lost what she had assumed would be a great love. She had survived a hurt stronger than anything she’d ever felt.

His sorrow was between them, the memories of everything he’d seen that day hung over them. As they twisted together in bed, her hands roaming his bare back, his hands wrapped around her shoulders, he looked at her differently. His eyes searched hers, asking a question that she wasn’t quite ready to answer. She kissed him harshly, grinding her hips against him as he moved within her. He didn’t look at her the same way again.

They shared a cigarette.

“I liked the other kind better,” he said after taking a long drag.

“They stopped making them a long time ago.”

Silence descended again as she rolled on her side to look at him. She took the cigarette between her lips, holding her head on the palm of her hand.

“Will you stay?”

“Of course.”

He kissed her on the lips before walking out the door.

She wore the perfume every day that week.

He didn’t leave Saturday morning.

Or Sunday.

On Monday morning, they showered before breakfast. She kissed him before walking out the door.

Two weeks later, she saw her old flame at the food shop and felt nothing. He greeted her with a smile and an introduction to his fiancé. They had only known each other for a few months, but they were in love. Could she believe it?

She could and she said so. She walked home without making any purchases and let herself quickly into the flat. He was there, waiting on the couch.

“Harry?” she asked.

He turned and smiled at her. “Hello. How was your day?”

“I love you.”

He stood from the couch and came around to hold her. She tucked herself against his chest, breathing in the smell of him and delighting in the dull beating of his heart through the thick winter sweater.

“Hermione,” he breathed into her hair. He cupped her face then and pressed his lips against hers. “I love you too,” he whispered against her lips. She deepened the kiss and he caressed his hands down her back. The mood shifted and the soft, loving kisses turned needier, hotter.

He slid her jacket from her shoulders and she sighed against his lips. No words were necessary at this point. With a glance, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

Later, he had wrapped his arms tightly around her and was kissing lazily along her shoulder. She kissed his fingers, sinking rapidly into sleep. He followed after her, and just before they were both gone for the night, she broke the silence.

“How did you know?”

“I always come back to you.”