almost lovers always do.

GracieInGreek

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 19/07/2007
Last Updated: 19/07/2007
Status: completed

"It was the shine and glint of the sun on Hermione's skin and glasses that moved Harry through the back door and across the hot tiles, his reflection flying across the water of the pool and his shadow reaching up her legs as he stepped to where she lay." All Hermione ever wanted was a minute of quiet, but he never gave it to her. Neither of them ever gave it to her. But in these moments of no pretending, it wasn't what mattered.

Chapters

1. stay long my luckless romance.

1. stay long my luckless romance.

`almost lovers always do.'

By: GracieInGreek

***

“and when you left you kissed my lips,
you said you'd never, never forget these images.”

***

It was the shine and glint of the sun on Hermione's skin and glasses that moved Harry through the back door and across the hot tiles, his reflection flying across the water of the pool and his shadow reaching up her legs as he stepped to where she lay.

Her chair was leaned back and extended, the bars very white against her darkened skin; one couldn't hunt for a month in the south of France for cursed objects without at least being granted the luxury of a tan, albeit a usually reluctant one. Now, he was blocking her sun, and she knew it.

She might have been looking up at him from behind her dark sunglasses, or she might have been pretending not to feel the sudden cool over her knees and thighs, but he didn't know which. She didn't move.

He was there, though, like he always was, and he was right in her sun and he was bringing another chair over to share in the heat whether she would look at him now or not.

This sort of thing might seem suspect to someone looking on, especially considering the new proximity Harry gave them when he pressed the long lines of their chairs up against each other.

But still, Hermione didn't turn her head towards him; she kept her face forward to the now shared sun, eyes open or closed and mouth set in her curved line. Even when Harry unbent his chair to near its flattest and laid with his head near Hermione's toes, she stayed the same.

Yes, this would have looked very suspect indeed; that's why Harry always made sure to be indoors or dunked under the water if Ron was home, or if he came home when Hermione was allowing herself this one luxury.

Even when guilt twisted in his stomach or something prickly heated his face, Harry still couldn't make himself look over whenever Ron's long and untannable legs stretched out next to hers, toes tapping, or when he wrapped her up in all his lankiness and took up most of the room in her chair.

All Hermione ever wanted was a minute of quiet, but he never gave it to her. Neither of them ever gave it to her.

She never said anything, though. She let him tap and whistle next to her and take up her space, wrapping around her and subsequently shoving her sideways and knocking her in some awkward way without meaning any harm. She took it without a word each time and just a downward curve of her mouth that Ron didn't notice anyway, and Harry knew why.

It was an odd sort of balance that he hated, but he couldn't blame her for it, because he did it too. He pretended that her room wasn't directly above his; he pretended that he slept like a rock, he pretended that he was deaf, he pretended he was distracted. He pretended he didn't always make sure they had her cereal in the cupboard and a very quiet den with too many books—and he pretended that he hadn't memorized the pattern with which she put on her sun tan lotion.

He pretended he didn't walk across the hot tiles whenever he could, or pull a chair up against hers while taking her quiet away and looking across at her face, and at the left arm that got the lotion first.

But he couldn't pretend once he got there. He couldn't even pretend there still wasn't a hard twist to his stomach, but when he moved himself downward, pushing against the sides of the chair to get low enough that his knees bent over the bottom rung and his head was level with her hips, it wasn't what mattered.

For a moment Hermione remained unmoving, and Harry wondered if she might continue to act as if she hadn't seen him there. But as he stretched a hand forwards to reach for the one resting on her stomach, he saw her body already starting to move, her legs pulling her downward after having risen to bend and walk against the bottom half of her chair.

Her swimsuit hitched up and up the lower she went, traction pushing against it, revealing inches of her thighs that remained their normal pale white. Harry watched, but his own arm had fallen back down and he didn't reach for her again.

They hadn't the time to be handsy and grabby with each other; desperate pulling and quick beats of time going by wasn't the way they spent moments together, or what they could afford. As painful as the slow minutes ticking by could be, it was better than a frantic plunge and splashing around just to have to act as if you weren't dripping wet afterward.

No; once her face was on level with his, her only move was to reciprocate after she let him lift her sunglasses away from her already slow-welling eyes and slide them to the top of her head, where they could hold her hair back. The tips of her warm fingers brushed against his cheek and nose when she slipped his own glasses off, putting them in the hand of her free side, out of the way.

When they kissed they had to crane their necks a little, jaws lifting to meet, but this was still how they laid. Their eyes were directly across from each other and it was in that closeness that the time ticked by, both watching each other's faces and knowing everything they knew.

They looked at one another in the way they weren't able other times, and Hermione was even close enough to be in clear view. Her eyes were unguarded with him, very sad and full but brimming with everything she wanted and all the pain she would take in lieu of causing.

Harry didn't know how much longer either of them could go on like this, already so haggard from the traveling and the war that constantly blazed. And he didn't know why it had worked out for Hermione that the love heated in the summer months would be something that had to pulsate behind something else.

But he did know that it hurt her too much to talk about and too much to end, and even now, just in the quiet moments they took together, it was already overwhelming. It didn't take long before her tears were streaming freely and running trails in the direction her head was turned, pressed up against Harry's so he felt it all.

That's when their slow and full kissing started; after Hermione had parted her mouth to let out a breath that hitched with a small noise and Harry'd craned his neck to catch her lips.

Hermione pushed a shaky sigh through her nose when his arm bent to lay a hand on her neck and that's how they stayed, tears pushed between flushed patches of skin and heavy expressions, for as long as they could.

When the familiar crack of Apparation reverberated all the way from the front yard, they both felt their stomachs twist again even as they let their hot foreheads rest together. Her warm tears were still on his cheeks while her face sat crumpled, filled with want and sadness and guilt all at the same time. When they kissed again, they kissed quietly, Harry taking the moister from under her eyes onto his lips as she stilled cried slow, mouth on his chin and jaw.

Hermione wasn't a wrong sort of person. She wouldn't take what she wanted or needed if it meant doing a wrong thing. Not usually. But when she did, she sat in her guilt and was quiet as she took what she could, even knowing that she shouldn't have any of it, and then she would take what came next.

Hermione would lay her head next to Harry's on a hot pool deck, arms to herself, and kiss him with all the love and sadness she could muster; and then she would sit up, put her sunglasses back on and let Ron hug her and shove her and take up her space without saying anything. Her mouth would curve down, and her eyes would even continue to cloud from behind the dark lenses, but Ron wouldn't notice anyway.

That's what happened this time, when Ron finally came through the back door after having stopped in his room. They hadn't had to rush once they heard him land home; they sat up together and, in the few moments usually reserved for a clearing of expression, a last wiping away of tears and a step apart, Harry had spent on the leaning in once more to put his hands on her cheeks and kiss her mouth and eyes again, taking away that bit of moisture he could.

They let their foreheads touch one last moment, and Hermione allowed her free hand settle heavy on his wrist while her face slowly smoothed. But her eyes stayed shadowed, even after Harry ran his thumb under them.

Then their faces leaned apart and he had stepped away, making Hermione's fingers drop so she could push herself back near the top of the chair, inching her swim suit back down in the process.

Harry was already on the pool's edge by the time Ron was at Hermione's chair, kicking Harry's out of the way to make room for himself. Hermione's sunglasses were well-placed already and Harry couldn't blame her for it, because he did it too. He would dive into the water and let the bubbles push him down as deep as he could go.

But this time, before he could pretend to be distracted, Harry saw Ron start to move Hermione over. He was pilling his legs on her chair and already talking as he pulled her into a hug--and never once did he seem to notice the momentary down-turn of Hermione's mouth, or Harry's glasses still clutched in her hand behind his back.

Harry jumped into the water and the bubbles pushed him down.

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