Disclaimer: If you really think I'm JKR, then I think I'm insulted.
Author's Note: Inspired in part by the brilliant Lori's PoU cookie, "Someday."
ANGST. Consider yourselves warned.
What Could Be
Part 2: For Friendship
She didn't know how she got through the next day but she discovered that it was possible to go on, possible to think and concentrate on work. She learned that it was possible to act normally, even when she felt as if her world had fallen into pieces around her and she was left to try to patch it together again. Possible to go on when it felt as if her world was ending.
Somehow, she managed to concentrate; somehow she managed to give her patients the attention they deserved. Somehow…
Until she was heading out of St. Mungo's for her lunch break and as she passed a storage closet, felt a hand grab her wrist and yank her into it, the door closing, trapping her in the darkness.
It happened too quickly for her to cry out, too quickly for her to know more than a split second of shock, before lips came down on hers, kissing her-and she melted into his kiss with a small sigh of surrender that was swallowed by his mouth.
She couldn't see him and she hadn't registered it in that first second, but she knew his touch, knew his kiss. And oh, her body remembered his touch.
Even if she never saw him again, even if she never touched him again, she knew she would remember his touch and his kiss. She could forget everything else but she would remember this, would remember him…
His lips were hard, unyielding, his tongue forceful, as he kissed her as if he would die if he didn't, clutched her to him as if he were a drowning man and she were his life-boat. His arms and hands were greedy as they wrapped around her body, touched her, caressed her.
And she met his passion and his desperation with her own, her tongue dueling with his, her hands equally impatient, insistent, as they touched his body, explored his body.
Some tiny part of her mind couldn't believe this, couldn't believe she was doing this-this wasn't at all like her-it was wrong, so very wrong, it was insane, they had to forget this and this wasn't forgetting, was only making it worse-but even as part of her protested, the rest of her couldn't help it. And she knew that in spite of everything, where he was concerned, she could never resist. It didn't matter that this was going against everything she believed in, going against everything she thought she knew about herself and her own integrity, going against every law of marriage and friendship and morality. Where he was concerned, nothing else mattered; when he was touching her, kissing her, this passion, this intensity of need which he-and only he-could evoke in her, erased everything else from her mind.
She wasn't conscious of his hands shoving aside her clothing, wasn't conscious of her own hands fumbling for the fastening of his trousers and pushing them down so her hand could cup and stroke the hard, aching length of him. And then he was inside her, filling her, and in another moment, she shattered, fractured around him, stifling her cry in his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin, as his hips shuddered and he exploded inside her with a strangled groan.
His lips moved back to hers, kissing her with more tenderness now, his lips feathering kisses along her jaw-line up to the small, sensitive hollow before her ear (making her gasp) until finally he simply rested his forehead against hers as they waited for their heartbeats to slow, their breathing to calm.
"Hermione," he finally breathed.
She felt rationality slowly seep back into her brain along with the enormity of what had just happened-and it somehow felt even more earth-shaking than the first time had been. Because now it was real, it was tangible-and she knew that it wasn't going away. This madness-this sanity? This truth?-had taken possession of her, body, mind, and soul. "Oh, God, Harry, what are we going to do?"
He let out a shuddering breath as he managed to step away from her. "I don't know," he whispered and she could hear all his bewilderment and his uncertainty and his longing in his voice. "But I know I can't stop. I can't forget this; I can't forget you. You're in my blood now, in my soul. How am I supposed to forget you?"
"Oh Harry, I know." Her whisper was almost a wail. "I know… but what else can we do?"
He kissed her again, long and lingeringly, as if he had to, as if he would die if he didn't.
"This is wrong," she whispered, even as she returned his kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair, keeping him close to her.
"It doesn't feel wrong, though. Why does this feel so good, so right?" he breathed, punctuating his words with soft kisses.
"Harry…" she whimpered. "We can't do this; we have to stop…" Her words ended on a sharp gasp as his lips traveled down to her neck, unerringly finding the sensitive spots with his tongue (and somehow, it only felt natural that he, who already knew her so well, would know her body as well…)
He finally broke off the trail of kisses, pulling himself away from her with palpable reluctance. "I know," he admitted. A self-deprecating note entered his voice as he added, rather wryly, "Believe it or not, I wasn't really planning on this when I came here. I just wanted to see you again, talk to you…" In the dark, she heard him put his clothes back to rights again and she did the same.
Her heart softened, melted, at the slight edge of embarrassment in his voice as he admitted, "I can't seem to help myself when you're around now."
"Oh Harry… Neither can I."
She heard him suck in his breath and could picture him closing his eyes, could picture the expression on his face of one battling inner demons. "Don't tell me that!"
She shivered almost in spite of herself at the suppressed intensity in his voice. How was it possible for this man whom she'd known for so many years-- for Harry-- to suddenly affect her so much?
For a moment, a silence that was at once both comfortable and yet oddly charged, too, with emotion and suppressed passion, fell.
And then he stepped forward, giving her one last hard kiss that effectively scattered her wits and breathed just one word, "Tonight," before he was gone.
Leaving her to somehow gather her thoughts and her wits so she could get through the rest of the day.
Any physical traces were relatively easy to get rid of, a few minutes in the loo and a few charms later, she looked presentable again. What wasn't so easy was trying to push him from her mind now.
Tonight. They were going to talk about this tonight.
It wasn't even the physical part of it that made all this so terrifying.
(Although, Merlin knew, the force of the passion that had flared up between them shocked her too. She'd never thought she was a particularly sensual being; she'd always prided herself on her cleverness and her rationality. But last night with Harry-and again this afternoon-had effectively proven her wrong. She wanted him with a primal force that was almost frightening; his kiss and his touch brought out a sensual side of her nature which she'd hardly known existed. Until now, until him…)
If it had been only the physical, the thought of giving him up would have hurt less. But it wasn't the physical part, the passion, that made her feel as if she were dying at the very thought of losing this.
It was the peace she'd felt in his arms; it was the shattering tenderness with which he'd held her and comforted her when she cried last night. It was the gentleness of his kisses and his touch; it was in the way he had made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world with the way he'd touched her and looked at her.
It was… just everything about him that had made him her best friend for so many years.
And now that the blinders had been ripped from her eyes, she saw her reasoning that she only loved Harry like a brother, like a platonic best friend, for the excuse, the delusion, it was.
She didn't love Harry in a platonic fashion; she just loved him, was in love with him.
But she loved Ron too.
And that was the tragedy. It wasn't that she didn't love Ron; she did. It was that she loved Harry more… It was that loving Harry, now, somehow, felt as natural, as right, as if she'd been meant for this, meant for him. It was in how they fit together, not just their bodies but their minds, their hearts-how their minds had always fit together really.
But it was too late for them now.
Too late for this realization, this knowledge, that somehow, in some way, she had always been meant to love Harry…
If she had only realized it sooner-before she and Ron had gotten together (before they'd been married, even), before Harry and Ginny had gotten together and married, just before…
But they had missed their chance to know the love they could-the love they did-share.
It was too late now.
She felt as if her heart were dying.
~~
She stepped back hastily the moment she'd opened the door at Harry's knock, crossing her arms protectively around her stomach.
He looked, she noted with a flinch, as miserable as she felt and she quickly looked away. If she looked at him much longer, she knew she'd give in. She loved him; she couldn't stand to see him hurting, never had been able to bear it and certainly not now.
She knew what they had to do, knew what she had to say-but now that the moment was here, she couldn't say it. Her throat closed up and she couldn't say it.
How could she do this? She loved him, some part of her had always loved him, and she knew that she always would love him. How was she going to give this up?
"What are we going to do?" he finally asked, his voice gravelly with misery.
She struggled, fought, swallowed back the lump in her throat, and managed to say, "We have to pretend this never happened."
"But how? I don't know how to do that, Hermione; I can't do it! Not now, not when I know what it's like…" Not when he knew what it felt like to kiss her, to touch her… Not when he knew all her passion, all her responsiveness…
Oh God…
"We could do it if we forgot this ever happened," she managed to say in a voice that wasn't her own. "We have to Memory Charm ourselves, just erase the memory so it'll be like this never happened."
He visibly flinched at her words as if she'd struck him. He stood up as if he couldn't bear to sit down any longer and finally, whirled to face her. "What if I don't want to forget? What if I don't want to pretend this didn't happen? What if I want this?"
"Harry, don't! You know we can't. Do you want to break Ron's heart, break Ginny's heart? You know you don't."
He sagged. "No, I don't."
And somehow, all the heartbreak in the world was contained in those three words.
He sat down heavily and there was a long moment of painful silence, which he finally broke. "I love you, you know," he said softly.
And that was the moment her heart broke, shattered. And she gave in to the longing which she'd been feeling since the moment he'd arrived (or since the moment he'd left her that afternoon) and threw herself at him, as his arms closed around her with stunning force.
"Oh Harry, I love you too!" she half-sobbed into his shoulder, clutching at him as if she would never let him go, clutching him as if she could not get enough of him. "I think I've always loved you. I just wish I'd realized it sooner--"
He cut off her words with his lips, kissing her with a passion that bordered on desperation, kissing her in a kiss that claimed her heart and her soul, kissing her in a kiss that was meant to ease the longing of a lifetime.
And she kissed him back as if her life depended on it, kissed him back with an intensity of emotion that seared his very soul.
The kiss couldn't last at such white-hot intensity and gradually, slowly, it gentled, his lips softening, and gradually, too, his lips left hers to brush fleeting butterfly kisses over her face, learning her familiar features with his lips.
And when the kiss ended, they simply sat there, holding each other, for what felt like forever and yet, simultaneously, no time at all. (A lifetime wouldn't be long enough for this…)
They didn't speak-what more was there to say? The important things had already been said.
Hermione closed her eyes, just listening to the steady rhythm of Harry's heart beating, and let herself savor the warmth, the peace, of just sitting here in Harry's lap with his arms around her. And she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever truly know this sort of peace again, the peace of simply being held when there were no other motives, no other reasons. It was odd-and something she hadn't even realized she needed or wanted-but now she found she did want and need it. Just the simple comfort, the simple joy, of being held-held not for passion, not because of desire, but simply for the sake of holding, for the sake of that closeness to another person. Held, simply because he wanted to hold her.
But even that peace couldn't last-and Hermione knew that the longer they stayed here like this, the harder it was going to be in the end.
And yet still, she lingered, not wanting to move…
It took the sound of his sigh before she managed to say, "I think it's time."
She brushed her lips against his one last time before she stood up, feeling chilled from the moment his arms dropped from around her.
They faced each other, wands in their hands.
Her heart was in her throat, filling it, making it difficult to swallow, making it difficult to breathe, even.
His chest was aching as if his heart were trying to break out of it, aching as if someone had stabbed a knife into it and now were twisting it savagely.
God, he didn't know where he was going to get the strength to do this. Didn't know how he was going to survive this-except once it was over, he wouldn't even remember it had happened. And somehow, oddly, that thought hurt more than anything else. He would rather feel heartbroken than go through the rest of his life not knowing what he was missing, not knowing just what could have been…
He didn't know how he was going to do this-but then he thought of Ron, remembered years of friendship and laughter and loyalty, remembered Quidditch games and giant spiders, remembered Norbert, the baby dragon, remembered the Department of Mysteries and horcruxes and danger… And he knew he could do nothing else. Ron was the first friend he had ever had; he could not break Ron's heart.
He would break his own first. He was breaking his own heart.
He stared at her now, seeing the shimmer of tears in her eyes, tears that tore at him, and couldn't imagine how he could have seen her, looked at her, for so many years and never seen the unutterable beauty of her-how could he have looked at her and not seen her as the woman he now knew he'd been meant to love, meant to hold?
He didn't know but now he was paying for his own blindness as for a crime.
He tried-and failed-to remember a time when he'd hated the unfairness of the universe, of who he was, more. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her-and he didn't want to go back to being the Harry who didn't know what he was missing, who didn't know that he was meant to love Hermione. He didn't want to go back to the Harry who would never know how much more love could be, how much more passion could be… He felt as if he'd only been half-alive until this past day and night, as if until now, he'd only been a chrysalis waiting to fully grow, waiting to become what he was meant to be.
Even now, when he felt as if he were dying, he also felt conversely that he'd never been more alive, never felt so intensely. He was, he thought, the truest and the best version of himself now, with her-and he didn't want to lose it.
But he knew he had to. They had no choice in this; it was too late for them, had been too late for them for years now.
She swallowed hard. "On three?"
Her voice shook, sounded unnatural.
He didn't try to speak, only nodded.
"One. Two…" Her voice trembled even further. "Thr--"
She never finished the word. Her voice broke altogether and she suddenly threw her wand down, her hands going up to her face. "I can't do it!" she burst out.
He threw his wand away as well, hauling her into his arms, pressing her face into his chest as his hand stroked her hair. "I know."
"I just don't think I can do it," she gasped, her hands clutching at him. "It feels wrong. It feels wrong to deny it, feels wrong to deny this."
"It feels like cutting off an arm or a leg," he murmured, his own throat tight with tears, and felt her shudder of agreement. It felt like a violation.
"I don't want to forget this. I don't want to forget how it felt; I don't want to forget what this was like. I don't want to forget you."
"I know-but what can we do?"
They had to forget-for the sake of the people they cared about and who cared about them…
She turned her face blindly towards his, her lips seeking his, and he responded, kissing her hard.
His arms were locked tight about her body as if he never wanted to let her go again (he didn't), his lips and tongue claiming her, possessing her, stealing her breath and her wits and her heart, her very soul… And she kissed him back with perhaps more energy than accuracy, slanting her mouth over his, her tongue meeting and dueling with his.
He could taste her tears on her lips as he kissed her in the sort of kiss that she couldn't have broken if the fires of hell were licking at her feet.
It seemed an eternity before the kiss gentled, softened, became more loving than passionate, his lips touching hers now with an exquisite tenderness that made her heart ache even more than his passion had. He kissed away her tears, his lips tracing the tracks of her tears up to her eyes and then back down again to kiss her lips again, one last time. And this time, it was truly a kiss of farewell, a kiss to last them forever.
And then the kiss ended, his arms falling from around her, as she managed to make herself step back.
Her eyes met his, seeing all her own pain and longing reflected in the shadows of his green eyes.
"I love you, Harry," she said.
"I love you too."
"Always." Even though neither she nor he would remember it, even though after this, they would return to being the old, platonic best friends they had always been. Even though after this, she would return to Ron and he would return to Ginny and they would never even know what they were missing, never know what could have been…
His eyes closed fleetingly in an expression of acute pain before he opened them again to meet hers.
"Always," he repeated her words back to her, and it was a promise, a vow.
And she was somehow, oddly, comforted.
They wouldn't remember this; they wouldn't miss what they could not remember, what they did not know-but at least now, just for this moment, they knew. They had experienced what could have been-and even though she felt as if her heart was breaking, she couldn't help but think that, maybe, after all, in spite of everything, they were lucky, too, just to know, just to have realized, what could have been…
Even if she never remembered it again, at this moment, right now, she knew what it felt like to have Harry's lips on hers, stealing her breath and her heart and her soul; she knew what it felt like to have his hands on her; she knew his tenderness and his passion and his love…
He had touched her soul-as she had touched his…
And even if they never remembered it, it had happened; they had had their chance, fleeting as it had been-and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough…
Until some other life, some other universe, when they could be given back this gift they'd discovered.
She met his eyes and saw that he understood, somehow, what she'd been thinking.
"I love you," he said again.
"I know." And those two words also meant, I love you.
And he was the one to begin this time as they both bent to pick up their wands.
"On three."
She nodded, meeting his eyes and letting herself savor all the love in them for one last time.
"One… two… three."
And it was done.
~The End~
Author's Note 2: *runs and hides* This is what I call Canon With a Vengeance-what happened before the Crapilogue, if you will.
Now I'm off to join the Witness Protection Program…