No Doubts

Disclaimer: JKR is an idiot; how much more of a disclaimer do you need to know that I’m not her and I’m not making any money off this?

Author’s Note: This is a fic I wrote ages ago and posted on the 1^st anniversary of HBP coming out (I told you it’s old) and somehow forgot to post here. Better late than never, I suppose… Inspired after watching the 2^nd Pirates movie (because I relate everything to H/Hr). I’m not sure how in-character this is—but the muse struck and when the muse strikes, mine is not to question, mine is but to write or die.

Enjoy!

No Doubts

He felt as if he might be dying, his throat tight, his chest aching with an almost physical pain as he stared.

And stared for what seemed like forever, the moment hanging suspended in time while everything stopped, including his heart, and then filled with so much hurt he let out an involuntary gasp that, soft as it was, cut through the silence like a gunshot.

They broke apart, shock and dismay and guilt on both their faces, and he saw her lips part for the explanation, the apology he knew she would give and suddenly he just couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t stand to even look at them. The woman he loved and his best friend.

So he left, after giving them a last, burning look, left and simply ran, forgetting to Apparate, forgetting everything except this need to just get away.

He ran blindly, blinking back the tears he felt blurring his vision and biting his lip to keep in the sobs he could feel building in his chest.

And somehow, ridiculously, the main thought in his mind was not of his betrayal or of his shock or of his heartache but the simple, rather inane thought of, But we were happy…

He had been so happy, happier than he had ever been, just a few minutes ago. He had been so happy, smiling to himself in anticipation of an evening spent having dinner with the two dearest people in the world to him and then a night spent with her, the woman he loved with everything in him, loved more than he had ever thought possible, loved with an intensity all the greater for never having even imagined himself in love before her. There had never been anyone else for him, he knew, not really, despite his previous girlfriends. They had just been crushes, fleeting fancies—she was the forever and she’d always been his forever, had always been the girl, the woman, in his heart and soul even before he knew it.

And he hadn’t knocked before he’d simply opened the door of Ron’s flat because it was Ron and he never really knocked, given he spent so much time there, and he knew since he was a few minutes late, that they would already be there. He’d been smiling as he imagined Hermione’s mild scolding for his tardiness and been looking forward to kissing the little frown away until she couldn’t help her indulgent smile and that look in her eyes that said, I love you, you silly thing, the way she did when she thought she should be annoyed at him for something but couldn’t.

And then he’d seen it, seen them. Kissing. The image burned onto his brain just from that split second, that one picture branded onto his very soul leaving a searing pain, a scar, behind…

He ran until he could run no further, until there was a stitch in his side that felt like someone had stabbed a knife into his ribs (just like his fiancée and his best friend had just stabbed a metaphorical knife into his heart).

He didn’t quite recognize, in his mind-numbed state, where he had run to when he finally stopped but it didn’t matter; he just made his way wearily over to the nearest alley, out of sight from any Muggles, and closing his eyes, Apparated back to his flat.

His first thought was that he should have known better than to simply return to his flat, should have known that of course the first place she went to find him would be his flat. (But then again, she knew him too well for him to hide from her.)

He didn’t see her at first since the flat was dark and he didn’t bother turning on any lights. Nor, in his current state of mind, did he even register the awareness of her presence that he always had. No, it wasn’t until he heard her voice that he knew she was there.

“Harry, we need to talk.”

“No shit,” he bit out harshly as he spun around to face her.

She gasped and flinched a little at the look on his face but came closer to him, bravely, so close until, even in the dim light, he could see the tears on her face, the stark apology in her eyes—and, in spite of everything, the love.

But no! He refused to notice the love in her eyes, refused to see it, refused to let it soften him—but even in his anger and his hurt and his bitterness, something in him ached at the sight of her tears.

He closed his eyes to the sight of her but he could still hear the sound of her breathing, feel the warmth of her standing so close to him and her hand on his arm.

“Harry, I- I’m so sorry…” she finally faltered. “It- it was nothing. It meant nothing. It was- it was just a friendly kiss.”

“That was not a friendly kiss,” he ground out, still not looking at her.

He sensed rather than heard her slight intake of breath at the harshness of his tone and wondered, rather sickly, why, in spite of his anger and everything else, it hurt him to know that he had wounded her.

“It was just for old time’s sake, a what-if sort of kiss. We were just talking about how we would never have worked out and it- it just happened! But, Harry, it didn’t mean anything... It didn’t…”

“Just tell me one thing. Are you-” he paused and swallowed, “are you having second thoughts?”

“What?”

“Are you having second thoughts about us?” he managed to get out.

She sucked in her breath sharply and then stepped even closer to him, capturing his face between her hands, until he had to open his eyes and look at her.

“No,” she said flatly, confidently. “Never.” Her voice softened, became quieter, more fervent, but just as certain, “Harry, I love you. I will always love you. It’s one thing I’m sure about and have never doubted: I love you and I want to marry you. What happened with Ron- it was wrong and a mistake and I am so sorry for hurting you, for ever making you doubt me, doubt us. It meant nothing, not to me and not to Ron. It was just a kiss—and if I had ever wondered, ever doubted, I wouldn’t anymore after that kiss. I felt nothing- only that it wasn’t right. And, Harry, I promise you it will never happen again.” She paused, her hands slowly dropping from where they had been resting on his cheeks, and simply looked at him for a moment before asking, so softly he could hardly hear it even standing as close as they were, “Do you believe me? Trust me?”

Harry stared, half-unwillingly, into her eyes, some small part of him rebelling at her words (it was an excuse, a lie, how could he trust her again, he had no proof other than her words…) but the protests flickered and faded and finally disappeared for good as he looked into her eyes.

He knew her, he thought, he knew how to tell when she was lying; he knew the basic honesty and straightforwardness of her nature; he knew that when it came to things like this, deception was as far from her nature as cold-bloodedly killing a child was, she was fundamentally incapable of it.

He didn’t have proof— but he didn’t need it. He knew her, trusted her, loved her—and he knew that she loved him. It was in the way she kissed him, in the way she moved with him when they made love, in the way she touched him. It was in the way she curled up next to him, staying in his arms, when they slept; it was in the way she comforted him and in the way she allowed him to comfort her. It was in the way she talked to him, confided in him, told him her thoughts and her fears.

And it was in her eyes now as she looked at him—so much regret and so much faith and so much truth and so much love…

He felt a shudder of emotion go through him and he knew she saw his answer in his eyes because she threw her arms around him, flattening herself against him with a muffled sob and a cry, “Oh Harry, I’m so sorry and I love you so much!”

His arms closed around her with enough force to push the breath from her body but she didn’t mind, only tightened her own arms around him in response.

“I thought,” he managed to rasp out, his voice half-muffled by her hair, “I thought…” he trailed off as another shudder shook him and he didn’t finish his sentence of what he had thought, couldn’t put into words all his fears and all his hurt.

“I know,” she said in an aching whisper. “I know and I will never make you doubt me, doubt us, again.”

“I don’t doubt us; I won’t doubt you,” he swore in an intense whisper, moving his head just enough so he could meet her eyes.

“Forgive me?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Yes.” And then again, “Yes.” And then he added the final absolution. “I trust you.”

“And I love you,” she breathed in the last second before their lips met, what started out as a gentle kiss of forgiveness and renewed faith exploding into a full-blown melding of lips and tongues with all the strength of the emotions that had shaken them both, with all of her regret and her sorrow and all of his fears and his relief and all of their trust.

His hands flattened themselves on her back, roaming over her shoulders and back and down to her hips in a restless caress, as if trying to assure himself that she was there and still his, trying to mark her as his…

They stumbled backwards, blindly, in the direction of his bedroom, still kissing, their hands busily occupied in touching each other and he wasn’t even aware of the times that his back hit an obstacle as they finally found his bedroom.

And it was only then that they released each other, breaking off the kiss just long enough for each of them to hastily strip off their clothing. Normally, they liked to undress each other, slowly so as to savor every inch of bared skin but right now, going slowly was the last thing either of them wanted.

It was just seconds before they were both falling onto his bed, reaching for each other again, their hands greedy, grasping, in their caresses.

His hands were quick, almost rough, and yet still with an element of tenderness to them, as he first cupped, then squeezed her sensitized breasts. She arched up into him with a keening cry, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders and then tangling in his hair as his mouth replaced his hands on her breast, licking, tasting, suckling, first one and then the other. Claiming her as his with lips and teeth and tongue and hands.

She gasped and clung to him, her hands sliding over the smooth skin of his shoulders and down his back in a ravenous, exploratory caress, before moving on to his chest and stomach, feeling the way his muscles leaped and tensed at her touch.

One hand slid down to touch the wetness between her legs, pausing briefly to tickle the sensitive flesh before he slid one, two fingers inside her.

She cried out, her hands falling away from him to clutch at the sheets in helpless arousal, as he kissed her again, hard, swallowing the breathy gasps and moans issuing from her mouth.

And he waited until he felt her begin to clench around his fingers, before he removed his hand and slid smoothly into her in one stroke until he was fully inside her.

The added fullness of him filling her, stretching her, pushed her over the edge and her muscles tightened around him in a spasm, as ecstasy pulsed through her, leaving her limp and spent in his arms.

He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth as he rode out her spasms, and then he began to move, slowly, his fingers moving up to play with her hardened nipples. She urged his head back to hers, kissing him, until he began thrusting his tongue into her mouth in unconscious imitation of the rhythm of his hips.

“Hermione,” he let out her name in a strangled groan.

“Harry…” she panted, feeling the glory build inside her again, the delightful tension building until it shattered, washing over her in tidal waves of feeling.

He shuddered and came inside her with one final thrust, his mouth opening on a voiceless shout as he spent himself in her, collapsing bonelessly on top of her.

It was some minutes before either of them regained the ability to move and even then, it was only him rolling over onto his side while she followed, snuggling closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand seeking and finding his.

Almost idly, he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers, as he murmured, “You’re mine.” It wasn’t a particularly possessive statement, wasn’t said with any intensity, but as a simple affirmation of a truth they both already knew.

She brushed her lips against his shoulder. “I know.”

And although she hated to disturb the peaceful silence, she had to find out, had to ask. “Are you going to talk to Ron?”

He stiffened noticeably at the mention of Ron’s name, his grip on her hand tightening almost convulsively before he forcibly relaxed it. “Yeah,” he finally answered, briefly.

She paused and then finally said, very softly, “There’s only you for me, you know that, right?” It was an uncharacteristically sentimental thing for her to say but he took it as it was meant to be, as an affirmation of their love and understood that she had been shaken as well, by even the suspected hint of infidelity and betrayal and the shadow of doubt it had cast on their future.

For a moment, he didn’t answer other than to tighten his grip on her hand, but then he said, very simply, “Me too.”

And that was all.

~*~

He waited until she had fallen asleep, her breathing deep and even, before he slowly slid out of bed, careful not to disturb her as he hurriedly got back into the clothes he’d been wearing earlier, scattered haphazardly on the floor.

He paused for a brief moment to study her sleeping face, so peaceful, erased of the usual energy and intelligence that lit up her expression when she was awake. For a split second, the memory of her with Ron’s lips on hers flashed into his mind and he shook his head to clear it. She was his; he knew that. He had no reason to doubt.

When he got to Ron’s flat, he had to fight back the sudden wave of apprehension and tension he felt, remembering the last time he had been there, only hours ago. But this time, he knocked.

“Harry?” he heard Ron’s voice through the door.

“Yeah, it’s me. Open the door.”

“Not if you’re just going to hex my bollocks off. If you are, we can talk through the door.”

Harry sighed shortly. “Don’t be a git. If I were going to hex your bollocks off, I wouldn’t have knocked,” he retorted sardonically.

“True,” Ron admitted. He, of all people, knew that when Harry was truly angry, a locked door and a few protective wards were hardly sufficient to keep Harry out.

Still, it was with some tentativeness that Ron opened the door and let Harry in, stepping quickly back when he did so.

“Did- did Hermione find you?” Ron blurted out, trying not to look quite as nervous as he felt.

“Yeah, we’ve talked.” Harry’s tone was clipped.

And even though he knew he was betraying just how apprehensive he was, Ron couldn’t help it but found himself blurting out all the things he had been thinking in the past few hours. “It didn’t mean anything, you know. I just- it was sort of to say goodbye since I had just told her that I knew we could never have lasted; it was for what might have been, nothing else. I don’t- I don’t love Hermione, you know that, right? And I’m happy for you guys; honestly, I am, couldn’t be happier. You and Hermione- you’re just right, you know? She loves you, really, honestly loves you. I think she always loved you, even when she and I were-- She loves you; she doesn’t love me like that; I don’t think she ever really did. I’m sorry—really sorry; it was wrong and I shouldn’t have kissed her but it just happened and it really didn’t mean anything. And I--”

“Shut up, Ron,” Harry finally interrupted Ron’s flood of words.

Ron did.

“I know all that. You think if I didn’t and if I hadn’t settled things with Hermione, I would be here right now? You think if I didn’t know all that, you’d still be standing, even?”

Ron’s lips twitched a little. “I guess not.” He paused and then added, more quietly, “I really am sorry, you know?”

“Yeah. I can’t say it doesn’t matter or that I don’t care—but I’m not going to hex you. And I trust her.”

“Then- then we’re- we’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry finally said. “We’re okay.”

“Okay.”

Harry met Ron’s eyes and managed a slight smile and knew that it was true. They were okay, would be okay. They had been through too much together, been friends for too long, and he accepted their explanation, believed it. It was understandable, really, he supposed, although he didn’t for a moment think that he was truly fine with it having happened. But, after all, he knew that both Ron and Hermione had been sincere and honest in saying it had just been a kiss and meant nothing.

~*~

Harry quietly took off his clothes, having paused to pick up and fold Hermione’s clothes because he knew that she would hate to wake up in the morning and find them still on the floor, and thought to himself with a slight smile that it really was proof of how much he loved her that he would think to do that.

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he slid into bed beside her, loving how she automatically, even in sleep, shifted closer to him.

He heard her murmur his name, “Harry,” the word hardly more than a wisp of sound, no louder than a breath, and he felt his heart warm. After all, what did one kiss matter when he knew that, in the end, she dreamed of him?

He curled up next to her, feeling himself relax and slide into sleep.

I have no doubts about us…

~The End~

Author’s Note 2: When I posted this, I wrote at the end that I had no doubts about the ultimate right-ness of H/Hr—and I still don’t. Even knowing about the disaster that is DH, I don’t doubt that H/Hr is better, is more right, no matter what JKR might think. (She clearly doesn’t remember her own canon anyway.) No doubts. To hell with canon.