My Favorite Book
Because I never knew a home, until I found your hands, when I'm weathered
You come to me, you're my best friend.
And that is why we'll always make it.
How I know your face, all the ways you move.
You come in; I can read you.
You're my favorite book.
All the things you say, the way you shift your eyes.
I never knew there was someone, to make me come alive.
August 20, 2017
It surprised her-that she heard the soft sniffling through the haze of her anger.
It made her pause, standing in front of her son's door, and listen cautiously for any further noises. She was just about to move toward her own room when she heard it again-a slight sniffle, this time followed by a quiet whimper.
Slowly, she pushed the door open, attempting to adjust to the dim light in the room.
"Hugo? Honey?"
Dead silence met her call.
She moved closer to the bed. The bright orange comforter stood out in the darkness, as did the top of Hugo's head, sticking out from underneath it.
"Hugo?" She called again softly.
The covers peeled back to reveal his tear-streaked face.
Hermione instantly enveloped him in a hug. "Oh, honey, what's wrong?"
She felt his small arms snake around her back, clutching her tightly. His sniffles turned into sobs. She rubbed his back reassuringly, placating him with gentle words.
"M-mummy?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
He pulled away slightly, and looked up at her. His brown eyes still held traces of wetness. "D-Do you love me?"
Hermione's heart broke. "Honey, of course I do! With all my heart! What would even make you ask a question like that?"
Hugo looked down and wiped at his nose. "It's just that-" he trailed off for a moment. "I heard you and Dad arguing."
Swearing internally, Hermione smoothed down Hugo's hair. "We just lost our tempers, honey, and said nasty things we didn't mean. The argument didn't have anything to do with you, Hugo, and it certainly doesn't make me love you any less."
"It's just that, well, you and Dad argue a lot." He stated, now fidgeting a bit. "And everyone says I'm a lot like Dad-"
For just a moment, Hermione gaped at her son. "Hugo, honey, I-I love you very much. Please never doubt that. You're my world, sweetie."
"Really?"
"Of course."
"And-and you'd do anything for me, right Mum? You'd-you'd even give up everything for me?"
Hermione pulled him into another tight embrace.
Oh, honey, I already have.
"Of course, Hugo, of course."
Looking over Hugo's shoulder, she noticed it was raining outside.
Life was funny that way.
October 2, 2005 (Flashback)
The rain fell in heavy sheets pounding upon the roof.
She loved these days, curled up with a cup of hot tea and a good book. It helped matters that the sound of the rain alone echoed throughout the house; Ron was out on business.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the tranquility of it all.
The doorbell startled her; she wasn't expecting company.
Her hand gripped her wand tightly; even after over seven years she still retained the caution she learned in the war.
She moved toward the door warily, still grasping her wand. Through the glass, the distorted image of Harry waved at her. She let out a breath, rolling her eyes, and threw open the door.
"Harry! Why didn't you Floo? It's a mess out!"
He shrugged sheepishly and grinned.
Hermione noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I felt like a walk."
She shook her head and pulled him into the house, casting a quick drying spell.
He grinned again, and this time, his eyes sparkled.
"Thanks, gorgeous. What would I do without you?" He wrapped her in a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek.
"Very little, I'm sure." She replied with a smirk. "Now, what's the matter?"
"What makes you think something's the matter?"
She shot him a knowing look.
A slight smile appeared on his face. "Right." He paused, the smile disappearing completely. "Ginny's pregnant."
"Oh. I-That's-" Her brow furrowed. "I should be congratulating you."
"Yes, I suppose you should."
"You wanted more kids." She took a step closer to him. "What's the matter, Harry?"
He closed his eyes, sighed, and then began to speak hurriedly. "I don't know. It's-well-have you ever made a decision that you thought was right, at the time, and then, over the years, you grow to regret it more and more, until it begins to plague your every thought, every day?"
She watched him carefully, painfully aware of the short distance between them. "Yes."
He visibly swallowed.
"Harry, what-?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Just-make me feel better."
Her answer was immediate and firm. "Okay."
His eyes conveyed an immeasurable amount of gratitude. He placed his head gently on her shoulder; she raked her hands through his hair.
Outside, the rain continued to fall in loud splashes.
"Would you like some tea?" She asked softly.
He nodded into her shoulder and, after a moment's pause, stepped back.
She headed toward the kitchen; silently, he followed her. She felt his eyes on her back as she bustled around, preparing his tea.
For once, she was glad she could blame the slight twitch of her hands to her torture by Bellatrix Lestrange so many years ago.
When she finished she handed the cup to him and watched as he took a sip and smiled, pleased she had remembered how he liked it.
"Come on." She nodded toward the living room. "Let's have a sit."
He nodded, following her to the overstuffed couch in front of the television.
"Do you want to watch the telly? I'm sure there's a football match on. Ron certainly seems to find one every moment he's home."
Harry smiled crookedly. "He tells me that you watch them with him, from time to time."
"Ah, well, only when Beckham's playing," she quirked, with a smile of her own.
"Didn't take you for the fan girl type." His eyes sparkled.
"You haven't seen my Harry Potter shrine, then? I swear that bloke is just too dishy."
He laughed loudly and placed an arm around her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. She sighed contently, and leaned into him.
"I don't know what I did to deserve you, Hermione."
She pulled away slightly to look at him. The smile was gone, replaced by a tender look that caused her breath to stick in her throat. Their eyes locked; an unbidden thought passed through her mind before she quickly pushed it away.
This is dangerous. She realized. It's like we're banging rocks together in a firework warehouse; eventually, a spark is going to catch, and then everything's going to explode.
His eyes shifted to look over her shoulder. She knew his gaze had moved to the large picture of the trio hanging on wall near the television. It was likely the most important material possession she owned.
Harry stood up and walked over to the framed photograph. She followed him, slowly, her eyes soaking in not the picture, but rather Harry's expression.
In the picture, Hermione stood in the middle of the two boys. Ron's arm draped around her shoulder, Harry's arm curled around her waist. Though the picture was magical, the three did not move much, only smiled, softly, as though they had a harmless secret the rest of the world was not worthy to know. More important, however, was the resolute belief in Harry's eyes, the belief of better things to come.
Hope.
It shone through the weariness.
But now, now a myriad of emotions passed through his eyes at a nearly impossible rate. While his face was impassive, no clenched muscles or furrowed brow, his eyes revealed the feeling the rest of his face lacked.
Sadnessregretnostalgialongingrestlessness.
Turmoil.
His eyes closed suddenly, blocking emotion's escape.
"Stop," he whispered.
For some reason, she whispered back. "Stop what?"
"Reading me. You-I can't-do this."
She licked her lips and swallowed heavily.
His breath quickened; his jaw clenched.
"What's happening to us? We-We were fine, better than fine even, and we never, never tried to-Oh Merlin. I don't even know what I'm talking about, goddammit!" She swore, true desperation hitting her.
She wasn't quite sure what was happening, or why it made her shake.
She did know however, that she needed to leave.
And then Harry opened his eyes.
And she couldn't.
The emotions escaped, breaking through and pouring into her very core, one overpowering all others.
Need.
The shear intensity caused her to take a step backward.
She let out a small gasp as her back hit something solid. His hands came to rest on either side of her head, flat against the wall.
"Tell me to stop," he demanded, green eyes piercing into hers, his face suddenly tantalizingly close.
She opened her mouth to respond; only her ragged breath escaped her lips.
"Hermione," he growled. "Tell me stop."
He must have taken a step closer, for now she felt his hot breath on her face.
Or perhaps she was just more aware.
Aware of the warmth pooling through her, of the pounding in her chest, of the tingling, electric feeling spreading-like limbs awakening-shaking off the numbness.
Aware of being alive.
"Hermione," Harry pleaded, begged her to be the strong one.
And she couldn't.
"I-I can't."
It happened too quickly for her mind to process.
The spark caught.
Then she was pressed fully up against the wall, against his body, grinding, withering, and her hands tangled into his hair, grasping, clenching.
His lips, or hers, crashed, bruised, fused.
His hands grazed the side of her breasts; she moaned into his mouth.
Her hands moved to his shoulders, gripping the fabric tightly, pulling him closer; She wanted, needed him closer.
He pinned her arms above her head with one hand, moved up her thigh with the other.
She bit his lower lip.
He hissed, letting go of her hands and pressing her further into the wall.
She tugged at his shirt; he pulled away, breathing heavily.
No words. Deep silence.
She pulled his shirt over his head.
I'm yours.
You're mine.
He unbuttoned her blouse.
I'm yours.
You're mine.
The world exploded in flashes of green, blue, red, and yellow.
They enjoyed the show.
A/N: First of all, thanks for all the great reviews I've been receiving! You guys are awesome!
Secondly, surely you all saw this coming! I know a lot of people have a problem with the idea of Harry and Hermione having an affair, and frankly, I tend to be one of them, but as you can hopefully see from the first few chapters, they've spent quite a long time wallowing in their guilt. For me though, an event like this would certainly explain how Harry and Hermione went from the people we saw together in the cemetery in DH to the two people who didn't say a word to each other in the epilogue.
This song, actually, was the song that stood out to me from the entire album in terms of its relevance to Harry and Hermione. I think it describes Hermione's feelings toward Harry perfectly.
The idea for Hugo's question (Would you give up everything for me?) comes from a story my friend told me about how, when she was younger, she and her mom would play a game asking how much they would give up for each other. It would start out small ('I would give up my favorite marble for you') and always end up with them everything for each other.
A friend of mine had some artwork done for me from a scene in this chapter, which you can see here: http://imstillsleeping.livejournal.com/11442.html Enjoy!
Remember to keep the dates in mind!