Unspoken

Unspoken

Summary: In Harry’s point of view, look inside and see the true evolution of his feelings for his best friend, Hermione. Look and see how far such feelings take him, see also the depths of despair and the peaks of joy it brings. How far would you go for the one you love?

Disclaimer: It’s JKR’s. Not mine. Where’s my violin?

Author's note: This is my first fic in quite some time. I became a lurker in the community after the disastrous release of the even more disastrous HBP. But I've stepped out from the comfortable shadows of that corner over there with a brand new fic.

Thanks to Ben (bentheslayer on Portkey, so if you haven't, check out his wonderful fic, too!) for helping me along with this. Your advice and encouragement and friendship are any writer's dream. I cannot thank you enough.

And thanks to you, readers! I hope you enjoy it!

Part One

It wasn’t what I expected, this feeling. And why should it hit so long after the fact? Well, I guess I did have enough on my mind, didn’t I? Running around a frantic castle, preparing myself for the murder only I was destined to commit. How could I give thought to anything else?

It was later that day, or was it night? Who can be certain? The span of the entire battle felt simultaneously like a moment and a lifetime.

Anyway, it wasn’t very long after, I suppose, though it seemed so, when that peculiar feeling rushed over me. I hadn’t slept. None of us had. The shock of everything – the losses, the pain, the fact that what we had been fighting for so long was, at last, over – wouldn’t let our minds find peace through slumber. Instead, we eventually found our way back to our old common room, half-destroyed, but with people still coming and going, the dazed looks on their faces undoubtedly mirroring our own.

I remember sitting with you and him. Sitting and staring, it was all we were yet capable of. Silence, not slumber, was our reprieve. Sitting between us, I felt your hand grasp mine. The only other movement was of your other hand grasping his.

Then and there did the peculiar feeling stir within me. I looked at you, your tired face – for once in all the time I had known you, vacant of any other thought or emotion. You stared straight ahead without the normal, thoughtful frown upon your brow, to the fireless grate, unseeing.

And with this feeling came the memory of how you two disappeared earlier that day. The feeling intensified. And the memory of your long-anticipated snog. It intensified still more.

I took my hand from yours, stung. Confused. Horrified.

You looked at me. What was that in your eyes? No longer simple tiredness, but… pain?

I looked away from you, my hand shaking. Trying to hide it, I ran it through my insane hair. I yawned. I couldn’t look at you, but still your eyes… I could feel them boring into my skin.

I stood abruptly. I’m tired, I said.

Ron simply nodded, but you… you kept watching me. Your eyes suddenly alert, wide with curiosity and… well, with the pain.

But what was I to do? I couldn’t just sit there, accepting such an intense, unforgivable feeling. I had to move away from it and thus, away from you, the undeniable reason for it.

I made it to the staircase before I chanced a backward glance at you. Did the curious longing in my eyes match that of your own, as you watched me, silently? I was too tired to hide it. So were you.

But what could we do? What choice did we have? The only option was for you to turn away, back to him, grasp his hand tighter, lean in and try to long for him.

The only option was for me to tear my eyes away and let you do it.

Unspoken

Part two

The days became easier after that first one. Indeed, after a time, I began to believe I’d only dreamt it. And if I had not dreamt it, surely it was a delusion formed by my shocked and exhausted mind. How could I feel for you in such a way? Or you for me? We’re best friends and that’s all.

So, it was almost a shock, a year later, to feel it again.

After a long day of celebration, we sat in a Muggle pub, escaping the ongoing parties our fellow witches and wizards were holding. Your eyes were tired again, but bright with the wine you were sipping. He sat next to you. She sat next to me. It should have been perfect.

A year of relative peace had passed and still there was no danger on the horizon. We laughed and talked and reminisced, happy to be detached from the adoring public. Happy just to be with friends who understood everything, without a word. Happy to be… happy.

But a lull in the conversation had Ron kissing your cheek before he declared a desperate need for the loo. Ginny finished her own glass of wine before standing and following. And there we were.

You stared at the table. The familiar, thoughtful frown played between your eyebrows. Absentmindedly were you fidgeting with a paper napkin. It tore between your ink-stained fingers.

You stared at the table.

I stared at you.

Silent again.

And then… then did your eyes flicker toward mine. I blinked and you were staring at me, eyes bright, and there was the pain, the curiosity, the longing I had not seen in a year. There it was, all of it, staring me in the face. And the feeling I thought a distant dream born from sleeplessness and shock, stirred again. Stirred and intensified so that I felt winded.

In your eyes I saw the recognition. You knew I felt it, too.

You bit your lower lip. And your eyes… oh, your eyes, moist with… something. Regret? Resignation? What was it? Was there even a word for it?

Never in my life have my arms wanted so badly to wrap around someone. But how could I? How could I have been of any comfort to you? Wouldn’t it just make it hurt even more?

My eyes, just as pained as yours, held the gaze. I could not look away from you. I never wanted to look away from you.

For the first time in so long, I wished for your old Time-Turner. I wished to go back and change things. Consequences be damned! I just wanted a chance. A chance to start over and never, ever cause you this pain.

A tear slipped from your eye. My hand twitched, but you caught it quickly, wiping it away. Your eyes closed.

“Hermione,” I whispered, pain choking my words.

But what could I have done? We made our choices. This was the consequence. Damn it.

And you opened your eyes to welcome him and her back. I looked up with a smile, acting as perfect as it should have been.

Part Three

For days after, I avoided you. I didn’t know how to face you again with the peculiar feeling so intense. Likewise, you made no attempt to contact me. Our daily lunches came to a halt. I spent that time instead locked away in my office, claiming a mountain of paperwork I’d put off too long.

I had to figure out a way to banish this feeling, but how? I could not ignore you for the rest of my life. We’re best friends and already I felt lost without your usual, comforting presence. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know how to fix it.

When I saw you again one Sunday afternoon at the Burrow, there was no trace of all we silently shared that night. You were all smiles, happy and relaxed.

Everything was fine. We exchanged hellos and hugs. It wasn’t easy for me to pull away. And I noticed how you didn’t give me the customary kiss on the cheek. I could lie and say it didn’t hurt. Not even a little.

Again I tried to convince myself it wasn’t real. Those stolen seconds of silent, painful conversation were purely my own imaginings. I won’t say that made me feel any better. How could I be imagining such things about my best friend? My best friend who was happily with my other best friend who also happened to be my beautiful girlfriend’s brother?

The guilt, I believed, was surely enough to tear me apart. But I covered it with a smile, greeted the people I considered family, the very people I felt I was betraying, simply by having this peculiar feeling. I smiled and I laughed. I was the perfect boyfriend. The perfect son. What I had always wanted to be.

You kept your distance. Whenever our eyes met across the long table, a feeble smile would twitch upon your wine-stained lips before you looked hastily away.

And I found the feeling intensifying. Despite the pain of it, I wanted – needed to see it in your eyes, too. I needed to know I wasn’t alone. Sick as it sounds, I was developing a love-hate relationship with our agony.

I didn’t see it that night, nor for many nights thereafter. The only way I knew it was real was by how you kept me at arms’ length. Never too close, never alone. A cordiality that seemed cold and foreign compared to our old, comfortable friendship. I felt as though even that was slipping away.

But what could be done? How could I see you every day, feeling how I felt? How could I stand the rejection when you pulled away from my embrace too soon? How could I stare at you desperately, willing you to reveal the same sinful thoughts running through my own mind?

How could I even expect it of you? You, the most morally conscious person I’ve ever had the fortune to know and admire?

And so the days passed.

Part Four

It’s not that I didn’t love Ginny. I did. She was beautiful, intelligent, funny. She always kept me guessing. She always had such an air of power about her. It was attractive. And yes, I did love her. Why else was I with her?

But I won’t deny there was something lacking. It wasn’t… easy with her. She didn’t understand me, not like you. She loved me, I know. But it just wasn’t the everything I had dreamed it to be.

With you, there was an understanding, there was a connection.

A connection I thought we had lost until some months later, sitting at the small dining table in the flat I shared with Ron. While he was listening to some Quidditch game in the living room, Ginny was a few feet away from me, in the kitchen, finishing dinner.

You wandered in. I felt your entrance before I looked up to see you as you hesitated in the doorway, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. After a second, you came to sit across from me. I was still unable to see your lip past the teeth. But your eyes, they seemed to scream at me.

A rush of the peculiar feeling had my heart beating frantically. Your silent revelation tore at me and enthralled me, but it didn’t last long. Too soon was Ginny declaring that dinner was ready, and your eyes left mine. You stood just as Ron entered the dining room.

“Sodding Cannons on another downward spiral,” he muttered morosely, and you gave him a quick kiss before going to help Ginny bring the food to the table.

My heart continued hammering. I couldn’t stop looking at you, all throughout the meal, trying to convey how sorry and how thankful I was for everything you felt.

My heart continued hammering until, as dessert was served, Ron decided to reveal something else.

Indeed, I’m sure it stopped as he told us excitedly of the plan he had to move in with you. It stopped and I choked on my bite of pie. Painful as it was, I was glad for it. My shock, my pain, my peculiar feeling was disguised by a frantic coughing fit and Ron’s unconcerned laughter.

Once recovered, I laughed along with him however hoarsely, standing to give him the appropriate, brotherly hug of congratulations.

For you, however, I did not reach. This was painful enough. I had to force myself to look at you. To look at you and smile, to say how happy I was for you. Did you know it was a lie?

You smiled back at me over Ginny’s shoulder, thanked me. But was that a glimmering echo of my misery, or just a tear of happiness in your eye?

Part Five

Soon after all Ron’s belongings were boxed up and moved to your flat, I decided it was time for Ginny and me to also take a big step in our relationship.

I proposed to her at night on the empty Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, made especially romantic with the dozens of enchanted, glowing Snitches that flitted around us. She cried. I laughed in fear… and in so many kinds of hope.

The next day, at the normal Sunday lunch at the Burrow, we announced our engagement. My eyes couldn’t help but look for you even as I was practically tackled in a hug by Mrs. Weasley. You held my gaze.

Again, your eyes tore through me and I had to remember to keep laughing through the pain, laughing jovially at Mrs. Weasley’s incoherent squeals of delighted congratulations.

It was for the first time that my heart truly broke for you, for us. Tears slipped from your shocked, hurt eyes. But you covered it with a smile as soon as you turned away from me to congratulate my fiancée. You laughed with her as she had laughed with you on the occasion of your own revelation just weeks prior. You were the perfect friend, the perfect sister. Everything you had to be.

And my heart was pounding a frightening rhythm I forced myself to smile through as I hugged my future in-laws and my dear friends. At last, you came to me. You hugged me, tightly.

Lodging itself in my throat, my heart carried on with its uneven, frantic beat. Could you feel it? I held you tighter. I couldn’t help myself.

Your voice broke, tainted with misery, on the only two words you whispered in my ear. “Congratulations, Harry.”

And you pulled away again, refusing to look at me. You went to Ron’s side, wrapped an arm around his waist and laughed blushingly when Mrs. Weasley asked the two of you when you would follow in mine and Ginny’s wonderful footsteps.

Part Six

The memory of our embrace haunted me all night. I tossed and I turned, obsessing over one of the only physical gestures in which we indulged in what had to be months. It was bittersweet, as it usually is when I think of our encounters. Torturous and amazing, all at once.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, or if I even did. I only know that at the sound of my alarm, I was crawling out of bed, delirious and still longing, to take a shower and prepare for another day at work.

And that is where I saw you, as I usually did. You came into my office, late in the morning looking harassed and nervous with an armful of scrolls and books and a quill in your untidy hair. Surprise at the sight of you made me hesitate unwittingly before standing quickly to help ease your burden.

“Are you all right?” I asked, concerned and delighted at once. I waved my wand at the chair in front of my desk, which cleaned itself of stray papers that had somehow accumulated there. “Why don’t you sit for a moment?”

“Harry,” you said, refusing to look me in the eye. “I have a deadline, I can’t. I’m just here to drop this off.”

I watched as you removed a scroll from your collection of them. Your hand shook as you held it out for me to take. I hesitated.

“Please, sit? Spare me the worry of you having a stroke before the end of the day?” I said with a small, tentative smile.

It was your turn to hesitate. “Fine,” you said after a moment, taking a seat and arranging your many burdens as neatly as possible on the chair beside you. Your tone was bossy as you continued, and it made my smile widen as I realized how I had missed it. “But you have to give me some coffee. I need some fuel to get through such a hellish day.”

“Right away, ma’am,” I responded cheerfully, taking a spare coffee cup and filling it. I had to summon the sugar, but quite soon it was ready and in your hands. I sat down behind my desk again, the smile lingering on my face.

You smiled a small smile of thanks and took a long sip. I caught myself blatantly staring at you as you savored the drink. Before your eyes could open, I looked away, holding my breath, but not for long.

“So,” you said, quietly, after a few moments. “What about you? Are you ok?”

Was it really so obvious when I had a sleepless night? “I’m great, yeah,” I said, nodding. “Just couldn’t… sleep. The excitement and all…”

You stiffened. You smiled. And you nodded, looking down at your coffee. “Oh, of course, it’s only natural.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to think so,” I said quietly, desperate for you to look up at me and maintain the eye contact I was so obsessed with.

You took another long sip, trying to make use of the awkward silence that followed our tiny, loaded exchange. Ending it with a sigh, you set the half-empty cup on my desk and stood to gather your things. I stood, too, abruptly, and moved closer to you. “You should take more time to calm down, you know,” I said, desperate for you to stay. The awkwardness was painful, but the distance, the detachment was unbearable.

Still refusing to look at me, you reached for the scroll you were supposed to deliver to me. “Oh, I can’t,” you were saying, quietly as you picked it up and made to hand it to me. “There just aren’t enough hours in the day, especially with a case like the one I’m on now.”

We were standing just a foot or so apart, and I reached for the scroll. My hand grazed yours. I shivered, and it seemed as though you did as well. I kept staring at your face, waiting for you to look back as I removed it from your hand and tossed it aside. It met my desk with a thud and a clatter. And so you looked up at me, confused.

I don’t know how long we stood there, but our silent conversation took over once more, as if it had never stopped. My heart was thrumming so loudly I was sure you could hear it. You didn’t make another attempt to move or to leave. You looked at me. You stared back into my eyes, scared and hurt and longing, as ever.

I don’t know how long it was before I reached for your hand and pulled you closer to me, never breaking the stare until I suddenly… had to. Your eyes were so full of emotion and tears. Merlin knows, mine were, too. I couldn’t stop myself. I just… couldn’t not take you fully into my arms, closing the space between us at long, long last, and kissing you deeply, fully on the mouth.

I don’t know how long it was before one of us pulled away. Indeed, the only thing I know for sure is how you kissed me back just as passionately. And I felt your tears on my own cheeks as I held you and kissed you. And I felt at home, I felt right as you held me and kissed me. And the peculiar feeling wasn’t so peculiar anymore. Nor did I see it anymore as singular. The peculiar feeling was, in fact, a menagerie of different emotions of which I had never before experienced, at least on this scale. And all of these emotions were almost nameless, but put together, I realized they could mean only one thing…

And then you pushed me away. You staggered backward just a bit, looking dazed and then, to my dismay, aghast. “Harry,” you gasped. “We… we can’t.”

“How can we not?” I asked, reaching for you again. I needed more of your lips, your arms, your tears, your scent, your body. I needed more of you.

Taking a step backward, you raised your hands defensively, again not quite looking me in the eye. “Harry, you can’t be serious,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We can’t.”

“Hermione,” I said as you began to gather your things with such haste. “Hermione, let’s just talk about this. For once, let’s actually say things out loud!”

Though you were obscured by your bushy curls as you shook your head, I could tell you were crying and I tried to move nearer to you again. “Harry,” you gasped, what sounded like a warning and a plea. “There’s nothing to say!”

And so you left me there, staring after you, hurting more than ever.

Part Seven

The pain I felt after that day in my office stayed with me, shackled me. I had experienced so much pain in my life, but this was so different. There were times it hurt to breathe, hurt to move. I couldn’t fathom how I would get past it, the sound of your broken, horrified words, the sight of you rushing away from me.

It was all I could do just to avoid you. I couldn’t look at you anymore without revealing all, without desperately trying to control the urge to take you into my arms once more.

And all of this was made harder when Ginny appointed you as her maid of honor. Your presence was near constant and even when you weren’t at my flat helping with preparations, my fiancée would come home with your scent still, very slightly, lingering in her crimson hair.

I kept my distance as much as possible, going out with Ron with the excuse of living up the rest of my bachelor days. But even that was sometimes too much. Through the beer and the smoky air of whatever pub we went to, you lingered on him, too, and even more potently, more painfully.

You were everywhere and I could not get away from you. It was, admittedly, both a blessing and a curse.

Months went by with only painful glimpses of you as I made my way out the door of my flat, or on the way to lunch at work, or as I greeted everyone so cheerfully upon arriving at the Burrow nearly every Sunday – when I wasn’t using the excuse of a migraine or a particularly gruesome case I was working on whenever I knew I just couldn’t handle the sight of you.

You were always perfectly affable, greeting me with a hug – so brief and uncomfortable now – for our family’s eyes, to prevent unanswerable questions.

Indeed, no questions were asked. We seemed completely normal to everyone else. If not, I imagine they wrote it all off as stress from planning the wedding which loomed so very close.

A week before the wedding had Ginny staying with Bill and Fleur, helping her very pregnant sister-in-law around the cottage with the daily chores, as necessary. I was enjoying the silence and time to myself, watching the telly with little interest and eating from a bag of crisps when suddenly the fireplace erupted with the green flames that preceded your arrival. I had no chance to do anything about the boxers and stained t-shirt ensemble, of course, before you stumbled out, covered in soot and carrying many white bags.

We stared at each other with wide, surprised eyes before you finally managed a small, sheepish hello. After a moment, I stood from my comfortable place on the sofa, went to you tentatively.

“Don’t,” you said. “I can manage. You’re not supposed to see anyway.”

“I won’t look,” I said, quietly. “I just want to help.”

You looked at me for a moment, warily, as if you didn’t trust me. It hurt, but maybe you were right in thinking as much. Still, you handed me the contents in your left hand. “She wants these in Ron’s old room,” you said in the same quiet tone.

I nodded and turned away with great effort on my part, led you to the spare room which was now like one big closet of wedding stuff, blindingly white. We set the bags down wherever possible in the cluttered room. I watched as you reached to hang one up in the wardrobe, your dark blue shirt lifting with your arm and exposing the curve of your pale waist.

I shivered, turned away, and went into the hall. My hands were shaking when you joined me a moment later. We were so close. My hands were shaking with all I wanted to do with them, with you.

You gasped at the close proximity. We hadn’t been this close in months, not alone.

I couldn’t move. I could only stare at you. What other choice did I have? Moving away from you would have been agony. Moving closer to you would be a torture of another kind.

In the silence I heard you take ragged breaths. The light was dim in the small hallway, but I could see your large, brown eyes staring up at me with every unspoken emotion of every unspoken exchange of before. Could you see how mine reflected as much and so much more? Could you hear my own ragged breathing? Could you feel how I shook, now from head to toe?

“Well,” you whispered, a few long moments later, on one of your trembling breaths, “I’ll see you later, Harry.”

My heart felt like breaking again. This was why I couldn’t be near you, why I couldn’t see you anymore. The pain of watching you walk away from me was simply unbearable. Breathing started to hurt again. My eyes stung. But you didn’t move at first. You took a moment longer, staring up at me and I at you.

“Hermione,” I breathed. Even my voice shook.

You didn’t reply, except that you lowered your devastated eyes and took the first step to leave me again.

I couldn’t let you. Not again. I reached for your hand, took it into mine, held you fast. You gasped my name so quietly. I pulled you closer. I took your face in my other hand in the small, dim hallway. I took a deep, shaky breath; if I could but inhale you…

A whimper escaped your lips. It sounded like my name again. I continued shaking as my face neared yours, my hand, the one lost in your bushy curls, pulling you closer still.

You did not resist me as I kissed you softly. There were no tears this time; you simply responded, accepted it, accepted me and everything we had left unspoken for so long.

As ever, we had no need for words. Everything we knew and never spoke about was being shared again as we kissed for some time, the depth of it steadily increasing until I had you pressed against the wall, lifted up, wrapped around me.

I tore at your shirt as we grew more passionate, desperate to see you fully. The sleeve gave way and I pushed the fabric away as much as possible, kissing what skin I was able to expose. You held on to me tightly, moaning breathlessly at my attentions, gasping whenever I dared go further. Your gray skirt was wrinkled and around your hips; I could feel the moist heat of you through my clothes. My own desire pressed against your thigh, and the hot kisses you left upon my neck were soon to send me over the edge.

My lips returned to yours, eagerly, and my hand left your hair. Still holding you, my free hand reached between our fevered bodies to free us both of the thin layers of our cloth restraints.

Your hold on me tightened, you moaned deeply into our kiss as my fingers touched you for the first time. Another moan as I rubbed myself against you. We were both shaking, gasping, kissing – wordlessly begging for more. My hands moved to your hips as I entered you, my eyes and teeth clenched as the intense feeling of being inside you washed over me. Your hands pulled my hair, scratched my neck, and I shuddered against you as every part of you tightened around me in greeting.

We savored the initial wave of our crime, our passion for a moment. My hips eased into a gentle, slow rhythm as I kissed you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck. As our movements gradually sped and intensified, so did our breathless, gasping moans, our frantic, hungry kissing. Your hands grasped the flesh of my neck and shoulders. I thrust harder, feeling the intense pressure build. Clenched around me more tightly than ever, I held you as you seemed to curl in around me, welcoming your climax with a deep moan in my ear. I could no longer hold back at the sound of your pleasure. With a groan I gave in to the intense pressure, gave in with a groan which was muffled by the skin of your soft neck.

My knees almost buckled, weak and sore with exertion and a pleasure that seemed to touch every inch of me. But I kept hold of you, remained standing, listening to your small, continued whimpering. Your limbs had gone limp, as well, but as I moved you held on to me again. I carried you to my room, placed you gingerly on the bed, crawled in beside you. You seemed asleep before your head hit the pillow and I smiled at the sight of you, flushed and disheveled, comfortable and peaceful.

I wrapped myself around you, held you close to me. I fought to stay awake, fought to relish every moment I had with you, but my eyes grew heavy, too heavy. I buried my face in your hair and sighed, breathing you in. My last memory of that night was of how it felt to smile just because you were the one in my arms.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but when I woke… you were gone.

Part Eight

The next week was a blur of unanswered owls, pathetic drinking, and then complete ignorance of the world beyond my office and the hallway in my flat. I worked without noticing. I ate without tasting. I slept without quite sleeping.

Ginny came home three days before the wedding, in a fit to triple-check everything you had already prepared while she had been helping her brother and his wife. She left me alone. I was grateful to her.

I was kicked out of my flat the night before the wedding so that we would sleep separately and not see each other again until the vows were to be said. It was a silly idea to me, but I didn’t care very much until I realized I was to be staying with Ron. At your flat. And you would be staying with Ginny at mine.

It was a blessing that there would be much drinking involved that night, as it was a stag party. In fact, it was a stag party organized by Ron, who I sometimes think should be canonized as the patron saint of all such intoxicating beverages.

I don’t know how I looked at him that night. I don’t know how I looked at him and smiled and laughed and, actually, had fun with him. Maybe it was the alcohol, after all. It was relatively easy to put you out of my mind that night, so distracted was I by the friends that joined us. Hell, I was distracted enough by keeping track of where we were, as we wandered from pub to pub obnoxiously. But any time I was left alone for more than a minute, there you were. And with every drink I had, you became more and more vivid.

However, I made it through. Even when Ron started babbling about you, I held my calm. I suffered those feelings of mine in silence. I nodded along and I was his best friend. It didn’t matter how I betrayed him, somehow. It didn’t mean I didn’t love him. And yeah, it’s shitty, but why was it so bad if he didn’t know, would never know? It’s not like you even wanted to know. It’s not like you were trying desperately to hold on to every damn thing we could have had. No, it was a secret we would share until we met our ends.

Walking back to your nearby flat, too drunk to apparate or even walk properly, we were laughing hysterically at who knows what. We had left George, Bill, Percy, Charlie, Neville, Dean, and Seamus back at the dance club to find something to eat. Oh, that’s right. We were laughing at the fact we had no recollection of eating at all, but the receipt to the restaurant on the corner begged to differ. Well, that’s kind of amusing.

We kept stumbling into each other as we walked. Every five minutes he would check his pockets for his key. That, too, was amusing. With the exception of being completely pissed, it felt like old times again when he and I would hang out and laugh at the most ridiculous things and enjoy the fact that we were probably the only two people who understood.

A pause in our inebriated laughter had me saying, “Thank fuck the wedding isn’t ‘til sunset.”

He snorted in his laughter and stopped walking for a moment. “Ginny’d kill us if you fell over while she was walking down the aisle.”

“Maybe that’s why she didn’t want it any earlier,” I said, laughing with him. “Guess she didn’t want blood stains on the dress.”

His laughter died suddenly but he didn’t continue walking. He stared off as if in thought for a moment, looking quite drunk and pained. “You know,” he said after a few moments. “Maybe it’s time for me to ask Hermione to marry me. I think she’d like that.”

And my laughter died, too. I could blame it on the alcohol, but a sudden urge to be sick came over me. I didn’t respond to him. I couldn’t. I kept seeing visions of you in a white dress, walking down an aisle toward the wrong man. My stomach lurched and I leaned against the wall of a blurry, nameless building to react to the feelings my best friend’s simple, natural thought had given me.

Ron laughed, unknowing, and when I could react no more, he pulled my weak arm around his shoulders and led me clumsily to his flat. Your flat. My hell.

Part Nine

I saw you again the day of my wedding; I standing at the far end of the aisle, watching the door at the other end, trembling with nerves. Perhaps I would pass out after all. Maybe then my very soon-to-be wife would end my life and, therefore, my misery.

Holding myself upright successfully, however, I watched as the bridal party entered at their musical cue and walked the length of the aisle that had been made in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Luna came before you, looking dreamy and quite pretty in her sapphire gown. I smiled and was glad to see that Ginny had not vetoed her radish earrings.

She gave me a whimsical smile as she took her place across the aisle from me. The music kept playing, the doors opened again, and there you were.

On my best man’s arm, you walked slowly, your face pink and smiling peacefully. You looked straight ahead, refusing to meet my eyes.

I had to fight to keep the nervous smile on my own face. Had to fight to try looking at the two of you with brotherly affection and nothing more. Could you imagine the struggle?

And as you took your place and he, his, the bridal march began. The doors were opened once more, and there she was, the woman I once looked at as the love of my life. I will not deny the fact that her beauty did take my breath away. Her arm wrapped around her father’s, she walked toward me, beaming, in a slim, white gown which hugged her body in the best of ways. There wasn’t a veil to obscure her face, red as her hair with nervous, blushing delight.

Her eyes saw me adoringly, full of the future. I shook. I smiled more broadly. I loved her, I did. Why else would I marry her and try to give her the future she envisioned?

I realized the weight of my betrayal as her father gave her away to me. While I did not, could not regret what we had done, I silently vowed never to hurt her again. I loved her. Maybe not the way I thought I had, but how was she to blame for that?

And as we said our vows, I heard a small cry. Funny how I looked to you first. Yes, you were crying, a tissue held to your sad, brown eyes. But the cry had come from my mother-in-law. You wouldn’t make such a noise. Of course not, you were smiling, in fact. Smiling through the pain only I could see. Because only I could feel it, too.

You did not look at me. You, instead, focused on her, straightening the train of her dress and holding her bouquet of white lilies, as necessary. You applauded with everyone, laughing and smiling, as we were announced husband and wife with a kiss.

I took her hand into mine and walked away from you, down the aisle with her, fully intending to leave you, and everything we had left unspoken, behind.

Part Ten

My decision wasn’t easy. The last thing I wanted to do was let you go. I didn’t want to stop feeling what I felt for you. What I wanted most, in fact, was for you to be the one I held a future with, for you to be the one I had chosen years ago.

But the guilt for betraying my wife overwhelmed me. I knew I must do everything in my power to make her life a happy one. She deserved nothing less, and I was reminded of this every time she looked at me with those big brown eyes, full of undeserved trust and adoration.

I was determined to find a way to kill those feelings I still had for you. I was going against everything I wanted, going against every fiber of my being. But what other option was there?

Would I have made this decision had you not left me again? Had you not avoided me so exquisitely? I don’t honestly know. But why should I have dwelt on that? You did leave me. You wanted nothing more to do with me, and so I had to move on, make the best of what I still had, undeserving or not.

Feeling refreshed after a three week honeymoon, I returned to work with only a very small case of nerves. It was the first time I would see you since the wedding, the first time I would actually spend time with you since our clandestine night at my flat. Ron had planned a lunch between the three of us to welcome me home. It was time for us to get together alone before the dinner later that night at the Burrow.

Despite my nerves, I felt confident. My three weeks away from you had surely helped to rid me of those inconvenient feelings, and if not, I would surely be able to handle them at the very least. My trip with Ginny to the south of France had been wonderful. I focused almost entirely on her. I was almost able to keep you off my mind. It was only in the few times I spent alone that you crept into my thoughts, like in the handful of showers I was able to take alone, or after she had fallen asleep beside me.

After a moderately successful near-month of avoiding the thought of you, I believed myself up to the challenge of seeing you. So it was with an almost perfect ease that I walked into the restaurant around noon that day. I scanned the tables until my eyes settled on you, your hair pulled up and a glass of wine at your lips. You sat alone. You were frowning as you checked your watch.

A tingle ran the length of my spine at the sight of you. I swallowed, plastered a smile on my face, and approached you, hoping I was right, hoping I was up for this.

I greeted you warmly, with a smile, and slid into a seat across from you. I daren’t hug you as I normally would have tried. It was best not to push it.

Your smile was a weak one compared to mine, but you met my eyes, said hello, welcomed me home. Your eyes looked at me curiously, warily, but you were holding something back, I knew. And I tried not to show it, tried to act calmly, as if nothing deeper than friendship had ever been shared between us. Still, a small part of me expected, yearned to see what I hadn’t seen in nearly a month, what that small part of me dearly missed.

I spoke of nothing to keep from thinking of everything. Our drinks arrived before I wondered aloud where Ron was. You shrugged and took a sip of your full glass of wine, eyes averted and quiet.

After a moment, I looked away, too, silently admonishing myself for hoping to see the very thing that would surely be my undoing. I took a long sip of my beer, feeling as if I was drowning in the silence. For the first time in a long time, I desperately wanted Ron to arrive. He’d give me something else to think about, give me something to laugh at, give me a moment to almost forget what we had done.

I felt guilty for feeling that way, and it was the most bizarre sensation. Why should I feel any guilt for that? I had no obligation to you beyond friendship yet here I was, hating myself for thinking negatively of you, being with you, being silent with you.

It was just so fucking hard. I was wrong in thinking I was up to this – facing you and seeing nothing, feeling so much, wanting so much. I wanted to leave, get away from you. And I wanted to stay, get closer to you. I wanted to reach across the table, force you to look at me. I wanted to take you into my arms, make you love me.

Ron’s arrival covered up the sound of my sigh. He shouted my name jubilantly as he walked to the table. Both relieved and disappointed, I stood from my seat with a huge grin. I was happy to see him again. He reached for my hand and pulled me into a hug, giving me a brotherly pat on the back before releasing me and taking his place beside you.

You gave him a smile, a hug, a small kiss on the lips, for which I looked away, took another drink of beer. It didn’t really help.

No, I wasn’t up for this after all. Would I ever be? Did I even, really, want to be?

Part Eleven

Later that night, I saw you again at the Burrow. Ginny and I apparated into the back garden, hands linked and smiling. We walked the small distance to the long table lit by floating candles and lanterns. My stomach rumbled; I hadn’t eaten very much at lunch. Our family gave a collective cheer at the sight of us, Mrs. Weasley rushing up to give us warm hugs in greeting. We laughed indulgently at the happy tears in her eyes, returning her embrace.

You made yourself busy with pouring the drinks, so adept at avoiding any contact with me. Ron waited until everyone had greeted us before coming over and hugging first me, again, and then his sister. He ruffled her hair, much to her dismay, and laughed at her slightly amused indignation.

At last, everyone settled down enough to sit around the large table. You sat next to Ron, who sat across from me, but your attention was focused entirely elsewhere. You were dutiful in asking Ginny the appropriate questions any best friend would after a honeymoon, and she was eager to answer. Once that conversation tired itself, you moved on to Luna who had also returned from a long trip of hunting Snorkacks. She gave you the usual, dreamy and fantastical responses. I must say it did amuse me so how you had given up trying to correct her, but still held firmly on to your expression of disdain with those lips pursed beneath a furrowed brow.

But I couldn’t allow myself to linger on your lips too long. I had realized earlier that day how wrong I was in thinking I could handle you, anything to do with you for very long. Still, I was determined to keep trying, determined to live to see the day when I could linger on your lips without wanting to taste them again.

Maybe it was a hopeless dream, but what else could I do but try?

So I looked away from you, involved myself in Ron and George’s Quidditch conversation. I faked a special interest and spoke animatedly about the Cannon’s abysmal descent into sporting infamy. It was enough to keep my mind off of you, even if I had to force it.

When undistracted by conversation, my new wife was more than keen to preoccupy me. She would stroke my thigh beneath the table, lean in and whisper sweetly unspeakable things, kiss me softly. I would laugh with her, trying to find the balance of appeasing her and not hurting you, who sat so near, such an unwilling witness.

But every time I tried to catch your eye, you were pointedly looking elsewhere, your slim arms crossed over your chest, a smile forced upon your lips. Oh, your lips again… I felt drawn to them, my eyes tracing the smooth pink curves of them, as much as I willed myself to stay far, far away.

After dessert, everyone remained sitting, enjoying their glasses of wine and beer. You had disappeared earlier and so very quietly so that I very nearly did not notice when you walked away. I kissed Ginny briefly upon the lips before standing to go to the loo. She giggled and squeezed my hand as I walked away, and I heard her turn to Luna with a delighted sigh. Luna’s high laugh could be heard over the peaceful chatter that drifted toward me as I entered the house. It was dimly lit but I made my way to the bathroom without error.

I opened the door without knocking and was startled by your presence there, your hands gripping the edge of the sink, your head bowed so that your hair fell into your face, obscuring your reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, watching as you tensed and looked up to see my own reflection in the glass. Your eyes were red. My heart broke at the sight.

“No, trust me,” you said, your voice thick with tears and with a bitter edge. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

My brow furrowed, confused. “What does that mean?”

Lifting a hand to wipe the tears from your face, you shook your head silently for a moment. “Nothing,” you said and paused to stifle a small sob. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

In inexplicably physical pain, I took a step forward, nearer to you. “Hermione…”

You cringed away from me, turning to face me, your back against the wall. “What? What do you want from me?”

I stared at you. What could I say? What did I want from you? I stared at you, at a loss for words. I stared at you because I knew everything I wanted from you contradicted itself. And how could I voice that? How could I tell you that I wanted you in my arms at the very moment I wanted to hold you at arms’ length? How could I tell you I wanted to make love to you again and then counter that with how I wanted to be able to make love to my wife?

I just stared at you, my eyes naked. In them you could see how I was torn, confused, frightened, pained. And everything in my eyes reflected in yours.

We stared at each other, and though everything was left unspoken, it didn’t mean it wasn’t communicated. No, we knew exactly what words wouldn’t let us reveal. We could see it. We could feel it. And it drove me nearer to you still. Your weak, silent protests were not enough to keep me from wrapping my arms around you. I couldn’t not. We were both in pain and in that moment it was more of a torture to keep a distance than to hold you once more. In that moment, I didn’t care about anything else. It was only you, me, us.

It didn’t take long for you to stop fighting me. Silently, I stood firmly holding you until you relaxed just enough to let the tears continue as they were before my rude interruption. Your small body shook with sobs you tried valiantly to silence, and I welcomed them, holding you tighter, smelling your hair, pressing soft kisses on the top of your head. My own eyes stung, but I controlled it. It was my turn to be strong for you, to hold you up when you felt like you were falling.

My fingers played with the ends of your curls, and eventually, your shaking calmed. You still trembled, softly. But my hold on you would not relax. It was not yet enough. I needed more; I needed you in my arms longer. I just needed to keep feeling you, pressed into me. I needed you to keep needing me.

But you pulled away, your hands against my chest, gently. I looked at you with apparent longing in my eyes. I lifted a hand from your waist to smooth the hair as well as the tears from your flushed face.

The poignant longing was in your eyes too. Odd how I could take comfort in that. And after a moment, though the longing did not leave, a question appeared there, too.

I watched with quiet surprise as you leaned in, reached up to press your lips against mine, so tenderly. A whimper escaped me at the bittersweet touch. You lingered there but dared not intensify the contact. You lingered there and let us feel. Allowed us a stolen moment before you pulled away again and left me standing there, knowing I would give anything to have it back.

Part Twelve

I don’t remember returning to the table that night. I don’t remember seeing Ginny again or acting like the perfect, newly wedded couple. I only remember you and how you looked when I, at last, returned to the party.

You sat there with Ron’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, a smile on your face as you spoke to his father. You glanced up at me, and I could see everything that had passed between us just minutes before. And still, still there was a question.

A small smile was all I could give you. How could I answer a question I didn’t know? How could I reveal anything of how I felt about what had happened? And how could I keep fighting it?

Each day that passed, I grew more and more certain that fighting this, fighting you, fighting me… would surely be my undoing. At the same time, I was desperate to see you and desperate to never look at you again. Which would be easier? Which would cause more pain? How could I know?

Seeing you made me the happiest and yet the most miserable. It was all I wanted, but at what cost? Then there was the idea of never looking at you again, which filled me with an agonizing relief. It would make my marriage a piece of cake, but my life… my life would be pointless.

At work, I was near useless. Hourly, I would leave my office and the growing piles of paperwork just for the small chance of passing you in the hallway. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t think of anything but you and our few but so massively significant embraces. I shook, my heart racing, at the thought of your eyes and their questions, your lips and their smiles.

From one moment to the next, I went from the idea of taking a few more days off work to considering serious over-time. I wanted to stay, I wanted to go. I wanted you, and I wanted to forget you.

Home should have been my haven, but even there, thoughts of you followed me. And in the rare moments I wasn’t thinking of you, Ginny would tell me of whatever lunch the two of you had shared, or the weekend plans she and her brother had made for the four of us. I smiled and feigned interest despite the bile creeping into my throat, the guilt seeping into my veins.

How could I look at her every day, having done what I did? How could I sleep with her and next to her every night with so much sin weighing me down? I knew what we had done was wrong. Why, then, did it not always feel that way?

When I was with you – even when I would catch a glimpse of you departing a lift or arriving by Floo – it felt so right. But then, when she would look at me with her pretty smiles, the guilt would flare up. I would shake, try to catch my breath. And still, it was not enough to keep my eyes from searching for yours. It was not enough to keep my arms from aching to hold you, nor my lips to kiss you.

I felt my grip slipping from this façade. Each week that passed was harder. Seeing you made it harder. Not seeing you made it harder. Basically, I was fucked. I found myself both dreading and eager to go to work, just to see you. And then the same feelings when I was to go home, just to get away from you. It was the same with each lunch, each dinner, each weekend. And my damn grip on our charade just kept weakening.

You never went out of your way to see me. There was the occasional good morning, if by some chance you were passing my office on an errand. You kept up with your small smiles and the question in your eyes, which only served to further my misery.

With everyone else, you acted perfectly normal. We joked around as we were supposed to, as if we were just lifelong friends with nothing but sibling affection. As if we had nothing more, nothing better, nothing at all. And I found myself hating it, hating everything we had silently agreed to be for the sake of them. What about us? What could be done for our sakes? Stolen glances and treacherous secrets? Quiet longings and eternal disappointment?

Weren’t we more than that? Weren’t we better than that?

Part Thirteen

After quite some time, during which I felt as if I spent the whole of my time staring moodily at one thing or another while thinking angrily and sadly and sexually about you, you contacted me. It was with great surprise I received the little memo that flew through the slit in my office door one morning while I was dictating to a fine black quill the particularly gruesome aspects of a case I was in the middle of. I was more shocked about the fact it was from you than the way it soared right into my face, almost knocking my glasses off and leaving a paper cut on my nose.

As the quill hovered over the roll of parchment, I unfolded the memo with my free hand (my other was rubbing my pained nose) and my eyes widened at the sight of your neat penmanship. Your few words made my heart skip a beat and I was suddenly smiling quite widely.

Harry,

Lunch at the usual?

Hermione

With haste, I replied affirmatively. We weren’t to meet for another hour, yet I could not bring myself to work. For half that hour I spent my time wondering if I should really be meeting you at all. I went back and forth until I could no longer handle it. In my eagerness to see you and to get away from my second thoughts, I left a half hour early and sat waiting in the restaurant, nervously drinking a beer. I had hoped it would help ease my nerves. Alas, I was not so fortunate.

When you walked in, I could swear my heart, instead of skipping a beat, surely stopped. Just past the threshold, you tried in vain to shake the snow out of your wild hair before removing your thick black cloak. Folding it over your arm, you looked up to scan the room until your eyes fell upon mine. Your bottom lip disappeared behind your teeth; you were biting an anxious smile.

After a moment’s hesitation, you made your way toward me. With shaking hands, you placed your cloak on the chair beside yours and took a seat. A glass of your favorite wine was waiting for you and you looked up at me appreciatively before taking a long, indulgent sip. I watched you.

I watched you and I trembled. My eyes looked at yours, closed as you savored the red liquid. They followed the curves of your face, to your lips, your chin, your jaw. And then they reached your neck, watching you swallow at last. I trembled.

Your eyes opened and met mine again. Your brow quirked.

At the same time, we took a breath to speak, ending up stuttering feebly and laughing quietly at our silly difficulties. You took another sip of wine and savored it. I simply watched and savored the sight of you.

“Ron asked me to marry him,” you said, suddenly and softly, once your glass returned to the table.

I stared at you, painful surprise etched into my face. It took me a moment to respond appropriately. I raised my brows as if unsurprised though mildly interested, before downing the last of my beer. My hands were shaking and my eyes were on the table as I tried to control the rush of emotion coursing through me. I felt you watching me from across the table. Every so often, you’d lift the wineglass to your lips, staining them.

“Harry…”

I looked up then and forced a smile. My eyes, however, were another story. They bored into yours, desperate and silent, as ever. Your expression softened and you bit your lip again, watching me quietly. I felt the sting of tears and tried to ignore it. I could not be upset about it. Why would I be? We only had one night. We only had this indefinite feeling between us. Why would I feel upset?

No matter the answer, it was undeniable. But what could I do? What other choice did I have, besides swallowing those feelings and speaking past the lump in my throat to congratulate you? Though as I said it, my eyes still pleaded with you – for what, I wasn’t exactly sure.

I tried to go back to my old habit of talking of nothing to keep from thinking of everything. “Are you hungry?” I asked.

You blinked slowly at me, drank your last sip of wine. You leaned into the table, and your buttoned shirt strained against your breasts. Your brow was still arched and your lips… your lips formed a slow smile as your foot made contact with my leg beneath the table, just as slowly.

“Not for anything here.”

Part Fourteen

We apparated straight to Grimmauld Place, holding nervous, shaking hands. As soon as we entered and the door slammed behind us, we were on each other, desperately kissing and tearing at the clothes that separated us. Thought eluded me. I only felt. And I only felt you.

Soon, you were naked and pressed against me. Soon after that, I was naked and pressed against you. I looked at you, beautiful and pale and trembling. The question in your eyes was gone. You knew the answer now in the way I looked at you, in the way I held you. My lips descended upon yours once more and we were moaning. Our tongues felt each other, hungry for more so that I left your mouth to experience your neck again. The long, slender curve of it made me frantic for still more of you. I couldn’t get enough.

My hands raked through your hair as I explored you. Your frantic moans only encouraged me and soon we found ourselves in a dark room, upon a bed with you beneath me. As my mouth made its curious way over your body, your hands discovered mine, feeling me with caution and desperation so that those very hands shook. I groaned deeply at your attentions, pressing myself further against you. Beneath me, you shivered, whimpering. I tasted your neck, your breasts. I took them into my mouth, teasing and taking my time as you gasped impatiently, your hips bucking into mine, demanding.

Above you, I shivered, too. Your hands returned to my hair, pulled me up so that you could kiss my mouth again. I gasped, unable to help the way my cock pushed against you. I was shaking, shaking with desperate anticipation. The feel of you, wet and hot and wanting, was maddening. I thrust into you without a second thought, groaning at the overwhelming sensation. You gasped, so tight around me that I stopped, shook, savored.

In my moment of sensual indulgence, I kissed you, softly. I stayed inside, only pressing a little deeper. Your hips shook, pushed against me, further. A shaking whimper escaped your lips and met mine. And so I pulled slightly away before returning again so that you shook more and your back arched and our bare chests met roughly and another throaty moan was shared between us. I continued this, gradually speeding our lusty pace until your breathing came in short, sporadic gasps. I then ground harder into you, holding off my own release until you met yours when you curled into a ball around me, grasping the flesh of my shoulders with your hands and the small of my back with your shapely legs. You shook, harder than ever, and my name was upon your lips as you came, loudly, passionately. And as your hips convulsed, thrusting against mine, I came within you, trembling as much as you on my own release, groaning as I released myself within you.

We laid there, limbs lazily entwined, for some time. I was still within you as you nuzzled the crook of my neck sweetly. My arms were wrapped around you, holding you so close, unwilling to let you go. Your lips dropped languid kisses upon my face and hair, and I nuzzled your neck with a relieved, contented sigh, my hands caressing the soft flesh of your thighs and stomach.

We didn’t speak for some time. We merely lay there, silent as our breathing gradually slowed, calmed. Your hands slowly ran through my messy hair. Every few moments, you tightened around me as you rode the aftershocks of our recent encounter. Soon, I was ready for more, poised above you again, kissing you deeply. I withdrew almost completely, hard and ready for more.

You looked up at me, your eyes so wide and honest. How could you not say it?

“I love you,” you whispered, so scared, so sweet.

And I thrust myself inside you so that you moaned loudly in my ear, your limbs tightening around every part of me they could reach. I groaned in response.

Words couldn’t do justice to all that I felt.

Part Fifteen

There was no time to talk as we rushed to ready ourselves four our return to work. After a hasty, blushing kiss, you departed first, leaving me alone in my unused house to recall the three little words you whispered to me half an hour before.

My mind was reeling. You loved me.

You loved me and what could be done? I stared sightlessly into the room, impeccable now, thinking this. Thinking of how it changed everything. But had it, really, changed anything? Certainly, it would have, before. Before I got married, for instance. Before I committed myself to a woman who thought only the best of me, expected the best of me.

I had always loved you, it’s true. But that didn’t take away the love I still felt for my wife. It baffled me. How could I love two people at once? Was it even possible?

I returned to work in a daze. I finished dictating my report, mindlessly. Soon, it was time to go. And so I left. I went home. I was greeted by Ginny and a warm meal on the table. I was quiet, which suited her fine. She talked. She told me of her day with Bill and Fleur and their little girl. Her eyes shone with a happy kind of jealousy.

It hurt to see that. How could I give her that now, after this?

What could I do? Was there a way to make this easy? Was I supposed to choose? How could I go on deceiving her? How was that fair to anyone?

And I thought of how Ron had finally proposed to you. You never told me what you had said to him. What if our clandestine meeting at lunch had been your way of bidding me and us a final farewell?

And that thought tore through me. I felt nauseous, terrified, hurt. How could you do that? How could I?

If only I could see you, talk to you. But when did we ever talk these days? And how could you love me if we never spoke? Did you even know me anymore? Did I even know you? I could hardly admit to knowing myself at this point. Never before had I imagined being so incredibly untrustworthy. Never did I believe myself capable of betraying two of the people I cared most about in the world. Nor would I have ever imagined you doing the very same thing.

Who were we? And being such villains, how could we love anyone?

I felt the anger again. It returned to me with a vengeance. Indeed, it had never left me. It seemed set on a perpetual simmer, just beneath the surface. Now, it was boiling. I was angry with you. I was angry with me.

I needed to talk to you, but it was late at night and time for bed. Who knows if you’d even be home? I didn’t even know if you had accepted him. I didn’t know anything. And I ground my teeth as the anger rolled through me. How could I not know these things? How could I not know anything about you? What kept us so fucking silent?

And I realized. For the first time in so long, I feared not only fear. I feared us. I feared the power of us. I feared the devastation of what could be. I feared you. I feared myself.

I went to bed and gently refused her advances. I told her I was tired. Still, I didn’t sleep.

Part Sixteen

It wasn’t until the next day that I contacted you.

I went into work, so anxious. My heart hammered within my chest. I was scared to see you. I was desperate to see you. I paced the length of my office, torn between finding you and hiding from you. I felt ridiculous. I felt confused. I felt lost.

You said you loved me. Did you, really? I thought myself silly for even questioning it. You, of all people, would not say such powerful words so lightly. Still, though, how could you love me? And what stopped you from saying it for all these years?

The anger had not left me. And as I contemplated your words of the day before, I felt it mostly toward you. My teeth ground together. My hands shook. They shook as much as I wanted to shake you. Had you spoken up, long ago, where would we be? Definitely not here. Definitely not in a position where no matter what was done, we would hurt someone.

Grudgingly, my anger shifted to myself. Why had I not spoken up? What had kept me from telling you? Did I know then? I must have. The thought had passed through my mind more than once. I hardly acknowledged it, true. I was scared of it. I was scared of you.

And now my fear was twice that. Now I feared everything. I feared being with you. I feared staying with her. I feared him, and you with him. I feared us. I feared myself. What had we done? And how could we escape the tangled web we wove?

So I paced. It seemed like hours, yet minutes.

You loved me. I loved you. You loved him. I loved her.

Was it enough? Was any of it enough? It wasn’t enough to spare anyone. It wasn’t enough.

I ran a hand through my hair for the billionth time, frustrated and sad and elated – all at once. What could be done? What if you hadn’t meant it? What if you had?

I loved you. And I hated myself. I hated myself for never telling you. Could I have spared us these years apart? Could I have spared us the pain? Could I have spared them? Would those three simple words have saved us? Would it have saved us all?

I realized I would never know. I realized there was no going back. And the crushing weight of it pressed upon me. I sank into my chair. I held my head in my hands. I bit back the tears which sprung at the thought of such an impossibility. My eyes stung, my heart pounded, my brain throbbed.

And all I wanted was to see you. You, the only one who had the incredible ability to both calm me and thrill me. I closed my stinging eyes and remembered you. I remembered the you of yesterday, with your honest eyes and confusing words.

My mind ran over the options again and again. But it was hard to choose without knowing. You gave no indication of what you desired. How could I act independently when we were so entwined? Everything revolved around you now. And, I realized, in some way, it always had. I breathed a shaky sigh. Would I ever want it any other way? We had always been entwined. It was my own stupidity that never let me see it.

But now I did. I saw, finally. I could never part from you. Many times, you were all that kept me through. You were the guiding voice that kept me going, always encouraging, always loving. I could not fathom existing anymore without you. I would not be breathing without you. Each time I strayed, you brought me back. You opened my eyes. You made me see.

Yes, we were always entwined. With Voldemort, I could not live if he did. With you, I could not live if you didn’t.

I wondered if it was the same with my wife. And it broke my heart to know it wasn’t. We weren’t so entwined. I could breathe without her. I could see without her. I could live without her. It wasn’t a happy realization. I could not bring myself to smile. I could only see the pain it would cause her when I voiced it.

And I would have to voice it, wouldn’t I? We couldn’t go on like this, could we? We couldn’t continue lying to them. No matter how we loved each other, we could not continue this. We could not continue hurting them so selfishly. That wasn’t us. We were better than that. We were more than that.

So I stood from my chair and wiped my eyes. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and I nervously went to find you.

I had no idea what I would say. I only knew that we must speak, finally, for once and possibly for good.

Part Seventeen

When I entered your office, I found you sitting at your desk. Your head was in your hands, with your brown curls winning their fight against the bun you tried valiantly to contain them with. Loose strands fell over your already covered face, and they shook as your body shook.

I didn’t allow myself much time to look at you. Instinct had me closing the door and across the room almost immediately. You were in my arms, suddenly, and you stiffened, tried to push me away and wipe your eyes at the same time. I would have none of it. I held you fast. When would you realize you couldn’t hide from me? When would you realize I wanted to see you like this because it only allowed me to be closer and to know you better?

Your quiet sob pressed into my chest. It was sharp. It pierced me. And I closed my eyes, pressed my lips against your hair, let you cry.

I was on my knees before you, in so many ways. I held you tightly, even after you calmed, after you stilled. Holding you was the only thing that felt right and I refused to stop. And you didn’t ask me to. Your arms wrapped around me in return, and your face buried itself in my neck. A tear or two of my own found its way into your hair.

And the thing is, I suddenly knew I was crying because it wasn’t hopeless. This situation was anything but hopeless. There were options. There were paths. It was our hesitation, it was our speechlessness and indecision and avoidance that made me so upset. All because we feared, individually and simultaneously, we suffered now. Hopelessness did not scare me. It never had. We had choices to make, and it was time to make them. It was time to speak.

It was painful to pull away from you, even those few inches that I did. Your brow was creased as you looked up at me, confused and wary and so trusting. Those brown eyes filled with a mosaic of feelings stared into mine which tried to convey all of that and more. My hand caressed your face, wet and flushed. We trembled together, foreheads softly meeting as your hands reached for my free one. You held it there in your lap, tightly despite your shaking.

I watched as your eyes closed, barely an inch from mine. You took a deep breath and as you exhaled, my lips gently touched yours. You breathed a small whimper, returning the simple gesture so sweetly.

After only a couple of moments, I ended the kiss, but remained so close to you, watching the tears in your lashes. My hand moved from your face to your hair, losing itself within and completely disrupting the effort you made that morning. You sighed and blinked slowly, and I knew how you loved the feel of me, touching you even that simply. Your hands tightened around mine.

When your eyes opened to meet mine again, I spoke. My voice was low and thick with emotion as I tried to convey just how much I wanted to say.

“I love you, too.”

With a quickness, your lips found mine again. A sob escaped you as you kissed me with such mingled and relieved sadness and joy. I felt exactly the same, I felt it all. And you pulled me closer, one of your hands moving to my hair as the other held mine so tightly.

It was then that I felt the small sliver of cold metal, the hard edge of rock. I pulled away from you abruptly. I stared down at our clasped hands lying in your lap, at the small bit of light reflecting from your third finger. I looked back up at you, shock and despair and love and sheer agony contorting my features in what I imagined a most ridiculous way.

“You…” I tried to speak, but what could I say? Anger hit my bloodstream so that I felt every inch of myself throbbing along with every fucking thing else I was feeling, for which words couldn’t possibly do justice.

“Harry,” you tried to speak, but I removed my hand with a harsh swiftness. Your own pain stilled your tongue, and your eyes registered a hurt more profound than I had ever seen.

“You’re going to marry him?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the bitter edge from my words. I moved further from you, ignoring the pain the action caused. “After everything? You’re really going to do this?”

“Harry, let me talk,” you pleaded, and your brow was creased again.

“Now you want to talk?” was my juvenile retort as I stood and backed away from you. There was a small part of me that told me to shut up, told me I would regret this, but I couldn’t stop. “After all this time, all these wordless years, you want to talk? What defense could you possibly have, Hermione? What excuse do you have for this?”

You stood with me, suddenly so that the back of your chair hit the wall loudly. “Excuse? You want to talk about excuses, Harry? What excuse do you have for marrying her? What could you possibly say in your own defense for these wordless years?”

“That is completely different and you know it,” I nearly shouted, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

You scoffed angrily. “Do enlighten me, Harry. How is this in any way different?”

“I married the woman who loved me, Hermione,” I spat. “As far as I was aware, there was only one.”

You glowered at me and when you spoke, your tone matched mine. “And I’m engaged to the man who loves me. As far as I was aware, Harry, he was the only one.”

The harshness, the words, the look in your eyes stung. The truth stung. I glared at you, trying not to waver. But I knew I could not argue that. It was my fault you didn’t know. It was your fault I hadn’t known. We were both entirely to blame and there we were, blaming. I was shaking, my knees felt weak and I felt powerless. What could be done?

You glared at me, and your arms were crossed over your chest, waiting for my next scathing remark with your chin held a notch higher than normal. But no scathing remark was to come. I could not say anything for what seemed like hours. Our glares gradually softened so that we simply stared, dwelling in our mutual despair and not knowing how to move in it.

As your arms lowered from their defiant position across your chest, my own hands relaxed. A moment later, I was taking a step closer to you. A moment after that, you were in my arms again. I sighed at the feeling, closed my eyes and buried my face in your hair. Your arms wrapped around me, too, and your sigh mirrored mine.

My lips brushed your ear and you whispered, softly. “We’re aware now, aren’t we?”

Heart hammering, I kissed you hungrily, vaguely hoping that answered your question. Your arms tightened around me as my hands tangled in your hair, which was soon entirely free from its vain restraint.

The collar of your shirt was open and my mouth was upon the flesh beneath before we realized the door had opened and Ron was standing at the threshold, mouth slack and his hand clenched tightly around his wand, which emitted red sparks at a furious rate.

I looked at you and saw the horror there, the very horror I was feeling until I was knocked backward, into the wall behind your desk, bleeding from a sudden cut on my cheek.

Part Eighteen

Three Years Later

It was with a slight anxiety that I took my wife’s hand, preparing for the side-along apparition. The anxiety was not enough to make my heart skip a beat or my hands to shake, but certainly enough to send a few small butterflies into my stomach.

I looked into your eyes and noticed the same anxiety in them. I squeezed your hand as I realized it wasn’t entirely where we were going or who we would inevitably see. My nerves also had to do with you, so close beside me. My wife. Even after a year since our quiet, very small ceremony, I could scarcely believe it. Indeed, I could scarcely believe the happiness the very word brought me, let alone all the other joys you had brought into my life.

And I thought of how we had finally made it here. Certainly, we could have made better choices. We could have been honest – not only to them, but to each other and even ourselves. We would have made it here sooner, but looking back I realize that no matter our mistake, this was how it was supposed to be.

The revelation of our affair and, more importantly, of how we truly felt about each other, had been exactly as we had predicted. It was, in fact, disastrous. Ron and Ginny were both stunned, though they handled the situation much differently. Ron practically blew up. While he did nothing more to you than shout and name-call, I still have a scar upon my cheek from the event in your office, though I cannot remember if it was from his livid hex or his fist that followed shortly after.

Ginny, on the other hand, was torn between shocked, agonized sobs and loud, angry shouts (which were sometimes curses that she never quite aimed at me). My heart broke for her. I did still love her, it just wasn’t what I had thought. It was my mistake and now she was paying for it.

Despite my insistence upon her keeping the flat, she moved back to the Burrow that day, after a shouted plea to never see either of us again and the jarring sound of that slamming door.

After the explosion with Ron, I let you move into Grimmauld Place, which had originally been the plan for me. I remained at my own flat in an attempt to take things slow. We were discreet, desperate to not make the entire situation even more painful. But we couldn’t deny ourselves what we had been robbed from by our own stupidity.

We dated. For a year, we were our main priority. We spent every day together, getting to know one another again, and falling deeper and deeper all the time. I never knew such happiness could exist. I never knew that such blissful addiction to one person could be possible. I had never imagined.

You thrilled me in every way. And it was more than I could dream of asking for, even with the downside of our circumstances.

I had been a pariah before. So had you. But I couldn’t remember it ever being so vicious. While we tried to keep our private life private, our coworkers caught on and soon enough, it seemed the Wizarding World in its entirety knew of our scandalous betrayal. We made a point to keep our relationship behind closed doors, but that didn’t keep the press from snapping photos of us at lunch or an occasional night out.

Of course, the public’s interest waned, especially as we gave them no evidence of anything past a deep, loving friendship. They knew the truth, but by the time I sold my flat and moved into Grimmauld Place with you, most of wizarding society was back to normal, treating us with polite, though excessively curious interest.

Living with you brought even more joy, of the kind I was surely undeserving. Every day, I was still excited to come home to you, or to wait for you to come home to me. Often I felt I was in the middle of a wonderful dream, hoping to never wake.

A year after that and here I am, leaning in to kiss you softly, reassuring. You sighed softly, pressing against me.

“I’m nervous,” you said quietly, though I already knew, just as you knew my response.

“Me too,” I said, and I kissed your forehead. “It will be fine.”

“Do I look all right?” you asked, your pretty brow slightly creased with a small worry.

I rolled my eyes with an amused smile, but released your hand and took a step back, away from you. Crossing my arms and putting a hand to my chin, I pretended to appraise you thoroughly. I had to pretend. If I lingered on your form and the way that burgundy dress hugged your curves and flattered your legs, we would never make it to the Ministry’s Yule Ball.

Pointedly, however, I gazed at your slightly rounded stomach, and my own, as it so often did these days, seemed to perform a somersault. Unable to contain myself, I smiled widely and looked back into your eyes.

“Surely,” I said, “you have never looked more beautiful.”

You beamed at me and reached for my hand. “Do try to contain yourself, Mr. Potter. We have somewhere to be.”

I grinned and kissed you on your cheek before summoning our cloaks. After helping you into yours, I donned my own, and soon we were entering the Ministry of Magic, holding nervous hands as we finally made public our true relationship.

As ever, we received many stares, some contemptuous and others merely surprised. You were glowing, and though I hadn’t once had the inclination to leave your side, I knew now that I couldn’t possibly even try. You were mesmerizing and, like everyone else, I was hanging on your every word.

Things went smoothly until, on one of the few chances we were alone, sipping warm butterbeer and talking quietly, I caught a glimpse of that familiar, Weasley-ginger hair. You followed my gaze and a moment later, there they were, standing twenty feet away with cups in their hands and small smiles, as nervous as ours, on their faces.

They didn’t see us at first, which gave us time to realize more about them, like how they were standing in a small circle with a tall blond man and a shorter, blonde woman. Upon Ginny’s left hand was a new ring and her very stance implied a new confidence. Ron’s free hand was at the other woman’s waist, and she turned to look at me at that precise moment.

Instantly, I greeted her smile with my own. Luna gave me a small wave and suddenly I felt Ron’s eyes, then Ginny’s, and finally, Draco Malfoy’s. They looked at us for a moment before I noticed their reactions. Your hand tightened around mine, just a little.

Malfoy didn’t smile; he simply looked bored. Ginny’s lips trembled in the feeble attempt at a cautious smile. Ron, who I missed more than anyone, mustered the strength for a small, though sincere one – a hint of the goofy grin of days long past. His eyes traveled to you beside me and I could tell his smile was easier then. He nodded at the two of us in silent greeting.

I felt then that my hopes would come true. We may not restore our friendship straight away, and it may never be what it once had been, but I hoped we could, at least, find our way back to an easy civility.

It was more than I deserved, more than I should have hoped for. And at my side, I felt you hoping for the same thing. We didn’t regret what we had done. Our biggest regret, our only regret was hurting them through our own naïve speechlessness.

Soon, they distracted themselves and you turned back to me with a relaxed smile. I returned it, lifting my hand to caress your cheek, suddenly seeing only you.

Despite the pain, despite the loss, I knew I would go through all of it again, just for this, just for the sight of you, my wife, my love, looking up at me with those smiling eyes. Just for the way your hand felt in mine as we faced every impediment on this path we chose. For the spoken conversations and the unspoken ones. For you, for me. For us.