1. Bluebirds in the spring

Summary: So with my best, my very best…I set you free.
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Up to Book 7; EWE
Disclaimer: Don’t own the books. Don’t own the characters. Heck, I don’t even own the song! So please…don’t sue.

A/N: A little background for y'all - heard Rachel Yamagata’s version of this song and I couldn't help but write this. And yeah, I guess that makes this a songfic. Anyway, download and listen to the song - it’s a must. Basically, this is what I wish happened after DH, with the (inevitable) end of H/G and R/Hr and the start of H/Hr. Very Weasley friendly. Thanks to the lovely Stephanie C for the beta. Reviews are love :)

~~*~~

I wish you bluebirds in the spring

Ronald Weasley stared out from the window of his flat, into the grey, drizzly day that was springtime in London. He watched dispassionately at the meager crowd in Diagon Alley and sighed for the nth time that day. He would pace but realized he had no energy to do so anymore.

He wondered how it had come to this. From being completely happy after the war had ended to this half-arsed, half-baked relationship. Wondered at how they had gotten to fighting everyday over the most mundane things, how every discussion ended in tears and every disagreement was World War III.

He hated the person he became when they were together. Somehow, he transformed into this patronizing, cruel, vindictive wanker. With a pang, Ron remembered a time when they were fighting and he had shot back that he couldn’t believe what he was thinking, taking up with such a plain, frigid nag. He didn’t believe it, hadn’t meant it at all but the damage had been done. And again he wondered at how easy it had become to hurt her.

Ron sighed again. It had been a dream come true at first; to step into a role that he had been wishing himself into since he was fourteen. It was supposed to be perfect. His best friend and his girlfriend rolled into one. It was safe and comfortable. It was there. And for a while, it was all of that. They had given each other happiness when there didn’t seem to be any left in the world. They were each other’s comfort during those awful days of not knowing.

Then the war ended and he soon realized that reality couldn’t live up to the idealized version he had for himself. The harsh light of everyday life brought into focus things which they had brushed aside in the twilight of war. He had painted her in romantic brushstrokes, glossing over things he did not want to see and imbuing her with all the characteristics of his dream girl. But no matter how much he wanted to cast her as the heroine in his life, there was no denying they were still essentially the same people as before and no amount of dreaming could right that.

He resented her dedication to her job; resented the very fact that he wasn’t the center of her existence - a relationship model he had seen throughout his childhood in his parents. He couldn’t understand her need for knowledge, her independence, or her ambition. She, on the other hand, hated his indifference to set guidelines, his irresponsibility and his inability to take anything seriously. She grew tired being the strong, decisive one in the relationship all the time. In the end, she wasn’t the girl he wanted her to be and he wasn’t the man she needed him to be. And, truth be told, he didn’t want her to be that girl anymore. He wanted her to be just his best friend Hermione…and he didn’t want her to be miserable anymore.

To give your heart a song to sing

5 minutes later, Hermione apparated in with a pop. He gave her a perfunctory peck on the lips and settled down on the couch, gesturing for her to do the same. She sat down in the armchair across from him, the space between them feeling leagues wide. What had happened to the pair, who used to sit in these chairs and gabbed, chattered, debated, and fought? Suddenly, all the words in the world couldn’t have filled in the silence. He tried to find his tongue, mulled over how to start, and realized that he had lost all semblance of reason. After another awkward minute of staring at each other, she was the first one to finally speak.

“This isn’t working, is it?”

Ron started in his seat, surprised by her bluntness. His first instinct was to disavow any such thing, keep up the pretense, before he remembered why he wanted to talk to her in the first place. He looked at her properly for the first time since she arrived and he saw the resignation in her eyes. She knew, just as well as he did.

“No, it’s not.” He drew a shaky breath and went on. “Look, I don’t know what to say here. I thought I had it all worked out in my head but—“

“Just tell me.”

“I miss you,” he blurted out. He didn’t have to look at her to know that she had confusion written all over her face. He tried again. “I miss the old you, the one who was my best friend.”

She smiled gently. “I’m still your best friend, Ron. No matter what else we are to each other.”

“It doesn’t feel like that, not anymore,” he managed to say. “It’s like I’m losing more and more of you every day.”

He buried his face in his hands. “When did it become so bloody complicated?” he groaned, more to himself than to her.

She crossed the room and sat beside him on the couch. She pried his hands from where they were resting and placed hers on his cheek, turning his head to face her before looking him in the eye.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Her brown eyes locked onto his. “Let’s just take it for what it was and leave it at that. We tried to make it work but it didn’t.”

How so very like her – acknowledging the problem and tackling it head on. Of course, Hermione had gone over it in her mind, too. If previous experience had taught him anything, she had probably gone over it a million times and realized, just like he had, that no matter how hard either of them tried, they could never be that person for the other.

“Sometimes, two people just aren’t meant to be together…” he acknowledged. He sighed fitfully once and continued, “And that’s okay.”

They fell into silence. He sighed again then laughed inwardly -- with all of this sighing, he sounded like a bloody firstie. He looked at her again, her eyes shining softly with unshed tears, so near yet so far. “I did make you happy at times, didn’t I?” he questioned.

She nodded slowly in assent before clasping his hand, as if to reassure him. “Yes, you did. But I have a feeling that if we had let this go on any further, we would have become the sort of people we hate.”

Suddenly, all their previous fights flashed through his head. Him yelling some taunt, pushing all her buttons; her shouting back, her magic flaring up around her as she struggled not to break down; the slammed doors, the spiteful last words when each wanted to be the one with the last word…His gut surged guiltily and he gulped down his anguish. She must have sensed this change in him, because she spoke up again.

“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t be sorry. This wasn’t your fault.”

He smiled softly at her. “That’s not what I’m sorry about.”

“What is it then?”

He struggled to put all the remorse and regret he had into his voice, his words. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. For the things I said…and did. I’m so, so sorry.”

Her own smile was simultaneously understanding and sad. “I know you are. I’m sorry too. It takes two to fight, you know.”

He continued on softly, as if he hadn’t heard her speak. “I never meant to hurt you.”

A lone tear escaped and before he knew it, she was crying silently, heartbreakingly, those few clear drops a testament to how much this had affected her. Before he could do or say anything, she was looking at him, nodding, telling him silently that she forgave him and asking for his forgiveness in turn. He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her tight, returning in essence those hugs she had given him during their childhood.

“I love you and I don’t want you to cry anymore”, he murmured.

“I love you too, Ron,” she murmured into his chest. “But not in the way you need to be loved.”

“I know, Hermione. Believe me, I know. Sometimes, life just doesn’t turn out the way you want it to.”

“Wise words,” She looked archly at him, a hint of a smirk on her face. “Thought that up all by yourself?”

“Well, I was due for it,” he bantered.

She laughed lightly at this, shaking her head over him. He mused again on when was the last time he had heard her laugh. Better yet, when was the last time he made her laugh?

And then a kiss

But more than this

They sat together in silence for a while longer before Hermione stood up, intending to go home. She gave him a small smile and in that instant, somehow he knew that everything would work out fine. Funny…at the end of their relationship, there were no angry parting words, no hearts broken - just a distinct feeling of loss. There would be no bitterness or resentment in their future. Ron Weasley could honestly say he wished his ex-girlfriend the best. He glanced at her once more then pulled her down and kissed her one last time. It was a chaste kiss, no more than a brushing of the lips. To him, it tasted of finality, inevitability…and goodbye. When they parted, they were no longer the creature known as RonHermione. He looked at her then, a woman, once the girl he helped save from a troll over 8 years ago, and he finally saw her as he was meant to see her.

“You’re still my best friend, Ron.”

He smiled. “Always.”

With that, she gave him a wave before apparating away.

~~*~~

Harry Potter was sitting alone in his flat on that spring day. It had started raining again, in that mercurial manner April weather usually had. He was sitting on his couch, seemingly reading some work he had brought home but in reality, he was just staring at the piece of parchment while contemplating the state of his relationship with one Ginny Weasley.

He couldn’t understand it. At first, it seemed like a scene from some romantic movie. Conquering hero comes home, pledges undying love to girl he left behind and lives happily ever after. Really, it wasn’t supposed to be hard. Ginny was the perfect girlfriend. She was pretty, popular, fun and vivacious. Everyone commented on how an attractive couple they made, like Lily and James all over again. She liked almost all the same things. Didn’t care a whit whether he played Quidditch from sun up to sun down. Most of all, she adored him. Ginny couldn’t have been more perfect than if she had sprouted from some writer’s pen. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Pretty girl, steady job, ordinary life…

He knew their relationship would change when he got back. How could it not, with the Horcrux hunt and Battle at Hogwarts in the past? He knew he couldn’t go back to those carefree days in the 6th year and he was alright with it, expected it really. And yet…he groaned in frustration. And yet. Whenever he looked at Ginny, all bright smiles and shiny hair, he couldn’t shake the heaviness in his heart. He wasn’t so daft not to know that he wasn’t supposed to feel that way when he looked at his girlfriend. He knew he should feel something, anything when he kissed her. Whatever misconceptions or preconceived notions he had about love and relationships, he was certain he wasn’t supposed to feel this…empty.

Before he could get all maudlin, he heard the distinct sound of someone apparating into his kitchen. Wary over who was paying him a surprise visit, he stole quietly into the other room…and came face to face with his best friend.

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “Sorry to barge in unannounced but I needed to talk to someone.”

He took note of the dried tracks of tears over her cheeks and became alarmed.

“What’s wrong? What happened, Mione?”

She looked at him steadily. “Ron and I broke up.”

He never knew how it happened but somehow they ended up in the living room on the couch with her in his arms while he was hugging her tightly, softly whispering words of comfort. He wasn’t at all surprised. He was there for the whole rollercoaster ride that was their relationship. He had been Ron’s sounding (or rather ranting) board and Hermione’s shoulder to cry on. Harry sighed and continued to gently rub her back as she sniffled into his shirt. The thought that Ron had said something to make her cry again made him want to break the redhead’s nose. He seized up when he considered that maybe she was crying because he had broken it off and she wanted him back. He was surprised to feel simultaneously depressed and angry at the thought that she was still in love with the Prat (how easily Ron had gone from best friend to prat).

As if hearing his thoughts, she looked up at him, her cinnamon eyes more luminous than ever in their pool of tears. “Oh Harry…I’m not crying because I regret breaking up with him. I think I’m mourning our relationship more than anything.”

He gazed at her, wordlessly prompting her to explain. She sighed and scooted back on the couch, away from his arms to face him and Harry immediately missed her warmth.

It was a while before she started talking. She began slowly, her words filling the rapidly darkening room. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Ron was supposed to be my happy ever after.”

She took a shaky breath and continued. “He’s my best friend and I cared for him so much. It was supposed to be so simple once we got together. And things were great for a while then...” She shook her head disbelievingly. “We were so horrible to each other, Harry. Gods, it’s like sometimes we just went out of our way just to hurt each other. We had to end it, for each other’s sake. I just can’t believe we let it get this far.”

“Why did you then?”

“I’m not really sure,” she said softly, “maybe because I wanted so bad to be happy with Ron. I did love him and he did try so hard…”

He nodded. “I understand. You were in love with him.”

“But see, that’s the thing, Harry.” She bent her head forward, hiding her face beneath a curtain of hair. “I loved Ron but I knew…I wasn’t in love with him. I tried but I couldn’t make myself fall in love with him.”

Before he could say anything, she sighed and looked back up at him. “It frustrated me to no end that I couldn’t. You know, for a while, I thought it was because we just didn’t fit or something. But what if the problem is with me?” She smiled grimly at him through her residual tears, all her old insecurities shining through. “Think about it, I mean, here was this great guy…why couldn’t I love him in the way that mattered? If I couldn’t make it work with Ron, what does it say about me?”

“When we fought, Ron threw it in my face sometimes. Maybe if I had spent less time at the research center…maybe if I tried to have been more understanding, less bossy, less…me.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “What if he was right? That maybe I am just a cold-hearted know-it-all who can only love books and test tubes?”

She lapsed into silence and he looked at her, aghast. He couldn’t believe she thought of herself like that. Hermione…the warmest, kindest person he knew; the first person to ever hug him or kiss him or love him as just Harry.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She looked at him, shocked and disbelieving. Before she could chastise him about language or even formulate a response, he had reached for her, drawing her close again. He searched for the right words to say to this girl, this woman who meant more to him than he could articulate.

Harry made her face him and grasped her chin lightly to look her straight in the eye. “Listen to me. This has nothing to do with who you are or what you haven’t done. I’ve known you since I was 11. I’ve seen your compassion, your warmth, your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you and I understand, with perfect clarity, exactly what you are –", he smiled solemnly at her “– you are one hell of a woman. Don’t let anyone, least of all yourself, say otherwise.”

I wish you love

“Whatever the two of you had, maybe it just couldn’t work, you know? It was never your fault…or Ron’s.” His voice grew softer, as his hands moved to stroke her hair. “And you are worth so much more than you give yourself credit for. You have so much love to give; someday, someone will come along that’ll deserve it.”

As he was talking, he couldn’t believe where the words coming out of his mouth were coming from. But he knew he meant every word of it, believed every syllable. He looked at her upturned face, with her nose and eyes red and her long lashes shining with tears, and wondered absently if all girls were pretty when they cried. She shifted against him and gave him a friendly squeeze.

“That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she murmured into his ear.

Abruptly, the temperature of the room shifted. He was suddenly aware of the feel of her hair tickling his arm and the fit of her lithe body against his, like a puzzle piece snapping into place. Like two halves of a broken whole. He couldn’t stop the involuntary thrill that coursed through his veins when he inhaled her scent of vanilla and parchment nor could he stop the flutter in his gut when he felt her breath against his neck.

He turned his head, suddenly scared. What business did his gut have to flutter like that around Hermione? He shouldn’t be feeling any of those things. He couldn’t and he shouldn’t and he would stop. Any day now. He gulped soundlessly and entertained the distinct possibility that he was going mad.

Hermione soon pushed herself off him but not before giving him a kiss on the forehead. Eventually, he composed himself and found his voice again. “You’ll be fine, Mione. You and Ron…you’ll both be fine.”

She scrunched her nose at him. “How do you know?”

He had a glint in his eye as he gave her his best Head Boy Percy impression. “I’m the Boy Who Lived. I know everything.”

The ensuing laugh dispelled the seriousness hanging in the air. “Gee, thanks, Mr. Who Lived,” she chirped, mockingly. “You’re the bestest.”

She was fiddling with her hair now, smoothing it as best as she could before heading back out into the world. Harry stood up and crossed to the window. It had stopped raining and the world suddenly looked new and inviting. He looked back over to her as she went about fixing her robe and ridding any signs of tears off her face, wishing simultaneously that she would leave so he could sort things out in his head and praying she would stay for however long she wanted.

She gathered her things and went over to him. “I need to go. It’s getting late.”

He nodded and moved to give her a hug goodbye before stopping himself. His hands fell awkwardly to his sides.

“Um…okay,” he managed to say. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

She smiled at him. “Not yet but I’m getting there.” She paused fractionally before launching herself at him and giving him one of her trademark hugs.

Her voice was muffled in his shirt. “Thanks, Harry.”

He felt the vibrations from her voice radiate through him and again, he felt that distinct thrill. He leaned in to smell her hair before he stopped himself. Mad, he was clearly going mad. As they stood there, the random flash of wanting to hold on to this woman forever flickered through his thoughts. After shaking his head to try and restart his brain, he kissed the top of her head in farewell.

“Anytime, Mione, anytime…”

~~*~~

2. In July

Summary: So with my best, my very best…I set you free.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to Book 7; EWE
Disclaimer: Don’t own the books. Don’t own the characters. Heck, I don’t even own the song! So please…don’t sue.

A/N: Here’s the 2^nd chapter. Enjoy and please review! :) Thanks again to Stephanie for the beta!

~~*~~

And in July a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade

It was far too hot for a birthday party. The days in July had been especially sultry, what with the heat wave and all, and Harry was just trying to keep cool. He had escaped the throng inside the house and was now sitting underneath the shade of an old elm bordering the Weasley’s’ land. There was a short expanse of garden and unmowed lawn between him and the Burrow and as he lay his head back against the trunk and let a rare summer breeze wash over him, he sighed.

It had been a marvelous day so far, despite the heat. All the Weasley offspring had converged on the Burrow with their partners and sundry others to wish an unofficial Weasley (himself) a very happy birthday. It was supposed to be a quiet to-do but the sheer number of redheads quite defeated the purpose. Bill was there, with a very pregnant Fleur. Percy was off in a corner, being alternately coddled and scolded by his mother for being “frightfully malnourished”. Really, he only looked like he’d lost a few pounds. George was around somewhere with Charlie and some old Hogwarts mates. Ron was on the other end, chatting with his father, new girlfriend Luna Lovegood in tow.

Hermione was also in attendance, proof that she and her ex still maintained their friendship. Harry had even seen her smile wistfully at the new couple. She had told him time and time again that she was happy that Ron had found love with the odd blonde. Still, seeing her with that wistful, almost sad smile on her face made his heart constrict painfully. She had spent most of the party ensconced on the couch, attending to little Teddy Lupin, the toddler bouncing about and looking appropriately fascinated with his Aunt Miney.

Ginny…he had almost forgotten about her. He felt almost guilty about overlooking his girlfriend. Yes, they were still together, despite all his misgivings. Why did he stay? It wasn’t out of love – he realized this now. Was it out of obligation or out of loneliness? Maybe it was all of the above. He sighed then smirked to himself. He was clinging to a dead relationship just to have something to hold on to - how very mature of him. In the meantime, he was actively trying to avoid spending time with her and spending more and more time with other people—“other people” meaning mostly Hermione. He couldn’t seem to find the balls to admit it to Ginny outright that it wasn’t working for so many different reasons – but mostly for the reason that he was in love with someone else.

I wish you love

Harry had been blindsided, which was really putting it lightly. At first, he couldn’t fathom how spending 10 minutes with Hermione doing absolutely nothing could make his day while a week-long vacation in a very expensive Caribbean resort with his girlfriend felt empty and humdrum. It had taken him a few months since that mini-epiphany in April to sort through the jumble of feelings that engulfed him whenever he as much as thought of her. The despair that crippled him when he saw her fall in the Department of Mysteries, the depression that overcame him when she seemingly abandoned him in sixth year, the completeness he felt with her during those dark days looking for the pieces of a madman’s soul – it all boiled down to one thing: he was in love with his best friend. He quite possibly had been for a long time and the mere thought scared him. He flashed back to a conversation they had a few weeks before.

“How are things with you and Ginny?” Hermione asked.

He gave her his token response, taking care not to look at her. “We’re perfect. Spectacular. Couldn’t be happier.”

“Harry…” Her tone alone told him that she knew he was lying.

He scowled at her. “I hate how you do that.”

He ran a hand fitfully through his hair to stall for time before bursting out. “Gods, Hermione, I don’t really know how we are. Or what we are. Most of the time, I feel like we’re just playing these parts that were written for us. Like I’m going through the motions of a relationship because that’s what everyone expects.”

“Looks like you’ve had your fill of happily ever after too,” she said quietly.

“Sometimes I think there are two Harry’s,” he continued. “The one who lived before the war and the one now—old Harry would’ve been happy with this. New Harry…well, he feels like something’s missing.”

“Hmmm…when did you start talking about yourself in the third person?”

He whirled around to face her, seeing a tiny grin playing around her lips. “I’m serious, Hermione!”

She raised a hand to placate him, although the grin remained. “Sorry, just trying to inject some levity into the situation. Okay…you want my opinion?”

“Please.”

She sized him up in a glance and it told him that she took this very seriously. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I think you grew up. I think you’ve realized that what you thought you wanted isn’t exactly what you want anymore. People change, Harry. A lot of things happened since you and Ginny. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge. New Harry has to figure things out all over again…find out what’s important and what he wants.”

“I don’t know anymore,” he said resignedly.” I’ve always wanted to be normal. Just a nice, ordinary life with a regular job and a regular relationship like everyone else. And now it looks like even that’s going to work.”

She smiled sadly at him before gazing back out at the sunset. “You’re not like everyone else, Harry. The sooner you accept that, the easier it’ll be to realize that you shouldn’t be settling for ordinary. Not when extraordinary could be just around the corner.”

He was gawking at her in a trance then, at her long brown curls and her smooth skin, in the glow of the setting sun looking as if lit from within.

”So what do you want Harry?” She turned back at him then, a questioning look in her eyes.

She was what he wanted, that was something he was certain of. New Harry, whoever he was, had figured it out all by himself. Unfortunately, he hadn’t figured out what came on the menu after Epiphany. Could she even care for him? Could he hurt Ginny, someone else he cared about? Ultimately, could he risk losing everything that mattered – their friendship, his heart – for her?

His heart, the one that was given to fits and starts whenever she was within a 5-mile radius, was yelling out a resounding YES!!!!

As Harry sat there, lost to the world and quietly gathering his resolve, he failed to hear the crunch of footsteps approaching his little sanctuary.

“Care for some lemonade, Harry?”

~~*~~

She wasn’t blind. Or stupid, like some people might have thought. She wasn't exactly a genius like Hermione but she knew when something was going on, especially when it involved one Harry Potter. If she was ever one thing, Ginny Weasley was brave and that bravery stood her in good stead when she ventured out to find her errant boyfriend that July afternoon.

She had been watching him that day; watched his face flush adorably when he saw the amount of people celebrating his birthday. Watched as he carried Teddy in his arms and allowed the little boy to help him rip the festive wrappers off his gifts. Watched the different reactions splashed across his face at each gift, be it practical, sweet or plain silly. Finally, she watched his smile became brittle as he read the little message on her card that promised his birthday gift “later”.

No, she wasn’t stupid. She could practically read the writing on the wall. The only stupidity she could cop to was the actual belief that they could have made this work. She actually hoped they could go back to what they were before. Childish, really, now that she thought of it. They seemed like such different people then. Whatever happened, those few short weeks would always be some of the sweetest she had ever known, when she wasn’t Ginny Weasley of the red hair and large family but just a girl, with the boy she fancied since forever finally noticing her.

He would come back to her, she felt it then. After it was all over, they literally fell into each other’s arms and everything was as it should. She was blissfully happy. The man of her dreams…the life she’d always dreamed about. Her mother was in ecstasy over it as well. She was so caught up in the fantasy of being the Boy-Who-Lived’s girlfriend that she might as well have forgotten Harry was there, too. She didn’t notice that he seemed to be quieter than before or that he smiled a lot less around her. No, everything was perfect.

Eventually, the scales fell from her eyes and she realized that something was missing. Soon, she found herself playing the part of Girl in a Happy Relationship instead of living it. They weren’t miserable, like Ron and Hermione had been, but they definitely weren’t happy either. He wasn’t happy. She could see it in the way he looked at her, piercing her with those green eyes as if looking for something. What did he want to see?

My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be

She figured out that whatever he wanted to see, it wasn’t her. It broke her heart the day she realized that. She did love him in her own way. Granted, she would never understand him or even know him completely. There were parts of him that he never showed or shared and, if she were honest with herself, she was thankful that he never did. Sometimes, lying in bed in the middle of the night, she wondered if she could have loved him or been with him had she known those things he kept hidden. Could she? Was she that strong? She couldn’t lie to herself, even in the dark.

So here she was now, walking towards him with a purpose, ostensibly to bring him lemonade, but really going there to clear the air once and for all. By the time she reached the tree, she realized she didn’t know what to say. Despite all the time they had spent together, she didn’t really know him at all. Instead of launching into an argument, she opted for the lemonade ploy.

He started at the sound of her voice. “Ginny? Lemonade? Um…sure, I’d love some.”

She handed him the tall glass and settled in beside him on the grass. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him shift uncomfortably and chose to ignore it.

They sat together like that for a while, in apparent harmony, until she finally broke the silence.

“So, are we going to talk about this?”

He choked on the lemonade he was sipping. “I’m sorry, what?”

She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “This, Harry, this thing that’s happening to us… Are we ever going to talk about it?”

He was tellingly silent. She plunged on recklessly, finally putting words to the apprehension that had been growing inside her for months.

“I’m tired of it, Harry. Tell me what the hell is going on. You barely talk to me anymore and when you do, you aren’t really saying anything. I hardly ever see you because you’re ‘busy’ but you seem to have time for everyone besides me.”

Her voice became softer, beseeching. “When you kiss me, it’s like you wish you were kissing someone else. I’m just tired…so please – talk to me.”

He kept his face turned away from her and he seemed to be struggling with himself over something. She kept quiet, watching him, noting the frustrated raking of his hands over his hair and, finally, the defeated slump of his shoulders. She couldn’t know it then but her speaking up was what finally gave him the courage to do the right thing. Abruptly, he spoke.

“I can’t pretend anymore – can’t make believe that I’m- we’re happy. None of this is real. I-it’s just this… charade and honestly, I don’t want to play anymore,” he sighed restlessly. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Gin. I’ve felt this way for a while now and I know I should have said something but, Merlin forgive me, I took the easy way out. You say you’re tired…so am I.”

Just then, the screen door slammed and both of them looked up towards the house. Hermione and Teddy had come out to enjoy the fresh air with Hermione’s present in tow. She had given Harry a puppy named Paddy, with big brown eyes and fluffy black fur, and Teddy had instantly fallen in love with the mutt. They made pretty picture – with the black puppy running around them, Teddy was toddling around on his chubby little legs while Hermione alternately held on to her charge and tried not to laugh at his look of concentration. Paddy managed to pull the toddler down and he flopped on his butt, giggling. They were oblivious to the two pairs of eyes watching them and their laughter and Paddy’s tinny barks carried over to the elm tree.

She saw his eyes fixed on the figures of the toddler and the witch playing around on the grass and, in a burst of Technicolor understanding, she knew. To be sure, she had had some half-formed suspicions before but now, finally knowing…it hurt. The tears were starting to form but for a moment, she almost laughed. Could it have been more cliché? She felt as if she were on some soap opera with the way things were happening.

Oh, she may have gone to him to have it out – to finally decide if their relationship had a future – but she didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect all her old fears to be realized or so many questions to crop up -- Was she some sort of placeholder? Because he couldn’t have the girl he wanted, he’d settle for the girl who wanted him? Did he ever really care for her at all? Her mind was in turmoil and she felt like sobbing but she had to know something, had to be sure.

Her voice was surprisingly steady. “Do you love her, Harry?”

He didn’t answer but his gaze told her all she needed to know.

“I see.”

She needed to get out of there. Getting up slowly, she took care not to hurry in any way. No tears, no running. She intended to walk back to the house with dignity and not like some broken-hearted, melodramatic girl. She only got as far as standing when she felt the warmth of his hand on her arm.

“Wait.”

His eyes, those oh-so-expressive eyes, were asking her to stay. She dropped back down on the ground and faced him when he grasped her cold hands in his.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen because I care for you. I do, very much, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. But please, I need you to understand.”

She acquiesced with a nod and he went on. “I’ve changed too much. So many things have happened…and through all of it, she was there. For a while, she was all that mattered, the only one keeping me sane. She knows me, even the bad bits I never show anyone. I didn’t know it then but I do now and pretending that everything’s fine the way it is…it isn’t fair to you, Ginny. And it’s killing me.”

She did understand, she really did, but it didn’t make it any easier. She swallowed the lump that resided in her throat because she had to say this, had to get through it without flinching. “It’s never fair. It’s not. And I don’t care what you say…what we had was real to me.”

She placed her hand on his cheek, caressing it with her thumb, as if committing its planes to memory. “I do love you, Harry, but I can only fight the inevitable for so long.”

“What are you saying?”

So with my best, my very best
I set you free

Ginny drew a breath and fixed him with a teary, melancholy gaze. It was finally time to say goodbye to fairytales.

“I’m saying I’m letting you go.”

His voice was full of shame. “I’m so sorry, Gin. You deserve so much better.”

She chuckled lightly. “Yes. Yes, I do actually.”

Brushing off the few tears that had escaped, she said, “Does she know? Have you told her?”

He mutely shook his head.

With a smile and a tone calculated to be brisk, she said airily, “Well, you should. Whatever happened to your Gryffindor courage, I don’t know.”

He looked surprised at her words. His eyes raked over her face, as if trying to divine her thoughts, and his own words were soft. “You don’t have to pretend, Ginny.”

The smile dropped. Turning her head away from his penetrating gaze, she struggled to find words, this time to make him understand. Finally, she spoke, slowly, wistfully. “I’m not pretending. We both deserve happiness in our lives, Harry.”

She looked at him then, the falsely bright grin of before replaced with a sad half-smile. “And I hope you found it…even if it isn’t with me.”

With that, he kissed her once on the cheek in thanks. “Goodbye, Ginny,” he said in a low voice, as he stood up to leave.

She watched him walk further away from her with every step. She saw the smile and the look directed towards the woman he loved – a look she could only wish was directed at her. Numbly, it registered in her mind that she was still leaning against the elm with its bark cutting into the soft cotton of her top. She was still watching minutes later as they – man, woman, child and dog – went inside her family home. Once he was out of sight, Ginny Weasley finally allowed herself to cry.

~~*~~

3. When snowflakes fall

A/N: The chapter I sweated bullets over. I didn’t think I would ever get this done because I kept rewriting and deleting and rewriting some more. Damned plot bunnies. And yes, I know technically by Book 7, Hermione’s middle name had mysteriously changed from Jane to Jean but since she will always be Hermione Jane to me, I really can’t be bothered. So there J Anyway, I hope it doesn’t suck too much. R/R guys!

~~*~~

I wish you shelter from the storm

Hermione Granger looked out into the blank whiteness outside her window while she sipped her tea. The WWN had categorized it as a freak October snow storm caused by a Elemental Manipulation charm gone haywire. Despite the obvious wrongness of a snowstorm in October, she thought it rather apt. It’d mirrored the current state of her mind very well: a white flurry of thoughts swirling around her head, a maelstrom brought about by one very weird dream.

With a finger, she followed the path of a snowflake as it clung to the pane. The mug of tea she was holding gave off swirls of heat which fogged the glass a little. Like a child, she began tracing small symbols into the condensation. A letter H. A smiley face. A small heart. She laughed at her own actions and wondered briefly if maybe the fumes from her research at the lab had somehow managed to addle her brain.

That would do well to explain the events of the last few months. She checked a sigh as she recalled how she and Ron had broken it off a mere 7 months before. She could remember Mrs. Weasley’s barely-concealed disappointment and her stepmother’s halting words of comfort. Christine Granger would never know that the shaking of Hermione’s shoulders as she patted her back consolingly was actually from suppressed, hysterical laughter. Oh, she knew that it was over long before Ron had ever initiated the Talk. In retrospect, she realized that it was over before it had even begun.

How two relatively intelligent people could have started something so ill-conceived was beyond her. It was like they looked at each other, went “Hey, we’re friends and I think you’re kind of cute. It must be fate” and jumped in with eyes closed. By the time she had opened her eyes, it was too late.

Now, if she were honest with herself, she knew it wasn’t all bad. She loved Ron, cared for him very much and there were some good times when they were together. But the whole time they were together, she had felt…incomplete. Deficient. Lacking in some vital quality. For a long time afterwards, she had moments of doubt in herself and times when she felt like she carried her guilt around her like a handbag.

There were concerned owls from friends and shock from the Wizarding World when everyone found out, emotions most notably telegraphed in newspaper articles about their “tragic love story”. She snorted into her mug. Tragic, indeed. Only two persons in her life were not surprised with the events: her father and Harry. Rupert Granger had just scoffed, rustled the newspaper he was reading and, looking over his glasses, told her that he always knew Ron couldn’t make her happy. To her sarcastic reply that in his unbiased fatherly opinion, no man ever could, he merely smirked knowingly and left it at that.

As for Harry…her heart skipped a beat at the thought of him and she rubbed at her breastbone, wondering absently about the perils of arrhythmia. He had been there for the most of it and he was the only one who really understood what went on behind the scenes. He also understood what it was like to be in a relationship that felt more like pretend than real life. 4 months after the demise of her relationship with Ron, Harry had broken up with Ginny. That had prompted an even greater public outcry than she and Ron had ever warranted. He tried to keep it quiet but with the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing (or as she liked to call it – “the BWL phenomenon”), it was practically impossible.

So had the last few months passed by. To her immense delight, Ron was by all appearances very happy with Luna. Their friendship was good now, even better than before, and she was finally letting go of the blame she felt. Ginny had gone off to Charlie in Romania to work with dragons. Harry…well, he was still Harry. They spent almost all their free time together now – watching old Muggle films (sci-fi for him, mysteries for her), walking around London, going to her parents for Sunday dinner, having pizza and Butterbeer on her couch, and talking until the wee hours. With a laugh, she called him her BFF, knowing he would cringe at the girly moniker. He snorted and joked back that he would disown her if she ever said that in front of anyone else. In that same midnight talk, she teased him that with all the time they were spending together, they might as well have been dating. Oddly enough, he hadn’t laughed at that.

They seemed to be closer than ever but Hermione could feel a barrier between them. She, who used to be able to read his conversation in his eyes, suddenly found this to be near impossible. They were veiled now, his green orbs hiding something from her. Whenever she asked, he would stammer or change the subject. And whenever he looked at her, there was something in his expression that seemed to say “There’s something I’d like to tell you but I think I may have swallowed the words.” It was all so very weird.

Something about their relationship was evolving. The bubble of pleasure she felt in her chest whenever he was near, she understood. That hypoglycemic feeling when she heard his voice or even someone mentioning his name, it was very clear. The tingle, the electricity – she knew all about it. She was smart, she recognized the symptoms.

The possibility of this profound change in herself, in her relationship with Harry, did not leave her head. No matter what she did or little mental tricks she tried, it stayed put. It liked being there. It was happily ensconced in her brain, a mental Godzilla dancing a little dance and causing a major earthquake in her tidy, compartmentalized mind. These…feelings, the little inappropriate leaps of emotion – this was a problem that needed to be identified and solved. With logic. Hermione was a big fan of logic.

Except for once, her brain refused to perform logically.

It wanted to wax poetic on his strong arms, his out of control hair, his laughing eyes. It wanted to curl up beside him on the couch and never leave. It wanted things that it had no business in wanting.

It was like her whole world had careened out of her control and she felt scared, cornered, helpless and out of depth. She groaned and rested her head against the cold glass. And for all the turmoil in her head, she couldn’t deny that the only person she wanted to talk to was the one person she couldn’t tell.

A cozy fire to keep you warm

She abandoned her post at the window and slumped unceremoniously on her couch, flicking her wand absently at the fire to stoke it. She tucked her feet under her and grabbed her book, Transubstantiation for the Uninitiated, from the coffee table. Breathing in the smell of parchment, she turned to the first page and began to read. But no matter how hard she concentrated, her thoughts drifted to that weird (and she couldn’t believe she had used the word again in the last 3 minutes) dream from the night before.

She is having tea at her parents’ house with Harry. It is all very normal except for the fact that her father is wearing purple Quidditch robes and her mother is pouring the tea. Her mother, Jane Granger, who died when she was 7 years old.

She never regretted her father marrying again. Christine was absolutely lovely and so far removed from being the fairytale evil stepmother her 9 year old self was afraid of. But once in a while, she missed her mother. And once in a while, she dreamt of her. They talked in her dreams, about magic and school, the war and her boys, cabbages and kings. Her mom was the first one she told about her brush with accidental magic at age 8 – being trapped and panicked in a small bathroom with no one around, she had exploded the door outward and started a veritable geyser from the sink and shower. She told her all about her early troubles in school and eventually, her fear of losing Harry and Ron. She told her about those first few awkward kisses with Ron and how relieved she was that someone found her pretty. Somehow, Jane always knew what was in her heart.

In all of her dreams, her mother is forever 34, her long hair dark and curly, her playful hazel eyes crinkling at the edges when she smiles. She wears the same blue dress that was her favorite, the same one Hermione has stashed in the back of her closet. At a familiar bark of laughter, she is momentarily distracted by the sound of Harry arguing with her father over Quidditch tactics. He sits at the table, wand in hand, drawing Quidditch figures in the air as he explains a complicated Wonky Faint-type thing. For a while, she watches him.

The benefit of Dream!Harry was that she could stare at him as long as she wanted without him being the wiser. He looks at her, grins and proceeds to explain to her father the intricacies of a hippogriff’s diet.

“You’re overthinking things again”

The voice startling her out of her reverie, she turns quickly to face her mother. Jane is looking at her knowingly before switching her gaze to look at the person she had been having the reverie on. Before she could say anything, her mother cuts in.

“You’re getting that little thinking wrinkle again. Right there—“, she states, pointing matter-of-factly to a spot between Hermione’s eyebrows.

Hermione reflexively touches the spot with her hand and Jane giggles.

“You remind me so much of myself…so pragmatic, so cautious. Self preservation is all very well and good, darling but don’t you think it’s time to follow your heart instead of your head?”

“Mother, you’re not going to give me the ‘grab the bull by the testes’ speech again, are you?”

Her mother lets out an unladylike snort of amusement. “No.”

A little bemused, Hermione turns back to the table only to find that the two other occupants gone.

“You love him.”

“Good investigating, Sherlock. Tell me something I don’t know”, she says. She figures she can get away with sassing her mother in her dreams.

Jane is nonplussed and looks at her with an amused twinkle in her eye. “Ah yes…but you’re also wondering if you’re in love with him.”

The question should startle her but it doesn’t. “I don’t know what I am, quite honestly”, she whispers, unknowingly paralleling a conversation she had with Harry not so long ago.

“You find him attractive.”

“Well, yes. He is quite…fit.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

She blushes (is it possible to blush in a dream?).

“You enjoy spending time with him.”

She nods.

“He makes you happy.”

She nods again.

“Then what’s the problem?”

The problem is she knows that she cares for him in a whole different way than she ever had for Ron. She didn’t know when she had distinguished this between the two of them but that was just the way things were. Harry is just more. And that “more” scares the bejeezus out of her. If her heart had ached with Ron, she couldn’t imagine the way it could splinter with Harry. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men wouldn’t be enough. Risking everything on what could just be nothing…it couldn’t happen.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? Or are you just making things complicated?”

“How do I know? After Ron…I just can’t—how do I know?”

“You just do.”

“That’s comforting.”

Her mother laughs. “Oh darling, you’ll just know. In fact, I think you already do and you’re just too scared to admit it to yourself.”

She stands from the table then, a table which is suddenly in the middle of a wheat field, and begins to walk away. She walks towards the sun, its rays highlighting the blond in her hair, then turns back. A breeze ruffles the hem of her dress and carries her last words back to Hermione.

“What are you waiting for, Hermione Jane?”

What indeed.

When she woke up, she remembered each and every detail. One thing she realized was that Dream!Jane Granger could be very annoying when she wanted to be. Not to mention she had somehow imbibed Dumbledore’s annoying trait of cryptic communication.

Who was it that said a dream is an answer to question we haven't yet learned how to ask?

She knew the question. In love. She could barely say the words out loud. Was this what it was? It was certainly a whole different Crup from the flat-out simple love she had always acknowledged to herself. Yes, she loved him, had loved him for years. Trusted him, needed him, counted on him. She knew him. She understood him – his fears, his dreams, his passions, his weaknesses.

But only now had she entertained the notion that she also wanted him, desired him. That every minute spent with him made her ridiculously happy. That she wanted to spend the rest of her life making him happy. That she wanted to be with him and nobody else. That he was so much a part of her that she would never be complete without him.

That’s when it clicked.

Oh.

It wasn’t like a stroke of lightning. It wasn’t like a Bludger to the head. The roof certainly didn’t fall around her ears. She didn’t even drop her book. It was just there and real and very, very clear.

She was in love with him.

Hermione Granger loved Harry Potter.

And she suddenly couldn’t deny to herself how right it sounded.

A part of her brain, the part that lapsed into snarky territory once in a while, wanted to bury her head in her hands and groan at her stupidity. The rest of her just sat in utter disbelief. Story of her life. Figures she couldn’t just fall in love without having a deep philosophical argument with her subconscious over it. And she knew that somewhere, her mother was laughing her head off and saying, “I told you so.”

She wanted to tell him. Wanted to get up off the couch, wade through mounds of snow and go to him right now. Hang the consequences. For once in her life, she was feeling spontaneous and reckless. She was in love, what other argument for it was there?

In her mind’s eye, all she saw was Harry. Oddly enough, her mind pictured him kneeling in front of her, snapping his fingers in front of her face. She smiled at him when she realized that the words that his lips were shaping was her own name.

She could practically feel his eyes roaming over her face. Hermione drank her fill of a Harry at eye level, up close and personal. She had had reason to study his features before but never like this. It was a subtle shifting of her world – gazing at his nose, his chin, his eyelashes, that little shaded part under his jaw…

She snapped back to reality when her neurons registered that the warm feeling on her shoulder was actually the pressure of a hand. As if from a distance, the sound of her name being said aloud finally broke through.

“Hermione? Earth to Hermione, are you there?”

He was here. Harry was actually here. It wasn’t all in her head. And with that, all her previous resolve drained away and she was left staring at him paralyzed and embarrassed; cheeks pink, throat dry, heart wild.

~~*~~

But most of all
When snowflakes fall

Harry Potter apparated on Hermione’s doorstep with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. Okay, so maybe the song resembled a movie score with menacing undertones more than anything else but still…

He rolled his neck on his shoulders and stomped his feet lightly to shake off melting snow as he mentally prepared his game face. Another Friday spent with Hermione, another night of pretending he wasn’t rabidly in love with the woman. All in all, it certainly taxed his facial muscles and his mental well-being.

Every second with her was both a joy and torture. He found himself having to sit on his hands to keep from reaching for her and just kissing her. Yes, it was agony but you wouldn’t be able to pry him away with a crowbar and a Mountain Troll if you tried. How he had managed to survive without that for years had never entered into his consciousness. The time that came before her don't really register fully anymore. One of these days, if he wasn't careful, she was going to figure out that he was a complete sap sometimes. Okay, most of the time.

How many months had it been since he had known? And how many months since he had broken up with Ginny and she had practically pushed him to tell Hermione?

He sighed, frustrated. Telling her wasn’t all that simple. If he knew anything, he knew her. Laying his soul bare before she was ready would jeopardize one of the best things in his life. Hermione Granger needed to study it, dissect it, break it down and analyze the ever-loving life out of it before she would do anything about it. And she would undeniably be skittish after the disaster that was her relationship with Ron.

The few times he had caught her looking at him, he saw something in those fine brown eyes. There was desire, attraction certainly, but not love. Not yet. To say she was wary was an understatement. She was guarded. The heart of this particular princess was defended by a dragon and a fortress and even if he wanted to vault over the walls, he had to wait for her to open the gates and let him in. There would be no pushing her until she could trust her heart enough to throw her hands up in the air and say “I love you. Here I am, this is all of me.” He was tired of half-arsed, half-hearted, half-meant.

She wasn’t ready. Until she was, he wouldn’t do anything.

Because he didn’t want Hermione Granger.

Not unless he had all of her.

If that meant never having her, so be it. He knew, even this early in the game, that she had ruined him for anyone else. So he backed away, did the Best Friend role like he was playing to a packed crowd and waited. He was never the most patient of men but right now he entertained the possibility that he had been stockpiling it all for this particular situation. For now, no matter how long it took, he would wait.

Realizing that he had now spent 5 minutes standing outside her apartment, staring blankly at her door, he shifted the 6-pack of Butterbeer to his other hand along with their food and knocked. He could have just apparated in but he knew that Hermione secretly loved the little Muggle trappings of having a peephole and a ring of keys so he indulged her.

No answer. He frowned in confusion and checked the date and time on his watch, certain that it was a Friday and they had a standing “non-date”. He knocked again, a little louder, and called out, “Hermione! Open up! I brought your favorite!”

Still nothing. Muffling an oath, he shifted the fragrant packages of Thai food again and reached for his keys. It became a complex juggling act/dance but he managed it, opening the door to a dark apartment. For a moment, he didn’t see anything besides the matched living room set. But when his eyes adjusted, he made out her form sitting on the couch, staring at the dying embers of the fire.

He chuffed a breath. Why hadn’t she opened the door for him? He was about to ask her that when he noticed her blank stare and her rigid posture. What the—?

Harry hurriedly dumped his things on a nearby surface and rushed to her. He sighed in relief when he found her breathing but panic began to set in when she gave no acknowledgement of his being there. She looked Stupefied but when he moved to kneel in front of her, her eyes shifted to look at him and her face softened into a smile. For a moment, he thought everything was fine but her eyes were fixed on his face and she was looking at him like she had never seen him before.

“Hermione?”, he whispered. Nothing.

“Hermione?”, he repeated a little louder. There was a curious light in her eyes and her fingers twitched like they were itching to do something. Feeling a little bold, he ghosted a hand across her cheek and continued calling her name.

Absolutely nothing. She was just sitting there staring at him. He began to snap his fingers in front of her face like he’d seen in one of those Muggle films. Hey, no harm in trying right? Still nothing. Tendrils of fear began to sneak into his consciousness. He tamped down the urge to shake her until she came to her senses and instead laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Hermione? Earth to Hermione, are you there?”

Suddenly, the spell was broken. She jerked once, as if waking up, looked at his hand like she hadn’t seen a hand before, then looked at him. Her eyes widened with realization and – was that fear? Frankly, he was too relieved to fully decipher her right now.

He huffed an exasperated breath. “Are you okay? What’s the matter with you? I come over like I always do and I find you doing your best impression of a statue.”

Hermione flushed pink and refused to meet his eyes. Worry seeped back and he could feel his forehead furrow. Something was wrong. She wouldn’t be acting like this unless something had happened. She chanced a peek at him before turning redder and dropping her eyes quickly. He could see the flickering of her eyelids as she searched the floor, her hands, for anything to focus on.

“I’m fine, Harry. Really, nothing’s wrong…”, she finally said haltingly.

Harry brought one hand to gently cup her cheek and was almost certain that she leaned into it. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong? It’s just me here.”

She made a strangled sound that was half sob, half laugh. Before he could say anything more, tears started to course down her cheeks. Immediately, big warning sirens blasted in his head.

“Hermione? Merlin, what’s wrong? Why don’t you tell me? Did something happen? Are your parents okay? Is it Ron? the Weasleys? Dammit, talk to me!”

If he was worried before, that was nothing compared to him in full-blown panic mode. He was straddling the line, being alternately comforting and demanding. At some point, he might in fact have started shaking her.

“Nothing’s wrong, Harry…it’s just you. I mean you weren’t here…then you’re here and it’s you and I should be glad but I think I’m still in shock and a little scared which is ridiculous because it’s you and—“, she babbled, her hands fluttering by her sides like mad birds. She looked at him in the middle of the sniffling, the pleading and the babbling and she must have seen something that amused her because suddenly she let out a giggle.

She was giggling? His eyebrow climbed to stratospheric heights in mimicry of her own tic. Now his worry shifted from whether someone had died to whether someone had slipped her a mickey.

He abruptly stopped going through the different emergency scenarios and tried to stay calm. Calm – he could do that. His voice was a soft, insistent whisper as he pleaded, “Hermione, you’re starting to scare me. Could you please look at me and tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t looked me in the eye since I got here.”

Finally, Hermione took a deep, shaky breath and wiped her hand across her eyes. Millimeter by agonizing millimeter, she brought her eyes up to his. She looked like she was struggling with something or grasping for words. He gulped and tried to focus on what she was going to say, tried not to pay attention to the blush now dipping below her neckline. When she finally met his gaze, he was struck by the way her eyes glistened in their pool of tears and by her unexpected smile. Like the sun rising on a winter’s day, she was smiling at him – beatifically, serenely.

I wish you love

“Harry, I-“, she began slowly. She paused, licking her lips, and he almost died. She huffed a sigh before looking straight at him, almost pinning him with her gaze.

That’s when he saw it.

In her eyes.

Oh.

The guards were gone. Every protective barrier that she’d ever placed around her heart had finally come crashing down. Let the trumpets ring, the walls of Jericho have fallen.

“Finally”, he whispered reverently, and with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, he pulled her to him and captured her lips in a kiss.

He didn’t think. He just kissed her.

He was kissing her.

He was kissing her.

His lips moved over hers slowly, imprinting both a promise and a claim. Her mouth was firm against his, new and wonderful yet somehow familiar; like they’ve never been there before but it’s where they always belonged. No matter how many hours he had fantasized about this very moment, nothing could ever have prepared him for the reality of her lips on his, those arms around his neck. Somehow, he had always known that kissing her would be amazing. He just never thought it would feel so much like he was finally finding his place in the universe.

When he broke away, it was with a sigh. He moved to lean his forehead against hers and at close range, her face slightly blurred, he could see her looking at him with wonder, amusement and – yes, finally – with love.

His lips felt too different to be used to form words. “I was afraid you’d never get here.”

Her smile was solemn as she brushed the hair off his forehead. “I’m sorry”, she managed and he knew she meant it.

He laughed lightly and kissed her again. He would never get tired of this. “Don’t be”, he replied when they came up for air. “I would have waited forever.”

Harry felt her fingers stroking his hair and lightly scratching his scalp. A cramp was developing in his leg from kneeling too long and the room was on its way to arctic temperatures with the fire finally dead. No, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

For a while, they stayed like that, foreheads touching, perfectly still and breathing in tandem. As near as he was in her field of vision, she must have still had enough distance to see his eyes searching hers.

“Hermione? You do, don’t you?”, he heard himself say. Did she understand?Did she know what he was asking? He hated to kill the moment but they hadn’t said the words, not really, and his old friend Insecurity reared its ugly head. Did she? Or did he just see what he wanted to see?

He felt her answer before she said anything. Her warm breath puffed against his ear as she moved in to plant a series of kisses on his jaw then another mind-blowing kiss and a grin against his mouth.

“I do. I do so much”, she finally said, her low voice smoothing over the wrinkles in his heart. “And I would gladly spend the rest of our lives proving it to you.”

Harry barely made out what she said because his heart's drumbeating almost drowned her out but he heard enough. The expanding of his heart taxed the limits of his ribcage and he was sure he would be the first case of having an organ exploding with happiness.

He grinned in the twilight. “The rest of our lives…I like the sound of that.”

I wish you love

They spent the rest of the night on the couch, talking, kissing, holding each other and generally being such saps that each was privately glad that no one else was there to witness it. Once in a while, they would pick at the food Harry brought or drink a little Butterbeer.

At one point, they were silent, lost in their own thoughts, as they sat together on that couch – her legs thrown over his lap, her head nestled on his shoulder; his arm over her shoulders, his feet on the coffee table. He was musing on the possibility of erecting a monument to the couch while she was mulling over something that had been bothering her the whole night. Finally she decided to ask the question.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Why’d you come over tonight?”

He frowned imperceptibly at the question. “We were going to have dinner and a movie, remember? Our Friday night thing?”

“I see.”

Again silence reigned except for the rustle of fabric as she stroked his chest, before –

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?” Oh, how long he had waited to say that and actually mean it.

“It’s a Thursday.”

A pause then a long-suffering sigh. “Damned watch.”

She giggled for the second time that night and kissed him before whispering, “I love your watch.”

“You know what? I love your couch.”

“I love you.”

“Took you long enough.”

Finis

~~*~~

Wish You Love

1. Bluebirds in the spring

2. In July

3. When snowflakes fall

4. Epilogue