Once
Hermione kept an eye on Harry from the moment he entered the common room. He paced the floor, his hand rubbing at his square jaw, which had begun to show signs of needing a shave. He was, like her, still wound up about the battle that had happened the day before, even though they were both exhausted.
"He's still down there," Harry said. "Voldemort."
"I know. They all are. The Great Hall is a morgue."
Harry fell silent, energy coursing almost palpably off him as he paced.
"Why don't you-"
"Come for a walk with me," he said abruptly.
Hermione was tired to her bones, but months of travel with Harry had taught her to keep going, even when all she wanted to do was lie down and give up.
"Maybe a short one," she said, and got up from the warm comfort of the couch to follow Harry through the portrait hole. Neither of them worried about curfew violations, for neither of them were really students anymore.
Harry didn't go far before he stepped into an empty room and opened the window on the far side, giving them both a view of the lake and a fresh breeze. No one milled about below, unlike in the main gate and on the lower floors. Hogwarts bustled with the living who grieved over the dead and weary friends trying to help them identify and claim the bodies of loved ones.
"Forgive me," Harry said.
"For what?"
"For what I'm about to do."
Harry pulled Hermione away from the window and pressed her to the wall. His lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, his hands roughly unfastening and then shoving down her jeans and knickers should have been a surprise to her, but it wasn't. It should have angered her, but it didn't. There was simply too much raw emotion in them both, and she'd grown up too much to let such things shock or confuse her.
Hermione gave into the moment and let Harry fuck her against the wall.
When it was over they straightened their clothes and calmly, quietly, walked back to the Gryffindor common room. They parted without word, Harry going to the boys dormitory, Hermione to the girls. Their beds waited and they were finally ready to sleep.
She should have regretted it. She didn't.
She felt no guilt. Only an undeniable desire for more.
***
Twice
Funerals were depressing. They were sad. They were necessary.
Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, didn't have a funeral. He had a witnessing of the destruction of his body by people who hated him.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron were called into the Ministry to see Kingsley Shacklebolt and to give full disclosure of all they'd learned about Voldemort and what they'd done to bring him down. It took two hours of steady talk, with a promise to give more detail of their quest at a later date. They, after all, had funerals to attend.
Kingsley wanted to know if it was possible Voldemort had created more horcruxes.
"He's dead, Kingsley," Harry said with absolute certainty and finality.
Kingsley nodded. He thanked Harry, Hermione, and Ron, and then they watched as Riddle was cremated.
Ron Disapparated to the Burrow as soon as they reached the surface. Harry didn't question why he'd gone without saying a word. Instead, he took Hermione back to Grimmauld Place, to the old drawing room. It was the first time either of them had been back since it had been compromised during the war. Nothing about it had changed.
The room was dark. Harry was warm. Rain pattered against the window. Harry panted against her ear. He was all hands, tongue, and need when he climbed atop Hermione.
"I finished with him three days ago. You know, after we first…"
"I know. I finished with Ginny too."
Harry became all hands, tongue, and cock when he pushed up Hermione's skirts, finding no knickers to hinder him.
They should have regretted the broken hearts they'd left in their wake but still…they didn't.