Chapter Text
Harry Potter used to love Fridays. In fact, just one week ago, he would have confidently declared Friday as his favourite day of the week. But like the previous Friday, this one was different.
This Friday, the echoing sound of hurried footsteps filled the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, as Harry Potter, balancing a disposable coffee cup in one hand, protected by a cardboard sleeve this time, hurried alongside Tonks toward the lifts. They dashed past rows of fireplace hearths, weaving through witches and wizards making their leisurely way to the cafeteria, and past the golden fountain adorned with magical beings, which affectionately gazed toward statues of a witch and a wizard perched atop it.
Their breaths came in sharp gasps as Harry and Tonks halted in front of the golden railings, the approaching lift's rattling the only sound loud enough to conceal their rapid exhales.
"What time is it?" Tonks tapped her heel nervously on the stone floor.
"Ten past one," Harry checked his wristwatch, running a free hand through his dishevelled hair.
"The hearings usually last what – an hour, an hour and a half tops?" She narrowed her eyes, as if calculating something in her head. "If it starts at 4 pm, we still have a few hours left. Unless the Wizengamot pushes it forward," she jabbed impatiently at the wall, her gaze fixed on the golden rails. "We just need to hurry before everyone starts assembling at the courtroom, that's all. Cedric is showing the supply chamber as we speak."
Harry hummed, his heart still racing after the unplanned sprint through the Atrium. When the lift finally arrived and they both stepped inside, Tonks hurriedly pressed the button next to 'level 4', and Harry frowned.
"We're not going to the dungeons?" he asked, motioning to the plaque.
"And welcome the goblin to the holding cell?" Tonks laughed. "I can just imagine him catching a whiff of the werewolves' scent from miles away and bolting as soon as he sees the wooden chair with metal cuffs on its handles. No, while everyone is at lunch, we'll hold the meeting at the Dawlish Office. Hence, the rush," she quipped giving him a meaningful look and mimicking a running motion with her arms before letting out a sigh of annoyance. "Merlin, Kingsley will be pissed when he finally figures it out. Good thing I'm not the Head Auror – I'm not cut out for this kind of stress."
“Why are we heading to level four then?” Harry looked at her with confusion. Tonks regarded him with an apprehensive glance.
“To get the Head Granger, of course,” she remarked while her pink hair immediately changed into Ravenclaw blue, straight locks swiftly curling into a bushy mane. “We ought to show that we put all the effort into making sure the goblin is treated with dignity while within the Ministry walls. Maybe this will make him more inclined to cooperate.”
Harry nodded, his mind racing as his fingers tightened around the coffee cup. Tonks noticed.
"Sorry for cutting your lunch break short, by the way," she made an apologetic face. "Since we're going to pull Head Granger out from hers, hopefully a familiar muggle coffee will put her in the right mood." Tonks shook her head with a mischievous grin, and the blue hue of her hair caught some light from the passing levels.
Harry made a grunting noise as he swallowed, thinking that there were other ways to easily put Hermione in the right mood.
Sometimes, multiple times in a row.
He felt his cheeks burning as his mind wandered back to a specific happy hour from earlier today.
Harry suspected there was a devilish reason behind keeping the lights off in her office this Friday morning after the door shut, when Hermione’s small hands landed on his chest. But he didn’t mind the darkness as long as he could feel her warm frame pressed against his own.
So much for keeping our distance, he thought as her hot breath reached his ear, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.
"Remember I told you I don't want you to be gentle?" Hermione's voice was low, and Harry exhaled sharply as her fingers traced the outline of his co*ck in his trousers with agonizing slowness.
A shiver ran down Harry's spine, and he gulped before nodding. "Yes."
"Then don't," she whispered, her lips trailing along his jaw until they reached his. He felt all his senses melting, turning into liquid, slowly flowing between her swollen arches.
She could drink him all in, until nothing was left.
Their mouths melded together, soft exhales trapped in between, as her delicate fingers pushed him dangerously close to the edge of sanity. Harry couldn't help but wish for their every workday to start like this – tongues intertwining, fingers caressing aching body parts, while the rest of the Ministry was preoccupied with less satisfying matters.
He felt sensed her trembling under his fingers as the fabric of her knickers tore and dissolved in the darkness. Small, fervent hands swiftly set him free, while their bodies slid against each other, heartbeats echoing each time their chests met.
His frenetic beating rhythm matched hers, and he thought that whatever she could offer, he would eagerly accept and hold onto it. It would be enough. It would be enough as long as he could feel its beating against his own. He would gladly spend the rest of his life just holding her in his arms, listening to its drumming against his skin, if she'd allow it.
However, at this very moment, a simple embrace would not suffice for either of them.
Harry felt her shifting in the darkness, briefly pulling away from him before she found his hand and guided his fingers to the exposed slick heat. He groaned when she moaned at his touch, and he manoeuvred her around, trapping her between his body and a hard surface behind her. The sound of books, folders, and scrolls crashing to the floor caused her to chuckle against his mouth. Harry couldn't help but laugh too, lifting her with ease and pressing her back against what he guessed was a bookshelf.
He was inside her within seconds, one arm holding her above him, another clutching at the shelf behind her, while the long rows of familiar bookcases with studying desks in between floated into his mind. It was overwhelming how the mere thought of them going at it in the Hogwarts library quickly turned him on beyond imagination.
And she smelled like books – all parchment and ink.
He would never be able to think about the library in the same way again.
She fervidly whispered sweet nonsense into his ear as the whole wall shook in rhythm with his thrusts. He turned his head, and their pleading lips found each other, as the images of her, clad in blue Ravenclaw robes, moaning against his opened mouth, flashed in his mind.
All the while Madam Pince was nowhere in sight.
Probably shagging Filch, no less.
Harry groaned into her mouth, pushing aside thoughts of those two as both of his hands moved to squeeze the soft flesh pressed against the shelf. He released her lips to briefly place soft kisses along her chest through the sheer blouse, marvelling at the pulsing vibration against his face.
She drew him back, locking her arms behind his neck and squeezing their bodies together as if they could merge into one being. Face pressed against her ear, his lips started confessing his dark forbidden fantasies against the soft skin, punctuating every single carnal action with his determined thrusts. She moaned throatily, her walls trembling around him, and the shelf shook faster every time their cores locked again.
And again.
And again.
And again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again…
“How are you not… in Slytherin… with that wicked… filthy mouth of yours,” she whimpered between throaty, loud moans, and wrapped her legs around him, urging him to go further, as the carefully organized parchments flew around them like charmed paper planes.
She came when he shared what he would do to her with his filthy mouth in the Prefects' Bathroom.
He was sure this bookshelf would be broken when they were done.
Harry pressed his free hand to the back of his neck, feeling his breath grow heavier once again. He would have shared so much more with her if not for the sudden visit from Mrs. Brown and Winky, whose big brown eyes peered at him from behind her mistress's long legs.
As the golden rails opened with a loud clack and Harry and Tonks rushed down his favourite hallway, he realized how right Hermione was to usher him out of her office to give herself some time to prepare for her proposal. He wouldn't have been able to keep his hands to himself.
And he didn't want to.
Upon reaching the door to her office, Harry motioned for Tonks to step aside.
"Let me quickly talk to her first," he cleared his throat and waved the coffee cup in his hand. "Make sure she's in the right mood."
Tonks nodded, but her lips stretched into a smug smile, and Harry summoned all the strength he had to keep from slapping his so obviously flustered face.
He stepped into the office, ensuring the door was closed behind him, and found Hermione pacing back and forth across the rug, shuffling small cards with notes in her hands.
"As a massive advocate for equality..." she muttered under her breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she kept tugging at her earlobe, which seemed to only add to her frustration when she realized what she was unconsciously doing. Harry cleared his throat, and she halted mid-step, turning to look at him. Her face immediately softened into the same expression he had seen earlier after she woke beside him.
At least this Friday's morning began wonderfully.
As Hermione leapt into his open arms, his mind replayed their morning again.
Harry lay still, watching Hermione’s frame moving slowly in rhythm with her breathing. His arm was draped over her middle, her hips snug against his own. Just like the morning before, her bushy mane obscured his view. Just like the morning before, she was in his arms. Just like the morning before, he caught sight of a little freckle. But this time, he brushed his lips instead of his finger over it. Hermione sighed and rolled onto her back, unruly curls cascading across her face. With a delicate sweep of her fingers, she pushed them aside, revealing her fluttering eyelashes.
"Morning," Harry murmured as Hermione slowly opened her still a bit puffy, though no longer red eyes. She blinked sleepily a few times before her gaze finally settled on him.
"You're here," she whispered with a raspy voice, still heavy with sleep, and her lips slowly stretched into a smile. Hermione raised her hand and trailed her fingers over his stubble, following the line of his jaw down to his neck and shoulder, before nestling her face into his chest. A curl fell onto her cheek and lightly brushed against his skin. "I'm sorry about-"
"It's okay," Harry interrupted gently, tucking a wild curly lock behind her ear.
"It's not," Hermione argued, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I lost control and… I let it take over me, without even sparing a second to consider your feelings.”
Harry continued gently rubbing her back, his gaze moving over her worried features.
“And the last thing I want… is to make you feel that- that this was all about just using you to cope with it,” she whispered. “This- this is not the way I feel about you.”
Harry cupped her cheek, his mind drifting over all the times he clung to Ginny in desperation for a few hours of dreamless sleep.
“Even if it helps, it can’t be the only answer, you know,” he brushed his thumb over her soft skin.
Hermione sighed and pulled away to rest her head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “You sound like my therapist.”
“Have you been seeing them for long?” Harry kept watching her. She remained quiet for a while before finally speaking.
“Only the past couple of months, when it got too much, on Wednesdays. But I had to cancel three times in a row already, because of the proposal. Then this silly attack shook my whole world around…” Hermione exhaled and turned to look at him. “It’s a Muggle practice. They can’t offer anything more than potions at St. Mungo’s. The Sleeping Draught used to help, but its effectiveness diminishes with prolonged use, not to mention the risk of addiction, so I had to stop.”
She drew closer again, reaching out and placing her hand in the middle of his chest, as his arms closed around her shoulders. “Nights are easier when- when I’m with you…” Hermione’s voice trailed off, and she appeared conflicted.
Harry recalled how tired she looked on Wednesday morning when Justin paid them a visit and realized that maybe the late conversation with her parents wasn’t the real reason for her exhaustion.
“You don’t have to tell me everything, if you don’t want to,” Harry whispered into her hair. “But I do know something about… going through this myself.”
She released a sigh of relief into his chest, her arms shifting and tightening around his waist and he could feel her wide smile against his skin. "It didn't scare you away, then?"
"Some more intimidating wizards than you have tried," Harry grinned, her hair tickling his nostrils. "But I'm still here, aren't I?"
"Bodyguarding..." she muttered, though her tone carried a note of amusem*nt.
"If you prefer to call it that way," Harry chuckled, but cleared his throat before speaking again. "Is there anything else you'd like me to be doing?"
Her grip loosened around his waist, and he watched Hermione pulling back, slowly lifting her face to meet his gaze.
"Can we—" she paused. "Can we snuggle for a bit?"
Harry beamed at her, noticing the flush in her cheeks. "Come here," he said, drawing her closer, his arms locking tighter around her frame. Hermione's contented exhale sent a warm sensation through his chest, and he felt something inside him stir to life anew.
The same sensation enveloped him when Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist after taking a sip of her coffee and setting the disposable cup aside. Her other hand still clutched the cards with notes.
"Auror Tonks is outside," he murmured into her hair. "It's urgent. She'll explain."
"Alright. I suppose I can use a small break – I've been going over my speech a hundred times already," Hermione nodded and untangled herself, allowing Harry to return to the door and open it again. Tonks stepped inside in an instant.
"Head Granger," she addressed Hermione. "We need your presence for the interview with the goblin from Gringotts. It's regarding the break-in in the supply room, which is linked to the werewolf attack."
"Is he a suspect?" Hermione frowned, placing her cards on the desk beside the thick grey folder.
"No, but your presence will be a great contributor. Merlin knows, the relationship between Aurors and goblins has been rocky for the past few years," Tonks sighed.
Hermione frowned but nodded and headed towards the exit from her office, Tonks following suit. But just before he shut the door, Harry spotted a plastic container with familiar-looking beans resting on her desk beside the thick grey folder, untouched.
At the Auror Headquarters, inside Head Dawlish’s office, Harry and Hermione only managed to glance at each other before a moment later the door swung open and Cedric’s handsome face appeared in view, holding it with his long arm, while the goblin entered.
Harry immediately recognized him - Griphook was the first goblin who showed Harry to his vault, the first time he ever visited Gringotts. And he was the last one whose face he saw before the dragon unleashed its deadly flame onto the Lestrange vault.
The goblin glanced around all of them in the office with a dark, piercing look.
"Am I under interrogation?" Griphook narrowed his black eyes on Cedric, motioning nowhere in particular.
"Of course not," Cedric said, shutting the door to the room and flicking his wand to lock it from the inside. "It's just a conversation. You can even sit there, if you like." Cedric nodded towards the grand upholstered chair behind the hardwood desk.
Griphook glanced at the magically locked door, grunted, but went around the desk towards the chair and climbed onto it with a bit of a struggle. Finally settled in, his face was just visible enough above the wooden top. The goblin didn’t look pleased.
"I'm sure you are familiar with Auror Potter," Cedric pointed at Harry with his arm, "And this is Auror Tonks." Tonks waved her hand, and her hair slowly returned to the pink colour she usually wore. "Also, the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – Hermione Granger is here to make sure your rights are treated with respect." Cedric gestured towards Hermione.
"Magical Creatures," Griphook echoed, his long, thin fingers with pointed sharp nails lightly scratching the upholstery. "Am I a creature then?"
"Being," Hermione responded. "Although my proposal to amend the name of the Department was sadly rejected a few years ago, in all the official Ministry documentation, the goblin kind is registered as a magical being. Just like Centaurs, house-elves, and humans with lycanthropy. We are all beings, after all, no matter what names some would address us by."
“Nobody asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!” Malfoy spat, pointing his wand at Hermione. “I’m a Prefect as well, and I can do whatever I like and hang out wherever I wish! And even if I weren’t, my family has so much wealth, we could buy this bloody useless school and finally kick your kind away!” He exclaimed, swiftly turning on his heels and rushing away in the opposite direction from the second-floor girls' lavatory.
Hermione dashed past, just a few inches from the spot where Harry remained hidden underneath the Cloak, clutching the Half-Blood Prince’s book to his chest. Mentally noting this as the perfect place to corner Draco Malfoy next time, he caught a faint pleasant scent, feeling the increasing warmth under the silver fabric, but forced his gaze to stay away from the Ravenclaw prefect.
Harry blinked and turned his head towards Griphook, who regarded Hermione with a curious gaze. "You are a very odd witch, Hermione Granger."
Harry watched as Hermione's stoic expression slowly crumbled, her cheeks tinged with a pink hue reminiscent of Tonks's hair.
"Griphook kindly agreed to spare some of his busy time to assist with the ongoing investigation," Cedric interjected in the most polite way possible. "Now, as we are all acquainted, it would be very helpful to have your opinion on security matters, Griphook," Cedric addressed the goblin. "Earlier today, you've seen the supply chamber yourself, and I'm confident you recognized the wards – no wizard can enter unnoticed. I'd like to know how it is possible to pass all the magical protections placed in there?"
Griphook grunted, a corner of his lips curved ever so slightly, but upon catching Hermione’s scrutinizing gaze, his expression quickly shifted to a neutral one. "No wizard possesses the power to break in, you say?" he rephrased Cedric's words.
"Precisely. The only time something similar happened was at the Battle of Gringotts," Cedric continued.
Griphook released a single dry laugh and moved his small black eyes to Harry. "I’m sure the infamous Auror Potter, who now wears these supposedly elite scarlet robes, can shed some light on this," he snarled.
Harry sensed Hermione's burning gaze on him.
"According to Bill, private entrances to Gringotts could be arranged, but they are very uncommon. Only those who have great wealth or power are capable of sorting it out," Ron leaned over the parchment, which contained a rough drawing of the bank's building outline, and shook the Deluminator in his hand. "If you ask me, Dumbledore fits the brief with 'the power' part."
"But how will we be able to track the Lestranges' and Malfoys' vaults?" Harry rolled the golden Snitch between his fingers, watching his best friend intently, but Ron only shrugged.
"There is only one way," Kingsley said with resolution and gave them a stern look, his fingers clutching the Invisibility Cloak. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need the Elder Wand."
Cedric sighed, moving closer to Griphook, and locked his fingers in front of him. “We are aware of some unethical choices that Harry had to make in order to put an end to the war. But what happened to the building is an unfortunate chain of events, where the main catalyst was the uncontrollable dragon. Sadly, the Aurors have been out of grace, especially since the attack on Hogwarts happened simultaneously. However, I had hoped you would at least acknowledge that we arrived to aid Gringotts first.”
"Leaving the younger generation to face their fate while rushing to capture the One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named instead. It's fascinating how even the darkest wizard seemed to give Aurors more credit than they deserved," Griphook crossed his arms over his chest.
Hermione turned to look at the goblin and her back visibly tensed.
"Hogwarts was the safest place. Safer than Gringotts," Cedric replied with a calm voice, but a note of irritation slipped through.
"Tell that to the parents whose kids were killed," Griphook remarked. "Like livestock sent to slaughter - what a horrible way to go."
Hermione shifted her gaze to the floor, rapidly blinking.
"If we're finished dissecting old closed cases, can we please talk about other options for breaking into Gringotts rather than resorting to the help of an ancient artifact, which, mind you, had been destroyed years ago?" Cedric gave the goblin a small smile, but Griphook didn’t react.
"It is against the code to speak of the mysteries of Gringotts. Goblins have a duty to the objects placed in their care. That was one of the reasons they decided against composing the book 'Gringotts: A History' after all," Hermione replied, lifting her gaze to Cedric, her face void of emotion once again.
Griphook gave her another curious look, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Indeed. Some secrets are better left buried."
The goblin then turned his attention to Harry, giving him a piercing stare that made him feel as though Griphook could see right through.
“Your kind is an embodiment of hypocrisy. Wizards deny other beings the opportunity to expand their powers by withholding the knowledge of wands," Griphook leaned closer to Cedric, resting one elbow on the chair's handle. "Yet here you all expect me to willingly share my knowledge without receiving anything in return."
Cedric's mouth twitched, and Griphook cast another glance at Hermione, who met his gaze calmly.
"Good luck with solving your case, Auror," Griphook said, shifting from the chair and attempting to slide onto the floor, but doing so deliberately and slowly.
“Is that all you have to say?” Cedric looked at him in disbelief. “All I was trying to get is your opinion, possibly some pointers in the right direction. But all you did was insult the actions of wizards and of this department in particular, which have stayed in the past!” His last words sounded desperate.
Once on the floor, Griphook chuckled and twisted the thin, black beard upon his chin with his long fingers. “You call yourself an investigator but are unable to see what is in front of your own nose.” The goblin adjusted his clothing. “A pointer you asked for. I already gave you all the clues you require. All you needed to do was pay attention, something that seemed no wizard has the power to do.”
Hermione's mouth parted ever so slightly, but Griphook noticed and smirked before heading to the door. It took Cedric a moment to flick his wand to open it, and when the goblin stepped outside, he and Tonks followed with soured faces, leaving Harry and Hermione in the Head Dawlish Office alone.
He turned to catch her gaze, his heart beating in his ears, and saw her wide, bright eyes filled with realization.
“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed.
“You heard it too, didn’t you?” he exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the office, his energy pulsing like he could run a mile. Hermione raised her shining face at him.
“The power that no wizard possesses-“
“Is the power that doesn’t belong to a wizard!“
“None of us has the power to go through impenetrable wards-“
“-because they are set against humans, which means-”
“-the one who broke into the supply chamber-“
“-was not a human…” they finished together.
They gazed at each other; Harry felt that the answer was dangling in the air above them, tantalisingly close… But then Hermione’s eyes widened even further, her lips parting in shock as she grabbed his arm.
“Elves…” Hermione breathed out. “House-elves' magic can penetrate the wards. Harry, both Kreacher and Dobby were able to Apparate directly to the Safe House! And it is protected on top of the many wards—with the Fidelius Charm!”
Harry stared at her, a rush of understanding flooding through him. Everything suddenly clicked into place. Voldemort hadn’t deemed house-elves worthy of his attention, yet Kreacher had defied all odds in the cave and returned home alive. Dobby, despite Lucius Malfoy's mistreatment, had found a way to thwart his master’s evil schemes. The statue in the Atrium depicted magical beings gazing with reverence at two wizards atop it—humans had grossly underestimated the power of magic they couldn't wield.
And it seemed that house-elves' magic was among the utmost powerful.
“You are brilliant, Hermione!” Harry exclaimed, cupping her face with both of his hands. “Merlin, I want to kiss you right now so bad…”
She beamed at him, throwing a quick glance through the frosted glass on the door, before wrapping her hands around his neck and pressing their lips together.
Every time they broke apart, he'd whisper how smart she was, how clever and intelligent, and her lips stretched wider and wider until he was kissing her grin.
But his praises were short-lived as the shiny lynx erupted into the room, prompting Harry and Hermione to jump apart. Kingsley's Patronus opened its jaw, and his voice echoed through the walls.
“The hearing time just got changed. They are gathering in twenty minutes. Head to the dungeons immediately."
Hermione gasped. "We need to hurry!"
Navigating through the levels and the dense crowd of people, who seemed to be heading down to the courtroom level, they made a quick decision to take the stairs. It took them a bit longer, but they eventually reached Hermione's office. Standing at the doorway, Hermione summoned the grey folder from her desk before hurrying down the stairs to the dungeons.
Upon arrival, Hermione paused to collect herself and catch her breath. After regaining some composure, she approached the heavy door, her fingers grasping the round doorknob while Harry stood by her side, feeling like the day was somehow reversing.
“I can’t shake off what Griphook said,” she said, exhaling slowly as she turned to him. “How am I supposed to advocate for them with all of this weighing on my mind?” Her voice trembled.
“Hermione, you’ve got this,” Harry said in a hoarse voice, still recovering from running up and down the Ministry hallways. “I’ll be right there with you, in the Auror rows. Forget about the break-in for now; focus on the elves’ rights – that's what matters.” He reached out to her and gently squeezed her shoulder.
Hermione blinked rapidly, a slight crease appearing between her eyebrows. She didn’t look as touched as Harry had hoped, but rather surprised.
“No, I… Harry, the proposal I’m presenting today is not about elves' rights…” she said in a quiet voice. Harry frowned, but before he could say anything else, the door behind her swung open, and the Minister appeared on the other side. Harry dropped his hand from her shoulder.
“Thank Merlin, Hermione, you’re here!” Kingsley sounded relieved. “The Wizengamot members pushed for the earlier time all of a sudden. Everyone is waiting.”
She nodded and gave Harry one last glance before heading inside the courtroom.
It was agonizing to watch her leave, as if deep down he already sensed what awaited her in the wide, cold space of Courtroom Ten.
For everyone else, she appeared strong and cold-blooded, but Harry knew it was all a facade.
Especially after what happened last night, just before Friday began.
It was still Thursday, when Harry slowly traced his fingers over the glistening skin of Hermione’s back, gliding from a little freckle to the lines of her shoulder blades, down the graceful slope of her small waist, then shifting his touch closer to the curves of her hip, rounding the sensitive skin at the apex of her thigh and inching dangerously close to the in-between, only to change his route at the very last moment and trail his way back to the nape of her neck.
Hermione watched his face, her head resting on the pillow, arms locked underneath it. Every now and then, she would release a soft sigh and close her eyes, her lips stretching into a content smile. But then she'd lock her gaze on him again, and something would shine in the depths of the rich brown—bright, wide, and sincere.
“This is moving awfully fast,” her voice was quiet when she finally spoke.
“Does it bother you?” Harry stopped his tracing motion only to start gently drawing circles along the bumps of her spine.
Hermione looked at him for a long while before finally uttering, “It scares me…”
Harry moved his hand from her back to gently cup her face, rubbing his thumb along her cheek before leaning in and gently capturing her lips with his. She shifted, her hand pressing against his stubble. He kissed her slowly, feeling her trembling fingers running along his jawline, the side of his neck, his shoulder, until her hand stopped in the middle of his chest, holding his steady heartbeat against her delicate palm.
With just one gentle squeeze, she could crush it if she wished.
He covered her hand with his.
“I need to tell you something,” Hermione whispered after they broke apart, her breathing ragged. “You have to know- before it’s too late. While you still have a chance to-“ she halted and gulped, before continuing. “…to change your mind. About this. Us.”
Harry frowned slightly as Justin’s voice broke into his head once more against his will: “She’ll break your heart. She won’t mean it, but she will.”
Hermione searched his face with an anxious gaze, and Harry nodded slowly, feeling his chest tighten under her gentle touch.
“Okay,” he finally uttered.
The corners of her lips quivered, and Hermione leaned in closer, her hand slipping out of his grasp and settling on the crumpled sheets between them.
"Back at Hogwarts, I didn't really have any close friends," she began tentatively. "I knew students in my year, of course, but none of them seemed to understand me. Maybe because I was the oldest, or maybe my bluntness pushed people away, and that's why I didn't get along with anyone. Regardless of the reason, I thought I was fine on my own..." Hermione paused and lifted her eyes to him. "But then I met someone."
Harry watched as her frame tensed, thin fingers coming to tug at the corner of the pillowcase.
“He understood me, never judged, always listened. I had my reasons for solitude; he had his own. So we felt a connection, recognition, respect, and support. He became my friend, my only true friend, and over time we started getting very close. There was just one problem with it,” she paused. “He was… older.”
Harry remained silent, observing her worried expression as she gathered her thoughts to speak again.
“He left Hogwarts before I could even fully appreciate his presence in my life,” Hermione continued. “But when I finally did, I reached out, and we started sending letters to each other.”
Hermione's lips curved into a faint, sad smile, her gaze drifting out of focus.
"He was the most wonderful, selfless, and kind-," she took a sharp inhale. "The best person I’ve ever known. I trusted him implicitly and-" Hermione blinked rapidly and squeezed her eyes shut, her cheeks slowly blooming with pink. "And after a while, I started to develop feelings for him."
Harry reached his hand out to her and gently traced his fingers over her trembling arm.
"I didn’t even realize it, until Viktor rightfully pointed out – that he was all I was talking about in my letters. So I ended things with Viktor, not wanting to lead him on. It hurt, but I just couldn’t… Viktor was nothing but caring to me… it wasn’t fair to him," Hermione opened her eyes, and they shone with sorrow. "He didn’t wish to remain friends afterwards."
“She kept writing after that Christmas from what I recall,” Luna told Harry the other day. But now he knew, those letters weren’t for Krum after all.
"Harry, I want to make something very clear," she looked at him, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "We – my friend and I - weren’t involved. Nothing has ever happened. But it seems that for the majority of people, it’s hard to believe you can love someone, truly deeply love someone, without wanting to have sex with this person," Hermione’s gaze softened. "He helped me learn how to love myself for who I am. That alone was enough for me to give him my heart." Her face became determined. "And I cannot undo that. Which turned out to be a dealbreaker for other men. Carrying this baggage was always too much, but whatever I could offer seemed never enough."
Harry gently covered her hand with his, feeling her fingers slowly losing their warmth.
“Is that why you and Justin didn’t work out?” he asked in a hoarse voice, as the latter's determined face in the Ministry lift flashed in his mind yet again.
“Justin was—” Hermione cleared her throat and looked at him defeatedly. “…understanding. Everything was easy with him—we both came from Muggle families, both adored our parents, both felt like outcasts in a way… But when he proposed—” her voice wavered slightly. “The only thing he asked is to not be a number two.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. She let the wet trail stay.
“So even though my feelings aren’t about anything physical, they still managed to screw up all my real relationships,” Hermione released a humourless laugh as another tear followed the same path. “According to my therapist, some may consider it 'emotional cheating.' How is it even possible, when he is—" Hermione choked on her sob, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
Harry moved his hand away from hers and delicately ran his fingers over her trembling shoulder, softly tracing the small freckle. As she leaned closer to him, her breath warmed the skin on his chest.
“I never wanted him for myself. I wished nothing more than for him to meet someone one day who could see him the way I did. Who could make him feel happy and loved and—" Hermione tensed, and Harry brought her even closer to him. She buried her face into his chest before continuing. “Then the war started.”
Harry moved his hand up and down her back in a soothing motion, feeling her hair grazing against his chin as he placed a soft kiss on the crown of her head.
“He told me that it was dangerous for us to see each other, with me being Muggle-born… And that he had to disappear, as many did, but that he had some things to do as well,” Hermione said. “I wanted to go with him. I so badly wanted to help and be close to him… But I was also so scared for my parents. They can’t do magic, and there were no other wizards around us to aid, no friends from the Magical world to protect us. Their lives depended on me. I had to make a choice—” her voice became low and pleading.
Harry rested his cheek against her bushy mane, his fingers threading through the locks as hers gripped onto his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.
“I chose my parents,” Hermione finally managed between sharp exhales. "I- I wasn’t courageous enough to convince them to leave for Australia without me. I wasn’t bold enough to seek him out and fight beside him. I wasn’t daring enough to fight for him…"
“What happened?” Harry asked, deep inside already knowing the answer.
Hermione just shook her head, tears falling on his skin. “Every time I close my eyes and try to sleep, I'm there again – the moment of getting the news. And every time, it hurts just like that day - like a part of me died with him.”
Sensing her movement, Harry gently let her go. Hermione moved her head back to the pillow, wiping her tears from her cheeks and attempting to calm herself down. Harry watched her carefully as she shielded her eyes with her hands, taking deep breaths and silently mouthing words. After a brief pause, Hermione released a heavy sigh, running her hands down her face before gazing up at the ceiling.
“I should’ve known he wouldn’t go into hiding. He was so stupidly brave,” Hermione released a half-laugh, half-sob, and turned to look at Harry. “It seems that Gryffindors always find a way to make my heart ache,” she whispered.
Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he drew closer to her, taking her face in his hands and brushing away the remaining tears with his thumbs. He pressed their heads together as Hermione continued releasing shallow breaths and whimpers.
Eventually, Harry felt her cold fingers trailing along the side of his face as she drew even closer and gently touched her lips to his, a few quiet whimpers escaping when they briefly parted. Then, she leaned into him with all her being, her breathing quickly becoming heavier, her hands clinging to his skin, her lips taking charge as they fervently claimed his without giving him even an opportunity to reciprocate.
All of a sudden, she was all over him, moving with an urgency he wasn’t quite prepared for. Her lips pressed into his with surprising force, her arms moving frenetically: roaming, grasping, almost painfully clinging. He didn’t even have a chance to utter a word; she was already straddling him, reaching for him, icy-cold fingers wrapping around, and this is what finally snapped him out of it.
“Her- Hermione,” Harry managed when her mouth briefly shifted to his neck, but she pressed her lips back into his, as if trying to silence him. “Hermione, wait-“ he tried again when she began to nibble on his ear.
“Please,” she breathed out, urgently peppering kisses along his cheek, shoulder, and chest. “Please, please, I need it…” Her fingers squeezed him, and Harry pushed her hand away before grabbing her by the shoulders.
“Hermione, stop!” He exclaimed, pushing her off him just slightly and gazing into her eyes with worry. She was breathing heavily, her face flushed, but her eyes were swelling with tears, which slowly ran down her cheeks. The same vulnerable expression he had seen in the reflection of the Quidditch shop was now fully visible before him. Hermione released a sob before breaking down with a strangled cry, her limbs falling defeatedly to her sides.
Harry gently pulled her down to his chest, her face immediately nestling into him. Hot tears warmed the cold feeling of her fingers on his skin. The mixture of loud sobs and gasps for air echoed against the walls, as her small frame shook against him. Harry cradled her gently, his hands soothingly running over her back, his lips brushing the top of her hair, as something sharp painfully clenched in his chest.
They stayed like that until her tears ran out and her lungs gave out. Harry kept gently rubbing her back, his mind going to his own gut-wrenching nights when he wished for nothing more than to lie under the snow beside the person who deserved to live the most.
“Don’t go,” she whispered in a trembling voice.
He could feel her steady heartbeat against his own, almost physically sensing how shattered pieces were slowly clicking back into place. It would take time and more nights like this for them to become whole again. As one wise person told him once: “You are allowed to grieve, no matter how much time has passed.”
“I won’t,” he replied quietly
The dark shadows on the ceiling formed familiar shapes of magical creatures and beings above them, and Harry shifted his head to glance at his wristwatch. The white of the clock face glimmered in the dark, the hour hands merged at the very top of it, and a sharp stab pierced his lungs.
Friday had arrived.
