Full Circle

Epilogue

Upon that misty night
In secrecy beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
Than that which burned so deeply in my heart
That fire 'twas led me on
And shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where he waited still
It was a place where no one else could come

Oh night, thou was my guide
Oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover to the beloved one
Transforming each of them into the other

--Loreena McKennitt, "The Dark Night of the Soul"

The house her parents had lived in their entire married lives felt like a stranger's without them in it, Hermione thought. It was so strange to stand in the familiar surroundings of her childhood, with the memories of her parents, and know that she would never make new ones with them again. The house was as neat and orderly as she remembered it; her mother had always taken pride in their home and made sure there was a place for everything. She walked through each room as if expecting to see her father working in the study or her mother reading in the comfortable chair under the window. Ron and Harry followed her quietly. She wanted to tell them not to, that she didn't need them to watch her, but the thought of being in the house alone was unsettling.

"What's this?" Harry asked, running his hand along the wood trim on the doorway that led from the living room to the kitchen.

Hermione knew without looking what he was referring to - the marks on the edge of the trim that her parents had made each year on her birthday to mark her height. Once she'd received her Hogwarts letter, they'd shifted the tradition to earlier in the summer, but the marks were still there - eighteen tiny, numbered notches along the wall to mark the years, the distance between them growing smaller as the marks moved higher. She could almost remember the feel of the way her father would put his hand on the top of her head to measure evenly as she leaned back against the doorway.

"My parents used to mark my height each summer," Hermione said. "We didn't do it last year. It seemed silly, I hadn't really grown..." She trailed off, remembering that she hadn't really been around her parents enough to have an opportunity, anyway. Why hadn't she spent time with them when she had a chance?

"Maybe you should do it now then, yeah?" said Ron. He opened a few nearby drawers and rummaged around in them until he found a pencil. Harry put his hands on her shoulders and gently steered her over to the doorway, against the trim. She closed her eyes as Ron laid his hand flat on her head and marked a small line on the wood above it with a tiny scratching sound.

Harry smiled a little. "You're almost the same height you were last year."

"And the year before," said Ron.

Hermione turned to look at the mark Ron had made on the wood, almost right on top of the last one her father had made. Her father would never make any more marks on this doorway, her mother would never pour another cup of tea from the shiny blue kettle on the cooker, she would never hear them say they were proud of her again. Everything had gone by in such a whirl since her parents had gone missing, and it was only now really hitting her, slamming her emotions like a hurricane.

Her eyes watered and she swallowed a sob, turning away from the doorway and putting her face in her hands. She couldn't cry now, not when there were arrangements to make, relatives to contact, accounts to settle, the Magical-Muggle Legal Affairs Office to deal with - she had to stay clear-minded enough to handle it all. But she wasn't listening to herself, apparently. Everything she'd bottled up over the last few days came back to her in a rush, and she burst into tears in the middle of her mother's gleaming kitchen.

Ron reached her first, folding her in his arms and holding her tightly. "Shh," he said softly, petting her hair. She wound her arms around his neck and let her tears soak his robes as Harry embraced her from behind, circling his arms around her until she was enveloped between them. She didn't make any attempt to push them away, but let them hold her as she mourned her parents, the loss of her childhood, and her last real ties to the Muggle world.

*****

There was a ceremony, of course. Harry hadn't wanted it; he would have been perfectly happy to never discuss the events of Voldemort's demise ever again. He wanted to move past it as quickly as possible, thanks to the realisations he'd come to when he'd talked to Sirius. But the day he told the Ministry that he didn't want the Order of Merlin, First Class, there had nearly been a riot in Diagon Alley until Harry gave a hasty statement to the effect that he'd be honoured to accept it.

So there was a ceremony, there were interviews, and there were funerals. And when those things were over and Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to Harry's little house in Hogsmeade, they tried to pick up where they had left off with the parts of their life that weren't devoted to fighting, because those were the parts that would make them feel human again. Hermione put Ron back on his exercise regimen, and gave Harry exercises to do for his shoulder, because it hadn't set properly and it still hurt him at night or when he overused it. Harry beat Ron at chess for the first time ever, but Ron didn't tell him it was because he let him. Ron packed away his Tarot cards and told the Ministry he didn't know if he was coming back. Harry resigned from Auror training and taught Hermione to fly. Ron built Hermione a shelf for her books in the third bedroom, though she only really used the room to store her clothes.

Ron and Hermione spent nearly every night in Harry's room, though none of them could work up the nerve to do much more than sleep there. Hermione would kiss Ron good night and Harry would be reminded of how he walked in on them kissing at the Burrow, and he would get a knot in his stomach and turn and look at the wall before Hermione could kiss him as well. Harry would roll over in the middle of the night and his arm would drape over Ron's hip, and Hermione would see it and remember how she felt when she came home and found that Ron and Harry had become more than friends, and she would feel the urge to get up and go and sleep in the third bedroom. Hermione would curl up against Harry in a certain way, tucking herself into the crook of his arm, and Ron would be reminded of how they looked when he came back to Hogwarts and saw them in bed together, and he wouldn't sleep for the rest of the night and be grumpy all the next day.

They were slipping away from each other like the tiny grains of sand in the hourglass of a Time-Turner. There were too many memories lingering around them there, picking at their wounds and not allowing them to heal.

They all knew it, but Harry was the only one to act on it. He went out for an afternoon and came home with his pockets stuffed full of colourful brochures, dumping them in the middle of the table that night as they ate dinner.

"Let's go somewhere," he said. "You choose."

Ron and Hermione pored over the glossy, animated pictures of tiny people climbing mountains, skiing, swimming, sailing, snorkelling, camping, and all sorts of things none of them had done before. They wondered if this was what normal people did - did they travel and relax and enjoy themselves instead of worrying about what might be lurking around the corner?

"Somewhere warm," Ron said.

"Somewhere quiet," Hermione said.

"Somewhere with lots of people who don't know us," Harry said.

Hermione finally chose somewhere with an unpronounceable name and lots of white sand. Harry bought a Portkey, and four weeks after the Grangers' funeral, they left Hogsmeade for the Middle of Nowhere (which was what Ron called it when he gave up trying to pronounce it). It was the kind of place that could make a person think they had literally stepped into a travel brochure. There were small cottages scattered along a quiet beach, with everything imaginable to do whenever one wanted, all that was necessary was to ask.

It was the perfect place to go to forget about things that were best left unremembered, and that was exactly what they intended to do.

*****

Harry stood at the window of the beach cottage, looking out at the ocean. Now that they were there, Harry felt as if he ought to be able to relax immediately and enjoy it, but he couldn't. Ron and Hermione were busy looking through the list of activities offered at the resort, but Harry couldn't muster up any interest and had wandered away from where they were sitting to stare at the window.

Maybe this hadn't been the best thing for them to do. Maybe it would have been better for them to have stayed in Britain and try to start acting like 'normal' wizards and witches again with the people they already knew. Then again, maybe it was a good thing that they'd decided to get away for a while. Harry thought about the witch at the check-in and how she hadn't looked up at his scar even once. It might have been because the name 'Harry Potter' had no meaning for her, and it might have been because his scar was beginning to fade. While he finally had the anonymity he craved, he wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Harry?" said Ron from behind him.

Harry didn't turn around, but kept looking out at the ocean. "Yeah?"

"You all right?"

"Yeah, Ron, I'm fine." He wasn't fine, not really, but he couldn't really explain what was nagging at him.

Hermione's small hand slipped into his; he hadn't heard her come in, and he startled a bit. "We don't really have to do anything right now if you don't want to," she said.

"We don't have to do any of that stuff, really," added Ron. "We were just thinking that you might be bored and want things to do."

"I'm not bored." He wasn't bored, but he wasn't sure what he was, exactly.

"Harry." Hermione squeezed his fingers, bringing her free hand up to cup his cheek. "You haven't really said much, lately. Are you sure you're all right?"

He tilted his head into her touch, feeling more than a little mixed-up. "I'm fine. Just... maybe this wasn't the best thing for us to do? It feels like... you know... running away or something."

Ron slipped his arms around Harry's waist, and Harry felt himself leaning back against him in spite of himself. "It's not running away, mate," Ron said. "I don't know what it is, but I know what it's not."

Harry sighed softly, and was about to try to explain what he meant, but Hermione rose up on her toes and kissed him. She wore a light summer dress, and he could feel every curve of her body through it as she pressed against him. He'd kissed her surprisingly few times over the last few weeks, and in a way it was like kissing her for the first time all over again, except that Ron was behind him, and his arms had moved from around Harry's waist to encircle them both. Hermione's kiss was soft and reassuring. It asked nothing of him except what he wanted to give, and just then, he felt closer to them both than he had in a long time.

He felt Ron's breath on the back of his neck, and he wanted to turn and kiss him but that would mean letting go of Hermione and he didn't want to do that just yet. He couldn't quite believe they'd made it this far; ever since the confrontation with Voldemort, they had been skittish around each other when things got close like this. And he was just a little bit afraid that if they stopped, even for a moment, that one of them would lose their nerve and the moment would be gone. But Hermione pulled gently away from Harry just enough to tip Harry's face toward Ron, and Harry didn't argue.

"Oh," Hermione breathed, when Harry's lips met Ron's, and he wanted to see what sort of expression she wore when she made that sound, but he was too engrossed in the feel of Ron's mouth on his that he forgot about looking for a moment. Kissing Ron was different than kissing Hermione in a way Harry couldn't articulate; yes, his mouth was larger and his lips were rougher but it was more than that, and if he'd had to choose between them he wouldn't have been able to.

"Is this okay?" she asked. Her hands moved up his sides as he turned a little more towards Ron, and he made a small mmm noise in his throat to let her know it was all right, but it was swallowed up in Ron's mouth, the vibration of it making his lips tingle. Hermione pressed against them both, then, and Harry wasn't sure when Ron stopped kissing him and started kissing Hermione but he didn't mind at all because the hungry way Ron kissed her was breathtaking to see and somehow just as good as being kissed by either of them. Ron had been so tentative with Hermione whenever Harry was around, and Harry was very much enjoying Ron's reaction to her just now, as if Ron finally realised it was okay for him to want both of them.

Harry slipped behind Hermione as she kissed Ron, pulling the tie at the back of her dress free and letting it fall. There was a zip there too, and he reached up to where it began, just at the back of her neck, and deliberately let his fingers trace the skin along the top of her dress. Hermione made a soft little sound and did something that made Ron groan and clutch at handfuls of the fabric. Harry liked that very much. He did it again, more slowly this time, and didn't stop until Hermione shivered and squirmed and tried to pull away; but Ron held her still and there wasn't much room for her to move. Harry grasped the zip tab and pulled it down slowly. The skin of Hermione's back was soft-looking and smooth, and he couldn't resist dipping his head down to press a kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Nice," Ron said softly, moving his hands around to grasp the open back of Hermione's dress and push it down off her shoulders and to the floor, leaving her in her knickers and bra. There was an expression on Ron's face as he looked at Hermione that Harry couldn't stop watching, almost like wonder, with a tiny little crease between his eyes as if he couldn't quite believe it was happening. Ron glanced over Hermione's shoulder for a moment, catching his eye, almost as if he was asking permission; which was a bit mad in a way because Hermione didn't belong to either of them and yet she did, just like they belonged to each other. Harry understood though. He reached up to touch Ron's cheek and then kissed him, hoping they weren't squashing Hermione between them, though she didn't seem to mind.

Ron disappeared from Harry's sight then, moving lower down Hermione's body, and he did something that made Hermione lean back against Harry and let out a soft little moan. He slipped his hands down to Hermione's hips, catching his fingers in her knickers just as Ron did, and they tangled their fingers together for a moment there before Ron pulled the scrap of fabric down. Hermione's skin was warm and silky under Harry's fingers, irresistible to touch, and he let his hands roam over the slope of her belly, the dip of her waist, and the swell of her breasts as Ron did things to her with his mouth that made her writhe between them. He thought he ought to be jealous that she was making the sorts of sounds she made with him when they were together, but he wasn't; when he kissed Hermione's shoulder and looked down to see how intensely Ron was focused on her, making her cry out and go limp in his arms for a moment, it only made him want them both more.

"All right, Hermione?" Ron asked, grinning and getting to his feet again.

Hermione nodded, still breathless and flushed with excitement, and Harry thought it was the most beautiful he'd seen her. She caught the hand Harry had at her waist, reaching for Ron with the other, and pulled them along, backing towards the closest bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took the hands she held and pressed them together, making her meaning fairly obvious without having to say anything.

A small flush of embarrassment seemed to come over Ron then, when Harry reached for the fastenings of Ron's trousers; possibly because Hermione was watching them intently, possibly because it was the first time they'd really touched each other like this since Hermione returned. In either case, it didn't last long. By the time Harry had dispatched Ron's shirt and loosened his trousers, Ron was working at Harry's clothes with equal enthusiasm. Hermione slid over to the other side of the bed, stretching out to give them some room, and she looked perfectly content to watch for a bit.

It was very different between them now, and not only because Hermione was watching; Harry wasn't drunk or out of his mind with pain, and Ron didn't have as many reasons to be as insecure as he did before, so it almost felt like they weren't the same people, somehow. For a bit Harry was content to just kiss Ron, though being fully skin-to-skin with him as he hadn't been before almost made it difficult to hold back, and it sent warm tendrils of pleasure throughout his body as fingers and tongues explored where they hadn't dared before.

Ron didn't flinch away when Harry dared to do more than kiss him this time. Harry wrapped his hand around him, stroking slowly, revelling in the way Ron responded to him almost impatiently. He'd wanted to do this for a while now, and Ron was letting him, and that felt good. It felt almost as good as the feel of Ron's hand on him, warm and strong and Harry had to resist the temptation to let himself go right away. There wasn't any reason they had to hurry, they had all the time in the world - there was no need to do anything except enjoy the feel of each other. It was imminent, though, and he didn't want it over so soon; he shifted just enough to be free of Ron's grasp while still stroking him slowly, both of them lying comfortably on their sides.

It seemed that Ron was not so easily deterred; his hand slid over Harry's hip and lingered there for a moment before sliding around and moving a bit lower. Harry wasn't expecting the small thrill that raced up his spine when Ron's fingers brushed against him just so, and he arched back into Ron's touch. He thought for a moment that that really shouldn't feel as good as it did, but when Ron did it again, circling slowly, he couldn't help but groan. Ron stammered for a moment, pressing his face against Harry's shoulder for a moment before whispering, "I want - "

Harry felt Ron's face grow hot, and his own face did as well as he realised what it was that Ron wanted, though he couldn't outright say it, and that he wanted it as well. He kissed Ron, long and slow, and then rolled over onto his stomach, cool air chilling his back for a moment before he felt Ron curl up against him. Ron's body nestled against his and his cheek pressed against Harry's, and Harry could feel his arms trembling a little bit, from holding his weight or nervousness or both, he couldn't tell. So he let Ron hold him for a moment before Hermione slid across the bed, kneeling beside them.

"Can I?" she said tentatively. Ron slid off Harry a little, not all the way but enough for Hermione to slip her hand between them. He could feel her hand brush against Ron before she moved lower, lightly, slightly slippery and warm and oh - he hadn't expected her to do that, but she did, and he pressed his face into the quilt and his body against her hand.

They were all so close, tangled together; Hermione being slow, and patient, and he wasn't sure what she was doing but it made him shiver and ache to rub himself against the pillows and quilt and Ron, next to him, sucking at a sensitive spot on his neck, his large hand resting firmly on Harry's hip, keeping him from moving very much other than to push his thighs farther apart and moan into the fabric under him. And then Hermione moved her hand away, and Ron took her place, trembling and careful and it hurt, but he didn't care, because he wanted it, and he rocked back against Ron as much as he dared. He could feel Ron's breath on his neck, as tender as a kiss, and Hermione's hands in his hair and her lips on his cheek and he'd never felt so loved in his life, and he didn't think he ever could, not even if they said it out loud. Ron's whole body tensed and shuddered and he moaned low in his throat, cut off by Hermione kissing him - Harry could just see them over his shoulder when he turned - then Ron pulled back just enough to slip his hand beneath Harry to touch him once, twice, and the release of pent-up tension swept over Harry like a wave, and Hermione was kissing him too, then, and he didn't think it could get more perfect than this.

Harry wanted to say something really profound and meaningful; rather, he thought he ought to, but he didn't manage more than a contented sigh. It felt so good to be content, and happy, and worried about nothing at all, that he wasn't sure what to do with it. But tucked in between Ron and Hermione like he was, sated and happy, he didn't have long to ponder it before he was fast asleep.

*****

It was a holiday they'd needed for a long time. Harry slept a lot, and Ron swam a lot, and Hermione read a lot; but there were also long walks on the beach, dinners at restaurants with items on the menu that Harry and Ron couldn't pronounce but Hermione gladly translated, and days where they never set foot outside their cottage. Ron became even more freckly from spending time in the sun, Hermione very brown; Harry got a sunburn the third day. The best part was that no one expected anything from them, and Harry liked it that way.

Three weeks later, an owl came for Harry, bearing a thick, creamy envelope embossed with the Hogwarts crest and addressed in green ink.

Harry Potter
The Veranda
Third Yellow Cottage on the Beach
The Middle of Nowhere (Unpronounceable)

Harry was very surprised to see it, but he took it anyway, giving the owl a treat and a dish of water and letting it perch on the veranda railing for a rest while he read.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

18 July, 1999

Dear Mr Potter,

I apologise for intruding upon your holiday with such a mundane matter as this, but due to the time-sensitive nature of the subject, I could not wait until you had returned to Britain to contact you.

As you are well aware, it is always a challenge to find dedicated, dependable people to fill the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts. While you personally have defeated the most serious threat to the wizarding world, there will always be others willing to take his place, and so this position remains as crucial as ever. We must always maintain an eye to the future.

I am sure that right now you wish for nothing more to be left alone to enjoy your holiday, as would be your right. However, I am faced with a vacancy in the Dark Arts position, and I can think of no one more qualified to instruct future generations of students than you.

Please do not feel that you are under any obligation to accept this offer; however, I hope that you consider it well before making a decision. Enclosed is a summary of the salary and benefits pertaining to the position for your information. If you choose to accept, you would begin employment effective 1 September of this year.

I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor? Harry sat down on the nearest chair, rereading the letter several times. Though he'd resigned from the Auror training programme, he didn't have a thought as to what he would do instead. It hadn't seemed to matter at the time, but now....

"Ron? Hermione?" he called, going back into the cottage. Hermione lay on the sofa, reading; she looked up as Harry came in. Ron appeared from the bedroom a moment later, clad only in a towel and using another to dry his hair.

"What is it, mate?" he asked, inadvertently splattering water on Hermione's book.

She jumped up, blotting the offending water off the pages before the ink smeared. "Ron!" she shrieked, thwapping him on the arm.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It's just that Harry made it sound kind of urgent, so I came out in a hurry."

Harry thrust the letter at them before they could start bickering, and they read it silently. When they were done, Hermione looked up at Harry with round eyes.

"Oh, Harry, this is a wonderful idea!" she said happily, clapping her hands together. It reminded Harry of her old fervour over S.P.E.W. "You, as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor! It's like the DA, only official, and you've loads more experience now - you'd be so good at it!"

Ron nodded slowly, still looking at the letter. "Yeah, he'd be good at it, all right." Then he looked up at Harry. "The only question, really, is if you'd be happy at it. Would you?"

He thought about it for a long moment, and then nodded, feeling a smile creep across his face. Hogwarts had always really been his home, after all. "Yeah, Ron. I think I would."

"Well then," said Ron, "I think it's time to go home, don't you?"

And so they did.