Grey Haven

Hermione rose from the table and began clearing away the supper dishes. Ron watched silently as sadness speared through his heart. To see a witch of her abilities, of her raw power, spurning magic even for such a tedious task as plates and cups...it was inconceivable.

Especially when he still had no idea why she'd shunned it in the first place. He assumed it was because magic reminded her of Harry. But he'd never asked and she'd never volunteered the information. All he knew for certain was that she'd left the wizarding world behind her, choosing to work in a Muggle bookshop and live as a Muggle herself. It was the whys of it that no one knew.

In deference to her wishes, Ron kept his wand in the inside pocket of his robes and began scraping the leftovers onto one of the plates.

"Minerva owled this morning," she said from across the room where she was running hot water into one side of the two compartment sink. "She's still trying to get me to come back into..." Hermione paused, cleared her throat, and then continued, "back into your world."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," Ron said, internally hoping that their former teacher was having more luck than he was. "We miss you, Hermione. All of us. It's been a year..."

"Yes, Ron," Hermione stopped placing dishes in the soapy water and turned to face him. "Precisely one year ago. Today." She glanced at the clock over the oven. "In four hours it will be a year exactly since...since..."

"Since we lost him," Ron finished, watching the tears well in her eyes. These were strange tears, the ones she shed when finally breaking down enough to talk about Harry. They'd grown up together, through the angst of their teens, so he'd seen her cry any number of times. But never like this. Never like when she cried about Harry. These tears were bitter, silent and always fell unchecked down her cheeks. She didn't cry them out, per se. It was more like...

It was more like the Muggle steam engine his father had shown him a few years before. The way the pressure would build and build until you had to release some of the steam to keep the whole works from exploding. Her Harry tears were just like that. Her way of releasing some of the grief without breaking down entirely.

To this day, Ron remained afraid of just what would happen when she finally did break down. He had a feeling it would be just a hair less frightening than when Dad had gotten sidetracked and had forgotten about that engine. The engine they were still finding bits of in the orchard.

Hermione remained mute as the tears coursed down her cheeks. She simply looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face. Ron was about to question her about it when she shook her head and rubbed both hands over her face. When she dropped them, her face had cleared.

"I just finished this book," Hermione said, turning towards the dishes again. "Dreadfully long, but it was all about wizards and men and elves, though these elves were beautiful and free, and funny small people called hobbits. It's all about the journey of this one hobbit, one that threatens his life every moment he's on it."

Ron said nothing, knowing the parallel she was drawing. He simply nodded and let her carry on.

"At the end, when he's reached his journey's end and done what he needed to do, he returns to his small village and everything seems to have returned to normal. On the surface, at any rate. But it hasn't. Not for him. On the anniversary of his greatest triumph lies the remembrance of what he has lost, what became precious to him and is now gone forever. And..." Hermione's voice faltered again, "and he feels that pain, the pain of his loss, every year.

"I...I can't help but feel exactly the same as Frodo, Ron. I feel the loss today as dearly as I felt it three hundred and sixty five days ago. It's like someone's stuck their hand in me and is still twisting my heart. It's like I'm losing him all over again. And I don't see it getting any easier. I'm afraid that every year, I'll feel it all over again. Just like I'm feeling it now."

"I know, Hermione," Ron crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I feel it, too. He was the best mate I ever, or will ever, have. Save you."

"But you..." she began, pulling away slightly to lean back and meet his eyes, "you got to say goodbye, Ron. You got to... I never got to..."

He knew what came next. He was fairly sure it was the reason Hermione was having such a hard time letting go. She hadn't been able to say goodbye. She'd been at Hogwarts, going over some charms she'd been working on for the Ministry. Harry had received word of Voldemort's hiding place and had taken off in great haste, anxious to have the thing done and over with after five years of living under the burden of Trelawney's prophesy.

And that had been the last the wizarding world had seen of Harry Potter.

Hermione, Ron knew, had chosen to take the prophesy literally, never quite believing that Harry could die from the confrontation. She'd chosen to believe that Voldemort's death would mean that Harry would survive. Never once had she thought that Harry wouldn't...that he wouldn't come back to them.

Her beliefs, however, hadn't seemed to matter to the powers that be. Or not entirely. Harry had survived, yes. But only briefly. From what the Aurors had said, they'd lost Harry mere moments after Voldemort fell.

Hermione had finally broken down enough to tell him of her regrets about a month after that horrid day. The day they'd learned that Voldemort had been defeated and Harry Potter had succumbed in the fight. He knew she'd been about to say something else, that there was something else under those regrets. But she had backed off, and, as far as he knew, had never spoken of any of it again.

Even now, it was like pulling up Mandrakes to get her to say Harry's name.

Ron placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her back into his embrace, waiting for the storm of tears to start soaking his shirtfront. They never came. Hermione remained broomstick stiff in his arms, his shirtfront dry as the Sahara.

"Hermione?" Ron prodded, squeezing his arms tighter around her.

"I'm fine, Ron," she answered, pulling out of his embrace rapidly. In fact, she stepped back so suddenly she nearly fell over. Her face had the same dazed expression as moments before. Delayed shock, he was sure. She hadn't been coping well this past year. She'd left the wizarding world entirely, not using magic to so much as heat water for tea. As far as he knew, he and Minerva were the only witch and wizard she remained in contact with.

And if she slept more than an hour or two every night, he'd sell his Firebolt, leave the Cannons and drive the Knight Bus for a living.

"Hermione?" he asked again as she resumed clearing plates from the table.

"I'm fine, Ron," she repeated again. "Listen, thanks for coming over to dinner, but I'm sure Mariah is waiting for you at home."

Ron got the don't-crack-your-head-on-the-fireplace-as-you-Floo-out message loud and clear. Figuring she wanted to fall apart in private, to mourn Harry alone, Ron walked over and placed a kiss to the top of her head. "Yes, I'm sure she is." He turned to her again, a bit disconcerted at the fire in her eyes. Something was up; something not altogether good by the look of her.

But ten years of friendship with this witch had taught him well. If Hermione didn't want to talk about it, no amount of prodding would help. Best to leave her to it, whatever it was, and just be there when she was ready.

"Tell her I'll be in touch later in the week," Hermione said stiffly, turning her back to him once again.

"I'll do that." Ron walked to the doorway, took one last look at his best friend's back, and Disapparated without another word.

Hermione counted to ten before risking a glance over her shoulder. Once assured that Ron had gone, she left the dishes to soak and tore upstairs like there was a Blast-Ended Skrewt on her heels. She reached her bedroom closet in mere seconds and nearly ripped the closet door off its hinges in her haste. Neatly stacked storage boxes began to fly out as she searched for the one box she'd buried in the back.

Her hands were shaking, whether from exertion or trepidation, she didn't know. Or care. She sat cross-legged in the now ransacked closet and pried the lid off of the box. Pushing aside her wand, her NEWT results, and one set of black robes, Hermione reached toward the bottom and pulled out a jumper. A red and gold jumper. Harry's Quidditch jumper, nicked from the victory party after Gryffindor had won the cup in their last year. The jumper she'd worn around the house all the time until... Hermione shook that thought away and focused on what she'd come up here to do. Heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest, Hermione raised it to her face...and inhaled deeply.

"I knew it," she said, her voice as hard as steel.

Without a thought to all she'd given up, Hermione grabbed the wand from the box, concentrated hard, and with a rather large crack, Disapparated.

She arrived seconds later, in the middle of a sitting room, and found him lounging in a chair with a book and a brandy. He goggled at the sight of her and spilt most of the brandy down the front of his shirt.

"Hermione?" Remus Lupin asked, using his wand to remove the liquid before standing to greet her. He was all smiles. It made Hermione want to hex him into the next century. "This is a lovely surprise! Does this mean you've decided to...?"

"Shut it, Remus," Hermione said, cutting him off with one raised hand. "I want to know where he is, and I want to know now. He'd have told you. If what I suspect is true, he'd have told you."

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Lupin asked, his eyes glancing around the room. "Or, should I ask who?"

"I'm talking about Harry, Remus. He was in my flat tonight, I'm certain of it."

Remus looked startled at first, but the shock turned to understanding a moment later. He walked towards her, took her hands and pulled her onto the sofa by the fire. "And what makes you so certain?" he asked, sliding easily into his old role of teacher.

"I smelled him."

"You...er...pardon?"

"I smelled him. Ron was over, came to dinner to try and keep my mind off what today was. As we were clearing the dishes, I caught a scent, something I hadn't smelled in over a year. It was him, Remus. I know it. There's no other smell like that in the world, wizard or Muggle. It's just...just...Harry. Then a bit later, it came to me again, just when I was about to fall apart. It was like he was right behind me. I could almost feel the heat of him. I came out of Ron's arms quickly, fully expecting to stumble into him. But he wasn't there anymore. He wasn't there. But he's somewhere, Remus. And you're going to tell me where."

Remus merely stared at her. She knew what she was saying made her sound utterly mad, but she didn't care. Right now, all she cared about were answers. Answers she wasn't going to leave here without. Remus glanced over her shoulder, trying to gather his thoughts, and then looked her dead in the eye. "And you don't think it was a ghost?"

"Ghosts are corporeal," she said, having already considered, and discarded, this notion. "And I know enough to know that just because I didn't see him, doesn't mean he wasn't there. His invisibility cloak was destroyed seventh year, so he's either gotten another or there's some other magic going on. There's got to be..."

"Hermione, let me ask you something," Remus said, once again focusing on a point somewhere over her shoulder, then shaking his head. "Have you ever believed that Harry died?"

"No," she answered simply.

"Why?"

"There wasn't a body, Remus. And no one ever said that he'd died, just that he'd been lost. And..."

"And, what?" Remus prompted.

"And I never felt it," she brought a hand to her heart, "here. I never felt that he was gone. I thought, no, I knew...that if he was dead, I'd feel it." Her shoulders sagged as the vehemence left her. One of these days, these mad impulses would leave her be. They had to...because unlike Frodo, there was no Grey Haven for her. She couldn't escape into the West to leave her misery behind.

She would have to learn to accept that Harry was gone, no matter how difficult that was proving to be.

"Hermione..." Remus began, but she didn't hear him.

"I know it's only wishful thinking, Remus. I go through this about once a month. Thinking he's there, watching me. On the Underground, sitting at cafes, but tonight, it was just so intense, so overpowering..." she paused and took a deep breath, expelling it on a ragged sigh. "I just can't accept that he's gone. I thought today, that after a year, I'd be over this. I suppose I was just clinging to the hope that I was right. And tonight...tonight it was just so strong. I felt like if I just reached towards the right spot, I could touch him again.

"It's the reason I left the wizarding world. I couldn't stand to have people tell me how sorry they were that Harry was dead. I was afraid that my disbelief would show on my face and I'd be looked at as...as...well, as precisely what I am. A pathetic witch mired in denial."

"Hermione..." Remus tried again.

Hermione extricated her hands from Remus' and stood. "I'm terribly sorry to have interrupted your evening. I'll just go..."

"Hermione!" Remus spoke loudly this time, grabbing her shoulders to get her full attention.

"What?"

"Turn around. Harry is right behind you."

Hermione stared into Remus' eyes. A mixture of disbelief, bewilderment and shock dancing through her. Very slowly, she turned. Her feet first, body following, eyes going last.

And there he was.

He stood by the fire, looking ashamed. He looked much thinner than was healthy.

But he looked wonderfully, gloriously alive.

Seconds later, she was in his arms. Crying and laughing at the same time. His arms were tight around her, hands soft when they came up to frame her face. His lips were utter perfection as they found hers.

From somewhere far, far away she heard a throat clearing. She ignored it. He ignored it.

Remus left the room, whistling to himself. Grateful that his godforsaken role as Secret Keeper was over.

It seemed a very long time before they pulled apart. Hermione tilted her head back and stared into the green eyes she had so longed to see again. The green eyes that had haunted her. The green eyes that...

Rage overcame joy in the blink of an eye. Adrenaline of a different sort filled her and she stepped out of Harry's arms to slap him full across the face.

"How could you do this to me, Harry? How could you make me think...?"

"Hermione," Harry said, his hand rubbing the red spot on his cheek. "Please, try and understand..."

"Understand?" she all but screamed. "What do I have to understand? That you couldn't let me know, let anyone know, that you were alive? That you're a selfish bastard? That through some sense of twisted logic you decided..."

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, dropping onto the sofa she'd shared with Remus moments before, head buried in his hands. When he straightened up, the anguish in his eyes staggered her and made her anger cool a few degrees. "I suppose that's exactly what I'm asking you to understand."

"I don't know if I can, Harry," she admitted, choosing the chair Remus had vacated. Far enough away from him so that she wouldn't be tempted to follow that slap with a knee to the groin.

"Can I at least explain it? Why I did what I did?" Almost as if he was afraid the answer would be "no", Harry started talking.

"No one really lied to you, Hermione. Like you just told Remus, no one ever said that I'd died. Just that I'd been lost. And that's still the best word to describe it. Lost. When they found me, from what I've been told, they did think I was dead. Kinglsey had already left the scene, and the word was out that I'd died. But then Tonks found a pulse and they Apparated me straight to St. Mungo's. Dumbledore decided not to inform anyone that I was really alive until they were sure I'd stay that way.

"I didn't remember the battle, Hermione. I still don't remember much of the month after it. My first clear memory is of a healer at Mungo's. She didn't know I was awake, that I could hear her. She was talking to me, though. Told me that when everyone found out that I wasn't dead, that I'd lived, the celebration in the wizarding world would be unprecedented."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through already disheveled hair. "And at that moment, Hermione, I didn't want to wake up. Ever. I wanted to stay away. I hated every moment of the whole Boy Who Lived thing. You know that. I couldn't even picture what the Man Who Defeated Voldemort would be like. Didn't want to. So I remained where I was; I didn't let anyone know I was conscious. I don't think I fooled anyone, not really, but they let me be. Then Dumbledore came, with Remus, and they brought me here. And I told them that I wanted to stay lost. They fought me, but in the end, they agreed to honor my wishes. Memories were modified all over St. Mungo's, then Dumbledore performed the Fidelius Charm and Remus became my Secret Keeper."

"Harry..." Hermione said, her heart breaking with every word he spoke. "I can understand your wanting to avoid the fame that would come after what you'd done. Merlin knows I watched you fight against that nearly all your life. But how could you...how could you..." She took a deep breath and expelled it with enough force to extinguish a forest fire. "I thought I was your...your...friend."

"You were...are. My greatest friend. And I never lost touch with you. You were right with what you said to Remus. I have been watching you, and I was at your flat tonight. I was going to..."

"Going to what?" Hermione said, rising from the chair and beginning to pace. Anger was rising within her again. Her hands were clenched and her voice shook with it. "Going to continue making me think I was mad? That I was the weakest person on the planet because I was so desperate to hold on to you..." Hermione had to stop, clear the emotion from her throat and take several deep breaths before she could continue.

"I've been half positive that I was losing my mind, Harry. Because I knew you were there. In my heart, I knew you were there. But my mind wouldn't let me believe it. My heart wouldn't accept your death and my brain wouldn't accept that you'd lived. I've spent a bloody year in this paradox, my insides feeling like they'd been ripped to shreds, doubting my sanity. And all because...because..." Hermione heard the tremor in her voice, but did nothing to stop it. "Because you couldn't deal with the fame."

"That's not all, Hermione," Harry sputtered, rising from the couch to go to her. "That's only..."

"Save it, Harry. I'm done."

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione turned her head away from him. She'd heard enough. Heart in tatters, she closed her eyes, felt the tears that had gathered there splash onto her cheeks, and Disapparated right the hell out of his life.

*^*^*^*

An hour later, Hermione's anger was finally spent.

Of course, that meant that her flat was a shambles. Her bedroom alone looked like a small explosion had taken place. Bits of glassware were shattered, books littered the floor, and her clothes were all off their proper hangers and cast here and there around the room.

Chest still heaving with the exertion of expending all of her anger, Hermione fingered the wand lying next to her on the bed. She'd shunned magic entirely as she'd tried to cope with Harry's death. Now that she knew he wasn't dead, she knew it was utterly pointless to continue denying her talents.

She wasn't sure she was ready to reenter the wizarding world, but using magic to clear the mess she'd made seemed a perfect first step back.

The front bell rang just as she was repairing the first smashed figurine, an intricately carved hippogriff Harry had given to her on her eighteenth birthday. Not in the mood for company at all, she ignored it.

Whoever was there, however, wasn't getting the idea. The bell kept ringing.

Based on the way her heart was racing, she had a shrewd idea who it was, so she kept right on with her repairing, trying desperately not to hear the insistent buzzing.

"I'm not leaving, Hermione," Harry called, loud enough for her to hear him through the door and down the hall. "I'll stand here all bloody night, keeping you and your neighbors awake, if necessary, but I'm not leaving. Not until you listen to me."

Enraged, Hermione threw the repaired hippogriff to the ground, shattering it again. She all but ran down the hallway, disengaged the locks and pulled the door open.

"How dare you?" she hissed, grabbing his shirtfront and pulling him into the flat, not keen to have her neighbors overhear this conversation. "You leave me in misery for a bloody year and now I have to listen? Well, sod that, Harry. I've heard enough, thanks. Now you can just nip back to the rock you chose to hide under and let me get on with my life. I've wasted a year on you. I don't intend on giving you another moment."

Harry stared at her for the longest time. She held his gaze. No force on this earth was going to make her back down. The air all but crackled around them as their eyes remained fixed. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to dance. Her heart was pounding in her chest, each beat reminding her Harry's alive, Harry's alive. Lost in the depths of deep green, she was trying desperately to remember that she was livid with him. She was trying to call up the memories of heartache, of madness, of anything other than the desire to fling herself into his arms and let it all just melt away.

Then she breathed in. And she smelled him. And her ire rose again. She would not allow emotion into this. She would let herself be happy that Harry was alive once he was away from here, away from her. But for now, she needed to remember what he'd done.

Some of her thoughts must have transferred to her face. She saw defeat in his eyes. And resignation. His shoulders slowly started to sag under the weight of those emotions. After what felt like an eternity, he blinked.

"So that's that, then," he said, voice low and lost. "Just one last thing before I go. One last...I'm sorry, Hermione."

His lips met hers, devoured hers, in a move she hadn't been expecting. She felt desperation, she felt regret, and then, when his tongue slipped inside her mouth on her gasp of surprise, she felt heaven on earth.

For that frozen moment, Hermione allowed herself to fall into the kiss. Into the living, breathing Harry now wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. The Harry now doing such magical things to her mouth with his.

And then, just as she was wrapping her own arms around him, he pulled away from her.

"No," she said, breathless. Her heart was still pounding like mad in her chest. It took a moment for the fog to lift from her brain. For her to remember that she was angry with him, to remember what he'd done.

For some reason, none of that seemed to matter in the wake of his kiss.

Was she really so shallow that a brief, physical contact could eradicate the year she'd spent in mental misery?

Hermione, a voice whispered in her head. You've spent the last year wishing you could have him back, desperate that you never got to say goodbye, positive that he was alive. Now that your wishes have come into being, are you really going to kick him back out the door without a backward glance?

"Let me go, Hermione," Harry said quietly. Confused, she looked at her own hands, surprised to see them holding his. Tight enough to have her knuckles whiten with the effort to keep him there.

"I can't, Harry," she said, her own voice low and still a bit breathy. "I can't, don't you see? Even after all you've done. After everything I said, I can't let you go. Even when everyone thought you were dead, I couldn't do it."

Their eyes remained locked. Their breathing returned to normal. And when Harry gripped her hands back, she felt her own grasp loosen.

"Will you let me finish my explanation, then?"

"Yes, I will," she said, smiling slightly. "I know I should have done back at Remus'."

"But your temper, once unleashed, is a vicious and dangerous monster. I remember that only too well. You don't let it out often, but when you do, it...well...it rivals mine. That's why I waited an hour before coming here. So tell me," he glanced around the tidy sitting room, "as this room is in order...what's the state of your bedroom at the moment?"

"It's been laid to waste by the monster," she grinned even harder, leading him to a sofa and sitting beside him.

There was a pause while Harry sat there, simply staring at their still-joined hands. His index finger was tracing the back of her hand, idly; almost as if he was afraid she'd pull it away if he stopped.

"What I said earlier was true, Hermione. But it was far from the only reason I've remained...away. Believe me; if it were just the fame of trading in the Boy Who Lived for the, well, whatever they'd end up calling me, I'd have been on your doorstep within moments." He paused, sounding shaken. She squeezed his hands, but he didn't raise his face to hers. "But...I..."

"But, what, Harry?" Not about to stand for him averting his eyes now, Hermione placed a finger under his chin to raise his face to hers. The anguish she saw there would have had her stumbling to the floor if she hadn't already been seated. "What?" she prodded.

"I couldn't face you," he admitted, sighing deeply as he said it. "Not after what I'd done. I told you earlier that I didn't remember the battle when I awoke at St. Mungo's. Over the next month, I began to remember. I've never wished for amnesia more in my life than I did that month." A violent shudder passed through Harry and she found herself desperate to pull him into her arms to stop it. She didn't. She got the feeling that Harry wanted, needed, to get through this alone.

"Once the memories returned to me in full measure, I...I couldn't cope with them. Or I needed to learn how to cope with them. During the...what I did..."

"Harry? Don't..." The misery on his face was so intense, she couldn't bear to make him relive it for her. Perhaps, in future, she'd ask again. For now, she found that she didn't need the details.

"No, Hermione," he shook his head and tightened his grip. "For now, let's say that I performed spells I should be jailed for. And I did so gladly. But it's not that...it's...in the end, I killed him, Hermione. And that's what I couldn't deal with. I couldn't look myself in the mirror, I couldn't face Remus. I'm a murderer, plain and simple. And I didn't feel I had the right to my life after depriving others of theirs."

"Others?" Now she was confused.

"Yes, Hermione. It wasn't just Voldemort that died that night. It was Pettigrew. It was Dolohov. I killed all of them. If it had simply been a matter of a duel to the death, I think I could have coped with that. I think. But it wasn't. I was so angry; I wanted them all dead. Each of them took, or tried to take, someone I loved from me and I wanted them to pay. And I made it happen. And Merlin help me, if they were standing here right now, I'd do it again."

Harry took in another deep breath, pulling his chin from her grasp. "And that's why I stayed away, Hermione. I...I couldn't face you. I just couldn't. Not knowing what's inside of me. Not knowing what I was...am...capable of."

"It was self defense, Harry. You have to know that. If you didn't kill them, they'd have killed you. Even in a Muggle court..."

"Logically, I do know that, Hermione. It's taken months with one of the Aurors that has an understanding of psychology to get me to this point. And then..."

"And then, what?" she prodded.

Harry returned his eyes to hers. "And then I realized that nearly a year had passed. A year in which you, and the rest of the world, believed me dead. I could hardly show up at Quality Quidditch Supplies and ask if they had any updated copies of Flying with the Cannons, now could I?"

"I suppose not," Hermione said, feeling the first real smile in a year tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Although it would have been interesting to see the reaction. So, what were you planning to do?"

"I was planning on coming here, tonight, and knocking on the front door."

"But...you didn't?"

"I was about to, but Ron showed up. I followed him in; I eavesdropped. And I knew the minute you knew I was here."

"How on earth...?" she stammered.

"You looked straight at me, Hermione. For a moment, I thought the charm had failed. But you didn't say anything, so I figured I was imagining things."

"And I figured I was," she said, and just like that, all the anger, every thought of betrayal, leeched from her like poison drawn from a wound. She found forgiveness replacing the darker emotions. Forgiveness, with something else just under the surface. Something she and Harry had danced around for years. Something she was through denying.

Before she could make this revelation known to Harry, though, he stood and walked away from her.

"Harry?" she asked, rising to follow him.

He turned towards her from the front entryway. "You've given me my chance to explain, Hermione. I can't ask anything more of you than that. I know that I've hurt you, and I'm so very sorry that I did. You probably need time to digest it all, to decide... Look, I'm leaving, all right?"

"Like hell you are," Hermione said, catching up to him and grabbing his hand. "I just got you back. If you think you're walking out of that door, Harry James Potter, you'd better think again."

"Hermione, less than an hour ago, you were ready to remove my head from my shoulders...without magic."

"That may be true," Hermione answered, taking his other hand in hers and moving in closer. Behind them, the wall clock chimed the hour. She smiled. "But four hours ago, I thought you were dead. And one year ago, right this very moment, I thought I'd lost you forever."

She raised onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

It was gentle. Very gentle. There was no hurry, no haste, nothing to explain. It just was. Lips slid smoothly over lips, hands reached up to cup faces, to thread through hair. And then a single tongue, Hermione's, probed and was granted access. In that instant, the world exploded. Her world, his world. Their world.

As Hermione explored the inner recesses of Harry's mouth, his hands left her face to fist in her hair. He pulled her head back, broke the kiss and left her mouth to rain light kisses to her chin, her throat, the hollow beneath her ear. He nipped at the lobe, inciting a moan from deep in her throat. Her hands, having fallen to her sides as he explored, reached around him and met at the base of his spine. She grabbed hold of him and pulled him in to her, anxious to feel him...everywhere.

The feel of him should have shocked her, but it didn't. It should have felt alien, awkward. It didn't. It just felt right. Her blood, already heated by Harry's kisses, kicked into higher gear. With every pulse beat, she felt an answering throb. Her very core was screaming an ancient call. It wanted Harry, all of him, and it wanted him now.

Hermione rose up on her toes again. She didn't even try to stop the moan when their bodies fit together so intimately. Her brain seemed to shut down entirely and her legs gave out from under her. Harry's arm snaked around her to keep her upright. His hand rested on the base of her spine and he pulled her even tighter to him. Sensations she didn't fully understand were coursing through her, needs she'd denied having for so long were demanding attention. Now.

She became instantly aware of how many clothes they were wearing. How many completely unnecessary clothes. Her hands left his backside and moved to the hem of his jumper. She slid her hand underneath to feel the warmth of his stomach beneath her fingers, and then pulled the jumper over his head with more fervor than finesse.

Harry stiffened in her arms, pulling his lips from her throat to meet her eyes. His glasses were askew on his face, one stem hanging down past his chin, but she could see his eyes clear enough. The green of them was nearly obscured. His pupils had dilated as his want of her grew. She knew her eyes would look just the same, if less noticeable because they were brown.

"Hermione?" Harry groaned, voice thick and rough.

"Harry," she smiled. She nearly pulled him down the short hallway to her bedroom. Her bed was covered in books and randomly strewn articles of clothing. She cleared it with one swipe of her arm, grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and they tumbled to the bed.

*^*^*^*

They returned to earth slowly, hands sliding over sweat soaked skin. Harry eased himself off to the side and curled her into the curve of his body. She could feel his racing heart against her back and felt the answering pulse beat within her. He pressed small kisses into the nape of her neck, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her belly.

"I hurt you," he said, his voice a whisper in the dark.

"No, Harry," she replied, turning in his arms to face him. A stray moonbeam filtered in from the window, giving them just enough light to see each other. "You didn't hurt me. You healed me, in every way."

Content with that, they lapsed into silence. Eyes searching faces, smiling as wandering hands set out for a more leisurely exploration, laughing as fingers lingered on ticklish or sensitive spots. Hermione's mind drifted, recalling the conversation that had led to this moment. And something that puzzled her earlier came back to her.

"Harry?"

"Hmmm?" he mumbled against her throat between kisses.

"I understand your wanting Pettigrew dead, but I don't understand Dolohov. Why him?"

"He tried to take you from me, Hermione. Fifth year, in the Department of Mysteries."

"But you said..." Afraid to hope, but needing to know, she cleared her throat and continued "...you said you only killed those that had hurt the ones you...loved."

Harry pulled his mouth away from her throat and propped himself up on an elbow. His eyes boring into hers. "Yes, I did," he said, solemnly.

"Then you...you..." Tears were gathering in her eyes, but not the same ones she usually shed for Harry. These weren't bitter, these weren't silent. These were...

"I love you, Hermione. I have for longer than I can remember. I guess I thought...I thought you knew that. I would have said so...before...but I knew what I was facing, knew what could happen. It didn't seem right to...say anything with such an uncertain future."

Hermione allowed the tears to fall, and nodded. "I think I did know, and kept quiet for the same reasons. It's just...I don't think I knew how much I needed the words until now."

"Then I'll be sure to let you know as often as possible until you're tired of hearing me say them."

"At this moment, Harry, I can't imagine that moment ever coming. Not tomorrow, not next year, not after this life is over and we move into the next."

Harry pulled her close into him and kissed her. As his mouth began to play a symphony on hers, as his hands renewed passion she didn't think she'd ever get enough of, Hermione realized that she'd found what she was looking for. She'd been wrong before. There was a Grey Haven for her. She'd found her everlasting peace.

Right here.

In Harry's arms.

~fin~