![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
reenkaso, at one point in september, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ethrosdemon wrote [really hot] h/d smut (*laughs* hard to believe, but true), and. addictedkitten linked to it yesterday and i reread it, and... well. it was late at night. these things always happen to me when i'm about to fall over into sleepy-bye-bye land. but anyway. kassie said that she intended it to be that harry was just fooling around with draco (a "kinky addiction", i believe), and he loved someone else, and. well. that seems to me to be a whole big not-usually-explored kettle of fish, right there.
and obviously, i don't usually write harry/hermione (okay, i never have before-- well, kind of, and again, that was for kassie, but anyway). so i wrote harry/hermione (with h/d, of course). as a response to that fic, but not necessarily related. i don't know if it's any good or not, so i'd appreciate if someone would tell me. of course, this is always true (i mean, do tell if i suck, at any point whatsoever). but especially when i venture into new territory, i would appreciate knowing if there is some validity there.
i dunno. meep? and, yes, it's harry/hermione even though my het!harry default is harry/ginny (not because i ship it but because it requires no thought). but, this is kinda sorta in kassie's world (though only in a meta sort of way), so. heh. actually, harry/cho would be interesting here. it didn't occur to me. but... cho is a whole different ballgame. so anyway, enough blather.
~~
disclaimer: JK Rowling owns them, though I have a few action figures.
warning: het. slash. H/Hr, H/D, R/Hr
author's note: because Kassie wrote H/D smut once, and she said he loves someone else, and Draco is an addiction.
~~In Between.
When she thought about it (and she tried not to), she thought about how stupid it was, and wrong, and impossible. It made no sense, really, and in her world, she tried to imagine that everything made sense. Otherwise it was too painful. So every time she thought about it, she'd start to get a headache and would need to stop, take deep breaths, sit down, even. Sometimes she did a bit of light reading, but most of the time she just leaned her head against the cool glass of the window next to her, and exhaled. She remembered the way he'd begun to look at her with eyes so soft they were almost hazel, as if he were seeing her for the first time. How amazed she'd be, because it wasn't that he saw her face, but that he saw -her- once again. She had been rather certain there wasn't that much there to see.
He'd hold her hand when they walked together into the Great Hall, and she'd scoff and say something about how silly it was to start -now-, but she didn't mind, not really. This was what made him happy, she knew that. And Harry knew what made -her- happy, too. He'd give her every indication that he was listening to her, that nothing had changed except that now his eyes glowed with a slightly different light. He was there, and it was real, she knew it was. He loved her, finally, finally he loved her, and nothing could take that knowledge away from her. She hadn't even known she was waiting for it, until he did, and then somehow everything fell into place, like a jigsaw puzzle she hadn't seen all the pieces to until right that moment. And it made complete sense. They were always there, fitted together, and then one day, they just realized it, and somehow it felt like a weight off her shoulders.
And then... nothing had changed. He was still Harry. He hadn't become mean and thoughtless, he didn't seem to drift off in the midst of conversations, he didn't kiss her any less sweetly, he didn't murmur endearments more or less infrequently when she accidentally inspired him. Her Harry. It seemed ridiculous-- way too possessive-- it reminded her of all sorts of old-fashioned, horrible things. It didn't stop her from having the sentiment, however. She would forgive him anything, because they'd probably been through it together already.
They had a habit of sitting together, lately, quiet and almost sleepy after they'd both finished their homework, and Ron was-- well, wherever it was that Ron went these days. They had their own corner of the Common Room to themselves, and possibly, that was enough, at least some of the time. She talked quietly, glancing over at Harry, who was snuggled deeply in the oversized armchair, rereading his Quidditch manual yet again. She smiled, thinking how little had changed, even now. It was both a comforting and a disturbing sort of thought.
"Do you really love me? You can think about it, this time," she said, trying to make her voice soft, but not too soft. She wanted the truth, this time. She kept asking, and he kept answering, but there never seemed to be any answers. Hermione was becoming dangerously frustrated, slowly but surely.
He didn't blush, but he looked down at his hands, rubbing at his left thumb with his right for a moment, and then he looked right back up at her, and his eyes were clear and open. Harry was frowning a little, a tiny wrinkle in between his eyes. He had nothing to hide, of course.
Harry smiled a bit, just a quirk of his lip, but he was humoring her and Hermione knew it. "Yes, really, I think. I mean-- yes. Why?"
And she smiled a little, because it was really her question, and he was reciprocating it, in a way. Hermione wanted to ask him what he meant by "love", and what kind of love, and what he thought love was, and how did he know, and how was it different from before, and how was it different from what he felt for Ron, and there were a million other variations she could come up with on the spur of the moment. It didn't matter. She knew he couldn't really tell her, and it was moot because she knew he meant it. He did, after all, love her, that much was obvious.
"No reason. Only-- is there anything you want to tell me?" She wasn't usually this cautious and circumspect, but she found she just couldn't say it.
Harry looked startled. "Like what?"
And for a moment, she wanted to keep pretending. It was all off in a different world, a whole different universe that had nothing to do with this, nothing to do with her, and only barely anything to do with Harry. She could-- almost-- forgive him this. Almost allow him this-- he seemed to want it enough, after all. She just couldn't. It wasn't in her nature to close her eyes and pretend she didn't know what she did. She couldn't be dishonest with Harry even if Harry was....
Wordlessly, she reached out towards him, thin fingers unwavering, comfortable in their approach. She touched his collar gently, soft as a caress, and he leaned into it, inclining his neck a little to give her access. It was almost something that could make her angry, if she thought about it. He had to know. This was Harry, but no one was -that- oblivious, and--
She bent the starchy fabric of his shirt away from his pale skin. Harry still didn't flinch. Hermione sighed, almost silently, and ghosted careful fingers over the bruise.
Harry drew in a breath, his eyes flying up to meet hers. Her heart was pounding in her chest, because this was the moment where she finally knew. He had to tell her.
"Like that," she said, and she didn't flinch.
Finally, finally, he was blushing, unable to keep up the bravado, something crumbling behind his eyes. "That's just--" he began, but couldn't continue, looking at her. "It's-- I'm-- I'm not in love with him." There was a slight frown there now, as if using the word 'love' in this context pained him slightly, as if he was genuinely uncomfortable even considering this. As if he'd never considered it before. And it would be so easy, to just let it go. Again.
Hermione kept a straight face when she asked him, and she felt slightly queasy, because she was lying now, but it couldn't be helped. "Him?"
Harry's eyes widened, as if he'd only now caught himself. Realized he was caught. Became aware that the trap had been there all along. One or all of these, but nevertheless he didn't back down, didn't attempt any more lies, except possibly the ones he was always telling himself. "It's-- nothing. You know that, right? It's nothing, I just-- can't help it and I've tried, and it's just no good, I always come back and I don't know -why-, and it's really killing me but I can't stop, I just can't stop...."
His face was earnest and there was real pain in his eyes, and Hermione softened, seeing that. He didn't want this either, he didn't want to hurt them, didn't want to do this to them. But it was happening anyway, and a part of her would always think that Harry wanted this, somehow.
"I know it's Malfoy," she said flatly, and Harry flinched. Hermione was glad, just a little.
"You-- do?" He seemed to not know what to do with himself now, fidgeting and moving his mouth even as no sounds emerged. "Oh. Um. That's good then. I couldn't take it-- keeping it from you, you know? And I want to stop, it's just-- maybe you could help me."
Hermione blinked. Did he even know what he was saying? "No, Harry. I'm sorry, really I am. But I don't believe you." Harry's mouth was still working, and he was gasping rapidly now, as if he was struggling to breathe. And maybe she would've pitied him, except he was hurting her worse. "You don't want to stop, do you? You don't want anything to stop if you can help it, do you?"
"But I don't love him." This, plaintively. "Doesn't that matter?"
Hermione folded her hands in her lap to keep them from moving. At that moment, she wanted to strangle him, and it shocked her. She closed her eyes.
"Not really. Did you really think it would? Did you really think I would be happy because you don't love him, even though obviously, you want him? Even -need- him? Did you really think love is all I wanted from you, separate from everything else?"
She could almost imagine how some people hated themselves, because she really hated those words, coming out of her own mouth. She wanted to stop them, to change them, to make them untrue, but she couldn't. She meant this. She didn't want him like this, and no amount of wishing she did was going to change that.
"But, Hermione! I feel all that other stuff too, it's just that he-- I--"
Hermione felt that old headache start, the one that came when she tried thinking of things that made no sense no matter how hard she tried to make them. "It's just that he won't leave you alone, is that it? It's just that you can't say no? It's just that you can't control yourself with him, and it's not really you, it's some lust demon inside you that's making you do it, is that it? And I can't blame you because you've -tried- to stop yourself and couldn't?"
She couldn't tell him to shut up, or to go away. She couldn't even yell at him without feeling stupid and childish and wrong. Except it was all wrong, and Harry made it wrong, and she didn't think she would ever forgive him, and she was going to have to live with that, because neither of them were going anywhere.
Hermione sighed, a slow, measured expelling of a lungful of air. Harry was still frowning, looking rather pained at this point, and she felt sorry for him, and she wished she could stop. She just-- couldn't, sharply aware of the inherent irony.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, and he looked so young and small and vulnerable in the over-large Gryffindor-red armchair, with his legs tucked underneath him and the eyelashes laying like shadows on his cheeks, she was impossibly close to just letting it all go. It had nowhere to go, of course, but maybe she could try-- "I thought you'd understand. You always have before," he said, under his breath.
And that was just it. She didn't, this time. She really didn't.
She swallowed. "Touch me, then. Touch me like you touch him, like you touch each other, and then maybe I will."
He gasped, staring at her as if she'd grown a second head while he wasn't looking, and maybe she had, for all she knew. Harry had only kissed her, held her hand, nuzzled her neck, kissed her shoulder. He was even somewhat passionate about it-- he got carried away sometimes, and pressed himself tightly against her, rubbing his hands over her thighs, cradling the back of her head, tracing frantic circles on her back. She knew he wanted more, and he was greedy, and it had pleased her, at the time. They had quite enough of time, after all, didn't they? It was partly why she'd been bitter about this. She was almost completely certain that wasn't all he did with Malfoy, and it galled her. Harry wouldn't give himself equally, that just wasn't his style. He probably fluctuated, changed his mind-- one day he would be lost in her, smiling into her eyes and squeezing her tighter, and the next, he'd be gasping and flinging himself against the nearest wall, incoherent with need for someone else's look. Someone else's touch.
He kneeled in front of her, breathing raggedly, and she could tell this was unnatural for him right then. It was probably just the wrong day in his cycle. Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, he'd be looking at her with that burn in his eyes again, pressing her back against his chest, spreading his palm flat against her stomach as he rolled his hips against her bottom, squirming with pent-up desire. She would have him, then. And then wasn't now, but then never was.
Sitting back on his heels, he laid a hand on her knee, staring at the wool of her old skirt as if it held the mysteries of the universe within its weave. She waited for him to kiss her knee or to get up or to say something, but he didn't.
"What is it?" she prompted, finally. As if she couldn't guess.
"I-- can't. You're not like that, Hermione," he said to her knee. "I mean, I hate him, you know? That's how it is, and I can't-- with you-- because I don't-- hate you." He sighed. "I can't."
Hermione exhaled, laying a hand on his shoulder, trying not to move her fingers to his neck, towards the bruise there, not again. They seemed to have a mind of their own. She wanted to touch his bruises, with her lips and tongue and fingers, and it seemed wrong, somehow, like out of everything in him, they weren't hers. She'd never make this sort of mark on him, and they both knew it.
And suddenly, all her words fled her and her throat closed up, her vision blurring. They hadn't resolved anything and maybe they couldn't, and maybe--
"Yeah," she said, her voice tight. "I know. I can't, either, it seems." And before she could reconsider, she got up and moved across the room, walking towards the stairs to her dorm room. She could never go far, and Harry knew where to find her, but that wasn't what mattered right then. It was all the things in between-- in between love and hate, possible and impossible. And somewhere, both of them had fallen through the cracks, like they'd found a world on the other side of a magic mirror.
Harry didn't call after her, and she found him asleep in the same position in the armchair, the next morning, a small frown still creasing his forehead.
She thought about waking him up and maybe walking with him to breakfast, and seeing if he'd smile at her and hold her hand in that absent-minded way that he had, and maybe she'd believe that last night had all been an overly vivid dream. But all she had to do was look at his face, so vulnerable and easily read, the nervous twitching of his body. All she had to do was look at his exposed, slender neck, as he rested his head to the side.
Ron walked past her on his way to their first meal, ignoring both of them as was his habit lately. Something caught in her chest, and broke, a little. She turned away, running slightly to catch up with him, calling his name.
"Hermione?" he called back, and he sounded weaker than she would've imagined, more unsure of himself. That they'd all gotten to this point was almost frightening, and there was nothing to say they'd ever recover, except possibly for the slow burn beginning to warm her friend's eyes. He'd turned around, waiting for her. "Shouldn't you be with Harry?"
Hermione started, struck by the sheer number of possible answers to that question. Finally, she decided on simplicity. "I don't think so, not now."
She would've expected Ron to grin at her, or maybe to look confused, or possibly outraged on Harry's behalf.
Instead, he just fell into step with her, walking steadily at her side, his hands stuck awkwardly into his robe pockets. His face was unusually impassive, but if she looked closely, she would have probably said he was beginning to smile, if it hadn't been dispelled by his hunched shoulders and his lingering defensive sort of manner.
He looked at her, a shy, sidelong glance that confused her as much as it reassured, that felt new somehow.
"Good," he said.
~~~~~~~
blythely's `curiouser and curiouser' is the only cross-over i've liked (or read, but hey), since lizbee's sandman fic (who, by the way, drew saruman!harry, who kind of, honestly, blows my mind-- and her harry & draco! eeeeee!). and i've just -mentioned- an alice type fic for hp, and poof! it came into being. i have magical powers, obviously :D
and. i loved this. loved, loved, loved this. harry/ron, but. yes. yes. mmmm, realistic!harry/ron. somehow, that's the only way i can take it :D
ethrosdemon wrote [really hot] h/d smut (*laughs* hard to believe, but true), and. addictedkitten linked to it yesterday and i reread it, and... well. it was late at night. these things always happen to me when i'm about to fall over into sleepy-bye-bye land. but anyway. kassie said that she intended it to be that harry was just fooling around with draco (a "kinky addiction", i believe), and he loved someone else, and. well. that seems to me to be a whole big not-usually-explored kettle of fish, right there.and obviously, i don't usually write harry/hermione (okay, i never have before-- well, kind of, and again, that was for kassie, but anyway). so i wrote harry/hermione (with h/d, of course). as a response to that fic, but not necessarily related. i don't know if it's any good or not, so i'd appreciate if someone would tell me. of course, this is always true (i mean, do tell if i suck, at any point whatsoever). but especially when i venture into new territory, i would appreciate knowing if there is some validity there.
i dunno. meep? and, yes, it's harry/hermione even though my het!harry default is harry/ginny (not because i ship it but because it requires no thought). but, this is kinda sorta in kassie's world (though only in a meta sort of way), so. heh. actually, harry/cho would be interesting here. it didn't occur to me. but... cho is a whole different ballgame. so anyway, enough blather.
~~
disclaimer: JK Rowling owns them, though I have a few action figures.
warning: het. slash. H/Hr, H/D, R/Hr
author's note: because Kassie wrote H/D smut once, and she said he loves someone else, and Draco is an addiction.
~~In Between.
When she thought about it (and she tried not to), she thought about how stupid it was, and wrong, and impossible. It made no sense, really, and in her world, she tried to imagine that everything made sense. Otherwise it was too painful. So every time she thought about it, she'd start to get a headache and would need to stop, take deep breaths, sit down, even. Sometimes she did a bit of light reading, but most of the time she just leaned her head against the cool glass of the window next to her, and exhaled. She remembered the way he'd begun to look at her with eyes so soft they were almost hazel, as if he were seeing her for the first time. How amazed she'd be, because it wasn't that he saw her face, but that he saw -her- once again. She had been rather certain there wasn't that much there to see.
He'd hold her hand when they walked together into the Great Hall, and she'd scoff and say something about how silly it was to start -now-, but she didn't mind, not really. This was what made him happy, she knew that. And Harry knew what made -her- happy, too. He'd give her every indication that he was listening to her, that nothing had changed except that now his eyes glowed with a slightly different light. He was there, and it was real, she knew it was. He loved her, finally, finally he loved her, and nothing could take that knowledge away from her. She hadn't even known she was waiting for it, until he did, and then somehow everything fell into place, like a jigsaw puzzle she hadn't seen all the pieces to until right that moment. And it made complete sense. They were always there, fitted together, and then one day, they just realized it, and somehow it felt like a weight off her shoulders.
And then... nothing had changed. He was still Harry. He hadn't become mean and thoughtless, he didn't seem to drift off in the midst of conversations, he didn't kiss her any less sweetly, he didn't murmur endearments more or less infrequently when she accidentally inspired him. Her Harry. It seemed ridiculous-- way too possessive-- it reminded her of all sorts of old-fashioned, horrible things. It didn't stop her from having the sentiment, however. She would forgive him anything, because they'd probably been through it together already.
They had a habit of sitting together, lately, quiet and almost sleepy after they'd both finished their homework, and Ron was-- well, wherever it was that Ron went these days. They had their own corner of the Common Room to themselves, and possibly, that was enough, at least some of the time. She talked quietly, glancing over at Harry, who was snuggled deeply in the oversized armchair, rereading his Quidditch manual yet again. She smiled, thinking how little had changed, even now. It was both a comforting and a disturbing sort of thought.
"Do you really love me? You can think about it, this time," she said, trying to make her voice soft, but not too soft. She wanted the truth, this time. She kept asking, and he kept answering, but there never seemed to be any answers. Hermione was becoming dangerously frustrated, slowly but surely.
He didn't blush, but he looked down at his hands, rubbing at his left thumb with his right for a moment, and then he looked right back up at her, and his eyes were clear and open. Harry was frowning a little, a tiny wrinkle in between his eyes. He had nothing to hide, of course.
Harry smiled a bit, just a quirk of his lip, but he was humoring her and Hermione knew it. "Yes, really, I think. I mean-- yes. Why?"
And she smiled a little, because it was really her question, and he was reciprocating it, in a way. Hermione wanted to ask him what he meant by "love", and what kind of love, and what he thought love was, and how did he know, and how was it different from before, and how was it different from what he felt for Ron, and there were a million other variations she could come up with on the spur of the moment. It didn't matter. She knew he couldn't really tell her, and it was moot because she knew he meant it. He did, after all, love her, that much was obvious.
"No reason. Only-- is there anything you want to tell me?" She wasn't usually this cautious and circumspect, but she found she just couldn't say it.
Harry looked startled. "Like what?"
And for a moment, she wanted to keep pretending. It was all off in a different world, a whole different universe that had nothing to do with this, nothing to do with her, and only barely anything to do with Harry. She could-- almost-- forgive him this. Almost allow him this-- he seemed to want it enough, after all. She just couldn't. It wasn't in her nature to close her eyes and pretend she didn't know what she did. She couldn't be dishonest with Harry even if Harry was....
Wordlessly, she reached out towards him, thin fingers unwavering, comfortable in their approach. She touched his collar gently, soft as a caress, and he leaned into it, inclining his neck a little to give her access. It was almost something that could make her angry, if she thought about it. He had to know. This was Harry, but no one was -that- oblivious, and--
She bent the starchy fabric of his shirt away from his pale skin. Harry still didn't flinch. Hermione sighed, almost silently, and ghosted careful fingers over the bruise.
Harry drew in a breath, his eyes flying up to meet hers. Her heart was pounding in her chest, because this was the moment where she finally knew. He had to tell her.
"Like that," she said, and she didn't flinch.
Finally, finally, he was blushing, unable to keep up the bravado, something crumbling behind his eyes. "That's just--" he began, but couldn't continue, looking at her. "It's-- I'm-- I'm not in love with him." There was a slight frown there now, as if using the word 'love' in this context pained him slightly, as if he was genuinely uncomfortable even considering this. As if he'd never considered it before. And it would be so easy, to just let it go. Again.
Hermione kept a straight face when she asked him, and she felt slightly queasy, because she was lying now, but it couldn't be helped. "Him?"
Harry's eyes widened, as if he'd only now caught himself. Realized he was caught. Became aware that the trap had been there all along. One or all of these, but nevertheless he didn't back down, didn't attempt any more lies, except possibly the ones he was always telling himself. "It's-- nothing. You know that, right? It's nothing, I just-- can't help it and I've tried, and it's just no good, I always come back and I don't know -why-, and it's really killing me but I can't stop, I just can't stop...."
His face was earnest and there was real pain in his eyes, and Hermione softened, seeing that. He didn't want this either, he didn't want to hurt them, didn't want to do this to them. But it was happening anyway, and a part of her would always think that Harry wanted this, somehow.
"I know it's Malfoy," she said flatly, and Harry flinched. Hermione was glad, just a little.
"You-- do?" He seemed to not know what to do with himself now, fidgeting and moving his mouth even as no sounds emerged. "Oh. Um. That's good then. I couldn't take it-- keeping it from you, you know? And I want to stop, it's just-- maybe you could help me."
Hermione blinked. Did he even know what he was saying? "No, Harry. I'm sorry, really I am. But I don't believe you." Harry's mouth was still working, and he was gasping rapidly now, as if he was struggling to breathe. And maybe she would've pitied him, except he was hurting her worse. "You don't want to stop, do you? You don't want anything to stop if you can help it, do you?"
"But I don't love him." This, plaintively. "Doesn't that matter?"
Hermione folded her hands in her lap to keep them from moving. At that moment, she wanted to strangle him, and it shocked her. She closed her eyes.
"Not really. Did you really think it would? Did you really think I would be happy because you don't love him, even though obviously, you want him? Even -need- him? Did you really think love is all I wanted from you, separate from everything else?"
She could almost imagine how some people hated themselves, because she really hated those words, coming out of her own mouth. She wanted to stop them, to change them, to make them untrue, but she couldn't. She meant this. She didn't want him like this, and no amount of wishing she did was going to change that.
"But, Hermione! I feel all that other stuff too, it's just that he-- I--"
Hermione felt that old headache start, the one that came when she tried thinking of things that made no sense no matter how hard she tried to make them. "It's just that he won't leave you alone, is that it? It's just that you can't say no? It's just that you can't control yourself with him, and it's not really you, it's some lust demon inside you that's making you do it, is that it? And I can't blame you because you've -tried- to stop yourself and couldn't?"
She couldn't tell him to shut up, or to go away. She couldn't even yell at him without feeling stupid and childish and wrong. Except it was all wrong, and Harry made it wrong, and she didn't think she would ever forgive him, and she was going to have to live with that, because neither of them were going anywhere.
Hermione sighed, a slow, measured expelling of a lungful of air. Harry was still frowning, looking rather pained at this point, and she felt sorry for him, and she wished she could stop. She just-- couldn't, sharply aware of the inherent irony.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, and he looked so young and small and vulnerable in the over-large Gryffindor-red armchair, with his legs tucked underneath him and the eyelashes laying like shadows on his cheeks, she was impossibly close to just letting it all go. It had nowhere to go, of course, but maybe she could try-- "I thought you'd understand. You always have before," he said, under his breath.
And that was just it. She didn't, this time. She really didn't.
She swallowed. "Touch me, then. Touch me like you touch him, like you touch each other, and then maybe I will."
He gasped, staring at her as if she'd grown a second head while he wasn't looking, and maybe she had, for all she knew. Harry had only kissed her, held her hand, nuzzled her neck, kissed her shoulder. He was even somewhat passionate about it-- he got carried away sometimes, and pressed himself tightly against her, rubbing his hands over her thighs, cradling the back of her head, tracing frantic circles on her back. She knew he wanted more, and he was greedy, and it had pleased her, at the time. They had quite enough of time, after all, didn't they? It was partly why she'd been bitter about this. She was almost completely certain that wasn't all he did with Malfoy, and it galled her. Harry wouldn't give himself equally, that just wasn't his style. He probably fluctuated, changed his mind-- one day he would be lost in her, smiling into her eyes and squeezing her tighter, and the next, he'd be gasping and flinging himself against the nearest wall, incoherent with need for someone else's look. Someone else's touch.
He kneeled in front of her, breathing raggedly, and she could tell this was unnatural for him right then. It was probably just the wrong day in his cycle. Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, he'd be looking at her with that burn in his eyes again, pressing her back against his chest, spreading his palm flat against her stomach as he rolled his hips against her bottom, squirming with pent-up desire. She would have him, then. And then wasn't now, but then never was.
Sitting back on his heels, he laid a hand on her knee, staring at the wool of her old skirt as if it held the mysteries of the universe within its weave. She waited for him to kiss her knee or to get up or to say something, but he didn't.
"What is it?" she prompted, finally. As if she couldn't guess.
"I-- can't. You're not like that, Hermione," he said to her knee. "I mean, I hate him, you know? That's how it is, and I can't-- with you-- because I don't-- hate you." He sighed. "I can't."
Hermione exhaled, laying a hand on his shoulder, trying not to move her fingers to his neck, towards the bruise there, not again. They seemed to have a mind of their own. She wanted to touch his bruises, with her lips and tongue and fingers, and it seemed wrong, somehow, like out of everything in him, they weren't hers. She'd never make this sort of mark on him, and they both knew it.
And suddenly, all her words fled her and her throat closed up, her vision blurring. They hadn't resolved anything and maybe they couldn't, and maybe--
"Yeah," she said, her voice tight. "I know. I can't, either, it seems." And before she could reconsider, she got up and moved across the room, walking towards the stairs to her dorm room. She could never go far, and Harry knew where to find her, but that wasn't what mattered right then. It was all the things in between-- in between love and hate, possible and impossible. And somewhere, both of them had fallen through the cracks, like they'd found a world on the other side of a magic mirror.
Harry didn't call after her, and she found him asleep in the same position in the armchair, the next morning, a small frown still creasing his forehead.
She thought about waking him up and maybe walking with him to breakfast, and seeing if he'd smile at her and hold her hand in that absent-minded way that he had, and maybe she'd believe that last night had all been an overly vivid dream. But all she had to do was look at his face, so vulnerable and easily read, the nervous twitching of his body. All she had to do was look at his exposed, slender neck, as he rested his head to the side.
Ron walked past her on his way to their first meal, ignoring both of them as was his habit lately. Something caught in her chest, and broke, a little. She turned away, running slightly to catch up with him, calling his name.
"Hermione?" he called back, and he sounded weaker than she would've imagined, more unsure of himself. That they'd all gotten to this point was almost frightening, and there was nothing to say they'd ever recover, except possibly for the slow burn beginning to warm her friend's eyes. He'd turned around, waiting for her. "Shouldn't you be with Harry?"
Hermione started, struck by the sheer number of possible answers to that question. Finally, she decided on simplicity. "I don't think so, not now."
She would've expected Ron to grin at her, or maybe to look confused, or possibly outraged on Harry's behalf.
Instead, he just fell into step with her, walking steadily at her side, his hands stuck awkwardly into his robe pockets. His face was unusually impassive, but if she looked closely, she would have probably said he was beginning to smile, if it hadn't been dispelled by his hunched shoulders and his lingering defensive sort of manner.
He looked at her, a shy, sidelong glance that confused her as much as it reassured, that felt new somehow.
"Good," he said.
~~~~~~~
blythely's `curiouser and curiouser' is the only cross-over i've liked (or read, but hey), since lizbee's sandman fic (who, by the way, drew saruman!harry, who kind of, honestly, blows my mind-- and her harry & draco! eeeeee!). and i've just -mentioned- an alice type fic for hp, and poof! it came into being. i have magical powers, obviously :Dand. i loved this. loved, loved, loved this. harry/ron, but. yes. yes. mmmm, realistic!harry/ron. somehow, that's the only way i can take it :D
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-03-28 02:42 pm (UTC)This is both extremely Hermione and very teenaged confusion at once. Well done. She needs answers because she's analytical and can't let anything go unbeaten. Plus, she's so young and in a relationship for the first time, and she doesn't get how that's all supposed to work or why. I like that bit a lot.
She could-- almost-- forgive him this. Almost allow him this-- he seemed to want it enough, after all. She just couldn't. It wasn't in her nature to close her eyes and pretend she didn't know what she did. She couldn't be dishonest with Harry even if Harry was....
Wordlessly, she reached out towards him, thin fingers unwavering, comfortable in their approach. She touched his collar gently, soft as a caress, and he leaned into it, inclining his neck a little to give her access. It was almost something that could make her angry, if she thought about it. He had to know. This was Harry, but no one was -that- oblivious, and--
She bent the starchy fabric of his shirt away from his pale skin. Harry still didn't flinch. Hermione sighed, almost silently, and ghosted careful fingers over the bruise.
Harry drew in a breath, his eyes flying up to meet hers. Her heart was pounding in her chest, because this was the moment where she finally knew. He had to tell her.
Honey, yeah! This is all so subtle and Heriome and Harry, and oh dear, they are all so really fucked up! Hahaha. I love that about them. You treat them well.
. At that moment, she wanted to strangle him, and it shocked her.
That's my girl! Beat him senseless. He likes it, you know.
He kneeled in front of her, breathing raggedly, and she could tell this was unnatural for him right then. It was probably just the wrong day in his cycle. Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, he'd be looking at her with that burn in his eyes again, pressing her back against his chest, spreading his palm flat against her stomach as he rolled his hips against her bottom, squirming with pent-up desire. She would have him, then.
This all about his two sides and being greedy and fluctuating is some great stuff. It's a fantastic idea. I mean, sure, why wouldn't he be like that? the kid who never had anything, and now he wants everything, is continually hungry and wanting whatever it is he *can't* get. Yes. Sounds dead on.
Ah, I don't think so, babe. You set up R/Hr there at the end, but I think the real next pairing is OBVIOUSLY Draco/Hermione, which, as everyone knows, if my v favorite het HP pairing!
no subject
Date: 2003-03-28 11:13 pm (UTC)*laughs*
and just how fucked up would -that- be for this hermione??! here she is, all upset that harry's fucking draco, and then she's like, "i must find out what it's like for myself, so that i can... um... be prepared! know the answer! yah, that's it!" *laughs* oh god.
like, draco'd be walking down the corridor and she'd stop him and be all, "malfoy. you need to tell me how you and harry fuck. harry refuses to tell me, but you have no morals, so i really don't see any reason why -you- wouldn't."
ahahahaha. ohhhh. it's so wrong -.-
mostly, i only included the r/hr because ...well... it's the threesome, you know. plus, i wanted -something- to happen, since harry was just-- being a boy, and extremely frustrating, and i didn't want to end with, "so she gave up, and let him sleep it off". heh. draco is like a cancerous growth, or something. ha. and if hermione switched to draco she'd really kill both harry -and- ron, and that would just be cruel >:D<
but, wah! *hugs*
thankyouuu~:)
even though, you know. i wrote this sort of to -refute- your idea that he -really- loves someone else (ahahaha, foiled by my own story. again.), i'm v. happy it pleaseth you~:)
i mean, the whole idea with the "he wants both", is that it's reductive to say he -really- loves say, hermione, but he only is sexually addicted to draco. i think in harry, all these things get mixed up, and he wouldn't be able to know where love ends and obsession begins and vice versa, because being wanted and wanting would be so deliriously new and exciting, or something.
or maybe i'm just a deviour h/d shipper even when i write h/hr, i dunno :D