The cliffs are the same. There's a bit of gray that stands alone over the rocks and she remembers, almost fondly, the tent standing alone
"Anyone follow?" Harry asks, when he arrives; she doesn't turn, merely shrugging her acknowledgment. She and Ron don't talk this time of year. No one asks questions and that remains to be some kind of safe haven for herself, for her mind.
She slides her hands into her jacket. "What about you?"
His boots scuffle when he comes to stand next to her. Together they stand, overlooking the water. It's entirely too calm, she thinks. But then she laughs, shaking her head.
"I can't believe we still come here."
Harry chuckles. "A reminder, I suppose."
"Of what?" she interjects. Her gaze meets his, and then she looks away, down and over her shoes. "You're perfectly happy. Your children are lovely. Mine are lovely. And we're all still ... we are here."
Harry makes a soft sound, but says nothing. The tension sharpens at his shoulders though, tough and taunt. He stands straighter, peering down at her and it's all sort of odd, sometimes, how they both still look at each other.
"I think about it," he confesses then, slowly. He pauses and looks around, turning then to step around her. When she shifts, she shifts back into his space and he flushes almost immediately. "What you said," he murmurs. "About staying. Here."
His head jerks back and her gaze follows, back into the woods. The trees are high and gray. A few miles off, she remembers a small village hidden from view. Wouldn't it be nice? She remembers asking too.
"Do you ever think -" he stumbles into the question and she blinks, her throat tightening. Don't, she thinks. Don't. She's already made peace with everything. Her choices. Her decisions. Her marriage and inevitable reasoning. There are no regrets. She isn't seventeen anymore.
"All the time," she says still. It's not a confession. She looks away too, almost ashamed. Taking a deep breath, she lets her gaze focus on the water. "All the time," she says again.
They're quiet again. Harry's hand goes to her arm, clasping it at the elbow. She feels his fingers drag against it and then down, back over her wrist. She opens her hand and their fingers tangle together. He gives her a little tug and she lets herself take that step.
It's as simple as this: Hermione takes a deep breath and it's quiet, too quiet as his head lowers and she meets him halfway. Her mind is littered with always and i know and it's not to be said. Instead, she opens her mouth against his, slowly and carefully. His fingers slide into her hair too and he pulls, tenderly first, and than as if he needs her too much. She is too close and too mindful; her arm drapes over his waist over his hips all the same. She can still taste her morning tea, and perhaps Harry's, Ginny's really. There is the sweetness of Rose's jam, the bit that they finished off together early this morning.
All of that, all of that falls away quickly and selfishly, far beyond a what if; Hermione is kissing him.
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timeasmymeasure
Harry/Hermione - the geography of anniversaries
Date: 2010-11-23 08:25 pm (UTC)"Anyone follow?" Harry asks, when he arrives; she doesn't turn, merely shrugging her acknowledgment. She and Ron don't talk this time of year. No one asks questions and that remains to be some kind of safe haven for herself, for her mind.
She slides her hands into her jacket. "What about you?"
His boots scuffle when he comes to stand next to her. Together they stand, overlooking the water. It's entirely too calm, she thinks. But then she laughs, shaking her head.
"I can't believe we still come here."
Harry chuckles. "A reminder, I suppose."
"Of what?" she interjects. Her gaze meets his, and then she looks away, down and over her shoes. "You're perfectly happy. Your children are lovely. Mine are lovely. And we're all still ... we are here."
Harry makes a soft sound, but says nothing. The tension sharpens at his shoulders though, tough and taunt. He stands straighter, peering down at her and it's all sort of odd, sometimes, how they both still look at each other.
"I think about it," he confesses then, slowly. He pauses and looks around, turning then to step around her. When she shifts, she shifts back into his space and he flushes almost immediately. "What you said," he murmurs. "About staying. Here."
His head jerks back and her gaze follows, back into the woods. The trees are high and gray. A few miles off, she remembers a small village hidden from view. Wouldn't it be nice? She remembers asking too.
"Do you ever think -" he stumbles into the question and she blinks, her throat tightening. Don't, she thinks. Don't. She's already made peace with everything. Her choices. Her decisions. Her marriage and inevitable reasoning. There are no regrets. She isn't seventeen anymore.
"All the time," she says still. It's not a confession. She looks away too, almost ashamed. Taking a deep breath, she lets her gaze focus on the water. "All the time," she says again.
They're quiet again. Harry's hand goes to her arm, clasping it at the elbow. She feels his fingers drag against it and then down, back over her wrist. She opens her hand and their fingers tangle together. He gives her a little tug and she lets herself take that step.
It's as simple as this: Hermione takes a deep breath and it's quiet, too quiet as his head lowers and she meets him halfway. Her mind is littered with always and i know and it's not to be said. Instead, she opens her mouth against his, slowly and carefully. His fingers slide into her hair too and he pulls, tenderly first, and than as if he needs her too much. She is too close and too mindful; her arm drapes over his waist over his hips all the same. She can still taste her morning tea, and perhaps Harry's, Ginny's really. There is the sweetness of Rose's jam, the bit that they finished off together early this morning.
All of that, all of that falls away quickly and selfishly, far beyond a what if; Hermione is kissing him.
Harry kisses back.
(and back to the other story, lol. ♥)