Forgive me? I just saw the movie so this came out like ANGST CITY but um, the general idea is there? And to think! This prompt immediately made me think of affair fic! DAMN YOU DAVID YATES! But enough preamble.
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He doesn't remember how, but somehow they're both yelling across the distance of her living room and she's crying and no one's home and it's like that damn locket is on his neck all over again.
She collapses on a stool in the kitchen, exhausted, hair settling in a mass, shielding her eyes. Closed fists against her eyes, she starts -
"Why are we still doing this?"
He unclenches his hands, rubs his scar, unconsciously.
She turns to look at him.
"Harry?"
He can't look, can't breathe, it's always the same.
So he lies.
"I don't know."
She stands up, ever Hermione, ever in-charge, always knowing.
"Harry."
She holds his face, leaning her forehead against his.
"We weren't always like this."
It's true and it's stupid but ever since the hunt, since the wedding, since their first child and everything on top, he hasn't been able to act like anything but a fifteen year-old git.
"I'm sorry, Hermione."
She sighs, still holding his face and his hands come up to cup her elbows. He can almost smile when he asks,
"Why are you always right?"
Her smile back is broken like she knows he's avoiding the subject but she rests her head in his shoulder and for moments he just breathes. Nothing but their lungs expanding and collapsing and his eyes close, just for a second.
"Remember when we danced?"
It's a whisper in her ear and slowly, just a shuffle, he sways her weight once left, then right.
"Harry..." and her voice is warning, don't remember, and this is the fight all over again. Whatever happened without Ron didn't happen at all - the underlying currents of jealousy and a Pandora's Box that they've told themselves wasn't worth the trouble of opening.
"Harry..."
He's pulling away and smiling, almost, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses.
"You're right, of course... again."
She looks lost, hopeless, staring because again they're in the same room and lightyears apart.
"Tell Ron I say hi."
She turns back toward the living room, almost whispering her canned response,
no subject
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He doesn't remember how, but somehow they're both yelling across the distance of her living room and she's crying and no one's home and it's like that damn locket is on his neck all over again.
She collapses on a stool in the kitchen, exhausted, hair settling in a mass, shielding her eyes. Closed fists against her eyes, she starts -
"Why are we still doing this?"
He unclenches his hands, rubs his scar, unconsciously.
She turns to look at him.
"Harry?"
He can't look, can't breathe, it's always the same.
So he lies.
"I don't know."
She stands up, ever Hermione, ever in-charge, always knowing.
"Harry."
She holds his face, leaning her forehead against his.
"We weren't always like this."
It's true and it's stupid but ever since the hunt, since the wedding, since their first child and everything on top, he hasn't been able to act like anything but a fifteen year-old git.
"I'm sorry, Hermione."
She sighs, still holding his face and his hands come up to cup her elbows. He can almost smile when he asks,
"Why are you always right?"
Her smile back is broken like she knows he's avoiding the subject but she rests her head in his shoulder and for moments he just breathes. Nothing but their lungs expanding and collapsing and his eyes close, just for a second.
"Remember when we danced?"
It's a whisper in her ear and slowly, just a shuffle, he sways her weight once left, then right.
"Harry..." and her voice is warning, don't remember, and this is the fight all over again. Whatever happened without Ron didn't happen at all - the underlying currents of jealousy and a Pandora's Box that they've told themselves wasn't worth the trouble of opening.
"Harry..."
He's pulling away and smiling, almost, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses.
"You're right, of course... again."
She looks lost, hopeless, staring because again they're in the same room and lightyears apart.
"Tell Ron I say hi."
She turns back toward the living room, almost whispering her canned response,
"Tell him yourself."