A/N. This is not the chapter I intended to write (translated as 'forget what I said I would write about') and I actually dwelled on whether or not to post it. It doesn't move the plot along but it's two in the morning and I'm not thinking straight. Here a synopsis of what it contains.
The first half of it is really just HHr smut :). If that's not your thing you might want to move along. All the intimate HHr moments I've been writing is my way of trying to make up for what's about to happen but do let me know if you think it's overdone and I'll try not to embellish or include pointless ones.
The second half is about her sister which I originally thought I wouldn't write about until much later. Its significance to the story should be self explanatory.
I do hope that this chapter will at least entertain.
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Chapter 32 - Skeletons in Her Closet
Hermione woke up early Saturday morning, the sun just peaking over the balcony through the French doors. Harry's bare feet were touching her feet and his warm body was against hers.
She made every effort not to move, not even flinch. Harry was such a light sleeper he usually woke up when she got off the bed. He got in so late last night and she thought he needed the extra minutes. After all they didn't need to be somewhere else today. She could easily tell he was still asleep by the way his soft breath fell on her nape and by the way his arms felt heavily around her, all protective and territorial.
That brought an amused smile on her face. Awake he wasn't this possessive. In fact he was far from it. He gave her space to do her thing. Even with the promotion and while training under him he didn't crowd her, allowing her freedom to think for herself. He didn't impose himself or force her into choosing his suggestions. He let her make mistakes and in the process made her successes really her own.
Outside work he was as supportive and understanding. When her father died he let her mourn the way she wanted to and knew exactly when she needed him without her having to ask. He knew her, really knew her, sometimes, scarily enough, seemingly better than she knew herself.
And it was one thing knowing her but another thing being okay with who she was. She had no delusions about being the most lovable, easy to get along with person. Her family had difficulty with her and her ideas; even she had difficulty with herself sometimes. But three months later, the last two living with her, he was still here, still looking at her with the same longing gaze, still treating her with the same respect, still making love with her with the same passion, still holding her with the same tenderness. She had very little doubt now that he cared about her, maybe as much as she cared about him. And she was utterly and madly in love with him.
Waking up to all this had no equal. Tears ran down her cheeks and she had to laugh at herself. This was overly sentimental even for her. It was funnier when she realized the reason for her tears; she didn't take too much happiness very well.
Gathering herself, she closed her eyes and let her mind be at peace, reassuring herself that it wasn't obscene to feel this blissful. She let Harry's warmth lull her to sleep and hours later woke up to the sensation of her friend and lover kissing her hair.
"Good morning, sleepy head," he greeted with an easy smile.
She liked how he did that; how he kissed her to wake her up and how his eyes kind of lit up as he said good morning. Actually she liked how he did pretty much everything.
"Good morning," she replied, returning his smile in kind.
With a slight frown he enquired "Are you feeling okay?"
"Why do you ask?"
"It's half past ten."
"Really? That late?"
He nodded, then placed the back of his hand against her forehead, "You look flushed."
"I'm a bit tired maybe but I'm fine," she dismissed his concern, really not knowing what the fuss was about, then asked, "So, what are we doing today?"
His eyes narrowed as he volleyed the question back, "What do you want to do?"
"It's your day to decide, remember?" she pointed out.
They took turns choosing what to do on their days off. There were basically two rules; first, it had to be something the chooser wanted to do and not something they thought the other wanted, and second, they absolutely had to do whatever that choice was at least once. Her picks were cultural and educational. He was a good sport about it; doing stuff he would never do just on his own, some of the places he actually enjoyed. The worst one was when she took him to watch an opera. He was astounded to learn people actually paid a lot of money to see it. Maybe that was a bit too much 'culture' for him.
But he got her back his next turn; tandem bungee jumping. She wanted to hex him so badly after the jump, after he gave her back her wand. He quickly dispersed her ire (he had his ways) and got her to admit that a part of her did enjoy freefalling with him. It was symbolic in a way, an affirmation, that she was freefalling already. The rush of all the various emotions she had been feeling for him since that night by the pond flashed before her eyes in the seconds she relied on a man-made rope to keep her and Harry alive.
She was never going to be talked into doing that again. Save for some of the things they went through as teenagers, bungee jumping was the stupidest thing she had ever done in her life and that included the many times she got back together with Ron. The one good thing about it was that at least bungee jumping didn't leave any lasting scars. Needless to say she still got anxious every time it was his turn to choose. She definitely wasn't thinking properly when she agreed to the entire arrangement.
Harry was still pondering his options, which scared her all the more. The more time he thought about it the more 'special' it would be.
"We can always start with the usual," she suggested, trying to keep a poker face, "That sometimes gives you ideas."
He laughed and wagged his finger at her, "No. Not today. Today I've decided we are not having pre-date sex."
She scoffed, amused.
"You don't believe me."
"It's not that I don't believe you," she reasoned, "I just don't think you can do it."
They usually had pre-date sex when it was his turn.
"See. This is exactly why I have to do it," he was joshing, "Don't get me wrong. I love making love with you. It's one of my favourite parts about being with you but I don't want you thinking that's all I'm good for or, Merlin forbid, believe that's all I think about"
"I don't think that."
"Not yet. But that's what I feel compelled to prevent," he was being silly, "So if only to prevent my reputation from being tarnished I sacrifice today as no sex day."
She couldn't help but chuckle.
"Are you challenging my ability to control myself around you?"
"I guess, yes," she answered with confidence, "So, if we're not having sex today what are we doing?"
"I choose to have you decide what to do."
"That's a rule violation."
"Not necessarily," he said shrewdly, "Not if you decide on something I want to do."
That made sense.
"Okay."
She extricated herself from his arms and slowly slid off him but not before brushing suggestively against his supposedly 'off duty' body part. It was difficult to keep a straight face as she stood at the foot of their bed, facing him while he watched her. He had propped himself up on both elbows curious about what she was up to.
"So, you want me to pick something which I know you'll want to do," she said thoughtfully, biting her lower lip as she slowly tugged on the free string of her blue silk pyjama bottoms and let them fall by her ankles.
His brows lifted up and he swallowed hard.
"'ll need to think about it," she continued, bringing her fingers to the top button of her shirt and then unfastening each button one at a time, careful to expose more skin as they made their way down.
When she got to the last button she stopped, gently slipped the thigh length fabric off her shoulders leaving her bare, all bare, having opted to dispense with wearing underwear last night.
Harry who was watching her intently all this time, was red. His breathing was unsteady, his gaze carressing her body. It felt like he was touching her with his hands already, causing her heartbeat to mimic the sound of raging bulls just off the gates in Pamplona. She was burning. His lips parted slightly and she couldn't help but imagine them on her, going through every inch of her body with reckless abandon. If he didn't stop staring at her the way he was she was going to have to join him back in bed. But that wasn't the intention of this particular exercise. She stepped out of the heap of blue on the floor.
"I'll let you know after a long hot shower," she added, then turned her back on him and walked to their bathroom.
"Damn," she heard Harry hiss as she slid the shower door close.
This was immediately followed by the sound of sheets being whipped off the bed in haste. She turned warm water on. Just as the first sprinkle of water fell on her Harry Apparated inside the shower stall. He was as naked as she was.
"Saboteur," he accused, moving closer, his mouth inches from hers, their bodies touching but not quite.
Her eyes gravitated to his lips as she replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You'll be begging before this is over," he brushed them lightly against hers, taunting.
"I've never begged for anything in my life."
The last were really empty words of bravado. She reached for the bath sponge behind him. Seeing him, all of him, feeling him so close, most of her was already waving the big white flag of surrender. With the cramped space there was no way she could get to what it was she had been reaching for, which she had already forgotten, unless he moved. From the bemused expression on his face he wasn't going to budge.
He took it instead, the sponge, poured liquid soap onto it and said with naughtiness in his voice, "Please, allow me."
It wasn't like he was asking for permission. With their bodies moist from the warm soft mist of the shower above their heads, he gently coaxed her to turn and face away from him. Then he worked up a lather. It was a pretty good one from what she could feel, a darn good one. He started with her neck, then her shoulders, then down her back, down the side of her legs and up her inner thighs, deliberately slowing as he went through that last part, soft flowing motions, almost featherlike, the forming bubbles slowly but incompletely washing away. The anticipation of what they were about to do fuelled her already monstrous desire.
Then she felt something fall on the tiled floor.
"Um Harry. You dropped the sponge."
She felt him come up against her, causing her to gasp involuntarily. With his big pointy gun behind her she felt the need to stand at attention.
"I believe you're right."
"Are you...picking it up?" she gulped.
He moved even closer, his firm chest and abs gliding smoothly against the suds on her back. She wordlessly prayed for restrain and sanity.
"Would you like me to?"
She thought about it for a moment then said, "No."
He asked another question, "Would you like to?"
That was a no-brainer.
"I think we'll leave it there."
"Interesting choice."
He chuckled, not the least bit disappointed. As she hoped he wasn't done. His large, strong hands came upon her shoulders, gathered suds and tracked slowly down her arms. He then moved up the side of her body and onto her taut breasts, cupping them and gently kneading them, taking her sensitive nipples in between his soapy thumb and fingers. Her hands joined his busy ones, like flies on the back of a horse really just, tagging along for the smooth mind numbing ride. He drew her closer to him, not that she wasn't already gravitating to the pleasant sliding sensation of him and his manliness against her back and the dizzying feel of his two day old stubble brushing against her neck her shoulder. Her ragged breath, bounding pulse and buckling knees said it all.
"God Harry..." she moaned, arching back, offering more of herself to him.
He kissed his way up her neck and nibbled her ear, flicking a purposeful tongue in and around it.
"Just Harry is fine," he whispered in it.
A million tingling goose bumps erupted down her spine. He knew just which buttons to push and he was enjoying this. He didn't stop there either. He worked on the other side of her neck, kissing her more roughly. While his left hand kept her breast company his right hand migrated down past her belly and onto blessed territory where she ached for him the most. His fingers started to do their thing.
"Harry..." she murmured his name again.
"Much better," came his reply, his breathing as uneven as hers.
She was losing it. She wanted to do something. Touch him, kiss him, do him, anything to keep herself from losing it. She reached behind for him but Harry would have none of it. He grabbed her by the wrist and held her hand against the wall in front of them. Then he took her other one, interlaced their fingers and gently guided them back to her sweet centre. With her fingers and his, he stroke her rhythmically, her highly tactile mound of flesh pleading for more. His mouth and tongue were having their way as well, partaking of her bare flesh, now hot and raw. All signs indicated she was so close but she wasn't going to be driven into having a hollow one. It was rarely good for her without him inside her and she always felt guilty coming without him. He was as ready as she was.
"Harry…please..."
He let her go. She spun around and their bodies merged, their mouths clashed against each other, raw, primal, uncivilized.
"It's about bloody time," he growled against her lips.
Crushing her against the wall and pinning her against it, he tugged her hair back to kiss her more deeply. She clutched his wet locks, matching his fiery intensity with her own. Out of breath she broke off from his mouth and began kissing the outline of his jaw, his neck, his throat, the feel of his scruffy beard and the satisfied sounds coming from within him turning her on even more. One of his hands slid down her body and hitched her leg up, opening her up to him. With his other hand now rested firmly in the small of her back, he dove into her with deep, hard, upward thrusts. The room swirled around them. Having him inside her was completeness in itself.
His pace quickened as his own instincts took over. He lifted her in stride and she wrapped her legs around him, giving him deeper access. She let herself go, letting him pleasure her, trusting him, giving herself up wholly to his need for filling for his would in turn fill hers. His every incursion was hitting her sweet spot. Glassy eyed, she looked through the foggy haze and watched the intensity and concentration on his face grow. That was it for her. Involuntary impulses of her orgasm hit through roof, something delightful resonated deep within her and her body shuddered and exploded, indescribable out of this world heavenly bodies appeared and all she could think of doing as she cried out his name was to hang onto him as if her life depended on it. A second or two later she felt him empty himself into her.
He set her down gently, supporting her up somewhat as warm water fell on them, water that was probably there but she just didn't notice before. She held onto him to keep steady for her legs felt like mush. Leaning his forehead against hers and still breathless, he shook his head slightly, a grin on his face.
"What so amusing?" she asked.
"You are going be the death of me," he answered, planting a long kiss on her forehead, "Now, where were we?"
"You were saying today was 'no sex day'," she reminded him with a smirk.
"Yes, I remember now," he nodded, laughing as he answered back, "And you said you didn't beg."
They called it even. It was a longer shower than planned and it was one o'clock before they had recovered, dressed and eaten. She had decided on what they were going to do today, what was left of it, anyway and was driving his really nice car.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked.
He was on the passenger seat, trying his best not to cringe so much every time a disagreeable sound came from the gear box between them. Her dismal clutching and shifting performance that afternoon was a direct result of her legs temporarily losing neurological connection with the rest of her and he was being good about it. It seemed that she and her feelings were more important than his expensive car. It was kind of a test, unintentional really, that he was passing with flying colours.
"Sutton," she replied.
She saw his concern out of her peripheral vision. He was worried about how fresh her father's death still was and how her memories of her childhood might affect her.
"We don't have to do this right now," he offered; he was kind of sweet.
"I'll be fine," she glanced at him briefly, "Really. I've put it off long enough, don't you think?"
On the other side of the complaining stick shift, Harry sat and listened as Hermione just admitted that she had indeed been skirting around the topic of her childhood. Doing this this soon was a surprise. She had been a surprise all day today starting from sleeping in, then that mini striptease she put on, and then the steamy shower. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The taste and feel of her naked skin still burned in his memory. Showering was never going to be the same again.
Studying her now as she was driving he was worried because she looked a bit peaky. He had seen her looking tired all week; must have been the strain of her new job. She had to change gears again and he involuntarily clenched his jaw.
"Why don't you want to talk about your childhood?" he asked to drown the sound out.
"I just don't. It's really nothing remarkably different from what you knew about it while we were at Hogwarts," she dismissed.
He wondered if she was going to tell him about her sister. He hoped she would. He didn't want to have to ask.
"So why are you telling me now?"
"Because you had a point about it being unfair that I know so much about your childhood when you have a hazy picture of mine."
He sat back and listened to her recap what he already knew, ignoring the pleas of help from his abused car. He was already planning that a future day off would be spent teaching her how to properly use a standard H. The standard H...he chastised his foul mind for wandering off thinking about ideas on how to make a lesson in the art of manual transmission more interesting.
"That's where I was born," she pointed to the humongous Muggle hospital as they drove by, "Six pounds eight ounces, just past those Emergency Room doors. My Mum said she went into labour two weeks early, then less than two hours later there I was, as if I just decided it was time and didn't care if no one was quite ready."
He smiled at how well her Mum put it, noting how that fit with how he had always known her.
She drove past an old church where she and her parents used to attend Sunday mass at, then the gated fortress of South Bridges Primary, where she went to school before Hogwarts. He knew Hermione's family was well off but didn't imagine this.
"You went to a rich kid's school?"
She shrugged, "My Mum always said that a good education was the most important thing they could give me. The teachers were great; my classmates were pompous arrogant assholes."
"That explains why you didn't have friends."
"My parents could afford the school but we weren't rich, not rich like most of the kids there. Many didn't like me because I got way better scores than they did and I wasn't really one of them. That and I was an annoying know-it-all, right?"
"I can't answer that."
"You're supposed to say if you were so annoying I wouldn't have been friends with you."
"Am I? How about if I say you were misunderstood and they just didn't see the better side of you."
"Which is?"
"The caring, loyal and fiercely protective friend that you can be."
"Right, you and Ron saw that," she snorted with scepticism.
"We were stupid teenage boys so it took us a while," he defended themselves; "We were lucky you didn't take that against us and stuck around."
"I didn't have much choice. It was either hanging out with you and Ron or spending time with Parvati and Lavender," she chortled, "Can you imagine me hanging out with those two?"
He chuckled as an image of a teenage her giggling and talking about boys, make-up, and more boys came to mind. He noticed that she slowed and parked in front of a twenty storey building on a very busy street, an obvious prime business location.
"That's where my Mum and Dad first set up their private practice. They built it from scratch right after graduation," she told him, "My parents worked very hard. I remember spending a lot of my childhood in there, using my Mum's desk doing homework after school, waiting for them to finish with patients. It was our routine. My Mum typically finished earlier, around five. We'd go home and she'd make dinner. Dad would get home around seven. It was a very good practice until they sold it when I was ten and set up a smaller one on the other side of town."
She grimaced slightly as she said that and drove away. They continued to drive around while she pointed out places of significance in her childhood; the old Granger house and their neighbours, the nearby libraries she frequented, the playground that was the place where she first accidentally used magic
"Stella Holden," she said as if it was some name she would never forget, "I was six. She was the neighbourhood bully. She pushed me off that swing because she couldn't wait her turn. I got so mad she ended up neck deep in the playground sand."
"You found out when you were six?"
"Well no. There was nothing else for a while and my parents figured it was some freak windstorm that got Stella," she found that amusing, "Like yours mine kind of happened when I was really upset."
She drove off and told him stories about her other instances of unintentional magic pre-Hogwarts. Quite funny were the reasons she, her parents and her teachers came up with to explain them.
"In the beginning they were subtle, few and so far in between. I wasn't upset enough much and my Mum and Dad were wonderful parents."
"So when did your magic become obvious?"
"When my sister was born."
She didn't say anything after that, as if she had nothing else to say. Silence filled the air until he found his voice and spoke.
"Patricia," he said her name and he explained to her how he knew, "I saw her grave next to your Dad's."
She nodded, not taking her eyes off the road. He could tell this was difficult for her.
"When I was about eight my Mum and Dad had a rough patch in their marriage. My Dad had an affair with one of the other partners. Patricia was my half sister. It was a very disruptive time."
Harry was flabbergasted and speechless. He couldn't get past thinking how perfect he had always pictured her parents' marriage to be. It was hard to see her dad having an affair. She continued in an almost emotionless and detached tone, as if she was telling a story about someone else and someone else's family.
"The affair didn't last long. My Mum and Dad made up and we, well they, welcomed Patricia into the family. My Dad and her Mum shared custody," she explained.
"Must have been hard on your Mum," he commented, now with added admiration for the woman who raised her.
"I didn't notice but looking back on my memories about it I could see that it was," she answered, "She doesn't talk much about that time. My Dad did tell me she lost a bit of herself doing that."
"How could she take him back?"
"I don't know," she shrugged, "I keep meaning to ask her but it hasn't really come up in a conversation. I suspect it was because she loved him and he asked her. I think maybe she did it for me too. She grew up without a father and my Dad was a good one. Of course, after knowing what he did I lost a bit of respect for him. Took a while for me to accept my Mum's thinking that he made a mistake and that didn't make him a horrible person. So I kind of took it out on my sister. I called her my part time sister. I was nine and went from centre of attention to not. I was jealous. I resented Trisha's existence."
She had a disgusted look on her face, as tears began falling. She pulled over and he took her hand in his.
"You were young," he peered in to catch her attention, "Sibling jealousy is not that uncommon."
"I know," she sniffled then faced him, "It was the first time I had to deal with that ugly side of me. On my tenth birthday I wished her dead, Harry. And she died. She was only a baby. She didn't deserve that from me. What was I thinking?"
Her face scrounged up and she broke down. He reached over, pulled her in an embrace, stroke her hair and let her cry it out. He could understand why she didn't want that this detail about her childhood become common knowledge, particularly not when she was having a hard enough time fitting in when she first came to Hogwarts.
After some time she pulled away and he took her hand again.
"You don't really think your wish was the reason she died, do you?"
"At first I did," she admitted, taking the hanky he conjured for her, "This happened as all the magic started becoming more obvious. I felt like a freak. Professor Dumbledore paid us a visit and explained everything, including the part that magical or Muggle, while definitely something not to be encouraged, no amount of wishful thinking could kill. It was a long time ago Harry. I just get upset thinking about it so I never told anyone."
He nodded.
"How did she die?"
She drew a deep breath in and answered, "She and her Mum were waiting on the underground platform and her Mum slipped just as a train was coming in. Trisha was in her arms. It was reported as an accident."
The way she said it he sensed it wasn't. He waited for her to elaborate.
"When my Dad decided to stay with us her Mum kind of lost it," she added, "I found this out years later from him. She couldn't accept his decision and she couldn't stand the gossip. There was a lot of talk, vile ones about her. She told my Dad in a letter that she didn't want that life for her daughter and that she would do what she did if he didn't leave us. He read the letter too late and wasn't able to stop her. She was apparently a good person to begin with but she became quite vengeful in the end."
That was putting it kindly. As far as Harry was concerned the woman was mean. What mother would do that to her child? And Hermione left out the part about the accident happening on her birthday. Somehow he was certain that wasn't a coincidence.
"I'm so sorry," he squeezed her hand tightly; he didn't know what to say, "I know that was hard. Thank you for telling me."
"You're not freaked out?"
"That you have skeletons in the family closet?"
"There's that and that I have this hideous side of me."
"Don't we all?"
Hermione seemed more relaxed after that. She drove them up to one of her favourite local places called Lookout Point that was just outside Sutton and had this magnificent view of the cityscape. They spent the remainder of the afternoon there sitting on the hood of his car talking about their favourite and not so favourite childhood memories. And later, with the sun setting over the horizon she leaned against him and he held her in his arms. He could feel her heart beating as calmly as his own as they watched the beautiful scene before them unfold in silence. He was at peace.
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A/N. The next one in almost done and will start with Dean and Hermione.