Ghosts
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
A.N.: This is a fragment. It may become more than that, someday, but it's a nice little thing as is. The poem that is the inspiration and is referenced may be found here.
When you have achieved peace, you still have to deal with the ghosts of the past. Harry/Hermione, implied Hermione/Cho. Rated R for sexuality.
We lay together in bed, back to belly, his arm draped across me, breath feathering on my neck. I kept my eyes shut, and I felt him smile against the back of my neck.
"Oh, now, did I put her to sleep?" There was an immense amount of pride in his voice, and I couldn't let that pass.
"Mm, no," I said, fully aware I sounded drunk. He giggled. I hadn't heard him giggle since...Merlin, since we were at Hogwarts. "I'm just enjoying the high."
"Ah," he breathed, snuggling his cheek into my back. I opened my eyes, and realized that the single candle over on the bureau was much too bright.
"It's been a while, I want to savor it," I said, closing my eyes again. It had indeed.
"Ron," he said, tensing slightly.
I rolled over, haze blown from my mind. "Harry. How many times do we have to go down this road? It wasn't your fault. It wasn't my fault."
He sighed, hair falling messily over his forehead, which was scarless now. I raised my hand and stroked along his jawline. He leaned into the caress. I'd never met anyone so skin hungry as he was, someone so needing touch, so abandoned to it. It was almost...I bit down on the memory. No.
"Mi'ne?" he said, softly, "What're you thinking?"
"Being with you's almost like being with a girl," I said, hoping he'd let it go.
Instead, his entire body flared with interest. "What do you mean?" he asked, not angrily, but with intense curiosity. I should have known. The boy was always curious, and I had just discovered that chosen celibacy hadn't dampened his interest....apparently his reading list had been extensive and varied. And he learned very, very fast.
Damn. Now I was going to have to think, and it was hard with him stroking my hip.
"If you want me to think straight, you're going to have to stop that," I said, voice slurring only slightly.
"But I like it when you don't, " he said. That light was back in his eyes.
"Harry!"
"All right, okay," he said, laughing. I smiled, despite myself. "I do want to know," he added.
"Men are like steak. Women are like ice cream," I said, and watched him frown. He was trying to process it. Finally, he quirked an eyebrow at me in question.
"Well, it's not exactly an easy thing to explain," I said, a little flustered.
"Perhaps telling me when there was a girl would be easier," he said, grinning rather implacably at me. "I hadn't expected you to be quite that...exploratory."
"Cho,' I said, simply.
His face stilled. "Another one on my conscience," and it was a little too light to be a joke.
"She chose to be an Auror," I reminded him.
"No one should die like that," he returned, and I felt tension seeping back into him.
"Is this how it's always going to be?" I said, sitting up, feeling the cold air hit my back. "Are we going to bring the ghosts in here every damn time we...."
There was a vexed sigh from behind me. "I...Damn it, Hermione, get back here."
When I was secure under his chin again, ear against his heart, he spoke. Although his voice had deepened to a nice baritone, I heard for the moment the boyish tones of the child I met.
"I'm sorry. He sighed, and went on. "I ....I dream about them. I dream about it all. It's why I was reluctant..."
It put a new face on the long and patient pursuit of him over dinner and drinks and watching Quidditch matches and the long tense moment in my kitchen that evening when we'd come home. I nodded.
"Yes....you're not the only one to dream, you know, " I said. I looked up at him to find him hiding behind those absurdly-long-for-a-male eyelashes. Finally, he looked at me, and I felt my heart softening more at the look in his eyes.
"I'm being what Snape always accused me of, aren't I, the center of the universe." His voice had a familiar note of self-accusation.
"You're entitled to hurt, " I said.
"But not wallow in it, in here," he said, softly. "And, I do want to know about the difference...I was never inclined to try out that side of the fence myself...Is it so different?"
I wiggled out of his arms just a bit, and we repositioned ourselves, facing each other, propped up with pillows. Our hands were interlaced, and it was warm under the blanket.
"Yes, in some ways. Men...men have muscles. More obvious than women, anyway. And women have softer skin. That was what amazed me, the first time... it's like touching satin."
He nodded, fascinated.
"It's...strange, not because it's foreign, but because it's familiar. Like reaching into the mirror and running your hands over the curves of the shape in it....and the curves are part of the strangeness."
"Men aren't curved," he said, softly.
"No...and then there's the softness... women are so soft. Even someone like Cho, who was so athletic...softness. It's intoxicating."
"You're intoxicating," he said softly, bringing my hand up to kiss it. Mmm. Maybe I wasn't all done for the night. I slid closer, slid my hand down his arm. He was lean, always had been, but the Quidditch and the Auror work had added sinewy muscle. He shivered when I touched him, eyes closed in pleasure.
"Do you want me to stop?" I breathed, looking at him with hooded eyes.
"No...I like being touched."
"I noticed," I said with a slight laugh.
"And I like touching you," he said, with the light back in his eyes. "I promise, I'll keep the ghosts out of the bed."
I smiled. "Good, cause they get in the way."
"Can't have that, " he said, and he kissed me again, and I decided that was apology and promise enough for tonight.
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