A/N: I'm not nessacarily a Harry/Hermione fanatic, but I do like the idea of them, and when this came to me for Ilia's 500 Word Challenge, I had to do it. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Hermione knows this is a bad idea. The second Harry kisses her; she knows it’s a bad idea. Neither of them are in the state to do this – Harry has just visited his parents grave, he has Ginny. And Hermione knows that she’s going to end up with Ron at the end of this all, knows that she’s as vulnerable as he is without Ron, the missing part. He reminds Hermione of a variable in an equation. Without him, the equation, the trio, is only words and numbers and make-believe.
Hermione does love Harry, she always has. She’s always taken care of him and Ron, and she doesn’t know what she’d do without them. She’s independent, but they’re her boys. She loves them equally, but the world doesn’t work like that. They can’t stay fourteen forever, and they all have to choose. They’ve made their decisions, and they’re unspoken but understood.
Hermione knows better than this, she knows better than to have sex just because someone asks her nicely, but she looks into his eyes and she’s captivated by his ghosts, haunted. Harry needs this, he needs release, and Hermione wants to give it to him, she wants this as much as he does. There’s no candles and no bed, and it’d be lying if Hermione told you this was the first time she wanted, but there’s something strangely romantic about this, two lovers hiding out in the middle of the war.
And soon enough their lips meet again. Clothes are coming off now, first hers then his. Neither of them have had a proper bath in days. Her hair is flat and there’s dirt on her face, but Merlin, neither of them care. His tongue slides into her mouth, with such a frenzied fervor, she has to remind him to slow down. The way they’re feeling and touching is carnal, animalistic.
This is one thing she doesn’t know how to do. This is sex; this is completely and entirely new to her. This tangle of limbs, this battle of their lips and tongue. Their hands are everywhere, and fuck, she knows she’s right like she always is once he climbs on top of her. It’s not a perfect moment. There are rocks digging into her back and her leg’s fallen asleep, but it’s so perfect and so real and so now that it doesn’t matter.
3…2…1, and the stars explode. Her heart stops, and Hermione falls in love in ten minutes. It’s an unconventional love story; there is no smiling and no words, just sweat and stickiness. She catches her breath and turns to her side. She sees the same ghosts in his eyes and new ones too. Yet again, she’s haunted. She can’t bring herself to kiss him. There is no tenderness, nothing romantic at all now that it’s over, just the rustle of trees in the night and the chirping of crickets. Sentiments of love die on their lips as the blackness of the night consumes them.