Title: After Happily Ever After (3/?)
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Hermione
Rating: PG (this part)
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Length/Word Count: Chaptered, 2004 words (this part)
Summary: Thirty-two years later...
Warnings: DH Spoilers, Epilogue compliant
Notes: This fic started out from a prompt for random_loves Birthday. She requested Harry and Hermione falling in love at age 50/51. Not an affair. Special thanks to quite_grey for the beta! Any remaining mistakes belong to me. Comments and Concrit are welcome and greatly appreciated!
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters that I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world that I didn't create. No copyright infringement intended, no money's being made.

Start with Part One

Part Two


After Happily Ever After
Part 3


Hermione had been sitting on the sofa for an hour with only a cold cup of tea for company when Harry finally showed up.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he said as he navigated through the front door with two full paper bags in each crook of his arm, celery stalks jutting over the lip of one. He nearly lost his grasp as he tried to shut the door with his foot.

Hermione rose from the sofa. “Oh, leave it—I’ll get it.”

Harry shot her a grateful smile as he headed toward the kitchen. She followed as soon as she closed the door, and found him stacking the bags on the counter.

“You haven’t eaten, yet, have you? Because I thought I’d make chicken and ham pie tonight.”

“My favourite.”

“I know.”

They shared another smile, and as Harry spread the makings of a feast over the countertops, a sight that was becoming familiar in her kitchen, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to mention Ron’s visit just yet.

But Ron’s words nagged at her. She was grateful when Harry shooed her away and she could fall into the routine of the last week: he cooked and she read with the pleasant background of clanging pots and pans and enticing smells wafting through her flat. She curled up on the sofa with that night’s choice, Ancient Rites of Ancient Wizards, a bit of light reading, but the words on the page blurred and all she could think was, Harry’s not talking to me. She pushed the thought away, but Ron’s voice took it’s place, reminding her of everything Harry hadn’t shared with her, and she spent most of her reading time convincing herself it was best to bring it up after dinner.


***


“You’re quiet tonight.”

Hermione swallowed a bite of her dinner. What Harry said was true, of course. Normally she chatted away about the latest rubbish in the Daily Prophet, or her newest case at the Ministry, but every time she opened her mouth to mention work, Ron’s voice rang out in her head reminding her that Harry wasn’t going to work anymore. Then a nervous tingle would shoot up her spine as she thought of the conversation she was putting off until after the meal. Then she couldn’t think of a topic at all.

She couldn’t meet his eyes as she mumbled her excuse, “Just savoring the pie.”

“Hmm.” Harry didn’t seem to be convinced of her answer, but he didn’t press, just took a swallow of his juice and continued to eat.

Hermione’s patience ran out.

“I don’t like this.” She dropped her fork; it hit the plate with a clatter.

“What? The pie—I thought you-”

“No, not the pie—the pie’s delicious-” Hermione would not be distracted by the dusting of pink on Harry’s nose and cheeks from her compliment. “You’ve been here a week, and-”

“I’m working on cleaning out Grimmauld Place, but I can go back there if-”

“Will you let me finish a sentence, please?”

Harry looked as if he were about to protest, but nodded instead and closed his mouth, leaning back in his chair.

“Thank you.” Hermione took a deep breath. “As I was saying, you’ve been here a week, and we haven’t talked about what happened-”

Harry threw his napkin on top of his plate. “I’m finished.”

“Harry-” Hermione sat back, stunned.

Harry pushed his chair back and grabbed his plate. “You can leave the dishes out. I’ll do them later.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Hermione’s napkin fell to the floor in her haste to get up, but she ignored it and scrambled after him into the kitchen. “You’re not getting away from me that easily—not again.”

Harry tossed his plate, napkin and all, into the sink. “Just leave it—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s all you’ve been doing! Not talking about it and-”

“Stop pushing me-”

Harry turned to leave the kitchen but Hermione grabbed his arm. “And that’s all I’ve been doing, not pushing you. It’s obviously not doing you any good.”

“How would you know?” Harry yanked his arm out of her grasp, and headed out of the kitchen in a huff. Hermione hurried after, a beat behind him, but her quick determined steps failed to make up for his long gait.

“I don’t! I don’t know, because you don’t tell me—that’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

He bolted out of her reach and was almost at the threshold of the hallway, a few strides away from the door to his room; she knew if she didn’t stop him before he disappeared inside, she wouldn’t be able to get him to come out for the rest of the night.

Hermione was not going to plead with Harry through his door.

“No, I have to hear about what’s going on with you from Ron.”

Harry froze with his hand on the doorknob.

“Ron?” He slowly turned around, his voice barely above a whisper. “When did you talk to Ron?”

Hermione took a shaky breath. “About an hour before you came home, he stopped by. Looking for you.”

“He’s back, then.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Ginny’s staying with him.”

“Oh.” Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed once with the force of a hard swallow. “What did you tell him?”

“What was I supposed to tell him?”

Harry shrugged, averting his eyes.

“I told him you were out for a walk. He decided not to wait.”

Harry took a few tentative steps forward, stopping just behind the arm chair. “What did he say?”

“You took a leave from work. You told Lily, Al, and James about the divorce…without Ginny.”

“That’s not my fault.” Harry gripped the top of the chair, his knuckles harsh white knobs poking through his skin. “I had to—I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Harry-”

“No, Hermione,” Harry said, halting Hermione’s movement towards him. “I’ve owled Ginny every day, trying to—pleading with her to talk to me, and she hasn’t—she won’t even write back. I’ve gone by the house, and she wasn’t there—at least now I know where she is.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Hermione said, edging toward him again. “I’m sure she just needs some time.”

“Don’t you get it?” Harry’s face screwed up. “She’s not the only one involved.”

“The kids, yes, I know, but-”

“Lily finished her Auror training.” Harry cut in, finally meeting her eyes. “She’s going to be sworn in on Monday. Don’t you think it would be better for her to hear about the divorce from me, rather than through Ministry gossip?”

Harry pinned Hermione down with his gaze for a bare moment, but then continued before she could even think of an answer.

“Don’t you think that as soon as I go to a solicitor, someone is going to find out no matter how careful I am? Even if the rumours aren’t already circling around the Ministry, I’d rather not have my kids find out from the front page of the Daily Prophet, either. I told Ginny all of this—maybe she didn’t read the letters, maybe I could have waited or tried harder to reach her. I should have checked over at Ron and Luna’s…I didn’t think she’d go there while Ron was away, but I—I panicked, all right? I didn’t know what else to do.”

Harry’s face crumpled; his head dropped soon after, and Hermione shuffled over, closing the distance between them.

She covered his hand with hers, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “You can talk to me. You can always talk to me.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“You do?” Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Then start acting like it.”

Harry lifted his head and gave her a faint smile; Hermione returned it then pulled him into a tight hug. His arms came around her at once, his fuzzy chin tickling her temple.

“You need to shave,” she murmured. He ducked his head, chuckling lightly in her ear, then pulled back, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

“Thanks,” he said with a shy smile.

“Don’t thank me. I’m not done, yet.”

Harry groaned blithely and she felt him tense before he dropped his arms to his sides with a shrug. “Yeah, I figured.”

“I thought I smelled something sweet earlier.” Hermione cocked her head toward the kitchen. “Did you by chance make pudding?”

“Yeah. I wanted to make a nice dinner for you—as thanks.”

“And I ruined it,” Hermione said with a rueful smile.

“No-”

“Yes I did. You can say it.”

“Well, maybe a bit,” Harry admitted.

“I would apologise, but I’m not in the least bit sorry. We need to talk about these things, but I, well, I tried to wait until after dinner.”

“It’s all right, Hermione.”

“It’s just when—when Ron was here, he told me all these things I didn’t know, and the whole reason I wanted you to stay here was because I knew this was going to be hard for you, and I didn’t want you to be alone. But you’re doing your best to be alone here, too. You might as well be at Grimmauld Place.”

“That’s not true, but if you want me to leave-”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I do not want you to leave!” Hermione wanted to shake Harry until he understood that fact, until he promised never to offer to leave again. “But I’m not going to put up this—whatever this is we’re doing—this happy façade, anymore.”

“What are you talking about? I am happy here.”

“Are you really? Are you happy being closed off from everyone?”

Harry looked at the floor.

“If you were talking to someone else, I wouldn’t care that you weren’t opening up to me, but you’re not talking to anyone about these things. It’s not healthy, Harry.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“What?”

“When you left Ron. Who did you talk to?” Harry’s gaze turned quizzical.

“Well—we had joint counseling sessions-”

“Yes. That was before the divorce. Who did you talk to after?”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t see what this has to do with-”

“You didn’t talk to me.”

Hermione fidgeted with the hem of her blouse. Harry’s stare pierced her; she was so used to challenging him and him looking away. He’d rarely met her eyes for any length of time in the last few days, she realised. Now that he was, she could barely breathe.

“I didn’t want to put you in the middle,” she finally said. She refused to look away though a part of her desperately wanted to look anywhere else but at him.

“It hurt that you didn’t talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione forced a swallow though her throat was dry. “You can understand how I feel, then.”

“Yeah, I can.” Harry reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, too.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be happy for me, Harry.” Hermione squeezed his hand and suddenly she found it wasn’t hard to meet his gaze at all, anymore. She didn’t want to look anywhere else.

“I am happy here. I promise I’m not faking it.”

A smile crept across Hermione’s lips. “Then stop offering to leave.”

“All right,” Harry said with a matching smile.

“And you don’t have to be happy all the time. You don’t have to hide from me when you’re upset.”

“Yes, Hermione.”

“And you’ll—we’re going to talk to each other honestly, from now on, right?”

“Yes. If you want, you can even make some sort of colour-coded time table to remind me.”

Hermione’s lips twitched at the sparkle in Harry’s eyes, and she tried to look offended, but somehow couldn’t quite manage it.

“Shut it, Potter.” She pinched his shoulder, then tugged on his hand, tilting her head toward the kitchen. “I think we both deserve a little pudding, now.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Harry said. He glanced at their joined hands and smiled. “Lead the way.”


Continue to Part 4








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