What Do You Expect?
Ron leaves Harry and Hermione alone in a tent, for weeks! Seeesh, what do you think is gonna happen?
I read through Deathly Hallows in a single sitting. When Ron's inevitable git-a-tude came to the fore and he ABANDONED Harry and Hermione in the forest I did a little happy dance, sure that Jo KR had finally admitted that Harmony rules.
And then she had to go spoil the ride.
"Of course we'll welcome you back, Ronald, since you forsook us for the comfort and security of MUMMY Weasley's hearth and kitchen - and my, don't you look well fed and rested? Good on you mate!"
I finished the book, cringing all through the epilogue. Then it hit me.
The Wizard-centric world is still small-minded, biased, prejudiced, lazy and stagnant. Malfoy, a MARKED Death Eater is at the train platform with the heroes of the last war. You could practically hear the "approach of the shark" music in the background as this stale-blooded community nurtured the next generation's dark lord or lady.
And we're okay with this?
I wrote the original version of What Do You Expect on Sunday the 22nd of July, 2007, the day after the release of Deathly Hallows.
This is a slight re-write.
Author's warning: MAJOR spoiler here, if you haven't read the book STOP! Go read Deathly Hallows, then please come back. It'll be okay, I promise.
"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said.
Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione.
"What are you doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you staying, or what?"
"I..." She looked anguished. "Yes-yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help-"
"I get it. You choose him."
"Ron, no-please-come back, come back!"
She was impeded by her own Shielding Charm; by the time she had removed it he had already stormed into the night. Harry stood quite still and silent, listening to her sobbing and calling Ron's name amongst the trees.
After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face.
"He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!"
She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry.
Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron's bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.
"He's gone." She said in a small disbelieving voice, "after all we talked about; after all I, I mean we've done for him--"
"He's gone." Harry agreed. Why am I not surprised?
"He said we'd be with you to the bitter end," she sobbed. "I just didn't know 'the bitter end' would come so soon." She got up from the chair and, still sobbing, stumbled toward her own bunk. She tripped as Ron's blankets tangled around her feet and fell through the barrier that divided the tent, tearing it off its support rod and dropped in a tangled heap onto her bed; wracked with silent sobs.
Harry rushed over to her then stopped. He looked down at her; in her sorrow she was completely oblivious to the tangle of curtains and rings and bedclothes. He knelt and gently unwound the material until she lay on it curled in upon herself. Her hair, even more untamed than usual, wreathed her face, half hidden by her pillow. He picked up the duvet that she had inadvertently kicked onto the floor and carefully draped it over her to guard against the night chill. He tenderly coaxed the hair away from her face and she grabbed his hand and pleaded "Ron?"
"Sorry Mione, it's just me."
"Stay a while?"
He sat with her until she finally slept then moved a chair to the tent's entrance to watch for Ron; or anyone who might mean them harm.
But Ron had apparated away, there would be no finding his way back.
Harry woke with a start early the following morning to the sounds of Hermione in the kitchen. She didn't meet his eyes as he walked past her on his way to the little shower and toilet. When he came out it was to the smell of eggs and toast and coffee.
They ate in silence and then set about packing the tent into her small beaded bag.
Harry spoke first, "Should we drop the concealing charms, y'know, just in case?"
She looked hopefully at him for amoment, then dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head, "No, we shouldn't"
"He was wearing this damned locket, he was tired and angry and frustrated and hungry,"
She snorted "He's always hungry."
"Well, yeah, but the point is, he didn't mean it." Harry looked desperately into her dark caramel eyes, "He couldn't mean it."
"Oh he meant it all right; didn't you see the look in his eyes?"
Harry took her hand to lead her out of the protected circle and strained his ears to listen for any sign that Ron had come back. Hermione never let go of Harry's hand.
"Let's go," she finally said.
Harry squeezed her hand tight and they disapparated, appearing on a windswept hillside covered in heather.
She reluctantly released his hand to allow him to cast the privacy and protection charms. As he circled their new campsite he kept an eye on Hermione as she sat on a boulder and shook in what Harry knew were sobs.
"Oh sod this!" he said, quickly completing the circle so that he could rush over to hold her.
They clung to each other on that boulder for the better part of an hour until the relentless wind forced them to erect the tent. Once inside Harry started a fire in the little iron stove and the pair wrapped themselves in a blanket to huddle near it. When they finally felt warm enough they pulled apart to begin their researches for the day.
A good five hours passed before Harry got up and stretched. He realized two things; first, he had been able to focus on his studies and second, and more importantly, Hermione was humming. Neither one of them had had to feed or entertain Ron. That was when Harry came to the realization that, for the better part of the past six years they had been Ron's minder. He snickered and caught Hermione's eye.
"I'm going to see what's nearby."
"Take the cloak!" she admonished, then smirked as he twirled it with a flourish disappearing beneath it like some cheesy stage magician.
He just stood there, invisible beneath the cloak, and watched her looking back at him. Her crooked half-smile suited her for the moment, but he looked forward to the time when she would smile again.
He topped the hill and was pleasantly surprised to see a small village. "Great," he thought aloud, "we can stock up."
He went through the local food market concentrating on staples that didn't need refrigeration, canned meats and vegetables. His 'notice-me-not' spell in conjunction with his father's cloak allowed him free reign of the small market. He did pick up a packet of chicken cutlets along with some fresh peas and carrots. He vowed to make Hermione a decent lunch. He placed the proper amount of muggle money in the till and as an afterthought added a 50p coin to cover the cost of the single red rose he lifted on the way out.
While Harry was out shopping Hermione realized she hadn't bathed in three days. She pulled off her T shirt and gave it an experimental sniff "oh yeah, definitely whiffy!" She removed her bra and jeans. Looking around to see if Harry had come back, she shrugged and pulled off her knickers. She laid her clothes out on her bed and preformed a simple household cleaning charm, "turgio," then headed for the shower.
As she showered Harry returned and placed his purchases on the small kitchen counter, then dug out the frying pan and two pots. He was a better than fair hand at cooking, having done it for the Dursleys since he was eight years old. Their favorite had been pan fried chicken.
"Let's see," he said to himself, "flour, salt, paprika, pepper, sage, rosemary, eggs and oil, yep, all here."
He lit the burner on the cook stove and proceeded to cut the carrots. He didn't see or hear Hermione step out of the shower. She didn't see him as she toweled her hair dry while walking to her bed to dress. Harry was pouring a measured amount of canola oil into a deep frying pan as she stepped into her knickers. She decided to forgo a bra and just pulled her Tshirt over her head when she heard a clang in the kitchen corner. She spun just in time to see Harry turn around and see her for the first time since returning.
"Harry!" she shrieked.
Harry dropped the pan of carrots, little orange wheels bounced in every direction, "What?"
"Have you been standing there all this time?"
He didn't understand what she meant.
"And you've been watching me dress?" her eyes were narrow and dangerous.
"No - NO!" he shouted back as he finally achieved clarity. "No Hermione, I swear, I wasn't perving on you! I was just, just, getting lunch together and I was making a lot of noise so I thought you knew I was here and I didn't know you were out of the shower or," he seemed to realize where his eyes were drawn and he quickly turned away, "um, Hermione?"
"Do you think you might want to finish getting dressed?"
She looked down at what she was wearing, or rather not wearing and gave an exasperated sigh, "Oh bollocks, Harry," she gestured to what she was wearing, "I'm more covered now than I would be in my swimmers!"
He purposefully began retrieving the errant carrot discs, "I've never seen you in your, um, swimming costume."
She stepped into her newly cleaned jeans and smirked, "You can look now, see? All covered up, is that better? "
He grinned, "Less distracting anyway."
She realized that she'd misjudged him and quickly changed the subject, "What are you making?"
"Oh, I wanted to fix you a nice lunch, there's a market in town and I stocked up"
She shrieked in delight and quickly inventoried his purchases.
"Oh Harry, this is brilliant!" she said looking over his choices, "Ron would have stocked up on sweets and. . ."
And just like that the good feeling was gone.
Harry turned back to his cooking and Hermione withdrew into herself.
He combined the flour, salt and spices in a paper bag, cracked the egg into a mixing bowl and added a small amount of milk to that. Then he dipped the chicken pieces into the egg mixture before placing them into the seasoned flour mixture. Soon the delicious smell of chicken and spices permeated the tent.
Mechanically Hermione set the table as Harry finished frying the last bit of chicken. He brought a platter with the chicken and another with the peas and carrots mixed. He placed them on the table and then snapped his fingers, "Almost forgot."
He placed two ice-cold colas on the table then a small bud vase with the single rose.
"I bought the sodas because I thought you'd like something, um, 'normal' with dinner, and I got the rose because, well, I saw it and thought you might like it."
Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the rose. A single red rose; the universally acknowledged gift of love. A single red rose says simply, "I love you."
Somehow she knew that she was reading far too much into it. It was a sweet gesture, nothing less, nothing more.
"T-Thank you Harry," she smiled. "It's lovely."
That single smile made all his efforts to date worthwhile.
They finished their lunch in silence, but unlike the morning's meal, which had been endured in cold quiet; this was enjoyed in companionable silence.
After lunch they continued their researches, near late afternoon Hermione called. "Harry?"
"Come look at this."
He joined her on the loveseat; she leaned into him and pointed out a symbol on the title page of one of Beedle the Bard's tales.
"The Three Brothers?" he asked.
"Um hum," she nodded, "but look at this, this symbol doesn't appear to be typeset, it looks like it was hand-drawn in."
As they leaned forward their heads touched, had Hermione's hair always been so soft? Was it always fragrant with the scent of apples?
"I've seen this symbol before" Harry mused, "I'm sure of it, but where?"
She looked up as he was looking down and they could feel the light touch of each other's exhalations soft upon their lips.
He thought he would loose himself in those eyes; those eyes that were now heavy lidded as her face came even closer to his.
At the last possible second they both simply touched foreheads, both content just to be in each other's company for the moment.
By unstated agreement Harry and Hermione became more comfortable around each other. They sat closer, spoke less and said more with each passing day.
Every other day or so Hermione would wash her hair and Harry began helping her brush it out, she taught him a simple charm that would blow warmed air from the tip of his wand so that he could help her tame her mane.
At first she would wear her house-robe as he tended her hair, then she started wearing her T-shirt and knickers, finally she just wore a towel.
They studied at the kitchen table, but when they both wanted to read the same book they would 'assume the position' on the one comfortable bit of furniture in the tent, the overstuffed loveseat they had transfigured for just that purpose.
The small couch was wide enough to accommodate them both, if they were very close.
They read into the wee hours of the morning more often than not, one night they slept the night away, cuddled on the cushions.
Harry woke first and carefully disentangled himself from his protesting best mate.
He showered and shaved and brushed his morning breath away, then dressed to begin breakfast.
Hermione looked around, bleary-eyed, saw Harry in the kitchen and smiled her brilliant good morning smile.
"The bath is all yours; I'll have breakfast on when you come out."
She practically skipped to the loo and Harry thought he'd never seen her happier.
Eggs, beans on toast, sausages and coffee and they were ready to face the day.
Hermione led him to "their" seat and settled in his lap, the ubiquitous book in her hands.
"Do you know what today is?"
"Um, November the Thirtieth?"
"One month to the day since Ronald deserted us."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't given him much thought, I mean, um. . ."
"It's okay Harry, the point I'm trying to make here is, that I don't miss him, in fact, I'm glad he's gone."
"You mean that?"
She nodded, "I really do."
"Oh, thank God!"
"Well, I thought you'd think I was being a right git if I told you that I haven't missed him at all, his whining, his slovenly ways, and the fact that he eats enough for two grown Dudley Dursleys."
"Wouldn't you rather be with Ginny than me?" she asked.
"I thought I did, but now I'm not sure. "He replied, "I don't think she's really with me when she is with me, y'know?"
"I think I do, Harry."
"To her I'll always be the 'BwL'."
Hermione leaned her head to place a kiss on Harry's cheek, just as he turned to say something else and their lips touched, briefly.
It was nice, but Harry wasn't sure it was what she wanted from him.
"Hermione, I don't think . . ."
"Don't think Harry, feel!" she said just before their lips touched again.
Kissing Cho had been nice, albeit salty and wet. Kissing Ginny had been exciting as she had devoured his mouth with hers. Kissing Hermione was, like, completion. Every kiss he'd had up to that point was just to let him know how all the others had paled by comparison.
They sat, arms entwined, lips touching, tongues seeking for what seemed like hours.
Hermione pulled slightly back and Harry was confused and concerned to see her lower lip quivering, "oh Harry, I'm so sorry, you can't begin to know . . ."
"No Hermione, it's all my fault, I never should have-"
She stopped him by placing her fingertips softly on his lips.
"I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, I'm sorry that you were not my first, my first kiss, my first love my first . . ."
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, erasing the tear there, "doesn't matter Hermione, as long as I can be your last."
He kissed her again, this time hungrily and she responded in kind.
He found his hands under her T shirt as she pulled his shirt up over his abdomen. He wasn't surprised to feel only skin where he'd normally expect a bra, her braless state had been obvious since he'd seen her out of the shower, nipples hard and pointing directly at him all through breakfast.
"Want," she said, leaning back to tug at his shirt, "to," he lifted his arms to allow her to pull the offending garment over his head, "feel," she crossed her arms to grab the hem of her shirt, "you." She pulled the shirt over her head revealing her beautifully round breasts in all their glory.
Harry caressed those wonderful firm yet so-soft orbs as Hermione's head snapped back and she moaned in pleasure.
"Kiss me Harry," she insisted. Somehow he knew where he was supposed to kiss her. He kissed and licked and muzzled between her wonderful breasts relishing the taste and texture and flavor of them. The sounds Hermione made as he worshiped her body encouraged him to venture south.
He popped the button and unzipped her jeans revealing the sensible white cotton knickers beneath. He'd seen them before, but up close he noticed the pattern that at first he'd thought were simple yellow polka-dots were, in fact.
"Snitches?" he asked delightedly.
"I always hoped some day my favorite seeker would come." She demurred, "I've had these for two years now."
She stood and shimmied out of her jeans, leaving the knickers in place. She knelt down between his legs and loosened the buckle of his belt before she unbuttoned his trousers. She fished into his boxers, pulling out his turgid stonker. She echoed his moan as she held the tip of his very impressive erection to her wet mouth.
"I've never done this for anyone Harry, you will be my first!" she insisted.
Was she any good at it? Harry had no basis for comparison. What he did know was that this was infinitely better than anything he'd ever done with his own hand.
She had obviously been researching technique; she took half his impressive length into her mouth, using her saliva to slick the remaining length. She stroked the base of his cock as she bobbed her head and slobbered over as much of it as she could.
She tongued and sucked and stroked until he couldn't hold back, "Hermione, I'm - I'm gonna . . ."
She redoubled her efforts, sucking and stroking harder as he groaned and blew his wad into her eagerly humping mouth.
She removed her mouth from his semi erect cock with a pop and grinned, a small trickle of spunk running down the side of her mouth.
He reached down to pull her up and kissed her thoroughly; wiping his ejaculate off her cheek with his thumb.
He laid her across the love seat and helped her shimmy out of her "seeker" knickers. He noticed the crotch panel was soaked through. He also noticed that she'd shaved. He placed her right foot on the canvas floor of the tent her left foot up on the cushion and French kissed her nether lips.
"Oh my" she moaned, "You are definitely a keeper Mr. Potter!"
Harry was desperately trying to remember what McGonagall had said about transfigurations.
"Human transfiguration is the most difficult of all. The novice should practice on body parts first, feet and toes being the most common rather than hands and fingers, as the witch or wizard might need their hands to hold a wand in order to reverse the transfiguration."
As Harry probed Hermione with his tongue and fingers he wondered, "Why not tongues?"
He surreptitiously pulled his wand from his back pocket, no easy feat as his pants were around his knees and he was otherwise engaged at the time. He did a minimal engorgio on his tongue and was pleased to feel it extend three or four inches from his lips.
He placed the tip of his engorged tongue just below her clitoris - he had heard enough in the locker room to know exactly what that little nub was, and what it could presumably do for the witch. Harry began to saw in and out, getting a little deeper with each thrust of his tongue.
Fact: Hermione could have been dry as toast and Harry's tongue would have still slid in comfortably as it was, in fact, a self lubricating phallus.
Fact: parseltongue requires the speaker's tongue to vibrate in order to achieve proper sibilance.
Fact: combining parseltongue with cunnilingus is a recipe for turning any witch into an incoherent puddle of very satisfied goo.
"SWEET BABY JEE-HAYE-ZZUSSS!" she shrieked
Harry couldn't help but smirk as he tongue-fucked his Hermione into sweet oblivion.
By the time she awakened, still feeling a bit groggy, he'd restored his tongue and lay beside her on her bed, quite naked.
"You're very light, Luv, easy to carry."
"No, how did you do that?"
"Oh, that," Harry said sheepishly, "um, I was just applying some of McGonagall's lessons to apractical purpose. Was that okay? I mean, you are my first . . ."
She took his face in both her hands and kissed him senseless while rolling on top of him so that his fully erect cock rested a fraction of an inch from her sopping wet entrance.
"That was a yes then?"
Her answer was to rise up on her knees and position his cock so that she could slide back on it, completely surrounding him in tight wet warmth.
If Harry had thought nothing could feel better than Hermione's mouth and hands on him, then he was happy to be proven wrong. The words haven't been invented yet to describe how it felt to be inside her.
She rose up then came down as she bottomed out she did a delightful little wiggle forcing their pubic bones close as humanly possible.
She began to piston up and down rapidly while Harry pushed back until the slap, slap, slap, slapping began to sound like applause. She shrieked once more then fell boneless onto his chest.
When she was coherent again she smiled and said, "Your turn!" Then rolled Harry on top of her while spreading her legs as wide as humanly possible.
"Now fuck me Harry, fuck me stupid!"
With a feral growl he grabbed both her ass cheeks, she responded by wrapping her legs around his middle while he began, slowly at first, to push in, then pull out nearly completely then push in, then pull out then push, then pull then push, push, push. As his pace increased her last thought before descending into Babel was, We must look like a fuckin' locomotive!
Having climaxed not even an hour before Harry was able to bring her to completion one more time before she felt his warm release within her. Exhausted, he fell onto the mattress beside her. They lay face to face in each other's arms, legs entwined.
He began to chuckle, "Fuck me stupid?"
She smiled and blushed, "well if you were to fuck my brains out I'd be just like Lavender Brown. . ."
He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, "Have I ever told you that I love you Hermione Jane Granger?"
She captured his fingers and kissed them gently, "Only every day since we were eleven Harry Potter."
He seemed confused, "I never said--"
"Not in words Harry, but in the way you've always respected my feelings, the way you've always been there for me, even when I did terrible things. You never gave up on me. And by the way, I love you too. Always have, always will. Deal with it."
"Funny," he said, "I always thought it would be you and Ron and me and Ginny in the end with three kids each just seeing each other on the weekends for Sunday dinners at Molly's. I was never going to tell you how I felt because, well, I didn't think I deserved you."
She kissed him, then asked, "Regrets?"
"With you, never." then he sighed. "I wonder; what will our friends say?"
I don't know Harry, and frankly don't give a damn. There might be a universe out there where Ron get's his head out of his arse. I can't really imagine it but someone who is truly delusional might. There may actually be a world where you marry Ginny and Imarry Ron and we become 'one big happy Weasley family,' but we're not in that world. Thank God!
When Ron finally did return it was to find Harry and Hermione were well and truly bonded - and even he wasn't thick enough to try to break them apart.
Author's note: can we talk here? C'mon people, Ron leaves two hormonal seventeen year olds in a tent for weeks. Two healthy, attractive teenagers who both know that each day may very well be their last. One of the biggest complaints about fan fiction is that it takes beloved characters and turns them into sex objects.
Do you know any teenagers? Do you remember having been one?