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113 Days Later (In Time Series 2)	By : Dazzlious Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 8954 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from JK Rowling’s fantastic books or films, I’m just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Hermione wrapped her scarf inside her coat as she did it up. Although the day was beautifully sunny she knew looks were deceptive. It was still bitterly cold out there, the sharp hoar frost on the trees and hedgerows showed that. However, at least that awful wind that tore right through you had dropped so it seemed a good couple of degrees warmer than yesterday. She dug in her pockets for her gloves but only found one. Grunting with annoyance, she looked around at the pile of boots, shoes and bags around her on the floor, stooping to see if she had dropped it. She spotted it half wedged under a boot and bent down to retrieve it.
‘Where are you going?’
Hermione looked round to see Harry, who was watching her carefully.
‘I’m going into Ottery St Catchpole. I want to visit the church. I understand they have an impressive rood screen . . . and misericords.’
‘Do they indeed?’ Harry grinned widely. ‘What the fuck’s a rude screen when it’s at home?’
Hermione shook her head, looking despairing. ‘Don’t you know anything, Harry? A rood as in r-o-o-d screen is a highly decorated screen made of wood or stone which separates the nave from the chancel of the church. Apparently the one in the local church is a particularly fine example.’
Harry opened his mouth to ask what the difference between the nave and the chancel was but then decided he wasn’t sure he was interested enough to find out.
‘Do you want some company?’ he asked.
Hermione stared at him for a moment. ‘Not if you’re just going to be taking the piss the whole time. I’m going out to get away from that.’
‘I won’t say anything, I promise,’ Harry assured her. He grabbed his coat from the rack and pulled a hat from the pocket. He put it on, then looked around for his scarf. ‘Have you seen my scarf anywhere?’
Hermione handed him a Gryffindor one that she took from one of the pegs. She wasn’t convinced it was his, but it was the first she found.
‘Thanks.’ Harry wrapped the scarf around his neck. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Yes. Where are Ron and Ginny?’ Hermione asked, trying to keep the tartness from her voice. She wasn’t sure she succeeded.
‘Mrs Weasley’s given them chores to do. I think she’s punishing them for what they were saying about George yesterday. She seemed particularly keen that I didn’t stay so I thought it best to beat a swift retreat before she changed her mind.’
Hermione was a little disappointed with herself for being so happy that Molly was punishing Ron and Ginny, but then she remembered how miserable they had made her feel with their unkindness and the feeling receded somewhat.
‘Let’s go, then,’ she said. ‘A man I was talking to in the pub yesterday said the graveyard is worth looking around as well. Apparently it’s very old.’
‘We’ll see how cold it is first,’ Harry suggested.
As they wandered down the road towards the village, Harry linked arms with Hermione. A small part of her that was still feeling petty about the way she had been treated by her friend wanted to pull away, but she knew they would never make up if she did that. Instead, she continued walking as if nothing had happened.
‘So . . . you were in the pub yesterday. We wondered where you had gone,’ Harry said once the silence became painful.
‘I needed to get away to calm down. I was on the verge of killing you both. The shit you gave me on Saturday night was bad enough but you took it too far by bringing it up again yesterday, and you just wouldn’t shut up, even when you knew you’d really upset me. If I’d had my wand you’d probably both be in St Mungo’s by now.’
‘We did go a bit far,’ Harry admitted ruefully. ‘I’m sorry, Hermione.’
‘Apology accepted,’ Hermione said magnanimously.
They walked another couple of hundred yards before Harry said, ‘But you have to admit it was really funny when you kissed old—’
‘Harry! Just shut up about the bloody party.’
Hermione dropped his arm and strode off, trying to contain her anger. The whole point of this walk was to calm her down and keep her away from all that crap. She knew she should never have let Harry come along.
Harry hurried to catch up with her, pulling Hermione to a stop as he grabbed her arm.
‘I’m sorry, Hermione. Honestly I am. I promise I won’t say anything else about it.’
Hermione glowered at him for a couple of seconds. ‘You’d better not, otherwise you can go back to the Burrow and don’t bother speaking to me again.’
Harry looked shocked. ‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘What, compared to all the shit you and Ron have given me over the last couple of days? I got completely pissed because George force-fed me his sodding punch and then I got off with him after kissing half the room first. Yes, it was funny — for the first five minutes. But to still be going on about it three days later — not so funny. And Ron and Ginny have been particularly unfair considering that George and I talked it all out on Christmas Day.’
‘Ginny’s just disappointed that you don’t want to go out with him. You know how much she loves her brothers. I’m not sure what Ron’s problem is, though,’ Harry admitted.
Hermione sighed. ‘I like George but he and I aren’t a good match, you know that, Harry. Can you imagine me spending time at the joke shop? It isn’t going to happen, is it? The magic’s clever but I don’t find it funny and I never have done.’
‘No, I don’t think you two would make a very good couple,’ Harry admitted.
‘So tell Ron and Ginny that, please. And get them to stop having a go at me. I’ve had enough of it.’
‘I’ll talk to them when we get back,’ Harry promised. ‘So who was this bloke you were chatting to in the pub, then?’ he asked, trying to change the subject.
‘I don’t fancy him either before you start. His name’s Tom, he’s eighty-three and he collects glasses in the pub. He’s lived in the village all his life,’ Hermione answered shortly.
‘Not your type either, then,’ Harry said with a wink.
Hermione hit him. ‘No, you cheeky bugger. Definitely not my type. We should go to the pub at some point, though.’
‘I’m up for that, especially rather than hanging around out here in the cold. It’s bloody freezing.’
‘It’s warmer than it was yesterday. There was a bitter wind but that’s dropped now so it’s just cold.’ Hermione said. ‘We’ll go to the pub after we’ve been to the church. They’ve got an interesting sign I think you should see. I think it was painted by a wizard.’
‘A wizard? In Ottery St Catchpole. I presume it was a Weasley, then. They’re the only ones in the area, aren’t they?’
‘Well, actually, I don’t think it was. You’ll see what I mean when you see the sign. Tom said the painter was a wizard because he was wearing a long robe and a floppy hat. Mind you, I think he was about six when he saw him. Of course, back then it might just have been a Muggle painter with an affectation for weird clothes, but it reminded me of all those wizards we saw at the Quidditch World Cup — you know, the ones who were wearing kilts and ponchos and stuff like that because they didn’t understand Muggle fashion at all, and Mr Weasley still wears a robe.’
‘I’m not sure you can base your assumption on that,’ Harry said, sounding dubious.
‘I’m not. I’m basing it on the painting,’ Hermione said smugly. ‘You’ll see what I mean when you see it. The church is this way.’
She pointed down a lane. A small tower could just be seen in the distance behind a couple of hedgerows.
‘It’s actually not too bad out here now I’m getting used to the cold,’ Harry said as they reached the lychgate.
Hermione smiled. ‘Good. In that case we’ll walk around the graveyard first. Then we’ll go into the church to warm up a bit before we head off to the pub.’
The graveyard was interesting, to Hermione at least. She wasn’t sure Harry was so impressed although he tried to appear as if he was enjoying looking at the old gravestones. There was a brief moment of excitement when they found a whole area full of Weasley ancestors, all clustered together next to a wall at the back of the graveyard. But by then the wind had begun to pick up again and it was getting colder so they made their way into the church.
Hermione showed Harry the intricate rood screen and explained about misericords as she examined some fine specimens. She was glad she had taken the time to come and look at the church. It was a particularly good example of the classic English country church from the period and also featured some beautiful stained glass windows.
When she could no longer ignore the fact that Harry wasn’t enjoying the church anywhere near as much as she was, Hermione bought one of the small booklets the church had printed containing details of their religious artefacts and then suggested they head off to the pub, trying not to look amused at the expression of relief that briefly appeared on Harry’s face. She took his arm this time and the two of them walked in much more comfortable silence as they made their way into the village square.
‘The pub’s over there,’ Hermione said, indicating the thatched building.
‘Very rural and picturesque,’ Harry said archly. He looked at the pub sign in the garden, starting in surprise. ‘Surely that’s a Patronus, isn’t it? It looks just like mine.’
Hermione nodded. ‘They call it a dream hind around here. I suppose it looks a bit like a dream or a ghost if you don’t know what it is. Anyway, I told you it was painted by a wizard and now you can see why I don’t think it was a Weasley.’
Harry pulled her across the square and stood just outside the gate, looking at the sign more closely.
‘It really does look like my Patronus.’
‘I did wonder if it was something to do with your family, actually. You all seem to have a thing about deer.’
Harry wrinkled his nose. ‘Not really. My mum had a doe but I think that was because my dad’s was a stag, so they were a matched pair. I’ve got a stag because of my dad.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Hermione said. ‘Everyone’s Patronus is different and it’s to do with who you are as a person, not what your parents’ Patronuses were. Anyway, you didn’t know your dad’s Patronus was a stag until after yours appeared. I still think the deer obsession runs in your family and I also think that maybe the person who painted this was a relative of yours.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I still know so little about my family that you might be right. My grandfather or great-grandfather or whoever it was might have been a painter. It’s a beautiful sign, whoever painted it.’
‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Hermione agreed. ‘I couldn’t stop looking at it yesterday. It’s a shame they don’t sell postcards or something.’
She stared around her, looking for the sort of shop that would sell trinkets and memorabilia. She couldn’t see one in the immediate vicinity but there had to be one around somewhere. Ottery St Catchpole was exactly the sort of old and picturesque Devonshire village that would attract visitors interested in the chocolate box cottages with their thatched roofs and she was certain the village would cash in on the tourists however it could, just as the church did with its booklets and postcards. That was why there were several tea rooms within a stone’s throw from where she was standing, even if most of them were closed because of the time of year.
‘Let’s get inside, it’s freezing out here,’ Harry said. He walked through the gate and into the small garden, glancing at the sign once more as he made his way to the door of the pub. ‘Have you got any—’
‘Muggle money?’ Hermione nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get them in. What do you want to drink?’
‘What are you having?’ Harry asked.
Hermione considered for a moment. ‘I think I’m just going to have orange juice and lemonade again. I honestly can’t face any alcohol after that punch of George’s. He may have managed to make me teetotal.’
They stood at the bar, waiting to be served. It was busier today, presumably because it was a weekday and people had come in for their lunch.
‘I’ll have a pint of the Otter Bitter please, Hermione,’ Harry said as the barmaid came towards them. ‘I’ll get us a table, shall I?’
‘’Ello again,’ the barmaid said with a smile when she saw Hermione. ‘Another orange juice an’ lemonade, is it, m’ lovely?’
‘Yes, please. And a pint of Otter.’ Hermione pointed to the beer pump.
‘Local brew, tha’. It’s a good session beer,’ the barmaid told her. When she saw Hermione look confused she added, ‘It’s not too strong so yer can drink a lot of it without gettin’ completely pie-eyed.’
‘That’s good. We’re still trying to recover from Christmas. Can I have two packets of salt and vinegar crisps as well, please?’
The woman nodded knowingly. She turned away for a moment while she got the crisps from a box on the floor behind her. ‘Overdid it a bit, did ya? We all do tha’ when we’re young. Part of growin’ up, tha’ is.’
‘I still can’t face any alcohol though,’ Hermione admitted.
‘Ya will eventually, just takes a bit o’ time, tha’s all.’
Hermione paid the barmaid then picked up the glasses and the crisps and carried them over to where Harry had found a seat, close to where she had sat the day before. She handed him his pint, put her drink and the crisp packets on the table, then removed her coat before sitting down.
‘You’re right. I can’t stop looking at that sign. It’s very affecting,’ Harry said. He was gazing out of the window.
‘I was hoping Tom might be around. I thought he might be able to tell us a bit more about it, and about the painter. He was a child when it was done.’
‘I wonder if the artist was a member of my paternal family?’ Harry sounded excited at the prospect.
Hermione shrugged. ‘We’ll probably never know, to be honest, Harry. But I still think there’s a fairly good chance considering how similar the deer is to yours.’
It was after they had bought a second drink and were enjoying the warmth of the pub and not looking forward to going back out in the cold that Tom finally made an appearance. Harry had just gone to the loo when Tom walked over to their table, cloth once more in hand. He was smiling.
‘’Ello, m’ dear. Ya come back, then. And brought ya boyfriend this time.’
‘Not a boyfriend, just a friend.’ Hermione put him straight. ‘We came to have a look at the church. It was every bit as interesting as you said it was. Thank you for telling me about it, Tom.’
‘And ya friend, did ’e enjoy it too?’ Tom asked knowingly.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. ‘Not so much, but then it’s not really his sort of thing. He mainly came to get out of the house, and to keep me company.’
She saw Harry walking back towards the table and waved at him.
‘Harry, this is Tom, the man I met yesterday. He was the one who told me all about the church.’
Harry held out his hand to shake Tom’s. Tom stared at him, a look of surprise on his face.
‘Ya knew more abou’ the dream hind than ya was sayin’. Why d’ya pretend ya knew nothin’ abou’ ’er?’ he accused Hermione. He hadn’t taken Harry’s hand.
‘I didn’t know anything about it, and still don’t apart from what little you told me,’ Hermione said honestly. ‘Is there a problem?’
Tom shook his head as if confused, then remembering his manners he clasped Harry’s still outstretched hand, shaking it warmly.
‘Please’ ter meet ya lad. Sorry, for a minute I los’ track o’ where I was. I though’ ya were the painter chappie. The one wha’ done the dream hind. Look righ’ like him, ya do – ’cept for tha’ scar. Corse, he be long dead by now.’ He grinned, then asked. ‘Did ya ’ave a relative ’o were an artist? Ya great-gran’father mebbe?’
Harry let go of Tom’s hand, shrugging as he did so. ‘To be honest, I don’t really know. I don’t much about my family, not on my father’s side, anyway. Unfortunately, my parents both died in a car crash when I was a baby and I went to live with my mother’s sister. By the time I was old enough to start looking into my dad’s side of the family they were all dead and there wasn’t much information on them.’
’Is tha’ ’ow ya got tha’ scar then? It’s more interestin’ than most ya see. Looks like a lightnin’ bolt.’
Harry unconsciously brushed at the scar with his free hand as he nodded. ‘Yes, I was the only survivor of the accident. I don’t even remember it really. Just a flash of light and—’ He broke off, not finishing the sentence.
‘Ah, probably a good thing ya don’t,’ Tom said sympathetically. ‘Terrible thing to ’appen, ’specially to one so young. Didn’ do ya no ’arm though, from the looks of ya.’
‘I’ve survived okay,’ Harry confirmed a little stiffly. He shot a quick glance at Hermione.
‘Are there any records anywhere about the painter or the dream hind? Did he come from around here?’ Hermione asked, knowing Harry wouldn’t want any further discussion about the ‘car crash’ that had supposedly killed his parents.
Tom shook his head. ‘No. ’E were on holiday down ’ere, jus’ enjoying the countryside an’ doin’ a bit ’o paintin’. ’E were stayin’ at the pub. In those days we used to ’ave a couple ’o rooms me da used to rent out ta visitors. ’E weren’ well off, though so ’e agreed to paint the sign in exchange for the room. Me da always said we got the better end of tha’ deal as ’e were obviously a proper artist.’
‘I think your father was right,’ Hermione said with a smile. ‘The sign is magnificent and very unusual. It’s definitely a work of art. I’m surprised you don’t sell postcards of it. I’m sure people would buy them.’
Tom looked disgruntled. ‘We use’ to, but the new owner ain’ interested. ’E jus’ wanna make a profit selling food an’ stuff. ’E don’ care abou’ the ’istory o’ the place. The Post Office still sells ’em if ya wanna get one.’
‘I thought the pub was yours or that someone in your family was running it,’ Hermione said in surprise.
Tom gave a wheezy chuckle. ‘Mine? No, lass. I jus’ ’elp out aroun’ ’ere when me gran’daughter Jilly’s workin’, givin’ ’er a ’and with the glasses ’an tha’.’ He indicated towards the bar. ‘Me da’ sold the pub years ago, when ’e realised I ’ad no interest in it. I wanted to make real money, not be stuck ’ere all me life.’ He sighed and shook his head ruefully. ‘Wors’ mistake I ever made. But it’s too late to worry abou’ it now.’
‘Well, I’m glad to have met and talked to you,’ Hermione said as she finished her drink. ‘If I hadn’t I might not have seen the church, and that would have been a real loss in my opinion.’
‘It were nice ta mee’ you too, lass.’ Tom said. ‘When d’ ya go ’ome?’
‘I’m leaving in a couple of days, after new year, although I’ll be sad to go as it’s so nice down here,’ Hermione told him. She wrapped her scarf around her neck before putting on her coat. ‘I think I’ll head over to the Post Office and see if I can get one of those postcards of the sign . . . and one of the church, too.’
Standing, she looked at Harry, who was still drinking his beer. ‘Don’t rush. You can join me over there when you’ve finished.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Harry had no intention of arguing when it meant he got to stay warm for a few minutes longer.
‘Yep. I’ll see you over there in a bit.’ Hermione turned to Tom again. ‘Thank you again, Tom. Hopefully we’ll see you next time, when we come back later in the year.’
‘I’ll be ’ere as long as Jilly’s still ’ere,’ he told her. He picked up the crisp packets, pushing them into Hermione’s empty glass before picking that up too.
With a final wave, Hermione headed off out into the cold.

Hermione studied Arthur carefully. He was looking tired, far more so than he ought to be after only one day back at work.
‘Are you okay, Mr Weasley?’ she asked.
He smiled wanly at her. ‘Yes. It’s just been a very long day, Hermione. Some days I look at what we’ve achieved over the last six months or so and I feel proud at how far we’ve come. But other days—’ Arthur broke off, shaking his head sadly.
‘Things not going well at the Ministry?’
‘Oh, it’s not that it’s not going well, not really. It’s just that everything moves at such a snail’s pace, even with proactive people like Kingsley in charge. Some people just get hung up on the stupidest points and it seems to take forever to get moving again.’ Arthur sighed. ‘Ignore me. I’m just being a bit grumpy this evening. You know how it is when you’re rebuilding a civilisation. It’s nothing but argument and talking . . . so much bloody talking.’
‘Well, I know how to make you feel better.’ Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug.
Arthur laughed. ‘I’m sure you do, Hermione. It never fails to amaze me how you can always get a reaction, even when I’m convinced it’s never going to happen.’
‘I just love making you cum,’ she admitted.
Hermione was already reaching for his cock, immediately realising she had a lot to achieve in a short amount of time. Arthur currently wasn’t at all aroused, which was quite unusual, but it meant that a good hard fuck was going to be out of the question. She could give him a blow job, though, could relax him in the way he had worked so hard to relax her the day before.
Dropping to her knees she continued to tug on the soft flesh, slowly feeling it begin to stiffen, wanting to get at least a little rigidity before she took it in her mouth. She could hear Arthur sighing quietly as she worked on him. Hermione looked up. His head was thrown back and he had his eyes closed, but while it was clear he was enjoying what she was doing to him he still showed signs of stress with the deep furrow in his brow.
Hermione returned her attention to what she was doing. The best way to relax Arthur was to get him to climax, and she knew the easiest way to do that was to massage his perineum and prostate; that always dramatically increased his arousal and was guaranteed to having him cumming in a relatively short amount of time.
She bent forward slightly, running her tongue around the head of his shaft, teasing and tickling across the tip as Arthur groaned once more. Her mouth dipped, swallowing him, not deep but enough to make a difference as she sucked hard, feeling the stiffness increase with each attempt. Once he was fully rigid Hermione released him for a moment, staring at it appreciatively before using her tongue to tease once more, over the head and then swirling down the length, her hands now cupping his balls as she played.
Arthur gripped the edge of the workbench, his fingers clutching the wood tightly, moaning lowly as Hermione continued to tease. Her free hand moved to stroke the area between his testes and his anus, pressing harder as her mouth returned to sucking and swallowing. Again Arthur groaned, longer and louder this time, and she felt his cock twitch in her mouth.
‘Please—’ he moaned, begging Hermione to touch him in the way she was so good at.
Hermione listened to his pleas and answered his silent prayers, her middle finger moving back to circle his anus, still stroking as Arthur’s buttocks clenched.
‘Relax,’ she whispered, an order given and received, and Arthur gave a low cry, the pleasure almost overwhelming him as the finger was inserted, probing gently at first, then moving deeper and curving to stroke his prostate, pressing and rubbing the sensitive nub that made him scream with joy.
Again Hermione’s mouth was back on his cock, sucking him deeper than she had so far taken him, intensifying the sensation that was rushing through Arthur’s body like a sparkling river. He thrust, unable to stop himself, but Hermione had already retreated, only the head now being sucked, so hard that he thought it was going to explode.
Hermione’s finger moved inside him again, the sensation combining with the gentle squeeze on his balls and the exquisite sucking motion, and Arthur erupted, both from his cock and his mouth, the harsh drawn-out wail making clear his enjoyment as his pelvis thrust forward, emptying his seed into her warm, willing mouth. She continued to suck for a few seconds more, until the sound died, then freed Arthur’s once more sagging member, her finger slipping from his anus as she released his balls.
‘Thank you, Hermione. That was wonderful as always,’ Arthur said sincerely, once she had stood up to join him.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close for a kiss. For a moment Hermione hesitated but then she relented, wrapping her arms around him in return as her tongue plundered his mouth in search of his. Maybe it shouldn’t be happening, but she liked kissing Arthur and didn’t want it to stop.

‘Harry and I saw some of your ancestors in the graveyard at the church this morning,’ Hermione said conversationally, sometime later once the kissing had finally ceased. ‘And we visited the local pub. Have you seen the sign there?’
Arthur frowned at the unexpected subject change. ‘Pub?’
‘I think it’s called the White Hind,’ Hermione said. ‘It’s got a very interesting sign outside.’
‘With the Patronus,’ Arthur confirmed with a nod as he remembered. He smiled as he looked at Hermione. ‘My grandfather used to chuckle about it because the Muggles all thought it was supposed to be a ghost.’
‘I think it was painted by one of Harry’s relatives. I thought it looked like his Patronus as soon as I saw it. And Tom, the old barman, said that Harry looked just like the painter. Apparently he met him when he was a child,’ Hermione said.
Arthur looked pensive for a few seconds. ‘Do you know what? Now you come to mention it I do seem to recall something about a Potter coming down this way. He’d come for a holiday or something and couldn’t afford to pay for his room at the inn so he painted them the sign instead. He was a friend of my grandfather’s and was supposed to be staying here at the Burrow, but they had a falling out — over something trivial no doubt — and so he moved to stay at the pub in the village instead.’
‘I knew it was something to do with Harry,’ Hermione said, sounding pleased. ‘Do you think there would be any records anywhere about the painting, or about his visit, or even what his name was, Mr Weasley? I know Harry would be interested to find out more about his family.’
‘There might be something up in the attic, old diaries and whatnot. I suppose I could have a look up there next weekend.’
‘Would it be okay if we went up there and had a look ourselves? We could do it tomorrow,’ Hermione suggested.
Arthur shrugged. ‘If you want to. Ron will need to talk to the ghoul, but he should be okay. He can always move to Ron’s bedroom for a bit if he’s not comfortable with you all being up there.’
‘Thank you. I’m sure Harry will be pleased with anything he finds,’ Hermione said. She wrapped her arms around his waist again. ‘And hopefully you won’t be so tired tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry that I wasn’t a lot of use to you this evening,’ Arthur said, sounding rueful.
‘I’m perfectly happy with what happened,’ Hermione replied honestly. ‘As much as I’d like to fuck you every day I know that’s not always going to be possible. Anyway, I like sucking your cock, you know I do.’
Arthur grinned. ‘I had gathered that, luckily for me. You’re certainly extremely enthusiastic, Hermione. You’re wonderful.’
‘That’s because—’ Hermione stopped, a flush of colour rising up her face as she realised what she had been about to say. Embarrassed and suddenly anxious, she pulled Arthur to her, gave him a quick peck on the lips, then released him. ‘I’d better go.’
Before Arthur could say anything or make a move to stop her, Hermione hurried to the door, not looking back.
Arthur frowned as he watched her go, wondering what she had been about to say and what had happened to make her run away so quickly. For a moment he thought about going after her but managed to stop himself. Whatever it was, Hermione didn’t want to talk to him about it at the moment so he would have to wait until she decided to open up to him. No point in risking an argument, and anyway, he couldn’t take it into the house. It was against the rules.
He opened the drawer of his workbench and pulled out the bottle of Firewhisky and a glass, unscrewing the lid of the bottle to pour himself a small measure. He pulled the chair from under the workbench and sat down, swirling the liquid around the glass as he stared into it. He wasn’t in the mood for doing any work tonight, he was still feeling mentally exhausted despite Hermione’s wonderful ministrations; but he was happy to sit out here quietly, thinking about his beautiful young lover.
The truth was that whatever they both tried to pretend, Arthur knew that Hermione was no longer just one of his Muggle artefacts. Without intending to she had become so much more to him, and although she had never admitted it, he was fairly certain Hermione saw him in a different way from when she had first sought to play. However hard she had tried to stop what they were doing affecting his marriage it had happened anyway, and Arthur didn’t think he would ever be able to go back to how it was before, not even if she decided she no longer wanted to spend time with him.
There was no way he should be doing these treacherous yet undeniably wonderful things with Hermione, and he shouldn’t even be thinking about the things he wanted to do with her, but although he still loved his wife every bit as much as he had always done Arthur knew that the type of love he had to offer had changed over the years. With Molly he felt a deep feeling of affection, the sort of homely love that had sustained them for years and would, no doubt, continue for many more to come. But there was no passion burning there any longer.
That flame had slowly burnt itself out as friendship replaced it, like a comfortable old shoe that had moulded itself so completely to your foot that it was almost part of you and you couldn’t imagine ever being without it. Hermione wasn’t to blame for that. It had been going on for years, decades even, and was always where they were going to end up as priorities and circumstances changed. There was nothing wrong with that type of love; many couples lived perfectly happily for the rest of their lives with nothing more than a deep and abiding affection for each other, just as he and Molly had been doing for years now.
But as Hermione’s desire for him flared like an inferno, so Arthur’s for her increased in strength in turn, and his desire to be with her, to love her in the way she deserved to be loved, made his guilt about what he was doing grow even more than it had done back in the summer. He knew logically that this intense passion between them couldn’t be sustained indefinitely, that it was a fireball that would burn itself out, and probably sooner rather than later, but that didn’t stop the desire, nor did it stop his deep-seated guilt that was becoming more crippling by the day.
Part of him wanted to come clean to Molly about what was happening, wanted to admit that he had fallen in love with Hermione and he couldn’t keep away from her, but Arthur knew that would be a disaster and would be the end of his marriage, and it would cause all sorts of problems within the family. Hermione didn’t want that anyway; the rules she governed the relationship by were strictly enforced to ensure that didn’t happen, and it was the relaxing of those rules that had caused these feelings of dissatisfaction and guilt.
The obvious thing to do would be to end it with Hermione, but Arthur couldn’t bear the idea of that either. She would be gone in a week anyway, back off to Hogwarts, and Merlin only knew when she would next be at the Burrow, probably not until Easter at the earliest.
As Arthur poured himself another drink he wondered once again what Hermione had been about to say to him. Whatever it was, there was no point in obsessing over it tonight. She would talk to him when she was ready, or maybe she wouldn’t, but whatever the case there was no point in pushing her to give up her secrets.
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113 Days Later (In Time Series 2)