in slow motion the blast is beautiful
So, it's more Potter fic.
A little back story to this one - when I lived in Norfolk on the beach, there was this house about two blocks down from me. It was tiny and yellow and just...perfect. And I swear to God, the first time I ran by it, I had to stop and stare because the ONLY thing I could think was 'this is where Harry and Hermione need to run away to.'
When Ariana came to visit me, I dragged her down the street and she totally agreed with me.
So I've been messing around with this idea for a long time now, but it wasn't until the end of last week that I actually figured out how to write it. Because, clearly, what I needed to do this week was write more outsider-POV H/H fic in second person. I haven't been, you know, house-hunting or anything.
Hopefully, this will have a picture to accompany it in the near future. In the meantime - fic!
[Potter, 'Sea Legs']
She moves in in October.
When you leave your house that morning, the little yellow house stands empty, as it has for months; when you return from work, there is light in the windows and you can see her puttering around the kitchen. But not, as you first think, unpacking boxes - she is simply getting a glass of water.
She looks out the window as she fills the glass, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. You duck your head, avoiding her eyes and continue to your door.
You find yourself looking out your windows that night, watching as she sits on her deck. She still has the same glass clutched in her hands and she is staring fixedly at the water.
She doesn’t move the entire time you watch her.
*
You finally meet her two weeks later.
‘Hermione,’ she says. ‘Hermione Granger.’
‘Tuck,’ you say, shaking her hand. Slender fingers, but a grip like steel. ‘Tucker Graham.’
She sits down, gesturing to the step next to her. You shake your head, but hook your arm over the stair railing. ‘I don’t have much time, but I thought I should introduce myself.’
She looks up at you, smiling, her eyes squinted shut from the sun. ‘I’ve seen you on the beach-‘
‘-with Max,’ you say, grinning.
‘Is that his name?’
‘Her name,’ you tell her. ‘She’s quite a handful, but definitely not as bad as she used to be.’
She smiles and looks down briefly; she looks almost…wistful. ‘I know what that’s like. Crookshanks was a cat, but he was definitely a handful, as you say.’
‘Was?’
She clears her throat before speaking, looking back up at you again. ‘Oh, no…he’s still living. Just not with me.’
You can feel the questions form on your tongue, but before you can say anything, she stands up. ‘I’ve actually got-
‘-Sure. Of course,’ you say, patting the railing as you back away. ‘Like I said, I don’t have much time. But it was nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ she says, faintly.
As you walk away, you can see her staring fixedly at the water again.
*
After that, you find yourself looking towards her house, more often than not. You thought meeting her would curb your curiosity, but it has the opposite effect.
You watch her in her kitchen and while she’s sitting on her deck and when she’s just getting up in the morning.
You try to stop yourself, but you can’t.
There’s just…something about her.
*
The next time you talk to her, you end up getting drunk together.
You’re tossing the ball to Max when she wanders out on to her deck. You smile and wave, but don’t say anything. You try to forget about her sitting there, watching you, but you keep glancing at her out of the corner of your eye.
She doesn’t have water, as she usually does; you can’t tell what is in the glass. She grimaces after every sip, but keeps on determinedly. You can feel those same questions bubbling under your tongue, but you turn your attention to Max, who is currently nudging both your leg and the ball she has dropped at your feet. You laugh, scooping up the ball and throwing it out into the water.
You can’t help but grin at Max’s excited yelp as she charges in.
You hear a chuckle behind you.
‘I’ve never been a dog person, but she seems fantastic.’
‘She is,’ you say, glancing at her. She’s watching Max paddle towards the ball, glass clutched in hand and you can’t stop yourself. ‘Rough day?’
She smiles, still not looking at you. ‘Hmm. Would it be cliché of me to say rough life?’
‘Clichés are usually clichés for a reason,’ you say, nudging her with your shoulder.
She sighs, turning towards you, her eyebrow raised. ‘I suppose. It’s nothing horrible…just…’
You say nothing, only looking away when Max runs up and drops the ball. You crouch down, scratching behind her ears and look up at Hermione.
‘I ran into my ex today for the first time since…well, since we separated.’
‘Ah,’ you say, standing up. ‘In that case…want some company?’
*
So, you think you know the story. Girl meets boy, girls falls for boy, girl finds out she can’t live with boy; you’ve lived through it a time or two yourself.
Then she opens her mouth and starts talking. Girl met boy, boy disliked girl, boy and girl became friends, boy falls for girl, girl says okay, then boy and girl proceed to get married.
‘Married?’ you interrupt. ‘Seriously?’
She smiles grimly. ‘Seriously. There was a rash of weddings right after we left school; Ron and I were part of it.’
‘I thought that only happened in small towns,’ you say, sipping on what she says is whisky, but burns like actual fire down your throat.
You expect a laugh or her rolling her eyes, not complete and utter blankness. She’s staring down into her glass like it’s about to impart the secret of life. ‘Our last year..of school was really difficult,’ she says, closing her eyes. ‘One of our teachers and his wife were…murdered and one of Ron’s brothers died and the three of us were-seemed like we were cut off from everything…’
She trails off, sniffing; her eyes remain closed as she throws back the rest of her whisky. You don’t know what to say. You expected heartbreak, but not...this. So you simply say nothing, just pour more whisky into her glass. Her mouth quirks up at that.
‘Thanks. Suffice it to say - it was bad. Really bad. But,’ she says, smiling a dazzling smile at you despite her wet eyes, ‘but we came through it. All three of us came through it.’
‘All three of you?’ you say, quirking your eyebrow.
And that’s the first time you hear about Harry.
*
So it’s not boy meets girl, girl falls for boy, girl finds out she can’t live with boy.
It’s not even girl met boy, boy disliked girl, boy and girl became friends, boy falls for girl, girl says okay, boy and girl get married, then boy and girl get divorced.
It’s girl met boy, girl and boy became best friends, then girl realized she was in love with boy despite the fact that she was married to his best friend and he was engaged to her husband’s sister.
*
‘Seriously?’
She smiles, less grim and more sardonic. Which might be an affect of the whisky.
‘Seriously.’
You kind-of want to laugh because, seriously, that sucks and you kind-of want to cry because, seriously, that sucks. So that’s what you say, staring up at her from where you’re laying on the floor. ‘That sucks.’
She laughs, leaning back in her chair. ‘Indeed it does. And you know what else? I was supposedly the brightest w-student of our age.’
‘Your age?’ you say, rolling your head to look at her.
She’s smiling at the ceiling, her feet on the table. ‘Just something our Headmaster used to say; doesn’t matter. But - yes. I was the smart one, so I feel like I should have figured it out long ago. But…Harry’s Harry, you know? I’ve always felt the same about him, so how was I to know that I was in love with the git? I was eleven!’
You sit up, snagging the bottle from the table. ‘You were in love with him when you were eleven?’
She sighs, turning her head to look at you. ‘I didn’t want to see him naked if that’s what you mean.’
You roll your eyes, climbing back into the seat across from her. ‘Shockingly, it’s not. I’m just…confused. Why did you ever even go out with…er-
‘Ron.’
‘-right, Ron. Why did you go out with him at all if you felt like that about Harry?’
‘I didn’t know I felt like that about Harry!’ she says, finally raising her head and glaring at you. ‘We were best friends. And so that’s what I thought it was; I completely and totally dismissed every single person in our lives thinking we were together. And then Ron starts acting like a total idiot and I recognized that - I was jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ you say, your head spinning. You’re not sure whether it’s from the drink or Hermione’s wild gesturing.
‘Yes,’ she says, all energy seeming to drain from her. She swings her legs off the table and then swipes the bottle from you, sipping directly from it. ‘He started…first you have to know that Harry and Ron were my first, my only friends when we were in school. Nobody liked me very much, but the three of us were inseparable. Then sixth year, Ron starts ‘dating’ one of my dorm-mates and I felt like I was going to lose him. I knew, I mean I knew in my bones, that I would never lose Harry. It didn’t matter how many people he snogged or how many w-women were throwing themselves at him - I mean, I gave him dating advice. I…we were Harry and Hermione…nothing was going to change that. But Ron?’ She laughs, laying her head on the table. Her voice, when it continues, is muffled. ‘He never really liked me very much anyway, so when he vanished down Lavendar’s throat, it didn’t take much imagination to see him never talking to me again. And losing one of your best friends, especially when you only have two friends in the world, is not a good feeling.’
She finally stops talking, her shoulders slumping even more and head burrowing more firmly into the curve of her arm.
You still don’t know what to say, so you pat her on the elbow and say, ‘That sucks’ again and are rewarded with a laugh.
*
That’s the last thing you remember from that night.
You woke up the next morning in your bed, alone and in your pyjamas.
You suppose you must have sobered up a bit, then come home. There’s no way little Hermione Granger hauled you to your house and up your steps if you were passed out.
*
You guess you’re friends after that.
You smile and wave at each other; she plays with Max and you occasionally huddle on her porch, drinking tea.
You still have no idea what she does, how she can be meeting with Ron and divorce attorneys when they’re in London and she’s here, or why she had a fireplace installed in her kitchen.
You don’t ask because you know she wouldn’t tell you. Despite that, though, you consider her your friend. You even stop watching her from your windows.
*
You meet Malfoy a few months later.
You’ve taken to coming in her back door unannounced, then dragging her off to a movie or out to look at the stars because if you don’t, you don’t think she’d ever talk to another person.
You try to ignore the date-like connotations of your activities or the way you sometimes look at her a bit too long; you also ignore her protestations that she talks to people, ‘everyday, actually. I do, in fact, have a job, Tuck.’
You don’t ask and she doesn’t tell and she puts up with you dragging her out of the house occasionally.
So, you come in the back door, but pause when you hear voices.
‘-free to do whatever he likes.’
‘That’s perfect, Granger. I should have known that you-
‘Don’t even start with me, Malfoy. I have nothing to do with this. This is you and your psychotic urge to-‘
‘-to be with the woman I love?’
Hermione laughs. ‘Love? Really?’ she says, her voice getting higher. ‘You’re sure this isn’t still some need to best Harry at-‘
‘No.’
The word is soft but firm, and it stops her. You can’t see her, but you can imagine the expression on her face.
‘I’m sorry. I truly am, but…’
‘But what? You know you’re the only one in the world who could stop this and I don’t see why you won’t even try.’
‘I did!’ Her voice sounds like an explosion, pain and tears and laughter thick in her throat. ‘I went to him the night I left, so. He’s clearly made his choice. And he knows…he might not have the fucking address, but he could bloody well find me if he wanted to and you know that. So don’t put this on me; it isn’t my fault! Maybe they really are-‘
‘They bloody well aren’t and you know it!’ It’s his voice, softer but as torn up as hers. ‘You know that, Granger. They’re still playing happy families and I swear to Merlin that the only person that’s actually fucking happy is Molly.’
You’re still puzzling that out - Merlin? And who is Molly? - when Hermione calls your name. You jump slightly when she says, ‘Tucker’ again, this time peeking around the door.
You smile at her, nudging the door closed behind you. Maybe she’ll think you just came in.
She raises her eyebrows, gesturing you into the living room. You follow and pause when you see the man standing there, still glowering at her. He’s tall and blond and wearing one of the most exquisite suits you’ve ever seen. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone so striking. You can’t tell whether he’s attractive, or just interesting-looking; either way, you can’t seem to tear your eyes away.
You can hear Hermione rolling her eyes as she makes the introductions. ‘Draco Malfoy, Tucker Graham. He’s my neighbor. Tucker, Malfoy. He’s an old schoolmate.’
You finally look at her, raising your eyebrows. Before you can say anything, Draco is speaking. ‘How much does he know, Granger?’
She stares at him, her mouth pressed into a line. ‘He knows about Harry and Ron and the divorce.’
‘But not?’
‘No,’ she says, her mouth quirking.
There is a pause; they’re staring at each other and look like they’re on the verge of laughter. You don’t know whether you’ve ever felt this uncomfortable. So you do what you always do when you feel strange or have questions around Hermione - you ignore it.
‘I was just coming by to drag Hermione out,’ you say, putting your hands in your pockets. ‘You’re welcome to come with, if you’d like.’
At that, Hermione does laugh; Draco looks like he’s trying to resist but chuckles as well. ‘That’s okay; I have to be getting back.’
Hermione steps towards him, putting her hand on his arm and kissing his cheek. ‘I’ll see you later, Malfoy and-‘
‘Yeah,’ he interrupts, stepping back but still looking at her. ‘Me too.’
*
That’s the second night you end up getting drunk with her.
This time, you’re sprawled out in your living room, drinking Jack straight from the bottle. Max is lying on the floor with you, her head resting on the small of your back; Hermione is lying on her back on the couch, one hand hanging off and occasionally giving Max a rub.
‘So what is he?’
‘Hmmm?’ she says, eyes closed.
‘He’s got to be a model or a…I don’t know. Shoe designer or something.’
‘Malfoy?’ she says, eyes cutting toward you. ‘Don’t ever let him hear you say that; he’s insufferable enough as it is already.’
You reach up and poke her in the side; she slaps your hand and turns to look at you. ‘I thought you were friends.’
She sighs. ‘Sort-of. We…tolerate each other. And, no - he’s not…he actually works for the Ministry.’
‘Like the Prime Minister, 10 Downing, all of that?’
She smiles, reaching down the ruffle Max’s fur. ‘He works for the government. That’s actually how he met Ginny; they’re partners.’
‘Partners?’ You can feel your eyebrows raise even further. ‘Like FBI..or well, MI5 or Scotland Yard, I guess. Seriously?’
She laughs, dragging herself up. ‘Seriously.’
‘I never would have thought.’
‘You and me both,’ she says. ‘Let’s just say he was very…anti-establishment in school.’
‘From railing against the man to being the man,’ you say, laughing.
She smiles, but says nothing. She does, however, pick up the bottle and take several sips, eyes screwed up.
‘So, he’s in love with Harry’s fiancé?’
She sighs.
*
Four things happen that night.
The first is that you learn Harry and Ginny have set a date, which is why Malfoy felt the ‘sudden pressing need to come harass me in my new life. Wanker.’
The second is that she tells you she basically did a runner in the middle of the night. But in between leaving her sleeping husband and arriving here, she went to Harry. But that’s all she’ll tell you about that.
The third thing is that you realize you’re a bit in love with her but you’re always, and ever only, going to be her friend.
It’s also the night you realize finally, and for the first time, that you really, really want to kick Harry’s ass.
*
So, that’s the night you resign yourself to it.
You might drag her on dates, and she might let you; you might look at her a little too long and she might smile at you, but it’s clear that it’s over for her. She is in, and will be in, love with Harry for as long as either you or she can imagine. You’re just Tuck, neighbor with the great dog.
You tell yourself it’s fine, it’s perfect, and for a few weeks, it is.
You have dinner and laugh when Max sprays her with the still-freezing water after Max has gone in for her first dip of the spring. You see bad cover bands at dive bars and just sit on her porch, tea for her and coffee for you.
It’s lovely.
Then she disappears for a week.
*
You don’t think anything of it for the first couple of days.
You do have your own life, after all; it’s not like you see her every day. You don’t really think about it at all until you come home one day and find Max staring out the window, at her house. But the part that worries you, more than the way she’s staring fixedly, is the whine coming from her throat.
You crouch down, near her and look out the window as well. There’s nothing remiss that you can see; it’s the same yellow house, same windows, same back porch. You don’t see anyone inside, or lurking about outside either.
You turn towards Max and say, laying one hand gently on her back, ‘What’s wrong, girl?’
As soon as you say it, though, she turns toward you, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. You laugh as she pants in your face; then you take her out to the beach.
But you don’t forget it and, later that night, you find yourself at your windows again, peering over at Hermione’s dark house.
*
Day five is when you start getting really worried.
You have been avidly watching for the last three days and you have seen nothing. She hasn’t left once and you can’t even detect any movement inside the house. You can’t even see in the house - not her kitchen table or her bed or the bookcases crammed into her living room.
You turn to Max, who is standing beside you, and say, ‘You’re right. It is weird.’
Twenty minutes later, you’re lurking around the outside of her house, hoping to God no one sees you prowling around like a burglar or a pervert. You’re up on your tiptoes, peering into windows and.
And.
You can’t see anything.
You try to figure it out. You stand there, leaning on the house and try to. To.
You don’t even know; every thought, or reason, or explanation is skittering through your mind as if they never existed at all.
You just…you need to get away. To go back and sit on your on couch and just.
Just.
*
When you come back from work the next day, Max is standing at the window again.
‘I know,’ you say to her. You stand there for a few seconds, leaning over and scratching behind her ears. You take a breath and say, ‘Okay. I’m going in.’
You march across the yard, carefully not thinking about Hermione or her house or why the hell you can’t see in the windows…you’re not thinking at all. You just walk up the steps, across the porch and kick the door in.
*
The next thing you’re aware of is Hermione’s voice.
‘Tuck? Tuck. Tucker?’
You open your eyes to see her leaning over you, hair up in a sloppy bun and looking - well, looking better than you’ve ever seen her look, honestly.
‘Hermione?’ you say, sitting up gingerly, your head…aching. You guess that’s the correct word; it certainly feels strange. ‘What the…’
You trail off as you take in the rest of the room. You’re on her couch and the room looks the exact same, except there’s a man standing there. He has black hair and glasses; his arms are crossed across his chest and his jaw is set, but he won’t meet your eyes.
She moves back into your field of vision, resting her hand on your knee. ‘Are you alright?’
You blink, scratching the back of your neck. ‘I…yeah. I think so. What the hell happened? I just…I came over because Max and I were worried and then…’
She clears her throat, looking pointedly over her shoulder at the man.
He shifts uncomfortably for a moment before exhaling sharply and raising his eyes. ‘Yeah. Sorry…about that. I was in the kitchen and you surprised me.’
‘So you…’ you say, your brow furrowing. ‘You knocked me out?’
A corner of his mouth lifts. ‘In a manner of speaking. Listen, you feel okay, right? As soon as Hermione saw who it was, we brought you in here to make sure you-your head wouldn’t feel terrible.’
You blink again, your mouth opening, then snapping closed again. You have no idea what to say; you can’t really get past the fact that this thin guy with the hair knocked you out. But then you look at Hermione, who is looking at him, equal parts amused and reproachful and wholly, totally devoted. And that’s the only thing you need to tell you who this is. You can’t imagine that look in her eye for anyone else.
‘Harry?’ you say, standing up, extending your hand.
He grins sheepishly. ‘Yeah, Harry Potter. Nice to meet you, Tuck.’
You smile back, shaking his hand. ‘You, too. I’ll knock next time, okay?’
He laughs, coming to stand beside Hermione, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. ‘I’d appreciate that. I won’t be so hasty either.’
You look at them, at him, standing in her house like you know she’s always imagined them and you can only shake your head.
‘Okay,’ you say, stepping back. You suddenly feel like you’re intruding. ‘Listen…sorry about the whole…you know, kicking in the door thing. I’ll let you get back to…um…’
Hermione interrupts your stammering, laughing. ‘It’s fine, Tuck. We were actually just talking about…well. We need to get back to work and…’ she looks at Harry, smiling slightly as he grins at her. ‘We need to join the world again.’
You feel like there’s something you need to say to that, but. But. You shake your head again, hooking your thumb over your shoulder. ‘I need to let Max out,’ you say, walking back towards the door.
Hermione smiles at that and tugs on one of his belt loops. ‘Wait until you meet her, Harry. She’s wonderful.’
You can’t help but grin at that, but you don’t say anything and you’re not even sure if they notice you leave. They’re standing in her kitchen; he’s leaning towards her while she tugs him closer, smiling.
*
You see them the next day.
They’re sitting on her porch stairs, both holding mugs and looking at the water. As you watch, he leans over and kisses her on the temple. She says something at that; makes him laugh and nudges him with her shoulder.
They look happy, they look perfect, but you still want to kick his ass.
*
He’s alone on the beach three days later. You go out with Max and pause briefly when you see him there, standing ankle-deep in the still chilly water, hands on his hips.
He looks back when he hears Max’s bark, waving at you. You nod back at him, then toss the ball as far as you can down the beach. He comes to stand beside you and you both watch Max tear after the ball.
‘I suppose this is the famous Max.’
‘Hmm,’ you say, crossing your arms.
He sighs, turning toward you. ‘So what is it you want to say to me?’
You’re taken aback by the directness of the question, but turn your head toward him anyway. He’s just standing there, hands hanging loosely by his sides. He doesn’t look upset or combative; he certainly doesn’t look like he could take you out.
‘She was miserable,’ you say, remembering those first couple of months. Watching as she sat on that porch and stared at the water. She was; you know that now. ‘When she first got here, she was totally miserable. And it was all because of you.’
He looks down, sticking his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t really know what you want me to say to that,’ he says, then raises his eyes. He’s staring directly at you and if you thought Draco was striking, he’s got nothing on Harry. ‘I can’t fix what happened and I certainly don’t have to explain anything to you.’
You deflate slightly, recognizing the truth of his words. What you said to Hermione is still true; the whole situation sucks and, no matter how comfortable your high horse is, you can’t say what you would have done. As much as you’d like to hold a grudge against him, it’s not really your grudge. And if she’s forgiven him, then…
Then.
‘Fine,’ you say, only slightly petulant. ‘But you hurt her again and I’ll kick your ass.’
He doesn’t react to that at all, not even raising an eyebrow and you kind-of have to respect the guy a little. ‘Duly noted,’ he says, a tad drily. Then he takes a breath and says, serious, ‘If I hurt her again, I’ll let you.’
You nod, turning back to Max, who is now pawing at your thigh. ‘Glad we got that settled.’
He smiles, then crouches and holds his hand out towards Max. Traitor that she is, she completely bypasses his hand and licks him right across the chin.
You can’t help the smile that creeps across your face and when he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, you can kind-of tell why Hermione likes him so much.
*
Later that day, you see Hermione standing the kitchen window, filling a glass with water; she smiles and winks at you.
*
So, they’re your friends.
You have dinner together and they kidnap your dog, running her ragged on the beach. You still walk in the kitchen door, but you knock first and you laugh at them that summer, when their pale, British skin burns and peels in the sun.
You still don’t ask why they have a fireplace in their kitchen and how they can be at work every day but you never see them leave the house. You just shake your head at Max and tell her, ‘I don’t know.’
But they’re your friends, so you don’t ask.
They’re your friends, so you see them. You see them at dinner and on the beach, at dive bars and when they’re sitting on their porch steps.
You see the way he looks at her, his eyes searching for her whenever he enters a room. You see the way she smiles at him, like he’s the only one who ever got the joke. You see the way their fingers tangle together; you see his chin propped on her shoulder and her hand on his hip.
You see all this and it makes you smile.
It also makes you wonder how nobody ever saw it before.
H/H - Of all the intersecting lines in the sand, I routed a labryinth to your lap.
A little back story to this one - when I lived in Norfolk on the beach, there was this house about two blocks down from me. It was tiny and yellow and just...perfect. And I swear to God, the first time I ran by it, I had to stop and stare because the ONLY thing I could think was 'this is where Harry and Hermione need to run away to.'
When Ariana came to visit me, I dragged her down the street and she totally agreed with me.
So I've been messing around with this idea for a long time now, but it wasn't until the end of last week that I actually figured out how to write it. Because, clearly, what I needed to do this week was write more outsider-POV H/H fic in second person. I haven't been, you know, house-hunting or anything.
Hopefully, this will have a picture to accompany it in the near future. In the meantime - fic!
[Potter, 'Sea Legs']
She moves in in October.
When you leave your house that morning, the little yellow house stands empty, as it has for months; when you return from work, there is light in the windows and you can see her puttering around the kitchen. But not, as you first think, unpacking boxes - she is simply getting a glass of water.
She looks out the window as she fills the glass, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. You duck your head, avoiding her eyes and continue to your door.
You find yourself looking out your windows that night, watching as she sits on her deck. She still has the same glass clutched in her hands and she is staring fixedly at the water.
She doesn’t move the entire time you watch her.
*
You finally meet her two weeks later.
‘Hermione,’ she says. ‘Hermione Granger.’
‘Tuck,’ you say, shaking her hand. Slender fingers, but a grip like steel. ‘Tucker Graham.’
She sits down, gesturing to the step next to her. You shake your head, but hook your arm over the stair railing. ‘I don’t have much time, but I thought I should introduce myself.’
She looks up at you, smiling, her eyes squinted shut from the sun. ‘I’ve seen you on the beach-‘
‘-with Max,’ you say, grinning.
‘Is that his name?’
‘Her name,’ you tell her. ‘She’s quite a handful, but definitely not as bad as she used to be.’
She smiles and looks down briefly; she looks almost…wistful. ‘I know what that’s like. Crookshanks was a cat, but he was definitely a handful, as you say.’
‘Was?’
She clears her throat before speaking, looking back up at you again. ‘Oh, no…he’s still living. Just not with me.’
You can feel the questions form on your tongue, but before you can say anything, she stands up. ‘I’ve actually got-
‘-Sure. Of course,’ you say, patting the railing as you back away. ‘Like I said, I don’t have much time. But it was nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ she says, faintly.
As you walk away, you can see her staring fixedly at the water again.
*
After that, you find yourself looking towards her house, more often than not. You thought meeting her would curb your curiosity, but it has the opposite effect.
You watch her in her kitchen and while she’s sitting on her deck and when she’s just getting up in the morning.
You try to stop yourself, but you can’t.
There’s just…something about her.
*
The next time you talk to her, you end up getting drunk together.
You’re tossing the ball to Max when she wanders out on to her deck. You smile and wave, but don’t say anything. You try to forget about her sitting there, watching you, but you keep glancing at her out of the corner of your eye.
She doesn’t have water, as she usually does; you can’t tell what is in the glass. She grimaces after every sip, but keeps on determinedly. You can feel those same questions bubbling under your tongue, but you turn your attention to Max, who is currently nudging both your leg and the ball she has dropped at your feet. You laugh, scooping up the ball and throwing it out into the water.
You can’t help but grin at Max’s excited yelp as she charges in.
You hear a chuckle behind you.
‘I’ve never been a dog person, but she seems fantastic.’
‘She is,’ you say, glancing at her. She’s watching Max paddle towards the ball, glass clutched in hand and you can’t stop yourself. ‘Rough day?’
She smiles, still not looking at you. ‘Hmm. Would it be cliché of me to say rough life?’
‘Clichés are usually clichés for a reason,’ you say, nudging her with your shoulder.
She sighs, turning towards you, her eyebrow raised. ‘I suppose. It’s nothing horrible…just…’
You say nothing, only looking away when Max runs up and drops the ball. You crouch down, scratching behind her ears and look up at Hermione.
‘I ran into my ex today for the first time since…well, since we separated.’
‘Ah,’ you say, standing up. ‘In that case…want some company?’
*
So, you think you know the story. Girl meets boy, girls falls for boy, girl finds out she can’t live with boy; you’ve lived through it a time or two yourself.
Then she opens her mouth and starts talking. Girl met boy, boy disliked girl, boy and girl became friends, boy falls for girl, girl says okay, then boy and girl proceed to get married.
‘Married?’ you interrupt. ‘Seriously?’
She smiles grimly. ‘Seriously. There was a rash of weddings right after we left school; Ron and I were part of it.’
‘I thought that only happened in small towns,’ you say, sipping on what she says is whisky, but burns like actual fire down your throat.
You expect a laugh or her rolling her eyes, not complete and utter blankness. She’s staring down into her glass like it’s about to impart the secret of life. ‘Our last year..of school was really difficult,’ she says, closing her eyes. ‘One of our teachers and his wife were…murdered and one of Ron’s brothers died and the three of us were-seemed like we were cut off from everything…’
She trails off, sniffing; her eyes remain closed as she throws back the rest of her whisky. You don’t know what to say. You expected heartbreak, but not...this. So you simply say nothing, just pour more whisky into her glass. Her mouth quirks up at that.
‘Thanks. Suffice it to say - it was bad. Really bad. But,’ she says, smiling a dazzling smile at you despite her wet eyes, ‘but we came through it. All three of us came through it.’
‘All three of you?’ you say, quirking your eyebrow.
And that’s the first time you hear about Harry.
*
So it’s not boy meets girl, girl falls for boy, girl finds out she can’t live with boy.
It’s not even girl met boy, boy disliked girl, boy and girl became friends, boy falls for girl, girl says okay, boy and girl get married, then boy and girl get divorced.
It’s girl met boy, girl and boy became best friends, then girl realized she was in love with boy despite the fact that she was married to his best friend and he was engaged to her husband’s sister.
*
‘Seriously?’
She smiles, less grim and more sardonic. Which might be an affect of the whisky.
‘Seriously.’
You kind-of want to laugh because, seriously, that sucks and you kind-of want to cry because, seriously, that sucks. So that’s what you say, staring up at her from where you’re laying on the floor. ‘That sucks.’
She laughs, leaning back in her chair. ‘Indeed it does. And you know what else? I was supposedly the brightest w-student of our age.’
‘Your age?’ you say, rolling your head to look at her.
She’s smiling at the ceiling, her feet on the table. ‘Just something our Headmaster used to say; doesn’t matter. But - yes. I was the smart one, so I feel like I should have figured it out long ago. But…Harry’s Harry, you know? I’ve always felt the same about him, so how was I to know that I was in love with the git? I was eleven!’
You sit up, snagging the bottle from the table. ‘You were in love with him when you were eleven?’
She sighs, turning her head to look at you. ‘I didn’t want to see him naked if that’s what you mean.’
You roll your eyes, climbing back into the seat across from her. ‘Shockingly, it’s not. I’m just…confused. Why did you ever even go out with…er-
‘Ron.’
‘-right, Ron. Why did you go out with him at all if you felt like that about Harry?’
‘I didn’t know I felt like that about Harry!’ she says, finally raising her head and glaring at you. ‘We were best friends. And so that’s what I thought it was; I completely and totally dismissed every single person in our lives thinking we were together. And then Ron starts acting like a total idiot and I recognized that - I was jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ you say, your head spinning. You’re not sure whether it’s from the drink or Hermione’s wild gesturing.
‘Yes,’ she says, all energy seeming to drain from her. She swings her legs off the table and then swipes the bottle from you, sipping directly from it. ‘He started…first you have to know that Harry and Ron were my first, my only friends when we were in school. Nobody liked me very much, but the three of us were inseparable. Then sixth year, Ron starts ‘dating’ one of my dorm-mates and I felt like I was going to lose him. I knew, I mean I knew in my bones, that I would never lose Harry. It didn’t matter how many people he snogged or how many w-women were throwing themselves at him - I mean, I gave him dating advice. I…we were Harry and Hermione…nothing was going to change that. But Ron?’ She laughs, laying her head on the table. Her voice, when it continues, is muffled. ‘He never really liked me very much anyway, so when he vanished down Lavendar’s throat, it didn’t take much imagination to see him never talking to me again. And losing one of your best friends, especially when you only have two friends in the world, is not a good feeling.’
She finally stops talking, her shoulders slumping even more and head burrowing more firmly into the curve of her arm.
You still don’t know what to say, so you pat her on the elbow and say, ‘That sucks’ again and are rewarded with a laugh.
*
That’s the last thing you remember from that night.
You woke up the next morning in your bed, alone and in your pyjamas.
You suppose you must have sobered up a bit, then come home. There’s no way little Hermione Granger hauled you to your house and up your steps if you were passed out.
*
You guess you’re friends after that.
You smile and wave at each other; she plays with Max and you occasionally huddle on her porch, drinking tea.
You still have no idea what she does, how she can be meeting with Ron and divorce attorneys when they’re in London and she’s here, or why she had a fireplace installed in her kitchen.
You don’t ask because you know she wouldn’t tell you. Despite that, though, you consider her your friend. You even stop watching her from your windows.
*
You meet Malfoy a few months later.
You’ve taken to coming in her back door unannounced, then dragging her off to a movie or out to look at the stars because if you don’t, you don’t think she’d ever talk to another person.
You try to ignore the date-like connotations of your activities or the way you sometimes look at her a bit too long; you also ignore her protestations that she talks to people, ‘everyday, actually. I do, in fact, have a job, Tuck.’
You don’t ask and she doesn’t tell and she puts up with you dragging her out of the house occasionally.
So, you come in the back door, but pause when you hear voices.
‘-free to do whatever he likes.’
‘That’s perfect, Granger. I should have known that you-
‘Don’t even start with me, Malfoy. I have nothing to do with this. This is you and your psychotic urge to-‘
‘-to be with the woman I love?’
Hermione laughs. ‘Love? Really?’ she says, her voice getting higher. ‘You’re sure this isn’t still some need to best Harry at-‘
‘No.’
The word is soft but firm, and it stops her. You can’t see her, but you can imagine the expression on her face.
‘I’m sorry. I truly am, but…’
‘But what? You know you’re the only one in the world who could stop this and I don’t see why you won’t even try.’
‘I did!’ Her voice sounds like an explosion, pain and tears and laughter thick in her throat. ‘I went to him the night I left, so. He’s clearly made his choice. And he knows…he might not have the fucking address, but he could bloody well find me if he wanted to and you know that. So don’t put this on me; it isn’t my fault! Maybe they really are-‘
‘They bloody well aren’t and you know it!’ It’s his voice, softer but as torn up as hers. ‘You know that, Granger. They’re still playing happy families and I swear to Merlin that the only person that’s actually fucking happy is Molly.’
You’re still puzzling that out - Merlin? And who is Molly? - when Hermione calls your name. You jump slightly when she says, ‘Tucker’ again, this time peeking around the door.
You smile at her, nudging the door closed behind you. Maybe she’ll think you just came in.
She raises her eyebrows, gesturing you into the living room. You follow and pause when you see the man standing there, still glowering at her. He’s tall and blond and wearing one of the most exquisite suits you’ve ever seen. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone so striking. You can’t tell whether he’s attractive, or just interesting-looking; either way, you can’t seem to tear your eyes away.
You can hear Hermione rolling her eyes as she makes the introductions. ‘Draco Malfoy, Tucker Graham. He’s my neighbor. Tucker, Malfoy. He’s an old schoolmate.’
You finally look at her, raising your eyebrows. Before you can say anything, Draco is speaking. ‘How much does he know, Granger?’
She stares at him, her mouth pressed into a line. ‘He knows about Harry and Ron and the divorce.’
‘But not?’
‘No,’ she says, her mouth quirking.
There is a pause; they’re staring at each other and look like they’re on the verge of laughter. You don’t know whether you’ve ever felt this uncomfortable. So you do what you always do when you feel strange or have questions around Hermione - you ignore it.
‘I was just coming by to drag Hermione out,’ you say, putting your hands in your pockets. ‘You’re welcome to come with, if you’d like.’
At that, Hermione does laugh; Draco looks like he’s trying to resist but chuckles as well. ‘That’s okay; I have to be getting back.’
Hermione steps towards him, putting her hand on his arm and kissing his cheek. ‘I’ll see you later, Malfoy and-‘
‘Yeah,’ he interrupts, stepping back but still looking at her. ‘Me too.’
*
That’s the second night you end up getting drunk with her.
This time, you’re sprawled out in your living room, drinking Jack straight from the bottle. Max is lying on the floor with you, her head resting on the small of your back; Hermione is lying on her back on the couch, one hand hanging off and occasionally giving Max a rub.
‘So what is he?’
‘Hmmm?’ she says, eyes closed.
‘He’s got to be a model or a…I don’t know. Shoe designer or something.’
‘Malfoy?’ she says, eyes cutting toward you. ‘Don’t ever let him hear you say that; he’s insufferable enough as it is already.’
You reach up and poke her in the side; she slaps your hand and turns to look at you. ‘I thought you were friends.’
She sighs. ‘Sort-of. We…tolerate each other. And, no - he’s not…he actually works for the Ministry.’
‘Like the Prime Minister, 10 Downing, all of that?’
She smiles, reaching down the ruffle Max’s fur. ‘He works for the government. That’s actually how he met Ginny; they’re partners.’
‘Partners?’ You can feel your eyebrows raise even further. ‘Like FBI..or well, MI5 or Scotland Yard, I guess. Seriously?’
She laughs, dragging herself up. ‘Seriously.’
‘I never would have thought.’
‘You and me both,’ she says. ‘Let’s just say he was very…anti-establishment in school.’
‘From railing against the man to being the man,’ you say, laughing.
She smiles, but says nothing. She does, however, pick up the bottle and take several sips, eyes screwed up.
‘So, he’s in love with Harry’s fiancé?’
She sighs.
*
Four things happen that night.
The first is that you learn Harry and Ginny have set a date, which is why Malfoy felt the ‘sudden pressing need to come harass me in my new life. Wanker.’
The second is that she tells you she basically did a runner in the middle of the night. But in between leaving her sleeping husband and arriving here, she went to Harry. But that’s all she’ll tell you about that.
The third thing is that you realize you’re a bit in love with her but you’re always, and ever only, going to be her friend.
It’s also the night you realize finally, and for the first time, that you really, really want to kick Harry’s ass.
*
So, that’s the night you resign yourself to it.
You might drag her on dates, and she might let you; you might look at her a little too long and she might smile at you, but it’s clear that it’s over for her. She is in, and will be in, love with Harry for as long as either you or she can imagine. You’re just Tuck, neighbor with the great dog.
You tell yourself it’s fine, it’s perfect, and for a few weeks, it is.
You have dinner and laugh when Max sprays her with the still-freezing water after Max has gone in for her first dip of the spring. You see bad cover bands at dive bars and just sit on her porch, tea for her and coffee for you.
It’s lovely.
Then she disappears for a week.
*
You don’t think anything of it for the first couple of days.
You do have your own life, after all; it’s not like you see her every day. You don’t really think about it at all until you come home one day and find Max staring out the window, at her house. But the part that worries you, more than the way she’s staring fixedly, is the whine coming from her throat.
You crouch down, near her and look out the window as well. There’s nothing remiss that you can see; it’s the same yellow house, same windows, same back porch. You don’t see anyone inside, or lurking about outside either.
You turn towards Max and say, laying one hand gently on her back, ‘What’s wrong, girl?’
As soon as you say it, though, she turns toward you, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. You laugh as she pants in your face; then you take her out to the beach.
But you don’t forget it and, later that night, you find yourself at your windows again, peering over at Hermione’s dark house.
*
Day five is when you start getting really worried.
You have been avidly watching for the last three days and you have seen nothing. She hasn’t left once and you can’t even detect any movement inside the house. You can’t even see in the house - not her kitchen table or her bed or the bookcases crammed into her living room.
You turn to Max, who is standing beside you, and say, ‘You’re right. It is weird.’
Twenty minutes later, you’re lurking around the outside of her house, hoping to God no one sees you prowling around like a burglar or a pervert. You’re up on your tiptoes, peering into windows and.
And.
You can’t see anything.
You try to figure it out. You stand there, leaning on the house and try to. To.
You don’t even know; every thought, or reason, or explanation is skittering through your mind as if they never existed at all.
You just…you need to get away. To go back and sit on your on couch and just.
Just.
*
When you come back from work the next day, Max is standing at the window again.
‘I know,’ you say to her. You stand there for a few seconds, leaning over and scratching behind her ears. You take a breath and say, ‘Okay. I’m going in.’
You march across the yard, carefully not thinking about Hermione or her house or why the hell you can’t see in the windows…you’re not thinking at all. You just walk up the steps, across the porch and kick the door in.
*
The next thing you’re aware of is Hermione’s voice.
‘Tuck? Tuck. Tucker?’
You open your eyes to see her leaning over you, hair up in a sloppy bun and looking - well, looking better than you’ve ever seen her look, honestly.
‘Hermione?’ you say, sitting up gingerly, your head…aching. You guess that’s the correct word; it certainly feels strange. ‘What the…’
You trail off as you take in the rest of the room. You’re on her couch and the room looks the exact same, except there’s a man standing there. He has black hair and glasses; his arms are crossed across his chest and his jaw is set, but he won’t meet your eyes.
She moves back into your field of vision, resting her hand on your knee. ‘Are you alright?’
You blink, scratching the back of your neck. ‘I…yeah. I think so. What the hell happened? I just…I came over because Max and I were worried and then…’
She clears her throat, looking pointedly over her shoulder at the man.
He shifts uncomfortably for a moment before exhaling sharply and raising his eyes. ‘Yeah. Sorry…about that. I was in the kitchen and you surprised me.’
‘So you…’ you say, your brow furrowing. ‘You knocked me out?’
A corner of his mouth lifts. ‘In a manner of speaking. Listen, you feel okay, right? As soon as Hermione saw who it was, we brought you in here to make sure you-your head wouldn’t feel terrible.’
You blink again, your mouth opening, then snapping closed again. You have no idea what to say; you can’t really get past the fact that this thin guy with the hair knocked you out. But then you look at Hermione, who is looking at him, equal parts amused and reproachful and wholly, totally devoted. And that’s the only thing you need to tell you who this is. You can’t imagine that look in her eye for anyone else.
‘Harry?’ you say, standing up, extending your hand.
He grins sheepishly. ‘Yeah, Harry Potter. Nice to meet you, Tuck.’
You smile back, shaking his hand. ‘You, too. I’ll knock next time, okay?’
He laughs, coming to stand beside Hermione, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. ‘I’d appreciate that. I won’t be so hasty either.’
You look at them, at him, standing in her house like you know she’s always imagined them and you can only shake your head.
‘Okay,’ you say, stepping back. You suddenly feel like you’re intruding. ‘Listen…sorry about the whole…you know, kicking in the door thing. I’ll let you get back to…um…’
Hermione interrupts your stammering, laughing. ‘It’s fine, Tuck. We were actually just talking about…well. We need to get back to work and…’ she looks at Harry, smiling slightly as he grins at her. ‘We need to join the world again.’
You feel like there’s something you need to say to that, but. But. You shake your head again, hooking your thumb over your shoulder. ‘I need to let Max out,’ you say, walking back towards the door.
Hermione smiles at that and tugs on one of his belt loops. ‘Wait until you meet her, Harry. She’s wonderful.’
You can’t help but grin at that, but you don’t say anything and you’re not even sure if they notice you leave. They’re standing in her kitchen; he’s leaning towards her while she tugs him closer, smiling.
*
You see them the next day.
They’re sitting on her porch stairs, both holding mugs and looking at the water. As you watch, he leans over and kisses her on the temple. She says something at that; makes him laugh and nudges him with her shoulder.
They look happy, they look perfect, but you still want to kick his ass.
*
He’s alone on the beach three days later. You go out with Max and pause briefly when you see him there, standing ankle-deep in the still chilly water, hands on his hips.
He looks back when he hears Max’s bark, waving at you. You nod back at him, then toss the ball as far as you can down the beach. He comes to stand beside you and you both watch Max tear after the ball.
‘I suppose this is the famous Max.’
‘Hmm,’ you say, crossing your arms.
He sighs, turning toward you. ‘So what is it you want to say to me?’
You’re taken aback by the directness of the question, but turn your head toward him anyway. He’s just standing there, hands hanging loosely by his sides. He doesn’t look upset or combative; he certainly doesn’t look like he could take you out.
‘She was miserable,’ you say, remembering those first couple of months. Watching as she sat on that porch and stared at the water. She was; you know that now. ‘When she first got here, she was totally miserable. And it was all because of you.’
He looks down, sticking his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t really know what you want me to say to that,’ he says, then raises his eyes. He’s staring directly at you and if you thought Draco was striking, he’s got nothing on Harry. ‘I can’t fix what happened and I certainly don’t have to explain anything to you.’
You deflate slightly, recognizing the truth of his words. What you said to Hermione is still true; the whole situation sucks and, no matter how comfortable your high horse is, you can’t say what you would have done. As much as you’d like to hold a grudge against him, it’s not really your grudge. And if she’s forgiven him, then…
Then.
‘Fine,’ you say, only slightly petulant. ‘But you hurt her again and I’ll kick your ass.’
He doesn’t react to that at all, not even raising an eyebrow and you kind-of have to respect the guy a little. ‘Duly noted,’ he says, a tad drily. Then he takes a breath and says, serious, ‘If I hurt her again, I’ll let you.’
You nod, turning back to Max, who is now pawing at your thigh. ‘Glad we got that settled.’
He smiles, then crouches and holds his hand out towards Max. Traitor that she is, she completely bypasses his hand and licks him right across the chin.
You can’t help the smile that creeps across your face and when he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, you can kind-of tell why Hermione likes him so much.
*
Later that day, you see Hermione standing the kitchen window, filling a glass with water; she smiles and winks at you.
*
So, they’re your friends.
You have dinner together and they kidnap your dog, running her ragged on the beach. You still walk in the kitchen door, but you knock first and you laugh at them that summer, when their pale, British skin burns and peels in the sun.
You still don’t ask why they have a fireplace in their kitchen and how they can be at work every day but you never see them leave the house. You just shake your head at Max and tell her, ‘I don’t know.’
But they’re your friends, so you don’t ask.
They’re your friends, so you see them. You see them at dinner and on the beach, at dive bars and when they’re sitting on their porch steps.
You see the way he looks at her, his eyes searching for her whenever he enters a room. You see the way she smiles at him, like he’s the only one who ever got the joke. You see the way their fingers tangle together; you see his chin propped on her shoulder and her hand on his hip.
You see all this and it makes you smile.
It also makes you wonder how nobody ever saw it before.
H/H - Of all the intersecting lines in the sand, I routed a labryinth to your lap.