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ABC Challenge #30: V = Visceral for demosthenes91

Originally Published: April 2, 2006

The war ends on a calm Wednesday afternoon in early autumn. There is sunshine and a cool breeze from the north that blows the smoke away from the ruins where Voldemort’s body now lies. For years, they have fought this war and Hermione has always imagined that it will end with an epic battle as is often written about in books. Instead, it ends very quietly and she’s left feeling restless at the anticlimactic finality to an event that has shaped her life since she was twelve.

Ron is injured but a quick glance assures her that he’ll be okay with a few hours rest and a few swallows of a healing potion. She’s got a cut on her knee from where she fell while chasing Harry, the blood is sticky and wet against her skin but she’s had far worse over the last two years, since they began their search for horcruxes and life became an endless cycle of darkness, dirty barns, and sleepless nights. Harry is still standing by Voldemort’s body, shaking slightly as he tries to regain his strength.

Hermione looks at Ron, the two exchanging a silent conversation that has become habit over the past months. He nods towards Harry and turns away, walking to a nearby tree and sitting down to wait. There’s a lightness in his step that hasn’t been there in years and the reality that it’s over, really and truly over, starts to hit her. She surveys the ground around them, seeing the few casualties left in the wake of the final battle.

By this point, most of Voldemort’s followers are hiding on their own, aware that their Dark Lord had become even more of a madman over the recent months, or are in Azkaban, under the effects of new spells that are more powerful than the Dementor’s kiss. There are a few who are still loyal to their fallen Lord and those Hermione knows will be caught in the upcoming days. She knows a spell to track them now that she has the source of power, Voldemort’s own dark mark, and is aware that her upcoming days will be spent locating them all for Moody and Shacklebolt once they let others know that they’ve finished the war.

She steps over the fallen body of Bellatrix Lestrange and walks to Harry. A gentle brush of her hand against his back makes him shudder. He looks at her then, his green eyes wild with powerful magic and his hands shaking from the sheer force of what he had to control to fight Voldemort. She has seen him this way before during the last two years and knows what he needs. He whimpers as he reaches for her, a low whine that sounds animalistic amidst the silence of the autumn afternoon.

She ignores the scent of burnt timber and the body lying at his feet as she raises her hands and unbuttons her robe. Harry pushes it from her shoulders, his fingers gliding over her bare skin as he looks at her with need and desperation. He tastes of ash and magic when their lips meet, his kiss frantic as he takes what she willingly gives. Her robe is behind her back when he lowers her to the ground and she looks up to see his face framed by the pale blue sky above.

He scares her when he’s like this, excites her in ways that scare her, and she wonders how things will be now that the war is over. They will have to try to find normal, to learn how others live, and she knows it is hopeless because they, the three of them, are never going to be normal. They have transcended, exceeded expectations, in a way, and become something twisted and perfect over these months together. If one of them is gone, they will fall and nothing can be the same. They need three, they need them, and Voldemort’s defeat changes nothing.

In moments such as this, Harry needs her. She grounds him, gives him something tangible to hold on to and meets his primitive needs with those of her own. They are visceral, a joining of bodies that take and give and move in a blur of scratches, bites, and kisses that are consuming. It is Ron who brings gentleness, who grounds them both when the passion becomes frightening and they risk losing themselves in one another, who takes what they offer and gives them everything he has until there is no Harry or Hermione or Ron, there is just a mess of tangled limbs and love that is more true than any other can ever know. And it is Ron who will be there for them when they fall, as they always fall together before it’s over.

Harry is hard and ready as he settles between her legs. He pulls her knickers to the side, tight elastic digging into her groin, and then he’s inside her. She grips his shoulders as they begin to move in a primitive dance that is older than time. He moves urgently, his hips bucking forward to bury him completely within her, pulling out before he thrusts back in. His hands are all over her, his lips following their path, and she wraps herself around him until they are no longer sure where one ends and the other begins.

And then they fall.

The End