Harmione One Shots

pierce new holes in my heart

Summary: Hermione and Harry's love for one another is enough, until it finally isn't.

Ship: HarryPotterxHermioneGranger

All credit goes to Watchyoubreathingout on Ao3

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It had started with a fissure. The history of them had just been a series of cracks that ended in a complete break. That ended in Hermione in their favourite Muggle bar watching him with another woman, her hands running through his messy black hair, leaving his famous scar on display for all to see. Of course, no one there knew its significance. Not the way Hermione did. No one knew Harry the way she did. Every beautiful piece, and every broken one. And no one ever would. Of that she was sure.

Hermione downed her martini, set the glass on an empty table, and made her way to the exit. She looked back over her shoulder a final time as she walked out the door, but he never looked her way.

***

"Jesus Christ, Hermione," Harry slurred as his shoulder made impact with the door jamb. "Fucking drop it."

She gently took his hand and guided him towards their bed, an action completely incongruous with the anger she felt bubbling over.

"No, I won't fucking drop it. You can't keep this up. Do you know how many people saw you tonight? Stumbling and spilling your drink everywhere. Yelling at anyone who came too close to you. For god's sake, Harry, you almost punched Neville. Do you not see how bad things are getting?"

Harry flopped back onto the bed, silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. She stood there studying him–her best friend, the love of her life–waiting for him to say something. Either he was choosing not to respond, or he was too far gone to even formulate a reply.

Hermione went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and then to the loo for an aspirin. She had stopped keeping Sobering Potions in the flat months ago because they had just become a way for him to drink even more.

When she reentered the bedroom, she heard the deep rhythmic breathing of sleep. She set the glass and tablet on the bedside table, pulled off his trainers and just managed to peel his trousers down his legs, leaving him in just his pants and a jumper that reeked of alcohol. She tried to get him situated under the covers, but he was too heavy, so she just draped a throw over him. She was vaguely aware of the reality that she was a witch who could use magic to take care of it, but she was too drained to summon the will.

She grabbed her pillows and made her way out to the couch, ready to spend another night alone in the place they shared.

***

Hermione threw her head back into the pillow as she felt the convulsions begin. She let out a long, low moan as her orgasm rolled through her, so intense that her thighs quaked around Harry's head. His crooked fingers continued to rub at that spot on her front wall as his tongue slowed its assault on her clit. He pulled back briefly, and she felt the vibrations of his deep voice on her sensitive sex. "Soak my fingers, Hermione. That's it."

As she started to come down, his tongue was on her again.

***

The girl's tongue was down Harry's throat, and Hermione almost heaved up the meagre contents of her stomach all over the bartop. She shouldn't have come back here. She should have known what seeing them together again would do to her. The hum of conversation and the song playing over the stereo became distorted. Her vision blurred. Oh no, oh no, oh no. She had to get out.