Prompt: ”Remedy” by Adele
Prompted by: @lilyjean630
A/N: Dude, here I am, limping back to these. I did stick to my rule and wrote this in 24 hours, but the next one might not be coming right away as I’ll be out of town for part of the weekend. I want to try and make it to 30 in a stretch… Thanks so much for the amazing prompts (I hope I did justice to this one for you!) and keep them coming! 77 to go…
These books couldn’t help her tonight, but she’d dived deep, anyway. She always had. She probably always would.
Spread across the floor of her room, on the second floor of her parents’ home, were magical and Muggle tomes alike, some with well-worn spines from decades of use, others with the crisp stiffness of a fresh printing, ink still sharply black against snow white pages. Many years ago, she’d counted them all as friends, that one with the faded navy cover and two torn pages that she’d nearly memorised by age seven; another with its silky dust jacket and unusually large font that she’d honestly opened so frequently because of the beautiful illustrations in the second half; a collection of paperbacks, young adult fiction she’d skimmed on rainy weekends, sent as Christmas gifts from distant relatives.
Often, the search for answers was obsessive. She’d learned through years of Hogwarts, a nagging, nearly subconscious need to prove her belonging in a new world of magic. She’d learned to trust obsession, to trust that if she looked long enough, hard enough, for almost anything at all, the books would show her the way.
The things that had hurt the most had been those dark avenues that had led to the unknown, where millions of pages had left her with more questions than she’d had before… where her friends had failed. Did they really know her, then? Did they know her like he did? They never could.
She glanced left to see Ron quietly dozing on her bed, lying on his stomach, and the book that had been spread open across her lap was suddenly distant and unnecessary.
For a peaceful, July night, she was much too alert. They’d come back to her room after dinner at the Burrow, her mind racing, muttering to herself and rummaging through boxes and shelves. And he’d stayed, in spite of the way she now realised she’d ignored him. She’d only been trying to fix it, to unbreak things that needed time, not facts. Her parents were home, and even the distance she felt from them now should be a relief considering they were safe, they knew her again, and she hadn’t ruined the charm as she’d anxiously feared she would.
But what if she had, she’d repeat, often inside her own mind, occasionally out loud to Ron’s casual, confident reminder that she hadn’t. She could not reset the past, make them exactly as they had been, after all that had happened in between.
As she’d so rarely done before, she now quietly asked herself why. Why did she still use books as distraction? Why did she still endlessly seek answers and truth to her life in preset, limiting pages? It had been her solace, her passion, her constant in turmoil. In many respects - research, knowledge, even pleasure - of course it still would be. But now…
No. It hadn’t only been now. She’d known, long ago, felt the comfort of his presence (his voice, his words, the way he would look at her).
An affectionate smile tugged at her lips, staring quietly at his peaceful form. He’d ditched his trainers at the side of her bed, and her gaze trailed up his body from his gray, wool socks to the slightly too-short legs of his dark jeans. There was a pale strip of exposed skin at his waist before his questionably too-tight green shirt hugged his back and shoulders, one arm tucked under her pillow, a scruffy cheek against the purple cotton of her pillow case. His fringe cut across his forehead, past his brows, and it would have brushed his feathery eyelashes had his eyes been open.
Her book slid forgotten from her lap as she crawled closer.
His body moved subtly as he breathed, lips barely parted. She rested on her knees, close enough to touch him… reaching out a hand toward his tousled hair. Her fingers raked through it, and he cracked open his eyes.
“Hey,” he grinned, voice thick with sleep and beautifully scratchy. Her heart flipped delightfully, her hand resting gently on the side of his head for a second before retreating. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
She shook her head, smiling back.
“Did you find what you needed?” he slurred, softly staring at her.
“Doesn’t matter,” she answered quietly, yet she realised this wasn’t entirely accurate. Maybe she had, only he’d been asking specifically about the books strewn across her room…
He rolled lightly onto his side to see her better, eyes roaming lazily across her face.
“I haven’t been very helpful,” he said with a soft chuckle, but he was serious, too, and she almost laughed.
“No, I haven’t been listening to you,” she sniffed, sliding a bit closer to rest her chin on the edge of the bed.
“Doing what, snoring?” he teased, punctuated by a yawn he tried to stifle.
“No,” she grinned. “You just keep reminding me of the good things we have.”
She nodded awkwardly against the bed, and he slid his head off her pillow so their faces were an inch apart.
“Do you want to stay over?” she whispered.
“Always,” he answered surprisingly, forcing a warm flush to her cheeks. He seemed to catch up to what he’d admitted, and he cleared his throat. “Y’know… if you want me to.”
Instead of answering with words, she tilted her head a bit left to kiss him, feeling the pleasant vibration of his low moan of appreciation against her mouth. Nearly two months, and this still felt new, thrilling… a bit of leftover disbelief that it was him, and she could do this, and he wanted her to. His hand found her cheek, fingertips spreading over her ear, into her tangled curls. She couldn’t get close enough, not from her position on the floor.
She pulled back and opened her eyes, watching as his hand remained against her face and his own eyes opened, pleasantly dazed. She licked her bottom lip, and he smiled at her, a deep sort of longing etched across his features.
“I’ll just find some pyjamas,” she said hoarsely, and she could sense a joke before he’d said it.
She laughed softly, but then boldly considered… He watched, quickly gaining alertness, as she stood and stripped off her jeans, looking away from his slightly raised brows to follow up with her shirt. And though briefly self-conscious in her bra and knickers, one look at his expression as he rolled to his back to stare up at her was all she ever needed. She had stopped asking why, trying to learn to accept that he loved her - everything about her - just as she loved him.
Heat spread across her chest and face as she climbed over him, straddling his lap as he held her waist, and she ducked forward to kiss him again. Her thick hair curtained around their faces, hiding them in shadow, and fearful tension eased away as his hands slid up her bare back. She could feel him breathing strongly beneath her, his tongue swiping her lips and her fingers skating up the sides of his stubbly face, into his beautiful hair.
Since their first, frantic kiss during the war, they hadn’t held back. They didn’t seem to know what it was like to be cautious when it came to this, anymore. Maybe it was because they’d never looked so far to the future, believing - really believing - it could be theirs.
Maybe it was just because she’d fancied him since she was fifteen, and she’d grown so tired of hiding it.
He clutched her on top of him, pulling her closer, and she brushed their noses together as she sucked in a breath, changing angles. Slowly, they were rolling so she landed on the bed beside him, lips separating in breathy moans as he twisted around to take off his jeans. He kicked them off the side of the bed and she pulled him on top of her, mouths and tongues colliding, one of his hands tangling in her hair.
When they pulled apart again, his eyes met hers, the joint of his thumb on her jaw, a soft swipe across her cheek.
“Sure you’re alright?” he asked. And they’d done this before, used closeness as a distraction.
There had been wracking sobs on the floor of his room after Fred, followed later by angry, bitter screams through a raw throat. She’d huddled in a ball, silent, on the floor of an Australian hotel room in the middle of the night, unable to breathe after three days without finding her parents. He’d literally picked her up, saved her from her own darkness.
But there had been days they’d laughed so hard they could hardly breathe. God, she loved to see his smile, to know she’d caused it, even in some small way. There had been nights she’d Apparated straight to his room, crawling into his bed to the echo of a thunderstorm, watching Cannons players zip by overhead as he ran his fingers down her bare back.
Tonight, a sleepy sort of haze was draped around them as she stared up into his eyes.
“Mm, yes. I am,” she answered hoarsely, reassuring simple words with a genuine smile that he effortlessly returned.
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