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Divorced.
No one ever intends to divorce their significant other when they first say their vows on their wedding day. It’s never planned .
She certainly didn’t think, five years earlier, that this was where her life would lead her. And yet, she knows it wouldn’t have happened if they still loved one another. But no. They had fallen out of love a long time ago, and only their ardent desire to cling to the relationship had kept them together for as long as they were. Nine years together, five married, and Hermione is certain she would not change any of it, no matter how lonely she sometimes is.
She loved Ron once, and he loved her, but it wasn’t enough.
Love isn’t enough when there are what feels like miles of space between.
Staring across the table, Hermione only vaguely listens as her date speaks about something or other. If she was honest, she only accepted going on a date because Ginny had gone to so much effort to set it up. She knows in her heart it is going terribly, though, and she will not be remotely surprised if she never hears from him again after this. As she barely listens in, her mind is already calculating what her share of their meal is going to cost so she can be sure to pay for it herself.
The last thing she needs is something to make her feel in any way obligated to kiss her date, as was so often the expectation.
“How is your food?”
Her date’s question prompts her to pay attention more closely, and she forces a smile to her lips before nodding. “It’s good,” she lies. The chicken is dry. “How is yours?”
He doesn’t appear convinced by her half-hearted response, but is polite enough not to call her out on her bullshit. Definitely won’t be asking her on a second date. Thank Merlin.
“Fine, thank you.”
Honestly, it isn’t Oscar Wiggins’ fault she finds him utterly droll. Ron, even with his many faults, was charming and kind, and they had a shared history—it’s what carried them through the hardest years of their marriage. To any other person, the man across from her might have been an excellent catch. Hermione knows as she smiles politely across the table, that she is the one with the problem—the one with the exceedingly high standards.
After all, she didn’t divorce Ron just to end up with someone even less compatible.
At least this one isn’t as arrogant as her last date.
Dinner ends without fanfare, and they both turn away dessert. It’s clear as day he is having just as miserable a time on the date as she is. She kept all of her answers short when he bothered to ask her about herself, and he largely spoke about Quiddich, which if she wanted to hear about that, she might have just stayed married to her ex-husband. She really needs to tell Ginny to stop setting her up on dates.
They part ways with a polite nod and kiss on the cheek and Hermione Apparates herself home so she can mull over how poorly it went with a glass of wine and a book.
Running herself a bath, she slides into the hot water and lets it envelop her, soaking her troubles away. Really, she should be throwing herself into her work and taking a good long break from dating and relationships. Until now she has been in one for all of her adult life—taking some time to herself just makes sense.
Shutting her eyes and leaning her head back against the tub, Hermione sighs and tries to put the events of the evening out of her mind.
The lift is far too full for her liking.
Crammed in with thirty other Ministry employees, she begins to feel a little light-headed from the lack of oxygen available. It’s like there is an anvil on her chest, preventing her from taking a deep enough breath. When the bell sounds and the lift stops at her floor, she pushes her way out and practically gasps down cool air the moment she is free. She can’t stand confined spaces anymore—not since the war.
Her heels click against the marble floors as she quickly makes her way toward her Department. When she walks in, she is greeted by a smile and wave from their secretary, June, before she ducks into her office and shuts the door firmly behind her. Leaning heavily against it, she takes a moment to centre herself again.
Once she is sure her breathing is even, Hermione hangs her bag up on the hook near the door. Fishing the files out of it she’d taken home the evening before to review, she settles into the chair behind her desk.
For an hour her office is silent save for the rhythmic tick of the clock on the mantle over her office fireplace. Just as she finishes with her daily correspondence, there is a soft knock at her door, followed by it opening to make way for a familiar pair of silvery-blue eyes.
“Luna, how are you?” she greets.
“Great,” Luna answers with a grin. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”
“Not at all,” Hermione smiles. Seeing a friendly face is just what she needs.
Luna’s eyes sparkle as she waltzes into the room, all blonde hair and no cares. Hermione feels a small pang of jealousy—she cannot for the life of her remember the last time she was so carefree. As her friend plops into the chair across from her, she sets aside her paperwork and lets out a soft sigh, already tired and ready for another caffeine fix.
“You look tired,” Luna points out.
Hermione snorts. “Why thank you very much for that observation,” she says flatly. “I am tired. It’s been weeks since I’ve had a full night of sleep.”
“The Centaur accords?”
Her brows raise in surprise and she nods. “How did you know?”
Luna laughs, and the sound is musical and light. “I listen. I know it doesn’t seem like it half the time, but I pay attention to you.”
Seeing her friend smile makes it easy for her to smile too. It’s been several weeks since Luna began regularly stopping by at the office, contracted by the Ministry for some work in their department. Magizoologist work keeps her busy most of the time, but having her in one place—having a friend so close while her life is still in flux following the end of her marriage—has been of immeasurable comfort to Hermione.
“What can I do for you?” Hermione asks.
Luna’s brows raise in confusion. “I just stopped by to say hello, actually,” she replies. “I was on my way to the Archives to find some old studies for the case I’m informing, and I wanted to see if you’d have lunch with me later?”
“Oh.” She isn’t used to people coming to see her without wanting something from her.
“Well?” The blonde looks at her expectantly.
“Oh, yes!” Hermione says, cheeks flushing slightly. “Around one? I have so much work to do before then.”
“I’ll be back around then.”
And just as abruptly as she’d arrived, Luna floats out the door with a grin and a wave, her long blonde locks along with the scent of lavender and lemon trailing after her as she leaves. The smile that her friend’s visit brought lingers on her lips long after she has left, and suddenly there is something for her to look forward to.
With that thought in mind, Hermione pulls out a quill and ink and gets to work so she will have enough completed before her lunch with Luna.
Green and blue.
The skies are clear, even with the wind and slight chill in the air still following the end of winter. The grass is crisp, lush, and green.
It’s so peaceful here, she thinks to herself—especially now that she doesn’t have to live at Hogwarts. Even the Forbidden Forest does not seem as ominous as it once did. Perhaps the numerous meetings with the Centaurs, combined with her many run-ins there during her school years have desensitised her. Perhaps it is that all of the creatures inhabiting it seem to inherently understand that she isn’t a threat.
Either way, as she strolls from the edge of the forest towards the castle, Hermione pauses for a moment to look back towards it and sees the small ground of Centaurs disappearing back into their woodland home. No. Not nearly as terrifying as it used to be.
Up at the castle she treks up to the Headmistress’s tower so that she can visit with the older witch before she leaves—a weekly custom that began when Hermione started her negotiations with the Centaurs about their rights. The tea is already waiting on the coffee table near the fire when she arrives, and the warmth of the low-burning blaze is welcome.
“Tea?” Minerva asks without even looking up.
Hermione smiles and plops down in the free armchair. “Love one.”
“How are the talks coming along?” the Headmistress presses.
“Good,” she answers. “I think we’re getting close. Once I have the proposal drawn up, I can take it to the Wizengamot for approval hopefully, or make amendments if there are certain things they don’t agree to. If that happens, it’ll be a lot of going back and forth as a liaison until they finally settle on something.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” Minerva says, looking thoughtful for a moment.
“It’ll be worth it,” Hermione says, and even though she is exhausted, it’s so important for her to make these policies work for the Centaurs so that they can continue to coexist with magical folk peacefully.
“You’ll be Minister for Magic in the next ten years, I’d say,” the older witch says.
Hermione lets out a sharp chuckle until she realises that Minerva is serious. “You can’t be serious?”
“Kingsley himself told me they are considering you as a candidate down the line,” the Headmistress tells her. “Haven’t you noticed they’ve begun grooming you to move up as Head of Department once Gesthemane Prickle retires?”
Hermione’s eyes widen. Her boss is still years away from retirement, surely. She’s never once mentioned the idea before. Instead of responding, she sips at her tea, a little flabbergasted by this, a fresh knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. This is the last thing she expected to be told today. Desperate to change the subject, Hermione swallows the last of her tea and pours a second cup.
“So, tell me how things have been at Hogwarts,” she deflects, and although they are both aware of her overt deviation from the topic, Minerva seems willing to let it slide this time and launches into her tales from the week.
By the time her second cup is empty, she realises the time and almost flies out of her chair. “I am so sorry, but I have to run. I am meeting Luna in Hogsmead at Rosmerta’s.”
Minerva nods in understanding. “Pass on my regards to Miss Lovegood.”
With a smile, she is out the door and hurrying down the spiral staircase faster than it can descend with her. Not for the first time in recent weeks, Hermione finds herself almost giddy with excitement to see Luna. Their friendship had a rocky start when they were at Hogwarts, and she let herself view Luna as others did to fit in—desperate not to be the biggest outcast at the school.
Now, she regrets ever allowing herself to be so unfeeling. Luna was unique—different—and it doesn’t diminish her as a person.
The long walk to Hogsmeade is a blur, as all she can think of is the friend she is going to meet. When she catches sight of Luna waiting outside the Three Broomsticks for her, Hermione’s pulse quickens as her heart beats rapidly in her chest. Her long blonde locks are woven into a messy braid, wearing a lilac robe over her clothes, and she is wearing the radish earrings Hermione has come to associate with her.
She looks very pretty, her mind offers.
There is a lump in her throat she swallows past as her mouth becomes unbelievably dry, so Hermione forces those thoughts out of her head and strides over to meet her friend.
Why she is so nervous, she hasn’t a single clue.
“Hungry?” Luna asks her, giving her a one-armed hug.
Before she can second-guess herself, Hermione clings to Luna for another few seconds, letting go when she realises how awkward she is.
“Starving.”
As they walk into the pub together, she can’t seem to stop herself from inhaling the scent of Luna’s hair. Hermione is grateful for the dimly lit pub, as she follows her friend inside to share lunch.
She isn’t ready to question what any of these new feelings mean.
There is a roiling in her stomach that she can’t explain.
Hermione’s palms are so clammy, that she is forced to dry them on her robes as she stands in the Portkey Office waiting. She hasn’t seen Luna since their meal at the Three Broomsticks a week ago; the younger witch was away at a Magizoologist conference in Argentina. Luna had sent a letter to her two days earlier to tell her when she would return, so that morning as Hermione dressed, she did so with care.
She still isn’t really sure why.
Just as she leans against a wall with a soft sigh, the shuffle of shoes from down the hallway draws her attention, and Luna is moving towards her with a giant grin splitting her cheeks. She is dressed in a brightly-coloured dress with lots of bangles and a sheer, sparkly scarf wrapped around her neck, looking like she is returning from a holiday. Hermione’s stomach flutters, her mouth becoming dry as her arms wrap around the slim form of her friend whose arms wind around her neck, returning the enthusiastic embrace.
This time when she sighs, it is with relief at seeing Luna whole and happy, and when she takes another breath, the scent of lavender and lemons fills her nose, and a sense of calm surrounds her. Eventually, she realises they’ve been hugging for a long while, and she quickly releases her friend and steps back.
“It’s good to see you,” Hermione tells her, face a little flushed from mortification. “How was Argentina?”
“It was beautiful!” Luna says with excitement. “The food and the colours and the people! I can’t tell you how different it is there. We’ll have to go back there so I can show you one day.”
Hermione’s heart stalls in her chest at the word ‘we’ll ’. How can one simple word make her feel this ruffled? “I haven’t been to South America before,” she stammers.
“The conference was so thrilling too,” Luna continues, almost as if she didn’t hear Hermione’s flustered mutterings.
As they leave the Portkey Office walking side-by-side, Hermione listens with a small smile as the blonde witch talks about all of the lectures she attended, the magical creature exhibit, and all of the many wonderful things she ate on her trip. It isn’t until they reach the lift that Luna pauses in her diatribe, and turns to gaze at her with a thoughtful expression.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Luna questions her.
Hermione smiles. “Perhaps.”
The younger witch gives her a flat look. “You didn’t have to come all this way just for me!”
There is a tightening in her gut. “Of course I did,” she argues. “I needed to be certain you came back all in one piece. My boss would be beside herself if anything were to happen to you.”
Luna stares at her for a moment wordlessly before she reaches out to take up one of Hermione’s hands. “I missed you too, you know.”
The lump in her throat is back, and she is rocked once more by how forthcoming Luna is. She isn’t one for mincing words. Hermione doesn’t acknowledge or respond, though, and instead chooses to deflect as she always does when she’s uncomfortable.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, letting her hand slide out of Luna’s grasp.
“Always,” the younger witch says in response.
“Let’s go get lunch,” Hermione suggests, and at Luna’s nod, they leave the Ministry and start to walk towards Diagon Alley.
As they walk, Hermione sneaks glances at the woman beside her, her blonde hair and eyes shining in the afternoon sun. She looks so ethereal despite her loud attire, and although she draws a lot of eyes with her outfit, seems completely oblivious to everyone’s stares. Her eyes linger over the soft pink of her lips, the gentle slope of her nose, the soft, barely-there dusting of freckles across her cheeks.
She is so lovely, Hermione thinks, unable to draw her eyes away.
When they are settled down at their favourite cafe, Hermione is forced to reckon with the wayward thoughts and feelings she has towards her dainty friend sitting across from her. She hasn’t felt this way since the early days of her relationship with Ron, and a large part of her is fighting it—trying to convince herself that she is just lonely and that Luna has been around an awful lot.
They aren’t real feelings.
They can’t be.
It’s just a flight of fancy.
But then she catches sight of Luna gazing dreamily out at the street while they wait for their meals to arrive, and she is forced to admit to herself that is not the case. When those silver-blue eyes land on her again and the breath escapes her, Hermione is certain.
She is falling for Luna and there is not a single thing she can do about it.
“You look beautiful, stop fussing.”
Hermione forces her eyes up to Ginny, who is smirking at her with her arms crossed as she lounges in the doorway to her bedroom.
It’s been a long time since she agreed to a girl’s night, but the redhead looming at the entry to her room browbeat her into saying yes. Now, as she stands before her mirror feeling oddly self-conscious, Hermione hates everything about her dress, hair, and face. She knows that it will only be a small group of friends from Hogwarts having dinner and drinks, and yet she is fussing over her outfit like she is going on a date.
Admit it, you are just trying to look pretty for her, her mind offers up.
Frowning, Hermione moves away from the long mirror and snatches up her purse and wand from the bed.
“All right, let’s get this over with.”
“Quit acting like I am leading you to your death,” Ginny says bossily as she marches her downstairs.
In no time at all, she is being hurried out the door by her friend, and the two of them make their way to the nearby park to Apparate and meet the rest of the girls. When they enter the restaurant, Ginny waves at their group and heads over to them, exchanging embraces and cheek kisses. Hermione lingers back, unable to see Luna with the rest of the women.
“Hello.”
Hermione catches a whiff of her scent without even needing to turn around, but turn she does and almost finds the air knocked clean from her when she catches sight of Luna. She’s dressed in a dark navy outfit, her long blonde hair swept back into an elegant low bun with little moons adorning her ears. She’s never seen Luna look so unlike herself before, but she is a striking study of light and dark dressed as she is.
“You look beautiful.” The words slip from her before she can catch them, and Hermione’s cheeks suffuse with heat. Morgana’s tits, she is being ridiculous.
Luna simply smiles at her, reaching for her so she can take her hands. “You look very pretty as well,’ she tells her. “I love your dress.”
Hermione gazes down at the rose-coloured fabric and suddenly feels self-conscious again. Does the colour wash me out? She wonders. Shaking off the useless thought, she gives her friend's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it and nodding towards their table.
“The others are already here.”
For a moment she sees a flicker of emotion she cannot recognise in the younger woman’s eyes. It disappears as soon as it arrives though, and she leads the way over to join their friends.
Lavender and Pavarti both launch out of their seats to crowd her with a hug, and Hermione recalls she hasn’t actually seen either of them since before her divorce. Her eyes dart around trying to find Luna, only to realise she has been abandoned to her fate, and the witch in question was over at the bar. After a long, and frankly, uncomfortable embrace, they finally let her go and the questioning begins.
“How are you doing with everything now that, you know, you and Ron are over?”
“What’s it like living alone again? I don’t know how you can do it.”
“I saw he was dating that French girl now, how are you doing with that?”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Before she can respond to a question, another is asked, and her head snaps back and forth between the two of them as she fumbles for an answer to even one of them. From behind them, she shoots Ginny a pleading look, and her friend quickly comes to her rescue.
“Let the woman breathe,” Ginny says, dragging her away from the two nosy witches towards the table for respite. “Let’s at least have some wine before you interrogate her about my idiotic brother and her love life.”
Hermione mouths ‘thank you’ at her as they sit, and mercifully someone pushes a large glass of red in her direction. Luna slides smoothly into the seat beside her, nursing some ridiculous pink drink which Hermione takes a sip of and is horrified to find tastes the way it looks.
Dinner isn’t anywhere near as stressful as she imagined in her head, and with the amount of wine she consumes, her face is perpetually flushed. When some of the others suggest they kick on at a nightclub, Hermione is far too tired to fall prey to their badgering, begging off to go home and sleep. She is almost certain there is a disgusting wine hangover in her future. Bidding them all farewell, she makes her way back to the nearest safe Apparition point, glad she’d thought to stop drinking earlier so she can make the trip home.
“Let me Apparate you home.”
Luna’s voice calling out from behind causes her to whip around suddenly, and she almost loses her footing. “I’ll be fine,” Hermione says stubbornly.
“Please,” Luna says as she stops before her. “I’ll worry less if you let me see you back.”
“You drank as much as I did—” she begins to argue.
“Mocktails,” Luna says with a smirk. “I like sugary drinks, but alcohol makes my head feel even foggier than usual.”
She finds she cannot argue and nods. Luna is in her space in seconds, wrapping her arms around her middle and in a blink, they arrive in the park near Hermione’s house with a sharp crack . She feels unbearably warm surrounded by the blonde witch’s arms as she is, and a bubble starts to fill her chest near to bursting. Luna’s eyes in this light are like a perfect storm, all steely and cool, and she feels a little lightheaded, as though she could trip and fall into them and be consumed by the ocean.
Hermione almost scoffs at her train of thought. But it doesn’t stop her from wondering if Luna’s lips would taste like the pink drink she was drinking at dinner, or how it would feel to loosen the pins from her hair so she can watch the silk blonde tresses tumble down her back. There is a stab of heat in her gut so strong she almost trips over herself. Her friend still doesn’t look away, and in fact, a little line of concern has appeared between her brows.
“Are you all right, Hermione?” It is a simple question, but she doesn’t know the answer.
“I’m fine,” she replies in a non-committal manner.
“You don’t seem fine to me,” Luna argues, placing the back of her hand against her forehead. “Hmm, doesn’t seem like you are unwell.”
A soft gasp escapes Hermione at the contact, and she can feel herself leaning towards her friend against her own better judgment. The fingers of one hand curl around her shoulder as the other moves to cup the other woman’s cheek. Wide blue eyes meet hers, but Luna doesn’t pull away. In fact, she leans forward too.
When their lips meet, an overwhelming sense of rightness comes over her, and there is nothing but the cool breeze washing over them, the soft hum of crickets, and the soft, sweet warmth of Luna’s mouth as their lips gently meet and brush. A heaviness settles in her chest as the kiss slowly intensifies, no longer just brushing her lips. Teeth graze, tongues meet, breaths hitch.
It is perfect.
Until it isn’t, and Hermione realises what she has done.
Even more suddenly than the kiss began, she is pulling away, wrapping her arms around herself in shame, withdrawing entirely from Luna’s warmth.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione stammers. “I shouldn’t have, I—that was wrong of me.”
“Hermione—”
Before she flees, Hermione quickly mutters, “I’m so sorry,” once more.
Without looking back, she leaves the park and her dumbstruck friend behind, hot tears beginning to well up in her eyes that she is helpless to choke back. Of course, she had to go and ruin her friendship by complicating things—it’s what she does best, after all. She should never be allowed to have wine. Ever. Inside her house, Hermione leans heavily against the front door once it closes behind her.
She hasn’t felt this alone since Ron moved out twelve months ago.
The green of the Hogwarts grounds is a welcome sight.
She knows it's childish to hide away at the school and repress her emotions, but she isn’t ready to deal with the fallout from the weekend. Remaining in her office is not an option; Luna would surely find her there, and then they would have to actually talk . Hermione doesn’t want to talk. Talking would require having the mental capacity to sort through her emotions and deal with the fact that she is attracted to and has feelings for one of her closest friends; that she kissed Luna.
Closing her eyes, she walks towards the juncture where the Great Lake meets the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She finds a place to sit in the shade, and then she sinks into the grass with her back pressed against a large tree.
Eventually, she will have to face what has happened, and find a way to understand where all of this has come from.
But for now, she is content to pretend, if just for a little while, that nothing happened.
When the sun is in the middle of the sky, and she has to squint against the brightness, she packs up the work she brought with her to work on into her satchel and treks up to the castle. She gets a lot of wide-eyed looks from the students as she makes her way toward the Great Hall. Most days when she is there, classes are in session so she rarely has occasion to interact with them. It seems absurd to her that they are all still a little starstruck whenever they see her, Harry, or Ron at the castle.
When the Headmistress spies her approaching the head table, she stands to greet Hermione with a smile, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Hermione, were we expecting you today?” Minerva asks, even as she summons an extra chair to the head table which she squeezes in beside her own.
“You weren’t, I’m afraid,” Hermione admits sheepishly. “I hope it’s not an imposition—”
“Not at all,” the older witch cuts her off. “Come sit by me and eat.”
She helps herself to sandwich fixings and as she chews on her food, Hermione listens to Minerva regale her on the goings-on at the school, along with a little side gossip about the fact that Pomona and Rolanda have plans to go away for a romantic weekend together. She gazes out at the students who are all chatting away and eating—a few of them casting glances up towards her at the table as well. She offers them all smiles.
She barely remembers what it was like to be so young and uninhibited.
“Where did you go off to?”
Minerva’s voice rings in her ears, and she turns her eyes back to the Headmistress and flushes. “Sorry, I was just remembering for a moment,” Hermione apologises hastily.
Her mentor does not appear convinced. “You seem troubled.”
She sighs softly and eventually nods. “I’m having a conundrum.”
“A conundrum? What manner of issue is it?” Minerva asks her.
“It’s a personal one,” Hermione confesses. “Involving a…friend.”
The older witch’s eyebrows raise further. “A romantic friend?”
A pained expression crosses her features. “I’m not—it’s complicated. We are very good friends and I think—I think I’ve blown it.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think, my dear,” Minerva says, patting her hand on the table.
“I kissed them on the weekend and then bolted before they could say anything and have been avoiding them since,” she says, the words tumbling out of her mouth.
The older woman snorts. “Is that all? Hermione, you are certainly not the first person who has ever snogged and run. Do you think they might have feelings for you?”
Hermione blushes, her entire face feeling like it’s on fire. “I hardly know.”
“Do you have feelings for them?”
She pauses to think for a moment, before nodding. “I do.”
“Then perhaps it is not as complicated as you’ve built up in your head.”
A warmth spreads through Hermione’s chest as she smiles at Minerva. All these many years later, and she still gets her best advice from the older witch. After lunch, Hermione leaves Hogwarts and heads home to finish up her work for the day. She still isn’t quite ready to speak with Luna about the kiss, and the feelings that caused it.
But she is ready to stop pretending it didn’t happen.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The knocking at the front door is persistent.
Hermione frowns as she slides a bookmark to hold her place, and stands up from her sofa. She isn’t expecting anyone, so when she pulls the door open to reveal Luna on her doorstep, she is thrown for a loop.
“Luna?”
“Can I come in?” the blonde witch asks, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet.
Shit, buggering fuck . “Of course,” Hermione answers, pulling the door open wider.
Once the door is closed behind her, she awkwardly stands in the hallway waiting for her friend to speak. She is hoping for a berating—anything, really—just so long as she doesn’t have to start. She’s worried when she does, it’ll be an endless stream of apologies for her lack of consideration and terrible behaviour while tipsy.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Luna points out, finally breaking the silence.
Hermione hugs her arms around her body. “That obvious, was it?”
The younger woman approaches her and places a hand on her shoulder. The touch sends a shiver down her arm, and Hermione is forced to meet her eye. Well, there is no more avoiding her problems now.
“I know I’m not the most observant person in the world, but I know when someone is going out of their way to dodge me,” Luna says, an unfamiliar look crossing her face that Hermione now realises is hurt.
She’s hurt her friend.
Her heart sinks in her chest, becoming a cavity that feels empty, and yet full to the brim with pain and conflicted feelings. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be,” the woman before her says with one of her half-smiles. “I haven’t been honest with you, I’m afraid. And that is mostly because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or burden you.”
Hermione’s heart stalls. “What is it?”
Luna sighs and the hand moves from Hermione’s shoulder around to the back of her neck where her delicate fingers gently stroke her nape. “I have feelings for you—have for quite some time, actually. I know it’s only been a year since you separated from Ron and even less time since your divorce. I thought it would just be easier to say nothing.”
“Oh.” She stares into the silvery blue ocean of Luna’s eyes, unblinking. OH!
“I understand if you don't reciprocate—” the younger witch begins to say.
But Hermione doesn’t allow her to finish her sentence, instead pressing her lips to Luna’s, effectively silencing her. Her eyes flutter closed when she realises that the lips beneath hers are moving gently against hers. It is a tender, reassuring kiss. A gasp escapes her when she feels the tip of Luna’s tongue teasing at the seam of her lips, and she gives way for her exploration, clutching at the front of her shirt helplessly.
Hesitating, Hermione responds, chasing her tongue into the other woman’s mouth playfully, seeking it out before teasing her palate. It isn’t long before they need to part, both greedily sucking down oxygen, and staring at one another with wild hair and eyes.
“I reciprocate,” Hermione finally admits out loud. “I—this is very new for me.”
At her admission, Luna smiles sweetly. “I can show you how it’s done. You aren’t the first woman I have been with.”
This surprises Hermione, though she doesn’t exactly know why. It’s not as though they had ever really discussed the blonde witch’s preferences in the past. Hell, it seems she doesn’t fully comprehend her own if the kiss they shared just now was anything to go by.
“I am woefully out of my comfort zone, I’m afraid,” Hermione tells her.
Luna laughs softly, and it is a musical sound that causes a shiver to run down her spine. “We don’t have to rush anything, you know? You’re one of my best friends, and that will always be the most important thing.”
Hermione nods, very much in agreement. “All right.”
“I did come just to clear the air with you,” the younger woman says, letting the hand at her neck drift around to cup her cheek. “I should let you have your weekend back.”
For some reason, the very idea of her leaving makes Hermione’s stomach knot up and her heart lurch in her chest. “Stay,” she says quickly, covering the hand over her cheek. “Please. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Luna’s eyes light up. “All right.”
Waking up, the last thing she expects is to find herself not alone in bed.
Turning over, Hermione is a little surprised to find that not only is Luna a guest in her bed, but they are both as nude as the day they were born. Memories from the night before flood in, and a small smile curves up the corners of her mouth. It’s been two weeks since their first ill-advised kiss, and a week since admitting her feelings to the woman warming the space beside her.
She knows it is rather quick, but their closeness combined with her overwhelming attraction to the younger witch led to this moment, and she regrets absolutely nothing.
Reaching across the space between them, Hermione skims her fingers over the smooth expanse of flesh, tracing a line down Luna’s spine. Everything about her is delicate and soft, warm and comfortable, sweet and alluring. The warm buzz of desire curls through her, straight to her abdomen, so she shuffles closer so that she can press her lips to her exposed shoulder. Reaching around to cup one of her small breasts, Hermione feels her bedmate stir, and soon Luna glances over her shoulder sleepily, flashing her a small smile.
“Good morning,” the younger woman murmurs dreamily.
“Hello,” Hermione replies, lips travelling along her shoulder so that she can capture her mouth in a quick but intense kiss.
Just as she moves to deepen the kiss, Hermione’s breath leaves her as she is rolled onto her back, and Luna comes to straddle her waist before leaning down to kiss her again. She moans when nimble fingers find her breasts and tweak her sensitive nipples into hard peaks, and groans when those same fingers find her slick, waiting heat. When she reaches her peak, Luna doubles down with her mouth teasing a turgid nipple, and the unexpected thrill she experiences during her climax nearly causes her to sob.
After Hermione catches her breath, she sits up with Luna still straddling her lap and kisses her hard, plundering her mouth with an eager tongue while she seeks out the burning juncture between her lover’s thighs, and slides her fingers into her channel. Luna is completely uninhibited in her passion, riding her fingers and moaning loudly as Hermione continues to stroke and pet her.
When the young witch finally comes apart, her walls trembling and hips bucking, Hermione feels a rush of satisfaction at having brought pleasure to her.
They stare at one another as they catch their breath, both flushed and a little sweaty from the warmth they have generated. Hermione wraps her arms around her, burrowing her face into the side of her neck. It’s strange and yet totally comfortable even though all of this is new for her. But the rightness she feels being held by Luna—having her gentle fingers stroking through her curls—is impossible to shake.
She expected to feel more confused and conflicted by their lovemaking, and yet none of those feelings came up either the night before or moments earlier. Perhaps there is simply no reason to question it, and accept that she might be attracted to men and women alike. Perhaps it is just that uncomplicated, and it’s fine for her to be falling for her friend.
With that thought in mind, Hermione huffs out a soft chuckle before saying, “I need a nap.”
Luna laughs and clambers off her, standing unabashedly nude beside the bed with her hand extended towards her. “Sleep is for later,” she announces with a grin. “Days are for adventures, and I want to go on one with you.”
“Luna, are you asking me to go on a date?” she teases.
“Well, yes. Isn’t that the kind of thing you do with your girlfriend?”
Hermione’s eyes widen at that. She hadn’t considered before what they would be to one another, but it seems Luna has decided for them. And oddly, she is completely fine with this.
“Yes, it is.”
“So?”
“I’d love to go on a date with you.”
“I think we should go to the zoo,” Luna says with finality. “There is a new magical wildlife sanctuary and hospital attached to the magical sector of London Zoo, and I’ve been meaning to visit.”
Hermione can’t help but smile. The woman has a very one-track mind. “Let’s do it.”
“And we’ll go to the Tate.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up.
“Of course,” Luna says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You love it there.”
Heart full to bursting, she accepts the hand held out to her and allows herself to be drawn from the comfort of her bed, and onwards to a new day of firsts with the woman who is slowly weaving herself into the very fabric of Hermione’s very being.
An exhilarating prospect, indeed.
“You look beautiful.”
A kiss lands on the back of her neck, and Hermione arches a glance over her shoulder at Luna, pursing her lips to appear sulky. “I feel frumpy.”
“It’s a kids party, Hermione,” Luna reminds her with a grin.
She is dressed in a brightly coloured rainbow cardigan over her high-waisted jeans and a lilac t-shirt—incredibly appropriate attire for a kid’s party. Glancing down at the green sundress she is wearing Hermione blows out a sigh and her shoulders drop. It’s one of her favourite dresses, and yet it feels incredibly strange to be wearing it. She doubts anything would feel right no matter what she wore.
They are, after all, telling all of their friends about their relationship that day.
It isn’t some big secret, as Ginny, Harry, and Ron already know. It seemed poignant to let those closest to them know about their lives sooner. Hermione just doesn’t want to make the entire day about them, especially as Victoire Weasley enjoyed being the centre of attention, and it is her day, after all.
“We should go or we’ll be late,” Hermione says, turning away from the mirror.
“Nobody will mind if we don’t arrive exactly on time.”
She knows Luna is right, but her anxiety can’t handle that prospect. The younger woman wraps her arms around her from behind, leaning her chin on her shoulder as she stands up on her toes to reach.
“I can tell you are trying to distract me, but it won’t work,” Hermione tells her with a chuckle. “Let’s go.”
Before they can leave the bedroom, Luna stops her with a hand on her arm. “Hermione?”
“Hmm?”
“You are perfect.”
Her heart hammers wildly in her chest, and she leans down to steal a quick kiss. “So are you.”
Hand in hand they leave the house together. It’s been four blissful months since Hermione allowed herself to feel something for someone again, and not a single moment of it has been spent in regret. As they Apparate in tandem from the park near her house and walk towards the Burrow, her nerves begin to dissipate. Hermione is struck with the feeling that so long as Luna is by her side, it doesn’t matter what anyone else has to say.
She doesn’t have to go through it alone.