FIC: Stories From Every Corner Of The World (4/??)

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Title: Stories From All The Corners Of The World
Chapter Title: Bringing Back The Balance
Author: Cella
Ship: Charlie/Harry/Hermione
Challenge: The Prompt Game, gracefully provided by the readers of Universal Laws Of Attraction
Prompt: #30. journeys--stereotype_vamp [yes, I just did made that prompt up]
General Summary: It’s the brink of the war, and the victory depends on three still-children and a dragon tamer. Home doesn’t feel the same, and love might not cut it. The quest for Horcruxes proves to be a hard journey. Harry, Charlie, Hermione and Ron find themselves thrown into a journey that takes them to every corner of the world, in a race against time to save the world and live to see another day.
Chapter Summary: It’s still not solved, the balance has been messed with, and they have to work to bring it back.
Spoilers: Up to HBP. SEQUEL to Universal Laws Of Attraction
Dedications: To ran_huo, who knows when to prod me to write, and who shoved me into this ship in the first place, and to inell, who managed to stick through it all like a loyal reader. To all the readers of ULOA, this sequel is for you.
A/N: Well, here we are. Not exactly sure where 'here' is, but that will undoubtedly change. If you haven't read ULOA, or have missed a chapter of SFECOTW, please update yourself; you can find every chapter in my memories. And Enjoy, because it's going to be one hell of a ride!
WARNING! This chapter is rated R. Please read with caution!
AN the 2nd: I honestly wonder if anyone actually keeps reading this crap. This chapter is shorter. Consider it a needed interlude. Any other thing I might have included would've taken the charm of the three of them coming together at last. I really loved writing about Romania. It brings back so many memories. I only hope someone actually enjoys those descriptions.

::Before::

The cauldron hisses, and green, sickly green smoke rises from it. Then, blinding light, more powerful that a Patronus’, surrounds them, and they vaguely hear an androgynous voice breathe out a “thank you” around them. Then, as quick as that, the brightness disappears, and there is nothing left in the cauldron but an opened, rusted pendant on the bottom of the recipient. On Hermione’s hand, five scars encircle her wrist like fire, not hurting much, but there just as well. And that is that.

It was done.




IV. Bringing Back The Balance


They decide that before going back home, they’re entitled to some rest.

Actually, it’s Charlie and Ron who decide this. Hermione wants to get home as soon as possible, because she needs the pillow on her bed, needs the feel of it against her cheek, needs to see it stained with rivers of tears afterwards, after she lets go. Harry needs to go home, because he needs to show Helen he’s perfectly able to protect Hermione, even though right now, he doesn’t believe that himself.

So, because one half wants rest, and the other half wants to go back, they settle on a truce. They take the train from the village near the compound, and travel to the capital, where they’ll buy their Portkey back home.

The Romanian trains are old and rusty in a way that shows the country has been, so far, depraved of the glory it deserves, of the technology and the prosperity. But the train holds true, and even though it squeaks, and shakes, it’s strong, just like the country. The train station where they wait is desolate, and wind reigns over it as the last great king of the land. The benches are made of wood, and there is only one paved platform: the first, where they wait. The rest of the platforms are covered with pebbles, and dust, with grass and soil, unfertile. There are two abandoned locomotives, farther away from them, beyond the sixth railway. They stand up high, shambled but high, proudly displaying the colossus they once were. The morning light shines over them kindly, diminishing the roughness somewhat, making the chapped paint look like copper, instead of the earthy red it once were. Above them, in a corner, a clock hangs, brass swirls decorating it, shaping it, beautifying it. The clock shows the time: the train is about to arrive.

They stand up, and look at the empty train station one last time. It’s comfortable in a way it shouldn’t be, beautiful, yet…yet not. The train arrives, aged-blue and spitting fume, whooshing its way to a stop. It’s old, but not. It was once beautiful, once grand, but now it’s only proof that some just don’t bother changing the old objects. The paint is chapped, blue and dirty, and the white paint which marks each wagon is faded a bit. But they step up, taking luggage with them, tickets, and coats. The train starts moving, slowly enough to allow them to watch the town slide pass. Once they’ve lost sight of it, they make way to a compartment. It reminds them of the Hogwarts Express, only it’s not as glamorous, just shabby and noisy.

The corridors are narrow, and they brush against the people out there. It’s full of people enjoying a smoke near the open windows. The compartments, red and brown on the inside, are slightly homey, and slightly not. They find an empty compartment, and after placing the baggage on the shelves above them, they drag each chair out, three on one side, and three on the other, down until they’re like beds, joining in the middle of the compartment. They lift the handlebars up, and lie on the makeshift beds, facing the ceiling. There’s a spot of grease on it, and there’s a smell of cheap tobacco coming from outside, but once the curtains--white--are draped, their little cocoon is ready.

Some sleep, some don’t. Hermione pretends to sleep, because if she stays awake, Harry will probably want to talk about yesterday, about the five scars on her arm. Harry, who is lying beside her, is wide awake, and knows Hermione’s pretending. He’s not mad. At least, that’s what he tries telling himself. But he is mad, he’s weary, he’s terribly afraid for her life. He wants Hermione to live more than anything, more than he wants her to love him, more than he wants to swallow her whole and protect her for ever. He brushes a hand over her hip, moving it up, and letting it rest beneath her breast, fingers tapping on her ribs. He leans in, and brushes a kiss on her shoulder, tender and loving. It breaks her heart to so many degrees, that she can’t help it, and opens her eyes.

“Hi,” she whispers, turning to lie on her side, hand supporting her head.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, mimicking her position, and brushing the hair from her eyes and over her shoulder. “I love you,” he says, because he can, because it’s true, and because every time he says it, it’s like something blooms within him.

Hermione’s lip trembles, and she launches herself at Harry, tackling him so that she ends up lying over him, hands around his neck, his hands around her shaking back. She sobs, she cries, she wishes this were her pillow back home, but it’s Harry, and it’s better. “I love you,” she mumbles into his chest. I’d die for you, she wants to say, but doesn’t.

Charlie, from his spot, pretends he’s asleep, pretends he doesn’t feel left out, pretends those aren’t tears in his eyes. He’s not good at pretending.

--------

They reach Bucharest at night.

It would be scary, were it not for the fact that they’re wizards, so they move unnoticed, and soon, they’re near the entrance to the wizard world. It’s similar to London, only it’s not, because there is no Diagon Alley waiting for them beyond the brick wall, only empty streets, sleepy streets. And it’s not a brick wall they cross, but a public bathroom.

They spend the night at an Inn there, so tired they don’t even bother looking at the name of their shelter. They’re given two rooms, two beds each. Ron takes one, the rest take the other. Beds are joined and enlarged, and they’re ready for sleep very soon. Harry decides to have a shower, and Charlie sits on the bed, eyes closed. Hermione knows Charlie must feel neglected, and she can’t have that. She wants to show him she loves them both, equally, passionately, motherly, friendly, perfectly.

She crawls on the bed, mimicking a cat, and making Charlie open his eyes in surprise when she sits on his lap, legs sneaking their way around his waist. He smiles beatifically, and it frightens Hermione.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, cupping her face in his hands.

“I love you,” she says, loving the face he makes, all tender and surprised and responsive. “I love the both of you,” she says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t share my first night with you as well,” she whispers into the hollow of his neck, hugging him.

Charlie’s chest rises with a sigh, and he buries on hand into her hair. “That was meant to be for Harry all along.”

“I don’t want you to feel like an intruder, because you’re not. You triggered us, Charlie…don’t you realise it?” she asks, cupping his face, eyes following his ever expression. “You belong here as much as Harry and I do.” She kisses the tip of his nose. “I know that you feel somehow compelled to think that I belong only to Harry, but I belong to you as well. I belong to the both of you, because I love you both so much. And if I could lose my virginity two times,” she laughs softly when he chuckles, “I’d give it to you.”

“I know,” he sighs, and brings her down in hug.

“But,” she drawls softly, “just because I’ve already lost it to Harry, it doesn’t meant I wouldn’t want you to make love to me.” She’s blushing, and she knows she should be feeling vile, feeling like a repulsive tramp, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t because this is love, this is Charlie, Harry and her, and she wants them both in her life, in her bed and in her heart.

So Charlie kisses her, and she kisses him back, daringly moving over his lap in circular moves, until his eyes roll back. He growls then, and turns them over, pining her beneath him. He looks at her, and lets her know he wants to treat her like a queen. She looks at him, and lets him know she’d let him treat her like anything as long as he loved her. He kisses her, to tell her he loves her. Always. They’re half-way through each other’s clothes when Harry finally comes out of the bathroom. Harry doesn’t tease, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t do anything but crawl into bed with them.

There are kisses, and embraces. There’s the sound of: clothes brushing skin, clothes being shed, sheets brushing skin, skin brushing skin. Sound of: lips over naked skin, hands clenching hair, and teasing flesh. Sound of: panting, moaning, low laughter. There’s the sound of: mumbled words, screamed words, trembling words. The sound of: pleads, love declarations, skin against skin. There’s the three of them, and the sound of three people making love. No one is the intruder, no one is left out. They belong, they always will belong, just like this. Finally, there’s the sound of three people reaching temporary nirvana. Then there is sound of heavy breathing, slow kisses, sheets moving, and sleep. And then there is no sound at all.

And it’s perfection--at last.


---------

In the morning, they spend one hour in bed just looking at each other, kissing, and wondering what great good they did to deserve such blessing. Ron knocks on their door asking if they were ready to go yet, so they get dressed and ready.

There isn’t any awkwardness left, they remark, and it’s just as good. There still are things that should be discussed, but that’s for when they’re back home. Breakfast passes in a daze, with Hermione and Ron fighting over the last muffin as usual. They shrink their luggage, and buy the Portkey. They make a promise to, maybe later, come visit Romania again. With more time, to see everything there is to see.

They arrive home in time for dinner. Helen Granger, just as promised, makes a cake to celebrate it. It’s chocolate flavoured, with strawberries on top. They laugh, and eat, and it’s good to be home again. At night, later, after everyone’s retired to their rooms, Helen pays her daughter a visit.

“Hermione,” the woman softly begins. “What did you do?”

Hermione looks up from her book, and pats the bed for her mother to join her. The older woman sits down, and Hermione grabs her hands in her smaller ones. “I did what I had to do, Mum.”

“You love them, don’t you?” Helen asks. She’s been thinking about this ever since they left.

“I do,” Hermione smiles softly. “I’d die for all of them.”

“Please don’t speak that way,” the mother begs. “I don’t want you to die.”

“I won’t,” Hermione smiles. “I promise.” Tears run down her face. “I’ll give you grandchildren, and they’ll give me grandchildren, and I’ll live happily-ever-after in a house with a white picket-fence. We’ll have tea on Sundays, and I’ll bake a cake whenever I think they’re feeling ill.”

“Oh, my baby,” Helen sobs, clinging to her child. “What happened to you?”

“I grew up, mum,” Hermione whispers, smiling through the tears. “I grew up, and I’m alive now. They make me feel this way.”

“All of them?” Helen asks.

“No,” Hermione smiles. “Not in the same way, at least. Just two.”

Helen’s eyes widen, but she hugs her daughter close. “I love you, my baby child. No matter what, know that I love you.”

“Love you back, mum.”

She doesn’t show her the scars on her arm, but she knows her mother will end up seeing those too. Just like she sees how Hermione’s in love now, or how Hermione acts like a mother to the three. Helen knows, truthfully now, that Hermione really has grown up.

----------

Harry comes into her room about one hour after her mother left. He crawls under the covers behind her, and hugs her to his chest.

“I hate it that you had to do that,” he whispers harshly, fingers skimming the offensive scars.

“I didn’t like it either, Harry. But I’d do anything for you, you know?”

“I know,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over her shoulder. “I love you. I love you, and you’re mine, and if anyone dares threaten you, I’ll kill them. I swear, Hermione, my Hermione, I’ll protect you.”

Hermione turns in his arms, facing him, and kisses him slowly. “Yours,” she whispers on his lips.

It’s odd, and awfully hard to keep quiet, with Harry’s hands down her pants, murmuring ‘mineminemineminemine’ into her shoulder; but it’s what makes it even more perfect, she guesses.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Charlie creeps into the room, and joins them. There’s an almost-repeat of the night before, but they don’t, afraid that someone might hear. They fall asleep together. Hermione falls asleep first, held in between them, where it’s warm. Harry falls asleep after he kisses Charlie goodnight. Charlie stays up, a while longer, watching the two people he loves most at the moment.

In the morning, when Hermione wakes up, her bed is empty, but still warm, impregnated with their scents. She lingers there for a while, before going to bed. She hopes, really hopes, for a time when she’ll be able to sleep, with them next to her, until late afternoon, if so she pleases. With no interruptions. Maybe, if they survive, when all of this is over.

It sounds perfect.