A/N: And I'm back, back, back, back again, gain, gain.
Harry woke slowly. There was no alarm clock buzzing, no phone ringing, no one shaking him into wakefulness. He kept his eyes closed, smiling and turning his cheek into the pillow, then lifted his head and discovered a small damp circle of drool from overnight. Lovely. He rolled over onto his back and glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her long brown hair was messily spread over her pillow, framing her sleeping face. Her lips were parted slightly, breathing quietly, and one hand was curled up by her cheek just barely touching the tip of her nose. Harry smiled, and was forcibly reminded of the previous evening.
The smile disappeared quickly. He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair with difficulty—it was tangled from a night's sleep—and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat on the edge and rubbed his face in his hands. Maybe she won't remember, he thought hopefully; he didn't even bother reprimanding himself and just shook his head, standing up and getting dressed. He let himself out of the room and strolled over to the meal pavilion to grab a bite to eat. He was surprised to find that breakfast had stopped being served already; a man in uniform told Harry that he'd have to wait for lunch to open in just over an hour. It was ten thirty. Harry felt disgruntled and annoyed; he wanted food when he got up in the morning. Stupid rules, he thought as he kicked a stone off the walkway, hands shoved into his pockets. How irritating.
His feet took him out of the hotel and into the bustling town outside of it, packed to brimming with markets for the tourists. On impulse he bought a little piece of pottery for Hermione as a way of apologizing; it was a circular sun-moon, sculpted intricately and painted with bright colours. The moon half's face was laughing as the sun winked. It reminded him of her.
He decided to surprise her with a picnic, since lunch was so far away in his opinion. He bought some fruit and sandwich materials, and some raw sticks of sugarcane as a treat for dessert. He'd become very partial to it. He debated buying a picnic basket, but couldn't rationalize every using it again, so didn't. Putting the food and a bottle of grape juice into a bag, he headed back to the hotel. It was a hot day; somewhere around 35° in the sun, and thankfully cooler in the shade. People splashed in the pool as he walked by, and some waved—relatives of Hermione. He vaguely recognized their faces, but hadn't really talked to any of them before, so he just waved back and continued towards the room.
Hermione wasn't there when he arrived. A note was sitting on the dresser—it read:
Hi Harry.
I'm out at the beach.
-Hermione
Short and to the point. Harry nodded to himself and left the room with the picnic supplies (fattened by a blanket from the closet to put down), heading to the beach. He figured he'd rent a car and take her inland, off the peninsula, and make a day of it—find a nice shady spot somewhere in the countryside to sit and eat. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, planning the outing, that he almost walked right by Hermione, building a sandcastle with Kate. Two other children—more nieces and nephews—were close by. He paused ten feet away, yet unnoticed, and watched them. Hermione looked content and cheerful, laughing as Kate dumped a bucket of wet sand on top of one of the turrets, doubling its height. "It has to be big, or the king won't see it when he's riding home," Kate explained. Harry smiled.
"And what sort of adventure has the king been on?" Hermione asked, sticking a leaf on the end of a twig to form a tiny flag. Kate glanced up and saw Harry, looked at the things he was carrying, and shrugged.
"Oh, he was on a picnic," she said in that lofty, know-it-all childish way. Hermione laughed, and so did Harry. She turned and saw him, and instantly got to her feet and curtsied. Kate leaped up too and did a little bob, then cried, "Welcome home, your royal majestry!"
"I'm so glad there was an extra-tall tower, or I might've gotten lost. Did you keep the castle in good order while I was away?"
"Yessir, your majresty!" Kate giggled.
"Excellent," Harry nodded. "Now where's my queen?"
Hermione elbowed him, rolling her eyes and grinning anyway. "Right here, I suppose." Harry put down his bag and blanket and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek. She turned bright red, and Harry let go as Kate clapped delightedly.
"Kissy-kissy!" she squealed, making both adults laugh again. "Can I be the princess?"
"It does seem to be a bit princess-less around here, doesn't it?" Hermione said, looking up at Harry, who nodded in agreement. He beckoned to Kate and she rushed over to stand in front of him, breathless with excitement. He knelt to be at her level and touched both of her shoulders.
"I hereby crown you—"
"Thee!"
"Thee—Princess Kate of all...Beachfordshire," he said solemnly, and delicately placed an invisible crown on her head.
"Where's the crown?"
"It's a magic crown, Princess Kate. It's invisible to everybody except true royalty, like the three of us."
"What's it look like? Has it got diamonds and jewels?"
"Of course! Every kind of jewel ever discovered. And it's gold and silver and it shines in the sun."
"Everything shines in the sun," muttered Hermione. Harry glared up at her, indignant.
"It shines especially bright in the sun," he grumped, annoyed that his word as king had been questioned. Hermione grinned in satisfaction. Kate prodded him in the belly.
"Do I have a steed?"
Harry nodded. "Of course. You have a white unicorn, whiter than the snow at Christmas and with a gold horn as bright as your crown." He had no difficulty conjuring up fantastical elements for the girl. He'd seen unicorns before; he'd seen sparkly crowns before. He couldn't count how many antique shops he'd been through while searching for the Horcruxes four years ago. He glanced at Hermione, who was probably remembering the two times they'd seen unicorns before. Once in a Care of Magical Creatures class with Professor Grubby-whatsherface, who was subbing for Hagrid; and once when they were eleven, in the Forbidden Forest during detention with Hagrid and Ron and Draco Malfoy.
Harry took a moment while he was getting to his feet to reflect. It had been ages since he'd seen Malfoy. He'd played the deciding role in the final battle between the Order, the Ministry and the Death Eaters. Voldemort had had Harry, Hermione and Ron surrounded by himself and five Death Eaters; Draco Malfoy had been one of them. The trio had sent out spells all at the same time, hoping to take out as many Death Eaters as they could before they had to put up shields. Showing an astounding amount of courage and character, Malfoy had turned on his comrades, stunning the man beside him as the other three were downed by Harry, Ron and Hermione. Only Voldemort was left. He'd stupidly rounded on Malfoy, livid that one of his own had betrayed him, and Harry had taken his chance.
Voldemort's body lay unmoving on the ground. The four teenagers stood staring at it, speechless and breathless. Hermione was the first to speak, quietly. "He...he's dead?"
Harry nodded, and swayed on his feet, suddenly exhausted. Hermione caught his arm and supported him, though she was shaky as well. "It's over," he said firmly, and looked up at Malfoy. The pale-haired boy was still staring at Voldemort's lifeless body, as if trying to convince himself that it was true. "Malfoy," he began, then stopped. "Draco." The other boy tore his gaze away from the body and met Harry's eyes. Harry felt uncomfortable—he'd hated this person with a passion for seven years—and still wasn't entirely sure that Malfoy hadn't just missed when he'd hit the Death Eater. Seeing the look on his face now, however, made up Harry's mind. "Thank you."
Malfoy nodded, and didn't say anything. Harry walked over to him with effort and extended a hand. Malfoy looked at it for a few seconds, then clasped it with his own and shook. Harry felt a warmth start to spread through him, from the realization that Voldemort was indeed finally dead. He grinned. Malfoy hesitated, then grinned back uncertainly, as though it was paining him. Harry threw back his head and laughed with the feeling of a humongous weight being lifted off his shoulders, and let go of Malfoy's hand. He staggered over to the top of the small rise in the middle of the lawn, and stood surveying the battlefield around him. Witches and wizards still fought each other in little pockets across the Hogwarts grounds, unaware that their leader had fallen.
"Harry?"
He jumped slightly and blinked. He'd been lost in his thoughts and forgotten where he was. Looking around and seeing sunny Cuba, he shook his head to clear it of dark memories and smiled sheepishly for the girls. "Sorry, ladies; I was dazzled by your beauty for a moment there." Kate giggled, satisfied, but he could tell Hermione was resolving to ask him about it later. He shrugged mentally; he wasn't keeping it a secret from her. "Speaking of beauty, actually, I heard of a gorgeous little spot inland that's supposed to be great for picnics," he said, remembering what he had come out to the beach for in the first place. He picked up the bag and blanket off the sand. "I was thinking we could have lunch."
"You bought all that?" Hermione asked, and he nodded.
"Well, except the blanket. It's from the room."
She half-smiled, biting her lip. "Alright."
"Can I come too?" Kate piped up.
Harry explained that he wanted some alone time with Hermione, and appeased the girl by telling her that with the king and queen gone, it was up to the Princess to fend off attacks on the castle and to run it while they were away. Kate liked that. Leaving her to perform her duties, Harry led Hermione back to their room so she could change into regular clothes, and they walked out of the hotel.
They were walking towards the car rental agency when Harry spotted something odd.
A local man was strolling casually down the street, dressed in a woman's bonnet, a suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up, bathing suit bottoms (thankfully trunks and not women's wear), and two different shoes. Harry blinked and stopped walking. Hermione looked at him and was about to ask when he nodded in the direction of the strangely dressed man. She turned, caught sight of him, and a smile broke out on her face. "That's a badly integrated wizard if I ever saw one," she murmured. "Dangerous in such a densely populated area. Should we...?"
Harry nodded, and approached the man from behind, tapping him politely on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if you could tell me where the car rental agency is?"
The man turned around and opened his mouth—and it fell open even further. "Harry Potter?" he whispered, disbelieving, and grabbed Harry's hand, pumping it enthusiastically up and down. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, who was trying not to laugh, and rolled his eyes. It was a wizard, all right. "Is such a happy chance to meet you!" the man was saying excitedly in heavily accented English, still shaking Harry's hand. His arm was starting to feel loose in its socket. "Honor—a big honor, sir!"
"It's great to meet you too," Harry said, sighing.
"How do you pick me out of crowd?" the man asked eagerly. "You have magic sight?"
"Er—" Harry could hear Hermione snickering behind him. He nodded solemnly. "Something like that."
"Do you stay at the Flying Tortoise?"
"The what?"
"Wizard hotel here on Varadero!"
"Oh. Uh, no. Actually I'm here on vacation with Hermione—" he indicated her over his shoulder "—and her family, so we're pretending to be Muggles. We're staying at the same hotel they are."
"You like come see the Flying Tortoise? Is much fun time, yes? You have good time, yes?"
Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. "I'm game if you are. I could use a little relief from Muggledom; I've been wanting to cure sunburns on everybody I can see for days."
Harry grinned. "Let's go, then. My wand's in the bottom of my trunk...can we meet you somewhere in half an hour, sir, so that you can show us the way to the Flying Tortoise?"
"Yes, yes! One half hour, I see you here. Yes? Adios!"
He shook Harry's hand again, and headed off into the crowd. Harry shook his head, watching him go, and laughed again at his strange outfit. He and Hermione headed back to their hotel at a quick pace, both eager to get their wands and relax back into the wizarding world. Once they had them in their pockets, they met the man at the corner they'd left him at, and he took them through the crowded streets on a winding path, often changing direction entirely as though he kept getting lost—or as though he were trying to lose someone following them. Harry's suspicious mind still had tendencies to assume the worst, even after four years of peace.
When they stopped in front of a tiny little fishing shack just off the beach, Harry grinned, anticipating how big it would really be on the inside. Sure enough, the man rapped on the door in a complicated series of knocks, and the door swung open to reveal a large lobby decorated in tropical beach fashion with large, round porthole windows, potted palm trees, and surfboards hanging on the walls. The center focus of the lobby, and likely the thing that gave the hotel its name, was a giant tortoise—obviously having been worked on by a taxidermist—that sat in the middle of the floor. There were a couple of children clambering up its sides and sliding down as Harry and Hermione walked into the lobby.
"Welcome to Flying Tortoise!" said their guide, who flashed them a cheerful smile and Disapparated with a crack.
"How is it a flying tortoise?" Hermione muttered into Harry's ear, and he opened his mouth to reply that he didn't know when the answer became apparent. The tortoise, complete with children shrieking with delight and hanging off it, rose slowly into the air and floated around the lobby three times before landing back down in its original spot. Harry and Hermione both laughed, enchanted, and strolled over to the front desk. "Hello," Hermione began, and the clerk looked up. "What is there to do here?"
The clerk gave them a brochure full of wizard tours of Varadero, activities around the Flying Tortoise, lists of wizard restaurants, and various wizard tourist attraction spots all over Cuba. Apparently it was a popular vacation destination for wizards as well as Muggles. Harry folded up and put the brochure in his pocket, and took Hermione out the back of the hotel and onto the section of beach directly behind it. It was sectioned off from the rest of Varadero, with signs and spells to keep Muggles out, so that wizards could practice magic on the beach. They found a spot on some grass under two palms just before the sand started, and Harry spread down the blanket.
Once they'd got all the food set up, Harry paused Hermione as she was making herself a sandwich. "I'm sorry—about yesterday," he said awkwardly, and she smiled at him.
"It's okay. It was...a strange atmosphere. If you hadn't, I probably would have," she admitted, and they both laughed. She squeezed his hand. "Still friends?"
"Friends," he agreed, and they went about making their sandwiches, falling into easy conversation. They talked about everything—the inheritance, her family, Cuba, their respective jobs, what was happening in each other's lives. Hours passed, and the shadows began to lengthen. Though Harry was fully enjoying himself, Hermione reasoned that her family would begin to wonder where they were. They were all about spending time together, and she didn't want them to think she was alienating herself from them by being with Harry.
They packed up and headed back through the Flying Tortoise just in time to catch another lazy flight around the lobby; Harry put down the bag and jumped on at the last second, Hermione gasping with worry that he'd fall and laughing at the same time. He sat on one giant flipper, holding on to the rim of the shell, and dangled his legs below as the tortoise turned in big, slow circles, unaffected by his weight. When it touched back down, he and Hermione reluctantly left the wizard hotel and proceeded into the street outside, arm in arm not because they had to but because it was comfortable.
They got back to their hotel in about forty-five minutes. By that time it was around six in the evening; the sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, but the temperature was as hot as ever. Harry suggested they eat before the meal pavilion closed (he grumbled for a while about it as they ate). They took advantage of the opportunity afterward to go for a dip in the water and watch the sun set in the distance. The sky had just begun to explode into a riot of colour, all reds and oranges and yellows and purples, when Adele came to the edge of the sand and called out to them. "Hermione, everyone's gathering at the pool area—all of us, except the kids! A kind of party—you'll join us?"
"Sure!" Hermione hollered back, and Adele nodded and walked back up to the hotel. Harry made one last dive into the warm aqua water, emerging with a splash and shaking his head like a wet dog, and then allowed Hermione to herd him back towards shore. Upon arriving at their room she shooed him into the bathroom so she could change into her so-called 'nicer clothes'. Harry grumped about her not wearing nice clothes for him.
"I'm your boyfriend," he grumbled. "You should be putting in an effort to look nice for me, I would think."
"I would, but you're not really my boyfriend," she retorted as she closed the door in his face. He sat down on the closed toilet seat lid. She'd been smiling as she said it, and it wasn't any news, but he was almost unpleasantly surprised to hear it. He felt funny, too; a little twinge in his midsection that he identified as an odd manifestation of hunger. He'd have to get himself a hamburger from the bar.
When she'd finished—and he didn't understand why she couldn't have just changed in the bathroom, rather than locking him in there—they headed over to the central area of the hotel to meet up with the rest of her relatives. They turned the corner leading into it, and were bombarded by people, laughing and clapping each other on the back, every single one of them with a drink in their hand. Harry found himself being swept up in the party atmosphere, and made his way over to the bar to get himself a drink. "A San Francisco, please," he yelled over the deafening beat of the music and the crowd of dancing people. He'd taken a liking to the drink, and gulped down half his glass as soon as the bartender handed it over.
Time passed more quickly from then on. He felt his self-consciousness sliding, his muscles relaxing, his disposition melding into a more mellow state. Several drinks passed from his glass to down his throat. Everything was dim lights, blurring bodies, sweat mingling on each other's skin. He found himself dancing intimately with a girl, his hands on her hips, moving together to the fast beat and slowly getting closer and closer. She lifted her head to look at him, and it was Hermione. All that was running through Harry's head was how attractive she was, and how well she moved, and how enjoyable it felt to have her hands pulling him towards her. It occurred to him to kiss her, and it seemed like a good idea, so he did. She got right into it, kissing him back with passion and tongue, and underneath the brightly flavoured alcohol he could taste coconut; she must have had some at some point in the evening.
He dimly registered a tap on his shoulder, and reluctantly broke away from Hermione to turn and see who it was. Blonde hair...Adele. She was smiling embarrassedly. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, and he had no reason to doubt her sincerity, "but could I have a word?"
Harry frowned, processing what she'd said, and then nodded. "Sure." He looked back at Hermione, who shrugged and waved him off. He wondered for a moment if she would remember this in the morning, and then turned to follow Adele. She led him off to the side of the square, around the end of the bar into a dark little corner. He was hazily suspicious—this woman didn't like him, after all—but shrugged it off. She didn't look like she was going to do anything underhanded. That was thinkunable. Inthunkable. Unthinkable. Harry blinked a few times and tried hard to concentrate on Adele's words; they were sliding in and out of focus.
"...I was thinking, what's the point of being all sullen, if there's no chance in getting what I want?" she was saying now. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lip shyly, looking up at him through her lashes. "It's obvious you two are very happy together, and there's no excuse for me to be mean. So...can we be friends?" She extended her hand to shake, a very innocent and pleading look in her eyes. Harry didn't see why not. After all, how could such a guiltless face lie? He was probably being silly before when he thought she was stupid. She was so nice. Everyone was nice. Especially Hermione; speaking of her, he wanted to get back to that kiss. He shook Adele's hand.
"You're alright," he said, slurring his words together so that they sounded more like "yurrar-eyelt". Adele smiled, and even through his drunkenness he could see the certain catlike tendency about it.
Harry made his way back through the crowd, grabbing another drink on the way. When he found Hermione again, she was dancing with three of her cousins in a small circle, which widened immediately for him as he joined. The music surrounded him, filled his head, swirling around with the alcohol and emptying him of anything but the fast beat that matched the pace of his heart. Everything was a blur, throbbing and moving and touching. Hermione kept bumping up against him as they danced beside each other. He couldn't stand it, wanted her to either stop teasing or start acting on it, so he pulled her into his arms and held her against him as they moved. She reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers, and suddenly with him breathing in her scent and her sweat he felt twice as intoxicated as he was. She was everything; she was in front of him and part of him and he never ever wanted to let her go.
It came as no surprise to anyone watching them that sometime around midnight, Harry started to pull Hermione towards the edge of the square, in the direction of their room. He couldn't stop kissing her; it was as though her lips held magnets, polarized opposites of his. The words lust and love kept running through his head. No thought of doubt about what he was doing ever crossed his mind; for all the fuzziness and disorientation and spinning, he was absolutely sure that he wanted her, needed her.
He fumbled with the key, managing to unlock their door just as her waiting mouth found his again. They stumbled backwards into the room, barely shutting the door behind them, and started scrabbling at each other's clothes. I want this woman. He kissed her. I need this woman. Their shirts were off. I love this woman. Lips still locked, Harry guided her over to the bed and laid her down, sinking down on top of her, and the night spiraled away into a haze.