Scratching The Itch
by Anne U

Rating: NC17
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Humor, Romance
Status: Complete
Length: 38,364 words in 6 chapters
Published: 12 Aug 2004
Last updated: 15 Aug 2004

After a drunken night of revelry, Hermione stumbles into Harry’s room and shows him a brand new tattoo she doesn’t
really remember getting. In the days that follow, she starts to wonder whether a magical tattoo can give you feelings
you didn’t already have...Companion piece to The Snitch, by napalmnacey. (NOTE: Epilogue deleted and re-uploaded on
8/15/2004 for minor edits.)

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/2775/

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1. Marking

Scratching The Itch – H/Hr NC-17

By Anne U

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers
including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author’s note: This is the companion piece to The Snitch by napalmnancy. I started out as Nancy’s betareader/sounding
board on that story, and when she was about halfway through it I begged her to allow me to write the flip side of it,
telling it from Hermione’s point of view. Nancy’s story is absolutely brilliant and before you read even one word of my
story, you MUST read hers first. So go there, read hers first and then come back and read mine J .

*^*^*^*^

Now that you’ve read Nancy’s story, I’d like to thank my beta readers, Jori and especially Molly Moon, for their
wonderfully helpful suggestions. Mostly though, I want to thank Nancy for drawing the wonderful art that inspired her
insanely wonderful story and for allowing me to try to give Hermione’s point of view. As for what belongs to whom, the
overall plot is Nancy’s but I wrote one extra H/Hr scene (*cough*) at the beginning of the last part of the story. Other
than that scene, all dialog that includes both Harry and Hermione is Nancy’s. Otherwise, any scene where Harry isn’t
present came completely from my somewhat addled brain. Also, scattered through the story are occasional turns of phrases
that are Nancy’s handiwork (from her story); she’s seen them all and is okay with them. In those instances I simply
couldn’t find a way to phrase something better than she had.

Now that you’re thoroughly confused, please read and, I hope, enjoy Scratching The Itch.

~~*~~~*~~~

Part 1 - Marking

They were all insanely drunk. This was certainly as drunk as Hermione had ever seen any of them, and she’d seen all of
them pickled in the past year. Ever since Ron Weasley had – finally – been signed to play reserve Keeper for the Chudley
Cannons, she and Ron’s other best friend, Harry Potter, had been fixtures not only at the team’s professional Quidditch
games but also at the parties that inevitably followed them. Ron’s team mates didn’t seem to care about two extra
revelers, but the fact that both Harry and Hermione came to support Ron at virtually every game seemed to tick off the
Quidditch Girlfriends no end.

Hermione didn’t have much use for any of the Quidditch Girlfriends. They spent much too much time talking about
Quidditch statistics and team politics and apparently had little interest in anything else. They were all a little too
blonde, a little too perky, a lot too slinky and bitchy and high-maintenance for her taste. They pranced around in their
too-tight outfits, flashing a bit too much of their tits and arses at the players and anyone else who offered to buy
them a pint of butterbeer or a shot of firewhisky. No, Hermione really didn’t have much use for any of them, and
apparently, they had very little use for her either, and they made sure she knew it.

"Are you Ron’s girlfriend?" she was asked on more than one occasion.

Hermione would laugh and say. "Oh goodness, no, I’m his best friend. My name is Hermione." This always seemed to draw
titters from whoever asked the question, but she always ignored that response. After all, it wasn’t her fault if this
pack of bints couldn’t understand how two young men and a young woman – who’d known each other since they were eleven –
could be best friends without sex entering into the picture at all. These young women were groupies whose lives revolved
around Quidditch the way rock groupies’ lives (and love lives) revolved around certain musicians. They could assume
whatever they wanted, but they couldn’t possibly understand what she and Ron and Harry had been through together or what
they meant to each other.

"That’s a very interesting top," a blue-eyed young woman snickered at Hermione one evening, a glass of wine tipped to
the blonde’s lips while her blue eyes roved over Hermione’s frame.

"Oh," Hermione looked down at her lavender gauze peasant top and pushed up the elastic wristbands. "It’s just something
I bought for a night out."

"Of course." The smile on the girl’s face didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yes, I often think about trying the second-hand
chic look myself, but I doubt I could really pull it off. My looks require fine haute couture. It doesn't gel." The girl
looked Hermione up and down again and tilted her head prissily. "It works with you wonderfully. Must be that natural
look you have. Almost charming in a mousy sort of way."

Hermione felt her face tighten with annoyance. After seven years of dealing with Slytherin snideness, she could spot a
putdown a kilometre away. She’d just bought this top a month ago and rather liked it, and she didn’t much cotton to the
other woman’s tone of voice. And why would this tart assume that Hermione cared what she thought about her appearance?

Hermione’s lips formed a thin, tight line. "Aaah. Must be wonderful to have the time and energy to invest in your
appearance," she chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I don't have time for a heavy regimen. Not with my
career anyway."

"Oh, and what is it you do, darling?"

"I work for the Ministry," she answered with a note of glee.

"And what do you do?"

She glared a bit at the other girl and held her gaze a few seconds. "I hunt down Dark Wizard…and the blonde cows that
follow them."

"Oh."

Needless to say, after that conversation the other girls wrote Hermione off and never approached her again. Hermione
didn’t care, though. She’d always thought they were a fussy, snooty, annoying pack of bints, and she neither wanted nor
needed their approval. She had the company of her two best friends and that was all she really needed.

While he’d always seemed more attuned to her emotionally than Ron had, Harry in particular had become very solicitous
toward Hermione during Ron’s year with the Cannons. He apparently had decided she couldn’t look out for herself at these
parties and always seemed to keep an eye on her whenever they hung out with the team. She hated him doing that and tried
more than once to talk him out of it, but his mind was made up, and knowing him as well and as long as she had, she knew
that once he got an idea, even she had difficulty talking him out of it. She couldn’t really say he cramped her style or
interfered with her love life, though, because she didn’t exactly have one these days. She was too busy with her job,
researching the organization and business ties of the remaining Death Eaters, to put much effort into dating. Besides,
she had a very stable and happy life these days, sharing a flat in London with her two best friends. She really shared
it much more with Harry, of course, because Ron was frequently gone on road trips with the team. No, she really didn’t
have time to waste time thinking about boyfriends, or sex, or any of that distracting rubbish. At least that’s what she
kept telling herself.

The post-game celebration that night was vastly more rowdy than usual because, for the first time in many years, the
Cannons had made it to the last round of the semi-finals. Despite their loss to the Falmouth Falcons, the team had
exceeded everyone’s expectations grandly, which caused tremendous good spirits among players and fans alike. So even
though the Cannons had been knocked out of the playoffs, the mood in the pub was mostly upbeat and Hermione was happy to
help them celebrate the end of their better-than-expected season. She liked to believe that Ron was the main reason
they’d done so well this year. His passion for the game and his head for Quidditch strategy had served him well as
reserve Keeper, so much so that the team’s captain now sought his advice. Hermione was thrilled for Ron, who had
followed the Cannons since he was a little wizard in knee pants, and she knew that Harry was thrilled for him too. As
his best friends, they truly enjoyed attending his games when they could, helping him celebrate the team’s victories and
drown his sorrows after their losses. Putting up with the Quidditch bints’ put-downs seemed a small price to pay to
support one of her best friends, though it didn’t always help her mood.

This was one of those Quidditch bint nights. Hermione, scowling, nursed a butterbeer while Ron chatted with his
teammates and Harry stood further down the bar rail, keeping an eye on her. Harry had watched out for her for years, of
course, but now his vigilance seemed to go a shade beyond the caring eyes of a close friend. Lately there was something
infinitesimally different about how he watched her, almost a quantum leap in the way his eyes seemed to linger whenever
she looked at him. Her cheeks burned as she sucked down some of the clear liquid in her mug. Since when did Harry
looking at her make her blush? Hermione shook her head as if to shake the silly thought – and the paths it could lead to
– out of her mind. There had long been an unspoken line between her and Harry, a line that had never been crossed and
that she hadn’t really considered crossing until recently. She shook her head again at the mere thought of considering
it. Harry had been her best friend for more than ten years and even the suggestion of going beyond that line gave her a
flicker of panic she couldn’t fathom.

Before she could ponder this further, however, a commotion in the pub interrupted her thoughts. Hermione’s friend and
former dorm-mate, the inimitable Lavender Brown, had just arrived making her usual grand entrance. Hermione and Lavender
had never been close at Hogwarts, and through fourth year, Lavender had seemed a bit of a space cadet, a silly (so
Hermione thought) girl who cared only about boys, fashion and the strange whimperings of her Divination teacher. But
when Lavender chose to join the Defence Association in fifth year, Hermione began to look at her in a new light and to
understand why she’d been placed in Gryffindor House. Lavender wasn’t book-smart, but she was very sharp about people
and profoundly loyal to her friends. These qualities served her well in the D.A. and after they all finished school.

Once Voldemort was defeated, Lavender had joined the Daily Prophet and worked her way up the staff ladder, first as an
astrologer, then as a gossip column editor and now as a social commentator dealing with serious issues. She’d
disappeared from the trio’s lives for a couple of years, but once she started writing about serious topics she began to
come round for their opinions, especially Harry’s, on issues like Wizarding politics and hunting bad guys. In addition
to their professional relationship with her, they re-discovered Lavender’s love of a good party. Her job kept her much
too busy for frequent partying, but when she did have time to let down her hair, she partied as hard as anyone they
knew. She was also tremendously fond of Ron and didn’t miss an opportunity to let him know how much she enjoyed his
company. She was smart, well dressed and didn’t take any guff from anyone. The Quidditch girlfriends seemed to dislike
her even more than they disliked Hermione, which made Lavender all the more endearing.

All in all, Hermione was glad to discover how much she had underestimated Lavender when they were younger. She now saw
Lavender as an ally as well as a friend. And that was really how the whole thing started…

~~~*~~*~~

"Where’s Hermione? And my Ronnie friend?" Lavender’s bright voice floated over the crowd in the pub. She’s just put down
a minor insurrection led by Sandra Levine, the self-appointed queen of the Quidditch girlfriends, who’d bristled at
Lav’s suggestion that the team should’ve gathered at the Leaky Cauldron after the game rather than at this out-of-the
way pub that no one in the press would think of visiting.

Ron blushed as Lav gathered him into a hearty hug then dragged him down to the end of the bar where Harry and Hermione
were nursing their butterbeers. Lav sat down next to Hermione, who squeezed her hand and smiled.

"So we’re drinking already?" Lav inquired.

"We’ll need it with this bunch," Hermione replied.

"Bunch of snobs," Lav agreed, waving at the bartender. "The hell with them."

Ron sat next to Lavender, a sullen look on his face. "I would have the friends nobody likes."

"But Ronnie, the boys like me," Lavender countered, lifting a brow in the direction of Ron’s teammates, who were so
drunk they wouldn’t have noticed if the Hogwarts Express had steamed through the pub.

"Blokes always like a pretty girl, Lav."

"That’s so sweet of you to say," she smiled at him. Ron returned her smile, a hint of the Cheshire cat in his
expression.

Harry, meanwhile, was keeping his own counsel. He looked relieved that Hermione finally had a friendly female to
converse with and could now feel free to ignore the unpleasant glares from the other end of the bar. Actually she’d had
no trouble ignoring those glares, but Hermione was happy for Lavender’s company. Lavender almost always made any night
out more fun, and Hermione had a feeling this night could end up as one of their wildest evenings yet.

She finished up her pint and glanced at Harry, who was regarding her with a somewhat wistful expression. Hermione used
to feel that she could figure out what Harry was thinking just by looking at him, but lately he’d become a lot harder to
read. Something about his expression made her cheeks burn.

Bollocks, blushing again.

Fortunately Lavender distracted her from the impossible road this might have gone down. "Shots all around," she ordered,
slapping the bar. "Tequila first! Come on!"

Already feeling a bit tipsy, not to mention knackered from a very long day, Hermione groaned. "We’re not going to repeat
Harry’s birthday, are we?"

"Oh no, of course not," Lavender admonished her. "This will be loads better." Hermione groaned again and attempted to
push away the shotglass full of tequila that Lavender shoved at her. This drew an amused smile from Harry, who soon had
a shotglass of his own, while Ron obediently took the shotglass Lavender fixed for him.

"Everybody ready for some tequila?" Lavender asked them.

Not that we have any choice here, do we? Hermione thought, hoping for the best.

"One, two, three…down the hatch!"

As quickly as she could, Hermione swallowed the tiny glass of sharp, clear liquid. Though it didn’t have much taste
going down, it made her throat burn and her eyes water. It also made her even tipsier very quickly. She’d rather drink
butterbeer, thankyouverymuch. Lavender showed her appreciation by smacking her lips and yelling at the bartender for
more booze.

"Oh yes! Yes! More for everyone! Anyone want a slippery nipple?"

Now the party was really starting to rock. The other players left the gaggle of Quidditch Girlfriends and came down to
the Hogwarts end of the bar, enticed both by the booze itself and by the drinking games Lavender loved to get going. The
room and its occupants seemed to wiggle a bit as Lavender led the crowd in one bawdy song after another. When they sang
one about Voldemort having a "shrivelled pin-dick and a foetus for a head," Hermione chose to sit quietly and not sing
along. She’d been there when Harry finally killed the bastard, so singing a drunken song about Voldemort’s anatomy
didn’t seem nearly as funny to her as it did to the Chudley Cannons, but she did manage to down another shot of tequila
in time with everyone else. And the thought that she, Harry and Ron and their friends were still around to joke about it
brought a smile to her face.

The room was spinning now, but Hermione didn’t care. Lavender was plying everyone with booze and they were all high as
kites, Hermione included. She didn’t understand why, but being around Lavender always made her feel more adventurous
than she would on her own. A conversation from another drunken evening suddenly flitted through her brain. She and
Lavender had somehow got on the topic of kissing techniques, which veered off toward whether either of them had ever
kissed another girl. Lavender had said that if Hermione were ever interested in taking a test drive, she’d be more than
happy to oblige. Hermione remembered blushing at the offer and smiling at Harry, who was nearby and had probably
overhead them talking. If the bulge in his pants was any indication, he’d been very turned on by what he’d heard. For
some reason, this hadn’t bothered her at all.

Hermione’s mind snapped back to the present. Lavender was chatting with her again, this time going on about wizard
politics, which intrigued her very much. Without knowing when it had happened, Hermione realized she was leaning up
against Harry, his side against her back. His body felt solid and oh so comfortable against hers, and as she leaned
against him, she felt his fingers drift into her hair, playing with her curls. Perhaps she really was too drunk now but
she found that she liked how his hand felt in her hair and really wouldn’t mind if he never removed it –

Suddenly Harry pulled away from her, his free hand flying out as a tiny flitter of gold zipped toward him. Reflexively
his fingers wrapped around the Snitch, which fluttered helplessly in his grip. A roar erupted from the other end of the
bar; one of the players chortled, "Once a Seeker, always a Seeker!" and ordered his mates to pay up on a bet. Shifting
away from her, Harry placed the Snitch on the bar then drifted into a conversation with Ron.

Somewhere deep inside her, flittering beneath her consciousness, Hermione envied that Snitch.

Almost magically, Lavender appeared on the barstool Harry had just vacated. She grabbed Hermione’s hand, looked her in
the eye and – almost as a dare – said, "Let’s snog!"

"You mean, you and me? Here? Now?" Knowing that Lav was probably at least as drunk as she was, Hermione wanted to make
sure she’d heard right.

"Why not? It’ll drive those bints wild," Lavender replied with a saucy smile directed toward the Quidditch girlfriends.
Then she noticed Hermione’s hesitation. "I know we talked about this a while ago. C’mon, Hermione, it’ll be fun. And
it’ll make the blokes insane…"

Hermione looked around the room and shrugged. "Okay, but …"

"But what?"

"You understand that I'm doing this for me. I'm genuinely curious as to what it'd be like. I'm not doing this for them.
That's just a fringe benefit."

"Oh, that’s fine, Hermione, really," Lavender cooed as she moved closer.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ron fidgeting and whispering with Harry. As Lavender leaned in, Hermione
closed her eyes and was vaguely aware of the crowd roaring around them. Lavender’s lips were smooth and soft as rose
petals, and she tasted of the peachy lip gloss she wore. The silky tip of her friend’s tongue sent shivers through
Hermione's body, and she had to admit that Lavender really was a terrific kisser -- but Lavender's kisses weren't what
she wanted. She wanted… she didn't know who she wanted, but it wasn't another girl, not even one as pretty and funny as
Lav. When Lavender broke the kiss Hermione’s cheeks burned, and upon opening her eyes she discovered Harry staring at
her, wide-eyed and blushing just as hard as she was.

"Thanks, Hermione, that was lovely," Lavender said, stroking her cheek lightly. "You taste like chocolate and Black
Russians."

Ron, too, was blushing furiously, but Hermione was pretty sure Lavender would much rather kiss him than her on a regular
basis. She knew Harry wasn't interested in Lavender that way, so his reaction to that innocent little kiss just didn't
make sense. Unless…

No.

Bugger, she admonished herself. Don’t be ridiculous. He'd probably blush if he watched any two girls kissing. Well,
perhaps not if it were Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson.

The rounds of drinks continued unabated, as did Hermione’s drinking. While Harry, Ron and Lavender continued to throw
drinks back effortlessly, Hermione struggled to keep up with them. After more shots of tequila and more butterbeers,
Hermione eventually knew only one thing – she’d never had so much alcohol in her life, including the unauthorized
leaving-school party the night before they completed their seventh year at Hogwarts. At last, right before midnight, as
if trying to put them out of their alcohol-poisoned misery, the publican shouted, "Time to shut up shop, folks!"

Lavender seemed horrified at the prospect of leaving. "But I’m not ready to go home yet," she whined, grabbing Ron’s
hand. Ron, obviously quite drunk, just nodded vaguely.

At times like this, Hermione usually had one of two reactions. Either she folded her tent and went home to sleep if off,
or she got a second wind. On this evening, the huge amount of alcohol she’d drunk seemed to bring out a boldness she
didn’t know she had.

"We won't!" she called out, propping herself up on the footrest of the bar so she could stand up taller than everyone
else. Then she let out a shrill whistle to get everyone’s attention.

"We’re going to the Leaky Cauldron! Who’s going with us?"

When Hermione caught his eye a moment later, Harry looked at her like he’d never seen her before in his life.

~~*~~*~~

Most of the Chudley Cannons went with them, while the majority of the girlfriends dropped out, which suited Hermione
just fine. Being a hotel as well as a public house, the Leaky Cauldron was open all night, and it was well known as one
of the most Wizarding popular pubs in London. But the old, dark pub didn’t normally host gatherings quite as raucous as
the Chudley crowd. The players and their hangers-on piled into the pub with their orange cloaks tied about various parts
of their bodies, chanting the team anthem slowly like a funeral dirge, which led to a bit of clucking and head-shaking
by the regulars. This, of course, did nothing to stop the flow of alcohol, which continued to flow as freely as
butterbeer on a Hogsmeade weekend.

Ron leaned on the bar with Lavender wrapped around his arm, both of them sipping firewhisky.

"It's a pity Ginny couldn' be here," he muttered. "She'dah loved it."

Hermione smirked, knocking back her own whisky. "I'm sure she's having fun on her secret mission thing. Bloody nutter."
Ron shook his head sadly.

"She would work for the Department of Mysteries," Lavender chimed in.

Apparently not quite as drunk as she was, Harry looked at Hermione with that solicitous expression he often adopted at
times like this. Perhaps he’d noticed something she was only starting to realize herself. "You all right?" he asked.

She nodded, wincing a little. "I just don't think all the different spirits are sitting well in my stomach. You know
what they say - you should never mix your drinks-" She stopped, eyes bugging. "Excuse me!"

Jumping off her stool, she ran off towards the little witches room, hands clamped over her mouth. She shoved the rest
room door with her elbow and hustled into the first open stall she could find. As she knelt next to the toilet and
started retching, she heard a most familiar male voice call her name from inside the rest room.

"Hermione?"

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer.

"Hermione? You want me to come in?"

As she continued to retch, she felt Harry kneel beside her and pull her hair off her face. He sighed and stroked her
hair with his soft, strong hands.

"Silly. Shouldn't try to keep up with Lav."

Hermione only groaned. She sat on the floor, and after leaning on the rim of the bowl, she reached up and grabbed some
toilet paper, wiping at her face. She hated him seeing her like this. He’d seen her cowering from a troll, with a face
full of cat fur, Petrified, with beaver-like front teeth, and half-dead more than once -- but she hated any and every
time he saw her when she’d overindulged or otherwise lost control. And yet as much as she hated him seeing her like
this, the fact that he always came after her, made sure she would be okay, never failed to touched a nerve that ran
still and deep inside her. She knew he was the only man she’d allow to see her looking like a common drunkard, with
vomit all over her face. Perhaps that meant something, but she was too drunk to try to figure it out now.

"I feel like someone is trying to mix a chemical bomb in my stomach."

He wrapped an arm around her, leaning his head against hers and continuing to stroke her hair.

"Will you be all right?"

She nodded, and turning, she burrowed into his arms, snuggling to the nape of his neck. Just as he’d always been, for
longer than she could remember, he remained her rock, her North Star, the person who always accepted her as-is, no
questions asked. Although Ron was also her best friend, Harry was first among equals to her, and she loved holding him
and being held by him, and always had. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and she felt his lips brush her hair.
It was a gesture as rare as it was tender, and her body softened against his, almost molding to his lean but muscled
physique. At that moment she was reminded of how delicious his physique actually was and how much she enjoyed this kind
of extended physical contact with him.

Suddenly the little wave of panic rustled through her brain again and she forced herself to shift slightly away from
him. She looked up at him with a sorry expression in her eyes.

"I must look terrible," she mumbled.

Harry smiled, cradling her cheek and stroking it with his thumb as he shook his head.

"You never look terrible," he said.

She snorted and shakily pulled herself to her feet.

"Please! I'm not silly, you know." Standing in the cubicle, she swayed a little and pointed at him, her finger wandering
to and fro. "You have this strange idea in your head that I'm pretty or something and it's utter bunkum. Bunkum!" She
attempted to poke his chest to reaffirm her point but only managed to poke him in the nipple. She frowned at him -- why
wouldn't he stand still? -- and growled. Turning, she strode out of the cubicle and washed her face in the basin.

Harry plodded to where she stood and pulled her hair out of her face again. Why did he keep doing that? She could take
care of herself. She didn't need him standing there all Harry-like in his saving-people mode, with his wonderful body
and beautiful face and unique scent and hands that sent little shocks through her and lips that had chosen to kiss her
hair, and …

Suddenly she stood up and glared at him.

"What are YOU doing in here anyway?! It's a LADIES toilet!"

The git chuckled as if she'd cracked a joke. ""I was looking for Moaning Myrtle?"

"Huh." She bent over and washed her face and gargled water. Bloody hell, her mouth tasted like the bottom of a dustbin.
She stood up and scowled at herself in the mirror. He would have to see her looking like this.
Buggerysmeggerydammittohell

"All my bloody make-up's been washed off." Waving a hand disgustedly at the mirror, she turned away and walked toward
the door. "Bloody waste of time anyway."

She stomped back into the pub, hoping he wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow. She hoped she could find some way to
forget it herself.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The next two hours were basically a repeat of the previous six. Along with everyone else, Hermione continued to consume
more of the "silly juice," as Harry called it. She had at least two more shots of tequila and her love of Kahlua led her
to a Screaming Orgasm and a Dirty Nipple. At least that was what she thought the drinks were called; Hermione had barely
mentioned her love of the chocolate-flavored liqueur and Lavender started ordering up drinks that sounded like the
titles of porn films. Where had Lavender learned the names of all these drinks? Perhaps the Daily Prophet staff was not
nearly as stuffy as Hermione had always believed.

After losing count of how much she'd drunk that evening, Hermione found the Leaky Cauldron and its inhabitants spinning
slowly around her. As she sat at the bar near Harry, she discovered just how drunk Ron was. He'd dropped the team's
Snitch down Lavender's blouse and the poor girl was close to hysterical as the thing flapped around inside her blouse
and up and down between her breasts. Ron's teammates were urging him to "Go for it!" while Lavender hissed and squealed
for him to get it out. Hermione could just barely watch, her hand clasped over her mouth in horror.

Slipping his hands up under Lav's blouse, Ron managed to corral the Snitch between her breasts before the thing popped
out of her cleavage. But Lavender apparently had lost interest in the Snitch and stood there with her blue eyes wide and
fixed on him. That was when Hermione saw something electric pass between Ron and Lavender. If she was correct about it,
Ron Weasley was hoping to get lucky later that night. Still, he needn't be so obvious about it. She leaned forward,
feeling a bit wobbly.

"Ron, you're in public. Get your hands out of her bloody top."

The Chudley players roared at this, assuming Hermione was jealous of Ron's actions toward Lavender. Somehow they'd got
the bloody stupid idea that she, Hermione Granger, was in love with Ron Weasley. They winked and nudged at Ron, who
finally realized where his hands oughtn't be and removed them to a less incriminating location.

Now it was two in the morning and things really started getting out of hand. One of the Chudley players decided to do
body shots on his girlfriend, who was wearing a halter top and hip huggers that rode down below her waist. The sight of
that shot of rum trickling between the woman's breasts, then trailing down toward her stomach, only to be licked off
slowly just south of her navel, made Hermione squirm in a delicious sort of way. Another player let his girlfriend do
shots on him, and Hermione uttered a low sigh as the liquid slid between his naked shoulder blades and down to the small
of his back, where the girl's tongue swept up the pale liquid just before it rolled down toward his arse.

These people had no shame. They also had no pity on those who’d come stag and couldn't indulge in this wicked little
game. When one of the blokes suggested that Harry join in, Hermione felt that delicious squirming sensation yet again.
Then he declined the invitation, and a little flame of pique rose in her. There he goes again, spoiling my fun, her
drunken brain grumbled. But by then she was too drunk to try to figure out why she suddenly cared whether he wanted to
do this.

Then Lavender came up to Hermione and grabbed her hand; the two of them wandered out of the pub without even so much as
a goodbye to Ron or Harry.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as they stumbled through the magical entry into Diagon Alley.

"We’re gonna go get something stiffer to drink, love," Lavender giggled, pulling her by the elbow. "And who knows what
else."

"You mean…?"

"Whatever else tickles our fancy!" Lavender roared as she hooked her arm in Hermione’s and led her gingerly down the
cobbled street. The shops along Diagon Alley had closed hours earlier, which meant they had to be heading to Knockturn
Alley. Hermione got a funny feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with all the alcohol she’d imbibed during the
evening. As an Auror, she knew that Knockturn Alley was home to all sorts of unsavory activities. What in Merlin's name
could Lavender be on about now?

They passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and then, as they reached Gringott's Bank, veered left down a short
flight of stairs and into Knockturn Alley. Three doors down on the right, just before the Dark Arts shop, Borgin &
Burkes, they found what Lavender was looking for -- Master Mallowdrus' Parlour of Body Arte and Painless Piercings. Open
24 Hours.

A tattoo parlour?? Hermione gulped. Oh bloody hell, I should've stayed at the pub...

Lavender's years of studying Divination apparently enabled her to read her friend's mind. "Oh come on, Hermione, don'
you wanna get one? Itta be fun."

Hermione winced at the prospect. "No, Lav, I don' really wanna get a tattoo. They use needles and stick you and it
hurts. "

Lavender was not deterred. She peered into the small, cluttered tattoo parlor then opened the door and pulled Hermione
along with her. They stumbled into the shop, almost upending a short, pudgy, somewhat smelly man whose broad arms
bristled with tattoos. He looked the two young women up and down as if wondering whether they were in the right place.
Even as drunk as she was, Hermione realized that she in her jeans and blue oxford shirt and Lavender in her pink power
suit did not look like they belonged in a tattoo parlor in Knockturn Alley at two a.m.

"Anything I can help you ladies with? I'm Master Mallowdrus, at your service," the man finished with a bow.

"We want to get tattooed," Lav announced brightly while Hermione glared.

"Both of you?"

"Yes, of course!" Lav elbowed Hermione, who slumped a bit as the enormity of her exhaustion and drunkenness began to hit
her.

The tattoo artist peered at them thoughtfully. "Please choose one of the designs on the wall while I set up my
equipment." Then he disappeared into the back of the shop.

Lavender scanned the dozens of designs on the wall. One area of the wall was filled with feminine images -- cats,
butterflies, ponies and the like. Another area contained typical Muggle tattoo designs like hearts, flowers, common
animals and the word MOTHER, but other images were obviously magical designs, including magical beasts and objects.

She continued to poke Hermione, whose eyelids were beginning to flutter up and down from exhaustion.

"Hermione, I know exactly what you should get."

"Oh, really."

Lavender leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Yes, love. You should get a Snitch."

Hermione's eyes popped open. "Wha-? Lav, are you mad?"

"Oh honey, it's such a sexy little image. Just think about it," Lavender giggled.

Hermione felt herself go red, or possibly green. "No way, Lav! I'm serious, no fucking way. I am NOT getting a Snitch
tattoo. That'd be like you getting a weasel tattooed on your arse," she objected.

"OOOOH really? I didn't see a weasel on the wall. Now I want one!" Lavender seemed possessed by the idea of the weasel
and the Snitch. "Come on, Hermione, you must! You must!"

"No, no, no! Stop asking, Lav." Now Hermione was getting angry at Lavender for dragging her here and at herself for not
putting up a fight back at the Cauldron.

"Hermione Granger, what is your problem with getting a Snitch tattoo?" Lavender asked. "What could possibly be better
for you? A book? The front page of the Daily Prophet?" Hermione snickered.

"No wait, that would be what I would get," Lavender laughed, that bright infectious laugh she'd had since childhood, and
Hermione felt her resistance waning.

"Listen, honey," Lavender lowered her voice, "think about it. That cute little golden orb, with the streamlined wings
fluttering away... it's like desire drawn on your skin."

Too drunk and tired to fight about it, Hermione could feel herself giving in. Plus she realized that Lavender was right.
She could get a tattoo someplace where no one would ever see it. And if it was in an out-of-the-way place, she could get
something she really liked. And try as she might to resist it, she really did like that Snitch on the wall, a tiny
golden ball with feathery wings that fluttered almost like the real thing. To her besotted mind, something about it felt
very right.

"Okay, Lav. I'll get a Snitch."

Lavender threw her arms around Hermione and hugged her. "Oh honey, this will all work out for the best, I'm sure of it.
And I'm going to get a weasel, right here --", and she pointed to her hipbone.

"Ready, ladies?" Mr. Mallowdrus inquired.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Lavender said, turning to Hermione. "She'll have the Snitch and I'll have the weasel."

Master Mallowdrus' lips curled in a tiny smile. "Excellent choices," he agreed, escorting them to the back room. "I
should warn you that this will hurt a bit. But my magical tattooing techniques will give you a tattoo that is not only
beautiful but attuned to your every mood."

"That sounds fabulous!" Lavender gushed as the tattoo artist directed them to a pair of padded tables.

"Where would you like me to put your tattoos?"

"I'd like the weasel jumping over my right hipbone," Lavender said as she lay down on one of the tables.

Hermione crawled up on the other table and lay on her back, arms dangling. "Don' really care. Put it where nobody can
see it, only me... I'm just gonna lie here and rest... so tired," she yawned and unconsciously undid the button and
zipper on her jeans to make herself more comfortable.

As Master Mallowdrus worked on her, Hermione felt prickling sensations but not as much pain as she'd expected. The
tattoo needle felt more like a tickle... and the tickle was in a place where she didn't get tickled very often. She
dozed off and half an hour later awoke to Lavender pulling her up off the table and buttoning up her jeans.

"There you go, all done. Not bad at all, was it?" Lavender asked as she gave Master Mallowdrus twenty Galleons. Hermione
tried to dig in her purse to pay for her share, but Lavender waved her off.

"It’s my treat. I think our tattoos will be lucky for both of us," she winked as she pushed Hermione out the door. "Now
let’s find us some rotgut so we can get really drunk."

~~~*~~~*~~~

Ten minutes later, the two young women reached the top of Knockturn Alley. As they stumbled about, convulsing with
laughter, they smashed right into Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

"What! My GOD!" Harry grabbed Hermione and hugged her, sighing deeply. "Bloody hell, don't DO that to me, Hermione!"

She wriggled in his arms, still giggling from the joke she had just shared with Lavender.

"Harry! I'm all right! Silly boy!"

"Silly-" He glared at her and seemed headed for a full-blown conniption fit. "You were gone for three quarters of an
hour, and when we DO find you, you're coming out of Knockturn Alley of all places!!"

She waved her hand dismissively. "We couldn't get what we were after anywhere else."

Harry’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Wh- what the hell were you after anyway?"

Looking plastered but happy, Lavender held up a bottle of a dangerous-looking green liquid.

"This stuff," she said. "Very strong naughty wizard's stuff that I couldn' get at the Cauldron." She wrinkled her nose
and, extending her arm to him, offered him the bottle. "Chug-a-lug, Harry!"

Harry sighed and grabbed the bottle. He hung back behind Hermione and Lavender as if to guard them from whatever might
be lurking in Knockturn Alley, then looked at the bottle, apparently trying to decide if he wanted to chance what was in
it. When he pulled the stopper and sniffed the contents, he looked like the smell had knocked him for a loop.

"Good shit, Harry," Lavender said, elbowing him in the ribs.

He took a quick swig, knocked some of the stuff back, then missed a step and nearly fell right over. Thankfully Ron
caught him.

"Whah-the--"

"Careful, Harry!" gasped Hermione, "It's *very* strong." She could vouch for this, as she and Lav had drunk some of this
concoction only five minutes earlier. Harry merely glared at her.

Toxic booze in hand, the four of them finally bid goodbye to Diagon Alley. Fearful of splinching themselves in their
drunken stupor, they walked groggily home to the flat that Harry, Ron and Hermione shared in a Muggle neighborhood near
Charing Cross Road. By the time they piled into the flat, they were all close to incoherent. Hermione was surprised to
see Harry make his way toward the pantry as if to get a snack. Between her head spinning and her mouth tasting like a
sewer, she doubted she could eat a thing, but she followed him into the pantry just for his company. When they came back
to the lounge room with biscuits and flavored crackers, they found Ron and Lavender snogging enthusiastically on the
couch. This was not the kind of snogging that embarrassed the snoggers the next day; it was the snogging of two old
friends who’d finally admitted an attraction that had simmered between them for years.

Hermione looked at them on the couch, placed the crackers on the coffee table and smiled. About bloody time, she
thought.

"Well, I’m going to bed," she told Harry, the only person who still knew she was there.

He nodded and left the room with her. As they walked down the hall together, a surge of affection came over Hermione and
the next thing she knew, she’d slipped her hand into Harry’s. When they reached his door, he looked down at her and she
smiled up at him. He lifted his brows at her, a hint of confusion on his face.

"Than's for the uhm-" She waved a hand at her hair and made a face that indicated her vomiting. "Was good of you."

He smiled back at her, wobbling a little. "S'no problem."

Stepping forward, Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek. She’d done this many times before, but this time she felt
unwilling or unable to remove her lips. As she pulled herself away, she couldn’t resist giving his jaw a tiny nuzzle.

"Night, Harry," she breathed. A feeling she’d tried to stomp out suddenly welled up inside her and she looked at him
with tenderness, longing and more than a little confusion. Then she turned and disappeared into her own room.

Too tired to try to clean herself up, she collapsed in bed in her jeans and oxford shirt. That night she dreamed that
she was a Snitch and a pair of green eyes was chasing her.

~~~*~~~

------------------------------------------------------------------------

2. Discovery

Scratching The Itch

By Anne U

Author’s note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 1 already. I really appreciate your kind comments.

Chapter 2 - Discovery

Although she was a witch, Hermione Granger had grown up as a Muggle and was still fond of certain Muggle inventions that
her friend Ron couldn't comprehend. One of them was an alarm clock, which came in quite handy the next morning. Only the
shriek of the alarm could have roused her from the completely pissed slumber she'd fallen into as soon as her head hit
the pillow. Was it really 7:00 a.m.? Did she really have to get up and go to work at the Ministry of Magic on only four
hours of sleep?

Errrrrggggghhhhh, she thought as she pushed the covers off and swung her legs out of the bed. Bloody hell. Remind me not
to go out drinking with that bunch again anytime soon.

Hermione wasn't surprised to find herself wearing the same clothes she'd worn to Ron's Quidditch game the previous day.
After eight, or was it ten, hours of drinking after the game, her shirt and jeans reeked of tobacco smoke and multiple
alcoholic beverages. She knew she needed a long hot shower, but more than anything she really needed to pee. She was
surprised to discover that she also needed to scratch her stomach, which itched like hell. She grabbed her favorite bath
robe and went down to the main bathroom, where she unzipped her jeans and –

"Dear God in heaven!! What is this thing on me?!" she exclaimed to no one in particular.

She looked down at her abdomen in shock. It was still there, and it still itched and prickled like the dickens. She
unbuttoned her shirt and looked at her entire front in the mirror. Still there, still hurt. She licked a finger then
rubbed it on her abdomen, hoping the ink would rub off and the annoying prickling sensation would go away, but no such
luck.

Low on her stomach, just above her fuzz, was a tattoo of a Golden Snitch, the tiny winged ball so prized and pursued by
Quidditch players, specifically Seekers. In other words, players like Harry. Somehow -- it must have been last night
while she was totally pissed out of her mind -- she'd gotten a Snitch tattooed on a very intimate part of her body. She
supposed the location could have been worse (high up on her inner thigh, perhaps) but the image was equally
mind-boggling.

She's managed to get herself branded with the object Harry had spent seven years chasing on his broom. She assumed
Lavender had something to do with actually getting the tattoo, but why this particular object? Why, in the name of
Kennilworthy Whisp, did she get a Snitch?

Hermione needed to talk to someone about this. Right. Now. The idea of discussing it with Lavender was quickly rejected
when she realized that Lav was probably tucked in bed with Ron. Bloody hell, don't go near that room, she thought. The
more she looked at the Snitch on her belly, the higher her panic rose, so she did the only thing she could think of.

She apparated into Harry's bedroom.

"Oh good, you're up, I thought maybe I was the only one who'd woken yet, I really need to talk to you," she blurted out,
hoping she didn't sound as frantic as she felt.

The words tumbled out of her mouth as she paced back and forth in his room, her shirt flapping open and her jeans still
unzipped, barely aware of him sitting on his bed. "I can't believe what I've gone and done. I really don't remember
doing it, but the evidence is right here" -- she waved toward her midsection -- "and it itches and burns and it's
probably permanent and I am so totally going to strangle Lavender when she gets up, and it's really her fault and Ron's
and yours for letting me get so drunk that I'd even consider doing something like this and –"

"Uhm...What?" Harry looked at her, glassy-eyed. Probably just hung-over, of course.

"Oh honestly Harry!" she snapped, "haven't you heard a thing I've said?"

He shook his head, looking like he’d just lost fifty points from Gryffindor.

"I was so bloody drunk I let her talk me into it and dear GOD of all the things to put there!"

"Put where?"

"HERE!"

Then she surprised herself -- and apparently him -- by what she did next. She tugged her jeans open and pulled them down
around her hips so he could see what she was talking about. It didn't even bother her that his eyes were locked to the
bottom of her zipper. She was so intent on his seeing what she wanted to show him that she didn't consider what else he
might see.

His eyes moved up her body and went wide with shock when he recognized the design. As he stared at the tattoo, Hermione
could feel the Snitch's wings flutter restlessly on her belly. Bloody bloody hell.

"It moved!" he sputtered.

"Yes, it does that!" she barked, beside herself with annoyance. "It's attuned to my mood!"

A dreamy look on his face, Harry continued to stare at her belly.

"W-why?"

She frowned. What did he mean, why?

"Why did you get a Snitch on you?" he insisted.

She blinked, and pulling up her pants, she zipped them shut and hid the tattoo.

"I have no idea! No idea at all!" She suddenly realized he was sitting there in nothing but a towel, his upper body bare
and still damp from his shower. Merlin, this was going quickly from bad to worse. What could she have been thinking when
she popped in here?

"Why'd you show me?" he pressed her.

She stared back at him and frowned, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Pulling her shirt closed, she sighed. Bloody
hell.

"I don't know."

Without another word she popped out of his room and back into her own bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared
at the floor for several minutes while her usual common sense seemed to have left her. Finally her logical, rational
mind kicked in and she reviewed the situation. She’d gotten tattooed in a delicate location while in a drunken stupor,
then panicked and shown the tattoo to her best friend, giving him an eyeful of parts of her body he’d most certainly
never seen before. Said best friend not only seemed to enjoy said eyeful very much, he was also wearing nothing but a
towel. Not to mention that the tattoo involved an object of unusual interest to said friend, and for the life of her she
didn’t know why she’d chosen to have a drawing of that object burned into her flesh. There was only one thing for it.
She had totally, completely screwed up.

Hermione took a very brief shower that morning. She worried about being late for work and she didn’t want to be reminded
of that Snitch on her belly any longer than she could help it. As she dried herself off the Snitch’s wings fluttered in
a slow, leisurely fashion that Hermione took as a sign that she was starting to calm down. She put on some knickers and
a matching bra, then a tee-shirt, some socks, a pair of very trim jeans that made her arse look smaller, boots, and
finally a jacket. She clipped her hair up on top of her head and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.

Ron and Lavender hadn’t risen yet so Hermione had the kitchen to herself, at least for now. She was glad they weren’t up
yet, as she was afraid of what she might say to Lavender when she finally did see her again. She put some bread in the
toaster and was thankful for having this Muggle appliance because her head hurt so bad she couldn’t remember the spell
for making toast. She was also glad that Harry hadn’t come to breakfast yet either. She’s been terribly riled up when
she popped into his room and really hadn’t thought through the implications of baring so much of herself to him. She’d
shown him not only the Snitch tattoo but also, inadvertently, her nipples and the top of her fuzz through the flimsy
underthings she’d worn. His glassy-eyed stare could have just been part of his obvious hangover, but the way he couldn’t
take his eyes off the Snitch seemed to be something else entirely.

It was almost as if he were…no, this is Harry we’re talking about, he couldn’t be… Harry doesn’t think of me that way,
I’m just Hermione to him. But he seemed so incredibly taken by it…

Her lone slice of wheat toast popped up, cutting off her musings. She buttered the toast and spread a dollop of
strawberry jam on it. Then she unfurled the Daily Prophet and scanned the front page while she nibbled on her breakfast.
When someone suddenly entered the room, Hermione didn’t even need to ask or look up to know it was Harry – she knew it
was him by the sound of his footsteps, by the clean, distinctively masculine smell of his freshly showered body. Bugger,
he smelled great, but she still didn’t know quite what to say to him, so she continued to read.

He waved the teakettle in her direction. "Tea? Coffee?"

She shook her head and looked back to the paper. He sighed and made himself something to eat. As he sat down opposite
her to eat his breakfast, Hermione could feel his gaze trained on her, green eyes clouded with thought and…well she
wasn’t quite sure what else. She felt her lips tighten and a blush roar into her cheeks – and he hadn’t even said or
done anything yet.

Then he said something that made her cheeks burn even more.

"Won't it come off?"

She looked up at him and sighed. "No. It's a tattoo. I'm stuck with it for life."

"But it's magic," said Harry, "and you're the smartest witch I know. You can do any spell you want with a bit of
practice."

She blinked and sighed again. She was so tired, so very tired and hung over. Head aching, she rubbed her temples.

"It's not that simple, Harry. Wizard Tattoo artists aren't regulated like Muggle ones. Not in Knockturn Alley, anyway!
They don't want the mark to fade, their livelihood depends on it, so they're always coming up with better and stronger
tonics and potions and paints and you bloody name it! I couldn't remove this unless I was deeply knowledgeable of the
trade!" A feeling of sheer panic rose in her again. "And I'm not! I could kick the bums of all the tattoo artists
between here and freaking Hogwarts but I couldn't get this bloody thing off me!" The panic inside was rising faster by
the moment, and Hermione bit her lip to keep back the tears she didn’t want to shed.

Harry grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes, his own soft with concern. "Hey, hey…"

She raised her own eyes and met his slowly. "I think it looks very pretty," he said in his most assuring voice.

That opened the dam. Unable to keep her feelings in check, she buried her head in her arms and whimpered.

"I'm so bloody humiliated!" she moaned. "And embarrassed! And horrified!"

"Why? It's just a tattoo."

"No!" she cried. Arrrrgh! He doesn’t understand! "It's not just a bloody tattoo, Harry! I'm marked now! I'm worse than
those Quidditch girlfriends simpering at the bar over their meat-headed boyfriends! It's like I'm something to be
grabbed at and fought over, a prize!"

"But look at it the other way," he consoled her.

"What other way?!" What other way could there possibly be to look at this?

He took her hand again, apparently trying to calm her. She hoped he could say something that would stop her from wanting
to hide in her room for the rest of her life.

"Well, the Snitch used to be a little golden bird called the Golden Snidget, and it was a really big deal to catch it,
because this guy was going to award a hundred and fifty galleons to the guy that caught it during a game of Quidditch
hundreds of years ago," he said soothingly. "And now it's become a symbolic thing, this little golden ball. It's
like...what everyone wants, more than anything. It's success, and victory, and triumph. That's a powerful thing to have
on your body."

She noticed his eyes drift down toward her belly before he continued. "It also represents elusiveness, and desire." Then
he pressed his lips together and, his cheeks crimson, he took his hand away. "I think that's pretty appropriate, if you
ask me."

Harry moved his eyes to a spot on the tiled floor, apparently too embarrassed to look at her anymore. She realized in
that moment that he hadn’t intended to say those last few sentences and might have betrayed something that was still
bubbling under the surface inside him. She gazed past him trying to weigh what those words might mean to her and to
Harry.

Something clicked inside Hermione’s heart but she needed to stew on it a bit, let it simmer at least for the rest of the
day. Besides, it was time to leave for work. She jumped up and cleared her dishes from the table, then grabbed a scarf
and adjusted her cloak as she walked up to her best friend.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, then kissed him on the cheek and apparated to work.

^*^*^*^*^

Once Hermione arrived at the Ministry of Magic, she was very glad that her day was booked tightly until leaving time.
Attending several meetings plus spending some hours doing research in the Ministry archives would prevent her from
dwelling on the events of the past twelve hours. At least she hoped that would help. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what
would help other than something she dared not hope for. Whatever was happening between herself and Harry – and she was
now sure that something was happening – was like an itch that started just beneath her skin and went down to her core.
If the opportunity arose, would she try to scratch it?

Hermione’s day proceeded much as she anticipated, except that she could feel the Snitch responding to her changing
moods. As she sat in a meeting feeling bored, the Snitch fluttered slowly as if stretching and trying to stay awake. She
found herself doodling on her parchpad, and when the doodle turned into a black-haired boy flying on a broom, the Snitch
flapped wildly. After lunch she went down to the archives to read some old reports on unicorn poaching; unfortunately,
digging through ancient drawers full of dusty parchments seemed to give the Snitch a coughing fit. Bugger, the thing was
sensitive. She could just imagine what it might do if she were thinking of…

No. Don’t go there. Not yet anyway…

For once Hermione was glad that she and Harry worked on opposite ends of the second floor and that he was busy helping
train new recruits that day, as she was anxious about how her tattoo might react if she saw him just then. She went back
to her cubicle and pulled out a heavy parchment file folder. Half an hour later, she finished her report on unicorn
poaching and walked down the hallway to the office of her supervisor, Remus Lupin, who led the Greater London Section of
the Auror Division in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione walked into Lupin's office and handed her
report to him. He scanned it briefly, thanked her then suggested she knock off work a tad early. Totally knackered from
the previous evening's debaucheries, Hermione was happy to comply. She gathered up her purse and cloak and apparated
back to the flat.

"Good evening, everyone! " she called out, hanging her cloak on a peg in the foyer. Neither of her two best friends
replied. Hmmm. Probably not home yet. She walked toward her room and called out again. "Harry? Ron?" Still no response.
Walking further, she could hear the rumble of the shower in the communal bathroom. That accounted for Ron, but not
Harry. She assumed he wasn't home yet and retreated to her own room to get comfortable.

Closing the door, she kicked off her boots and removed her clothing. Stripped down to just her bra and knickers, she
wrapped her favorite dark-pink silk bathrobe around herself. After spending so much time in the Ministry archives, she
felt somewhat dusty and grimy, and she hoped that a shower would give her a second wind for the evening. Lavender had
owled her at lunch time, saying Ron had invited her for dinner, which probably meant Lavender would be spending another
night at the flat. Hermione also hoped to train some warm water on a part of her that had been aching all day.

Harry won't be home for half an hour, so he won't mind if I use his bathroom, she thought. She'd used the bathroom
attached to Harry's bedroom on numerous occasions when the other bathroom was in use, and while there had been a few
close calls in towels and bathrobes, she'd never seen anything too embarrassing.

Never, that is, until this time, when she apparated just inside the bathroom door.

There was Harry, leaning against the bathroom sink, his hands covering his face. He was completely, utterly naked. And
there, little more than an arm's length away from her, was his manhood, exposed to her in all its glory.

And Merlin, it was glorious indeed.

The instant she realized what she was seeing, her breath hitched and the damned Snitch started flapping on her belly
like a pixie in heat. Hermione wasn’t exactly a virgin, but she didn’t have a huge amount of sexual experience either.
Nevertheless, she thought Harry’s erection was the most beautiful example of its kind she’d ever seen. It was longer
than she’d expected (not that she had ever expected to see it in this or any other lifetime), beautifully proportioned,
and the sight of it sent a bolt of lust through her like she’d never felt toward anyone. Any pretense of having platonic
feelings for him evaporated in the ten seconds she stood in the doorway and stared at him. Every inch of him was
gorgeous (including the rest of his body) and the sight of his vulnerable, undeniably sexual self caused her to ache in
a way she couldn’t ignore in such close quarters.

But the fact that he didn’t even cover himself up confused her terribly. Could he not care whether she saw him in that
condition? She didn’t know what to think or feel. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in on her as a new and
different wave of panic rose up in her chest. She turned and uttered a strangled little sound as she stumbled out of the
bathroom.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Harry stood there, finally wrapped in a towel, his cheeks crimson. Just inside his
bedroom, stepping from foot to foot, Hermione stood with her face buried in her hands.

"Harry..." she gasped.

"It's all right. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" she bleated. "I just didn't know you'd be in there!"

Harry's mouth wagged for a moment, then he found his voice. "The last kid went home early today. I just did some
training with Moody and came home." As he looked down she noticed his erection had not gone away. "What are you doing
home early?"

Hermione continued to pace back and forth. She felt as shaken as though she’d just traveled by Portkey. Hands over her
face, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

"I finished my report on the - the..." A strange noise left her throat. "They let me have an early day for once!"

He clutched the towel as he opened the door further. She stood in the doorway, face in her hands, eyes fixed on the
floor. Her hands remained on her face; she was terrified of what either she or Harry might do or say next.

He leaned on the door, watching her. "You grossed out?" he asked quietly.

She lifted her eyes to his and sucked in a breath, then gulped and stood there with her mouth open while she searched
for the right words. When none came, she shook her head.

"...Oh," was all Harry managed to say.

"Y-" She stopped herself, pulling her hair from her face and looking at her feet. "Are you mad with me?"

He shook his head.

At that instant the itch roared back into Hermione’s body, the itch that started just beneath her skin and went down to
her core, and now beyond to the most intimate part of her. Her past and future with her best friend were suddenly bound
up in this single moment. Merlin help me, she sighed inwardly.

She pushed herself up from the doorframe and placed one of her hands over Harry’s hands, which clutched his towel around
his narrow hips. He looked down at her, watching her. She gazed at her hand on top of his, for a tiny second lost in
thought. The opportunity to scratch the itch had indeed arisen (and beautifully so). She had to do something. She had to
know.

So she curled her fingers around his and pulled his hands aside. His towel dropped to the floor, and then there was
nothing separating him from her.

She peered down at him with a mixture of mischief and awe. He uttered a tiny gasp as her fingers curled about his penis.
As she ran her thumb up and down the underside of his shaft, every nerve in her body trembled with excitement and
emotion. Here he was, her best friend, allowing her to touch him in this most intimate way, trusting her, not pushing
her away. As she moved her fingers up and down and around his shaft, she touched his lips with the fingertips of her
other hand. Then she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. She wanted to speak, to whisper how much he meant to
her, how feeling him under her hand made her melt inside, but she couldn’t say a word. Now that the moment had arrived,
she was completely overwhelmed. So she stood there mute, head on his shoulder, fingers on his lips, her other hand
wrapped around his penis, moving in ways that made him gasp and moan and made her wish he was doing the same to her.

If they both survived this and she was very lucky perhaps, someday, he would.

And then it happened. He shuddered, his release spilling over her hand. Though her face remained placid, Hermione was
smiling inside. I did that to him. I made him come. Still, a part of her wondered if it mattered to him that her hand,
and not someone else’s, had taken him over the edge. But there was no time to worry about that now. She’d scratched her
itch and discovered that, as often happens, scratching only made the itch worse. And the only person who could scratch
it properly for her was Harry.

"Huh- Hermione..." he muttered through half-lidded eyes.

She looked up, her face soft with care, and leaned in toward him breathing gently, so close to his lips and yet so far
away. Then she pulled away from him, walked to the sink, and slowly and carefully washed her hands. She dried them,
pulled her silk gown closed and walked to the door.

As she reached the doorway she paused beside Harry, who leaned against the doorframe limply. She looked at him closely,
tilted her head and ran a finger lightly along his jaw. It would take some time for both of them to come to grips with
what had just happened, and for her own sanity Hermione felt she had to put what had just happened into a little box for
a few days, just so her life could go on beyond this one breathtaking moment.

"Lavender's going to be here in half an hour," she said quickly, hoping she didn’t sound faint. "Better get ready."

Harry nodded, looking dazed. As she stood in the doorway of his bedroom, gazing at his unclothed form hanging against
the doorway, the Snitch continued to flap wildly on her belly, and she decided to tell him just where she hoped this
encounter would lead.

"You were born to catch the Snitch, Harry."

~~~*~~~* ~~~

------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. Vulnerability

Chapter 3 -- Vulnerability

Author’s note: Many thanks to Nancy for her assistance with Hermione’s conversation with Ginny in this chapter. And
again, thanks to everyone who has left a review so far.

When she reached her own room, Hermione closed the door and sat down on her bed, still in her silk robe, lace bra and
knickers. Rational thought, usually her strong suit, seemed hard to come by as she reflected on what she’d just done.
Now she was insanely turned on and there was only one thing for it. The half-hour until Lavender arrived would be more
than enough time to do what she needed to do and then take a shower.

Letting her silk robe slip from her shoulders, she picked up her wand from her nightstand. She muttered first the
locking charm then Silencio and leaned back on her bed. Then her right hand slipped inside her knickers and found the
spot that had ached all day. As her hand moved more feverishly, a low moan escaped her mouth and her skin burned at her
touch. The faster her hand moved, the more excitedly the Snitch flittered. Soon the aching, longing need between her
legs found its release. As the Snitch’s flapping slowed, Hermione tumbled into an ocean of bliss murmuring his name…
HARRY…

She only wished it had been his hand that had made her feel this way – the same way she’d made him feel. But even though
she’d seen him with a raging erection, taken him in her own hand and brought him to a climax that seemed to thrill him
to his core, she found herself fretting about what had happened. Perhaps he didn’t really enjoy it. Perhaps he only let
her do it because he was already hard and needed to get off. He’d probably be offended if she suggested doing anything
more – or ever again. After all, she wasn’t his girlfriend; they’d never dated. She was just his best friend – who had
now wanked him in his own bathroom. Who was she to think he’d even want to do anything more with her? After all, he’s a
handsome young man and could have his pick of the young witches. Honestly, a girl would have to mad to turn him down.

Her mind raced at the thought of other women coming anywhere near him; the very idea (which had only annoyed her
previously) now filled her with a blind panic. Bugger, she huffed while the warm shower loosened the tension in her
body, when did things get so complicated between us?

Probably when you wrapped your hand around his willy, her brain snickered.

Her brain was right.

Showered and rejuvenated, Hermione dressed in a little tee shirt and a pair of trim jeans. She went downstairs and
clipped up her still-wet hair as she walked briskly into the lounge room. Lavender sat on the couch, nibbling the
toppings off a piece of pizza, while Ron sat nearby watching her. Harry sat in a chair in one corner of the room,
strangely silent. Perhaps he had a lot on his mind.

"Hey Lav," Hermione said, then bent over the couch and gave Lavender a hug. Oddly, a tiny whimper seemed to emanate from
Harry's corner.

Hermione sat down next to Lavender on the couch and quickly fell into chatting with her friend. She noticed that both
Harry and Ron were strangely quiet, but she was having too much fun talking with Lav to worry about it. Ron was probably
just drowning in essence of Lavender (she seemed to have that effect on him), while Harry – well, he might have been
thinking about what she’d done to him less than an hour before. Or maybe not.

"So…have a good day?" Lavender asked, a challenging twinkle in her eyes.

"Not too bad once I got past that bloody hangover from last night," Hermione said, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
"Blimey, I hope I don’t get that pissed again for another five years."

Lavender's laugh filled the room. "Oh honey, everyone needs to get pissed like that once in a while. And we got
ourselves some nice 'jewelry' in the bargain, didn't we?" She gazed knowingly at her friend's belly.

"Speaking of jewelry," Hermione tried changing the subject, "I got a cute ear cuff last week" -- she pulled her hair up
and pointed to her right ear -- "and I was thinking about getting a toe-ring. I saw a little gold one with a tiny
moonstone on it at Gladrags Wizard Wear and I might buy it next time I'm there."

"Oooh, a toe-ring, that would be very adventurous for you, Hermione," Lavender smiled. "Of course you'd have to wear
sandals or flip-flops to make it worthwhile. I mean, you might as well have a tattoo where no one can see it," she
winked.

The joke wasn't lost on Hermione, who made a mental note of what a tease Lavender still was. Ron continued to regard
Lavender with a dreamy look on his face. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be avoiding the conversation. Hermione
really couldn't blame him much; after what had just happened, he was probably mortified and possibly even scared of
being in the same room with her.

As Hermione and Lavender chatted on about body jewelry for a few minutes, both Harry and Ron continued to seem oblivious
to them. Lavender showed off her new nail polish, which sparkled with fairy dust; Hermione oohed and ahhed over it but
reckoned that Lavender was really more interested in the tattoo on Hermione’s belly. Still, Hermione steadfastly avoided
the topic, flittering away from it anytime Lavender seemed to approach it too closely. Bad enough the tattoo was still
there; she wouldn’t give Lav the satisfaction of knowing what the bugger did whenever she got…excited.

Eventually Lavender got up and, as she left the room, gave Hermione a knowing wink. A few minutes later Ron got up too
and started moving the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Finally, Harry dragged his eyes off the carpet and looked at
Hermione sitting alone on the couch.

"Did Lavender leave?" Harry asked.

"No," said Ron. "She's just in the other room."

The other room, of course, meant Ron’s bedroom. Hermione stretched out on the couch, arms up behind her head. Her tee
shirt rode up so that her stomach showed, but she didn’t give this a second thought, being very comfortable around her
best friends with varying amounts of skin showing. At least she had been comfortable until now.

Soon Ron finished up in the kitchen and walked off without so much as a good night. Hermione assumed she wouldn’t see
either Ron or Lavender again until morning. Now it was just she and Harry, alone in the lounge room. For the first time
in eleven years, she felt a bit faint at the prospect of being alone with him.

Hermione brought one arm down and laid it across her chest with a tired sigh. She gazed at her bare feet, deep in
thought, occasionally twiddling her toes. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Harry finally looking at her.

"You think I'd look silly wearing a toe-ring?" she asked.

She glanced over to him. He seemed to be having some difficulty speaking.

"No," came his strangled reply. He paused for a few moments. "W-why do you ask?"

"Harry - I was talking about body jewelry not a minute ago with Lavender. Weren't you paying attention?"

He glared at her indignantly.

"Firstly, I wasn't aware that you were that concerned with jewelry of any type," he huffed. "Secondly, I fail to see how
a discussion about jewelry is supposed to hold my attention. Maybe you confused me with Colin Creevey or something."

The corner of Hermione’s mouth went up along with one brow. Apparently she’d struck a nerve.

"You're annoyed with me."

"I'm not."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched again.

Obviously he was annoyed, even if he wouldn’t admit it. She let out a long sigh. Harry could be terribly stubborn,
especially when he didn’t want to admit something – or refused to see the obvious. She sat up on the couch and propped
her legs up on the coffee table with her feet gripping the edge. Legs spread slightly apart, she leaned her elbows on
her knees and gazed across the coffee table at Harry. She needed to know how he felt about what happened, if he hated
her for doing what she’d done. She hoped her heart didn’t leap out of her throat as she finally spoke.

"Did I upset you?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes.

Relief mingled with fear as she struggled to find the truth.

"Did you not like it? Or - or me doing it to you?" Her words hung in the air as she waited for his reply.

He licked his lips, looking suddenly like a guilty little boy.

"I liked it."

They sat together quietly for a moment. As Harry knotted his fingers together, gazing at his hands, Hermione watched him
and thought about those three words. I liked it. He’d really said that. I liked it. I liked it. I liked it. I liked it.
I liked it. Those three words echoed in her mind, sending a wave of pleasure through her whole body. He liked it. He
liked what I did to him. Apparently she liked knowing that he liked it, because the Snitch sprung to life on her belly
again, its flapping sending delicious wiggles through her. She felt her blood rising through her body, and the aching
need roared back to exactly where she’d released it less than an hour ago.

It was amazing how three little words could set her aquiver.

"Harry..."

As he looked up, her right hand was resting gently upon her clothed crotch, fingers stroking the seam of the seat of her
jeans. The movement of her fingers was neither idle nor unconscious; that damn itch had returned, and her fingers did
their best to scratch it as subtly as possible. She leaned on her other hand, weighing her next words.

"When I walked in on you..."

She paused, and he nodded for her to continue.

"... were you thinking about me?"

Harry took so long to answer that Hermione began to think he was going to tell her, "No, you twit, why would I do that?"
Finally, a single low, strangled syllable forced its way out of him.

"Yes…"

She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look this terrified, not even in his final encounter with Voldemort. She pondered
what it had taken for him to admit that thinking about her had given him a raging erection. Once a Gryffindor, always a
Gryffindor, she thought. Yes. That single word made a hint of a smile flicker on her lips. He liked it and he had been
thinking about me. That was definitely…

"Good," she smiled. Good, good, good. Better than good. Effing bloody fantastic. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest
at the thought. She stood up and stretched then bent and cradled Harry’s cheek.

"I have to go to bed. I've got an early meeting tomorrow and a stack of papers to finish up. But I'll talk to you
tomorrow night, all right?"

Harry nodded, disappointment flickering on his face. She hoped he was disappointed about her leaving rather than about
her reaction to his admission. Then she did something she’d never done before.

Leaning down to his face, Hermione kissed him on the lips. It was a soft, gentle kiss, her lips clinging to his just
long enough to make her point. There's more of this if you want it…

She straightened up and smiled warmly at him. "Goodnight, Harry."

She went to her room and read through her stack of papers for work. Then she went to bed and dreamed the same dream over
and over: Harry was naked and aroused as she stroked him until he cried her name.

~~~*~~~*~~~

As she’d planned, Hermione rose early, ate a quick breakfast then apparated to the Ministry for a 7:30 meeting with
Remus Lupin and two other section chiefs who wanted to discuss her report on unicorn poaching. They all seemed quite
excited by what she’d written and spent a long time grilling her about various details. She answered their questions as
carefully as she could but had difficulty remaining focused on the discussion, since a very distracting problem kept
popping up. Every time her attention drifted, or she closed her eyes for even a few seconds, her mind’s eye imagined
Harry standing in his bathroom, naked and hard. Then those few moments when he let her touch him would replay in her
mind and that delicious squirming sensation would roar back into her body and make her wish she wasn’t in a public place
with her boss and two of his colleagues.

"Erm, Granger, are you all right?" Lupin asked, apparently noticing her discomfort as their meeting drew to a close.

"Wha--? Oh, sorry, Chief," she gulped. "It’s a bit warm in here and I guess I lost my train of thought." A blush rose in
her cheeks and she found herself squirming, but not in the delicious way that happened when she thought of Harry’s naked
body. Bugger, now I’ve got that image stuck in my brain, she sighed. Not that there was anything wrong with that image;
in fact it was the most delectable thing she’d seen in a very long time. Unfortunately it was much too delectable for
the workplace.

She signed again. It really was going to be a very long day.

Hermione spent the rest of the morning in the Ministry archives where she continued to research the unicorn-poaching
racket. She felt quite proud that it was her own research that led her superiors to realize that the poaching really was
an organized activity and not just random lawbreaking. After lunch she spent a few hours visiting various Wizard
apothecaries that had experienced break-ins during the past few months. Based on the number and locations of the
break-ins and the items stolen, Hermione believed that a remnant faction of Death Eaters was responsible for most of the
recent break-ins in the Greater London area. Shortly after five p.m. she spoke to Lupin by Floo and got permission to
apparate directly home instead of returning to the Ministry.

When she arrived at the flat, she found Ron’s and Lavender’s cloaks hanging together on a peg in the foyer. Neither of
her friends was out and about in the flat, but she could hear both their voices coming from his room, mostly in fitful
giggles. Wellllll, she thought, I’m glad someone here is having fun. She wandered through the flat and discovered that
her other best friend had not yet returned home. She’d tried so hard not to think about him all day, and yet the harder
she tried, the more – and the harder – he kept popping up in her mind. Not thinking about him, about it, was a hopeless
cause. And realizing how hopeless it was just made the Snitch flutter again on her belly. She wanted Harry to know what
he was doing to her, so she found a marker and left a note for him on the whiteboard on the fridge:

"Harry Potter,

Snitch still at large.

Love from

Hermione."

She found some leftover beef stew (courtesy of Molly Weasley, who was constantly sending pots of food for Ron to share
with his flat mates) and heated up a plate of it with a warming charm. Then she brought her plate of stew and a glass of
milk up to her room, where she planned to spend some time reading a few files she was working on. She’d also bought a
new Muggle mystery novel and wanted to get started on that too. Or at least that’s what she told herself. Mostly she
didn’t want to be alone in her room, unoccupied. She hoped to spend some time with Harry but wasn’t sure he would want
to spend time with her. Almost a day after kissing him for the first time, she could still taste his lips on her, still
taste that tiny tender kiss she’d given him and that he’d almost, but not quite, reciprocated. She’d let him know,
without words, that she wanted to go further. But she’d not seen him at all since last night, and those three words he’d
said continued to ring loud in her heart. I liked it.

So she sat at her desk, reading files by the light of a Muggle desk lamp. Seven years of flickering lamps and poor
lighting at Hogwarts had reminded her of the joys of "eckletricity", and when she, Harry and Ron had decided to share a
flat after they left school, it was she who insisted on finding a Muggle flat with adequate electric wiring. About half
an hour after she’d settled into her reading, she recognized the sound of Harry trudging wearily into his room. She
waited a few minutes to let him get settled and then decided to say hello and ask about his day.

She opened his door without knocking. That might or might not have been a mistake.

"Well..." she said softly, her voice hitching slightly when she realized what she was seeing. Harry lay on his bed,
naked except for his shirt hanging loose and open around him, his hand gripped firmly around his penis.

"... I keep running into you like this," she finished, amazed that she was able to speak.

His voice gurgled in his throat, and he grabbed for his sheet.

"Don't," she implored.

He looked over to her, his brows knit in a questioning expression.

"Please," she added softly.

"Why?"

She leaned against the door of his bedroom and thought long and hard before answering him. How could she explain what
he’d awoken in her when she caught him in the bathroom yesterday? They’d been through so much together, but despite the
intimacy of their friendship none of it had demanded the level of trust implicit in seeing so much of each other’s
bodies.

She pushed herself away from the door, then walked across the room and sat on the edge of his bed. She forced herself
not to look at his nakedness or at his hand wrapped around his erection. Instead, she gazed in his eyes with as gentle a
look as she could muster.

"I like to see it."

His frown deepened.

"I like to see you."

He propped himself up on his elbow and eyed her warily. "Why?"

She eyed him right back. "Because it's you."

Because it’s you, Harry, she thought, desperately wishing she could communicate with him telepathically so she wouldn’t
have to keep explaining. Because it’s you. You, you, you. I don’t want to watch anyone else play with himself – I only
want to watch you.

He sighed and fell back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. As he closed his eyes, his hands wrapped around his
penis, ready to return to action. She found herself entranced by his hands and what they were about to do. She wanted to
do that again, this time with him rather than for him.

She removed the clip from her hair and, leaning on the edge of his bed, gently wrapped her hands around his. Her hair
fell across his chest as she coaxed his hands to begin their rhythm again. She shifted along the bed, one hand still on
him, and leaned over his face, her cheek touching his, feeling his breath so close to her face.

"What are you thinking about, Harry?"

He let out a shuddering breath, the slightest whimper in his voice. "You."

She smiled, her reaction coming out as a breathy puff of a laugh. "Good." He’s thinking about me while he works himself.
The Snitch on her belly flapped wildly yet again, attuned to the wave of pleasure his words sent through her.

"What do you want to do to me, Harry?"

"I want to make you feel like this," he said, turning his head and gazing at her. "I want you to feel what I'm feeling."

She sucked in a breath and a wicked smile curled on her face as she sensed that the tension building in his body was
verging on release. "Soon."

That single word sent him over the edge, his body shaking and shuddering about him. She sighed, her hands still top of
his, and as his release came her sighs turned to tiny moans that barely concealed her pleasure at this turn of events.
He lay there breathing unsteadily, staring at the ceiling, face flushed with exhausted pleasure.

Hermione lingered on the edge of the bed a moment more, still awed by what had just happened. The Snitch on her belly
had settled down as soon as Harry climaxed, and her heart felt like it would burst from all the strange and wonderful
feelings she’d never felt toward him before.

Her hair fell over him as she kissed him softly yet again.

"You're beautiful, Harry," she said. "Thank you for letting me see you."

She kissed him again, lingering a second. Then she left his room and went to her own to ponder the wondrous thing that
was growing between them, step by baby step.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The next workday seemed very much like the previous one to Hermione. She rose early and left the flat before anyone else
had come down to breakfast, then went to the Ministry archives to find a few final pieces of information about the
unicorn poaching racket. As she attempted to work, memories of the previous evening flooded her mind, interrupting her
at almost every turn. The feel of Harry’s hands moving underneath her own, his sweaty face and hair, his ragged breath
in her ear, all conspired to ruin her concentration. Trying to clear her mind, she forced herself to think of the least
sexual thing she could imagine just to stop the insane flittering of the Snitch on her abdomen. The winning image was
Neville Longbottom’s boggart from third year – Professor Snape in a dress.

Relieved, Hermione unfurled the parchment containing her draft report then spent the rest of the morning writing up her
conclusions. Her writing done, she set her parchment aside to dry, put away her quill and grabbed her cloak to go out
for lunch. But before she could clasp it around her, a head full of red curls poked around the edge of her cubicle.

"Got any time for a poor wayfaring stranger?" the redhead grinned.

"Ginny!" Hermione cried gleefully, pulling her into a hug. Ginny Weasley had been gone only a few days, but Hermione had
missed her friend greatly. "Do you have time to join me for lunch? How was your trip?"

"Yes, and you know I can’t really talk about it, Hermione," Ginny clucked. "I wouldn’t be a very good employee of the
Department of Mysteries if I went around blabbing about my little missions, would I?"

"Since when did you start caring so much about following rules?" Hermione joked.

"Since I had to swear an oath that I wouldn’t divulge anything I discover without permission," Ginny shot back in a
no-nonsense tone. Chastened, Hermione nodded and the two young women walked to a nearby Muggle restaurant so they could
have lunch privately, without worrying about anyone from the wizard media approaching them. They found a booth near the
back and settled in for a round of catching up.

Hermione ordered a salad with grilled chicken while Ginny, who apparently still had a hollow leg, ordered the
ploughman’s lunch and a vodka gimlet. Hermione marveled at her friend’s ability to eat and drink anything she wanted and
never gain a pound or get pissed.

"That vodka won’t be a problem for you?" Hermione wondered. "I can’t drink before five p.m.; I’d get too giggly and I’d
never get my afternoon work done."

"No problem at all," Ginny smirked. "I’m off the clock now; I’ve turned in my report on my Super Secret Mission so now
I’m just waiting for my next assignment. Plus, may I remind you, I have the famous Weasley constitution; no matter how
much or how vile, there is no food or drink that phases a Weasley." At that Hermione had to laugh, as Ginny reminded her
of a female version of Ron, whose appetite was still the stuff of legends at Hogwarts.

"Speaking of the Weasley constitution, how’s that brother of mine?" Ginny continued, chomping on her bread and cheese.

"All things considered, I’d say just wonderful. The Cannons lost their playoff game Sunday but in the process, Ron seems
to have gained a girlfriend." Ginny looked puzzled until Hermione filled her in. "Lavender Brown met us at the party
after the game, and she and Ron have been thick as thieves ever since. One might even say ‘bosom buddies’," Hermione
tittered.

"I’ll bet it’s Lav’s bosom that Ron is buddies with!" Ginny roared.

"Funny you should mention that – he dropped the team Snitch down her blouse during the party and you should have seen
the look on her face. At first she was madder than a hornet, but by the time he managed to pop it out from between her
boobs, I thought she might jump him right there! Of course I’m surprised I even remember this, as I was three sheets to
the wind at the time." Hermione was drinking only water, but sitting and laughing with Ginny was almost as much fun as
getting pissed and a lot easier on her head and body.

Ginny, too, laughed hard. Wiping tears from her eyes, she asked, "So what's up with Harry?"

Hermione almost froze. "What's up with Harry??" she snapped back, aware that the Snitch had reacted to the very mention
of his name.

Ginny cocked an eyebrow, undaunted. "I just asked what about Harry. How is he?"

At that moment Hermione wanted nothing to do with talking about Harry Potter. Bad enough she could barely keep him and
his very manly manhood out of her mind, she really couldn’t handle sitting there and talking about him too, not even
with Ginny. "Who cares about Harry? Why are we talking about Harry?" she replied, her voice starting to rise in
agitation.

A smile started at Ginny’s lips and went up to her eyes. "We’re talking about him…because you seem to flinch every time
I mention his name."

Oh bugger, I’m busted, was all Hermione could think. Shoulders sagging, she propped an elbow on the table and rested her
face in her hand. "It’s that obvious?" she sighed.

"Yes, sweetheart, it is. Now why don’t you tell me about it?"

So for the next five minutes, Hermione filled Ginny in on what had happened since that blasted party after the Chudley
Cannons’ game. She described how she’d discovered the Snitch on her belly the morning after getting so insanely drunk,
how the Snitch was attuned to her moods (especially when she felt randy), and how she’d accidentally popped in on Harry
when he was unclothed in the bathroom. But in deference to Harry’s privacy – and because she wasn’t sure Ginny, or
anyone, could really understand what was happening between them -- she left out a lot of details. She left out the parts
about his erection in the bathroom, how he was thinking about her when he got that erection, as well as the parts about
her wanking him and helping him wank himself. Nor did she mention that she’d told him – twice—that it was good that he’d
gotten hard thinking about her.

Bugger, that’s a lot to leave out, Hermione thought. But discretion is still the better part of valour, and saying any
more really would be terribly indiscreet. So there she stopped.

Ginny sat quietly for a few minutes, apparently digesting what Hermione had just told her. Then a wicked glint came into
her eyes. "Well. Is he as talented as rumour would have us believe?"

Hermione’s eyes went wide with shock. Rumour? What rumour? There were rumours about Harry’s sexual activities? ""I
wouldn't know... we haven't actually…done anything like that," she said, her cheeks burning. Well, that was true up to a
point. They hadn’t done anything together yet, not unless you counted last night’s wank session. And she couldn’t
possibly tell Ginny anything about that. Bad enough she’d admitted that she’d seen Harry naked. There was no way on
earth she would tell anyone, not even Ginny, that she’d seen Harry naked and hard and gotten him off not once but twice.

"Uhmmm… right," Ginny raised a brow, seeming to reach for words. "You wouldn’t know. But you did see him naked. Which
means you’ve seen his penis." Hermione shrank at the word. She tried her best not to listen to the content of Ginny’s
words, but nodded along pleasantly.

"Well, penises are funny, " Ginny continued brightly. "Quite different when they're erect. Probably the case with
Harry."

"Hmmm?" Hermione said distractedly, still intent on not listening. "Yes, well, I agree, it certainly is," she blubbered,
waving a hand as if trying to dismiss the topic entirely.

"Yes?! It’s true? I KNEW IT!" Ginny chortled, licking her lips. Only then did Hermione realize what she’d actually
agreed about. Face burning even brighter, she buried her head in her arms.

"Arrrrggh!! I am so embarrassed!!" she wailed. "You have to forget I ever said anything, forget I ever saw anything. I
wish I could forget I ever saw anything…." Looking up, she saw Ginny smile at her with a glimmer of something –
compassion? – in her eyes.

"Why do you wish you could forget?" Ginny asked her quietly. "You and Harry have been friends such a long time…you
should be able to laugh this off, shouldn’t you? Or is the problem that you can’t laugh it off…" Ginny licked her lips
and twirled a strand of her red hair, a knowing look on her freckled face.

Hermione sighed heavily and pushed her hair off her face. "You’re right," she replied, her voice almost a whisper. "I
can’t laugh it off. When I saw him naked that Snitch tattoo went absolutely nutters, and honestly, I don’t think it
would’ve done that if I’d happened on Ron in the loo –"

"Errrgh!" Ginny grimaced. "Please, I’m trying to forget seeing Ron naked when we were kids. But I can appreciate what
you’re saying…which seems to be…"

"Which seems to be that the Snitch got excited because I got excited – and I got excited because it was Harry. And now
everything seems different, especially since I kissed him."

The double-take Ginny did would’ve given whiplash to most mortals. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You didn’t say you’d kissed him.
And this would be bad because…?"

"It’s not bad, not to me anyway. It was just a sweet little kiss on the lips. But it was meant as an… invitation…to let
him know I'm interested, without coming out and saying so." Hermione sighed heavily. "I just don’t know how he feels
about it. It’s all very… complicated."

Ginny's expression was full of kindness. "Hermione, I've known you and Harry for eleven years and you two have been best
friends over ten years. It's been obvious to most everyone that you've been the most important woman in his life for at
least six of those years -- ever since that battle inside the Department of Mysteries." Hermione looked up at her
quizzically. "Oh, honey, he worships you. He'd do anything for you. He probably knows you better than anyone on the
planet. And you've shared so much with him already. About the only thing you haven't shared with him is sex."

Her cheeks reddening again, Hermione found herself unable to look in Ginny's eyes. "Errm, right….so if I am interested
in, um, sharing that with him, how do I let him know? And what if he isn't interested in return?"

They both sat quietly for a few moments, Ginny apparently lost in thought, Hermione waiting anxiously for her friend's
advice. "Perhaps these little kisses aren't enough to grab his attention," Ginny continued, taking her hand. "You know
Harry, he can be kind of clueless sometimes. Maybe you need to do something bold, something he wouldn't expect you to
do, something that shows him how much you trust him. Let yourself be vulnerable with him, Hermione. What have you got to
lose?"

Eyes moist, Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand. "Nothing, I suppose. Or else everything. I couldn't bear losing him as my
best friend." She sniffled then wiped her eyes with her hand. "But I won't know unless I try. Thank you so much, Ginny,
for everything. You're a terrific friend."

"Don't thank me yet; you can do that after you two actually get together." As the two women stood up to leave, Ginny
leaned over and hugged Hermione hard. "You know, I’ve always thought of you as the sister I never had, and I sort of
hoped you'd end up with Ron, so we could really be sisters. But since that's not going to happen, I'd be tickled if you
got together with Harry. You've been so good for each other, dating would be such a natural progression. I really do
hope this works out for you."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione hugged back. "I feel the same about you. I’ll think about what you suggested. I do trust
Harry, with my life and beyond. I hope I can show him that I trust him with my heart."

Leaving the restaurant, Ginny turned into an alley so she could apparate back to her own home. Hermione turned the other
direction and walked back to work, enjoying the beautiful day and pondering what she could do to show Harry her trust.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The afternoon seemed to drag on forever.

First Hermione had to turn in her final report on the unicorn-poaching racket. She rolled up the parchment and carried
it down the hall toward Lupin’s office, then knocked on the door and, hearing no answer, pushed the door in and left the
parchment on Lupin’s cluttered desk. As she left the room and headed back to her own cubicle, she saw her boss huddled
with another employee about twenty metres away. When she caught Lupin’s eye, however, he gave her an odd smile that
seemed to last a bit too long; if she didn’t know better she’d think he was leering at her. No, Lupin wouldn’t do that..
unless… She found herself blushing again at the possibility that her boss and former professor might have discovered
something she would rather he hadn’t. Did Harry confide in Lupin? Hermione knew that Harry considered Lupin to be his
surrogate godfather and sometimes sought his advice. But Hermione refused to contemplate the idea of Harry discussing
the current situation with anyone – even though she had just discussed it with Ginny. No. She would concentrate on her
work this afternoon, get things done and then go home.

She sat down at her desk and thumbed through several stacks of files. She tried so hard to concentrate on the piles of
parchment in front of her, but it was no use. The image of Harry naked and hard – either in the bathroom or on his bed –
kept flitting through her brain. Her right palm itched, and she knew it wasn’t because (according to the Muggle folk
belief) she was going to get a financial windfall soon. It was because she wanted to take Harry in her hand again and
stroke him until his eyes rolled back and his voice dropped an octave and he breathed hot and heavy on her neck while
crying out her name. The knowledge that she had made him feel like that made her shiver with lust, and suddenly the skin
on her belly started quaking again – the Snitch had come back to life.

Bugger, this is ridiculous, she thought, and remembering some of the Occlumency she had learned from Harry in seventh
year, she pushed the thought of him out of her mind for two solid hours while she shuffled papers. Finally she gave up
on what she was doing and apparated home. Ron and Lavender were lazing on the couch, snogging occasionally as they
shared the morning's Daily Prophet.

"Hello Ron, hello Lav," she said mechanically as she hung her cloak in the foyer. "I see you’re occupied so I’ll go up
to my room and soak my head…Just kidding, I'm going to work on some files."

"Mmmrhrrmmph," came the muffled acknowledgment from a breathless, giggly female voice. "We'll call you for dinner--oooh,
Ronnie, that's mmmhrphrphmm"

Hermione carried her briefcase up the stairs with her and set it on the desk in her bedroom. Then she stripped out of
the jeans and jumper she’d worn to work, wrapped herself in her silk robe and went downstairs to take a shower. Not
wishing any more surprises, she knocked gingerly on the bathroom door and went in only when she was sure it was
unoccupied. Doffing the robe she climbed into the shower and let the warm water pound the knots out of her aching
muscles. Damn, she had to get up and around more at work; she spent more time at her desk at work than she ever did
seated at a desk at Hogwarts. At least there she got out and about on adventures fairly often, thanks to Harry and Ron.
Now, at the Ministry, she spent most of her time hunched over a desk, writing reports in the terrible light of her
Ministry cubicle…

Which was what she was going to do tonight, but with at least she wouldn’t have to put up with bad lighting. Clipping
her hair up, Hermione put on a pair of hipster knickers, wrapped her silk robe around herself and went back to her room.
She turned on the Muggle desk lamp she’d brought from her parents’ home in Kent, sat down at her desk and settled in to
spend some time reading and writing in her files.

Suddenly there was a grunt at her door, then a tentative knock. "Hermione?"

It was Harry. Trying not to freeze, she took a deep breath. She would let things unfold however they would.

"Come in."

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked shy and tentative, a boyish blush burnishing his
cheeks as he looked down at his feet rather than at her.

Hermione finished her sentence with a flourish of her quill, then sat up. She put the quill down on her desk and smiled
at him, but her smile disappeared when she looked at him closely.

"Harry! You look awful! What happened to you?!"

She got up and hurried over to him. He’d been injured – probably during his stakeout with Tonks earlier that day – and
he had a bruise on his head and a cut on his foot. She felt the bruise then slowly looked him over, lightly brushing her
hands over his body as she checked him for additional injuries. He was wearing a pair of dark green tracksuit pants and
a black tee shirt and smelled as if he’d just showered. She must have been so wrapped up in her work that she’d not
heard him come home. This fact annoyed her almost as much as the sight of his injuries.

"I'll kill Tonks if she's not looked after you," Hermione growled. "Your foot!"

His foot had several scratches on it, all covered with the magical salve favored by the Ministry mediwitches. Harry
looked at his bare foot and blushed.

"Hermione, relax. A set of stairs collapsed under me, that's all."

"Harry!" she gasped. She was angered that he’d been injured but so very relieved his injuries weren’t much worse.
Knowing he was safe sent a wave of warmth and happiness through her. Wrapping her arms around his middle, she hugged him
tightly, her head leaned against his chest. She could hear his heart thumping, sounding a bit panicky, as if he were
suddenly afraid of her hugging him.

"I'm all right,’ he insisted, patting her shoulder as if to reassure her

"Why does this sort of thing always happen to you?" she muttered. Her mind raced with memories of dozens of injuries,
from trivial to life threatening, that Harry had sustained at school. Feeling for a moment like the school nurse, Madam
Pomfrey, she bit off the lecture that wanted to leap from her tongue.

Harry frowned and pulled himself away from her, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"It could have happened to anyone," he said. "I've had enough lectures from Moody, thank you. I feel like quite the
idiot already, nearly getting myself killed thanks to unstable architecture."

"I'm sorry," she said, her breathing trying to return to normal. "You scared me."

He nodded quietly and sighed. Returning the sigh, she curled an arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder.
The sight of him slightly injured but safe had stirred something powerful inside her, powerful enough to set the Snitch
twittering again. As the winged ball flapped on her stomach, a warm, aching need surged through her, a need that
couldn't be denied. A bolt of realization smacked her brain. She'd seen him in more than one moment of aching need; she
wanted to return the favor. Turnabout is fair play. Time to let myself be vulnerable to him.

"Harry..." she began cautiously.

He didn't look at her, only stared over her shoulder with a dreamy-eyed look. "Yes..."

"Do you trust me?"

He gazed down at her, a look of complete puzzlement on his face, as if that were the strangest question he'd ever heard.

She gulped before going further. "Do you... trust my intentions?"

He licked his lips, apparently having to think about his answer.

"I... I don't know."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and looked up at him, hoping that her eyes could convey the swirl of emotions
she was feeling. She couldn't bear the thought of him fearing her or what might happen.

"It's me here, Harry."

"I know," he answered with a hesitant nod.

After all these years the two of them were finally moving, inch by inch, toward a closeness neither of them could have
imagined on that first train ride long ago. She had to make him know that she would always be there for him no matter
what did or didn't happen in her bedroom or his. As her hand caressed his cheek, she tilted her head toward his, hoping
that what she said would be what he needed to hear.

"I won't leave you."

Those four little words broke through to him, and suddenly Harry was hugging her with all his might. His hands were
broad and strong and warm on her back, and his body curved up against hers in all the right places, adding to the tingly
feeling that seized her body. He clung to her for what seemed like ages, and when she finally wriggled away from him she
knew what she needed to do.

She guided his hands from behind her to her belly, where the knot of her robe was.

"It's all right," she breathed, helping him untie the knot.

The belt dropped down and her robe hung open, revealing a broad strip of bare skin from the valley of her breasts down
to the top of her silk knickers. As he stared at her naked skin, the Snitch on her belly flittered wildly.

Taking his hands in her own, she stepped backwards towards her bed. Be vulnerable, she urged herself. Take this one step
at a time.

"Hermione-" he coughed. "Are you- I mean- should we-"

"Baby steps, Harry," she said softly and pulled him down to sit next to her on the edge of her bed.

She pulled her robe open and rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the dark-pink silk. Now she stood in front of him
mostly naked, wearing only her low-cut knickers. Harry sat there quietly, perhaps in shock, apparently unable to say
anything. His eyes drifted down her body, starting at her shoulders, lingering on her breasts, then moving down to her
waist, then her belly, and finally stopping at the thrashing, shuddering Snitch. He opened his mouth as if to speak but
instead shook his head and gasped.

She looked down at herself and shrugged. She wished her body was sexier, more attractive, but it was what it was. Harry
leaned forward, took her hand and gazed into her eyes. She gazed back at him, squeezing his hand.

"Thank you," he breathed.

She rolled her eyes and sat down next to him.

"You are beautiful," he said firmly.

Other men had told her that, but she hadn’t believed them, and none of them had been Harry. The nearness and dearness of
him made her head spin. He was close, so very close to her, and the heat of his masculinity overtook her as he suddenly
leaned forward and kissed her in a way that one friend ought never kiss another. Her lips pressed back against his and
parted slightly, her tongue stroking his lips gently in search of the warm, safe harbor of his mouth.

The kiss emboldened her even as it made her swoon, and she decided to show him something she’d never shown another man.
Embarrassed by her thoughts, she pulled away from him suddenly.

"Will you watch me?" she whispered.

"Huh-uh... Watch you?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "Watch me..." As she dipped her hands down between her legs, a blush roared into her
cheeks.

"Yes –" Harry nodded with a gasp. He looked a bit faint and, eyes wide, he gripped the edge of the bed.

Hermione scooted back on the bed, her eyes locked on Harry, and settled herself in a comfortable spot amid the pillows.
Then she lifted her hips and pushed her knickers down below her knees. Harry gulped and pinched himself. She felt like
pinching herself too as she pondered that she was about to pleasure herself in front of him.

"You can come closer," she said. In for a penny, in for a pound. If she was going to do this, he was damn well going to
be able to see everything she was doing. Harry was sitting on the edge at the far end of Hermione’s bed. He shifted back
and raked his eyes over her body, his decidedly unplatonic gaze sending a shiver of delight through her. If he was going
to look at her like that, she’d have to give him something to look at. So she parted her legs.

He opened his mouth to say something then stopped and just stared between her legs. She opened her legs wider and wider
until she thought he had a clear view, then slid her fingers down and stroked her curls. A whimper escaped Harry’s
throat as her hand grazed over the Snitch, which quivered and shuddered while its wings fluttered like a hummingbird’s.

He was still too far away.

"Closer, Harry," she said, and patted her knee to let him know how close she wanted him. He leaned closer, close enough
to get a good look at everything she planned to touch. His face was still pale, but the look of shock had given way to a
goofy, lopsided, blissful grin. He looked so utterly adorable with his head cocked just above her knees, waiting
patiently to see what she would do. If he wants a show, I’ll give him one, she smiled, then dipped her fingers down into
her curls. She stroked them slowly and teasingly, aware of Harry’s eyes bolted to her private parts, then slipped her
hand down to her lips and spread them so he could see exactly what was happening.

His eyes danced around, following every flickering movement of her fingers, and suddenly he gasped then leaned on her
knee, apparently to keep from falling over. She found that watching him watch her was an aphrodisiac; the more he
looked, the harder she stroked herself. As her middle finger slid up and down between her lips and over and around her
clitoris, and then inside her, she thought about how much she wished her finger was Harry’s finger, and the delicious
squirming sensation set her blood on fire and made the Snitch twitter more frantically than ever. She could only imagine
how Harry was feeling, but she knew that she’d rarely been more aroused than she was now. She could hear her own breath
now, hot and feathery, as she flickered her fingers upward and stroked her swollen clit. She was so very close to losing
herself in front of him, but she was determined to ride out her arousal as slowly as she could. Harry can enjoy watching
me all he wants, she thought, but I’ll stay in control.

That’s what she expected to happen. Then Harry did something totally unexpected -- he gripped the thigh he had leant his
head on and sighed dreamily.

Hermione moaned as if he’d touched her clit.

Continuing to stroke herself, Hermione licked her lips and focused on how her actions were affecting Harry. His
breathing became faster and shallower and his hand drifted down across the bulge in the front of his track pants. Good.
Good, good, good. Watching her was getting him very hot and bothered. Of course there was only one thing for that.

"You can touch yourself too, Harry," she mumbled, tilting her head back some. "Please, please touch yourself." Let’s
watch each other. I want to watch you too.

He quickly pushed his pants down and, edging forward on the bed, took his penis in his hand. His lovely, beautiful penis
that she ached to touch, but this time she’d let him just touch himself. No reason why she should be the only one having
this much fun.

"Like that?"

Oh yes. Yes. Let me watch you while you do that.

Smiling, she looked directly at what he was doing. "Yes, yes."

The sight of his hand sliding up and down his shaft kicked her own motions into a higher gear. As her fingers began to
move almost as fast as the Snitch fluttered on her belly, her body quivered and her breathing changed to ragged gasps.
Despite the distracting sensations flooding her body, she kept her eyes trained on Harry. As his hand slid faster up and
down his shaft, feral groans rumbled from his throat.

"Oh God," she mumbled. "I like seeing you like this, I do..." You have no idea how much I like seeing you do that to
yourself, she thought. Almost as much as I liked doing it to you…

Harry grinned, and for the first time she saw a wicked, sexual gleam in his eye. "I should have known you'd be a
talker."

As a spasm of pleasure hit her, Hermione’s eyes drifted shut briefly and she grinned back at him. If not for needing to
resolve her arousal, she could have gone on like this forever, touching herself, watching him touch himself, taking
another baby step away from their old platonic relationship. Lost in thought, she let herself drift on the familiar
sensations of hand on skin.

But the next thing she felt left her completely astonished. Harry was kissing and suckling her inner thigh hungrily and
she heard herself gasp with pleasure and shock.

"Harry!"

This was wonderful and amazing, but now he was going well beyond what she had hoped for or expected. As if he could read
her mind, he went even further, bending his head down and kissing her inner thigh yet again, his tongue tracing lacy
patterns on her skin. As his tongue continued to work its magic her thighs trembled under his mouth. She felt him shiver
as his own arousal heightened and she gasped, her gasps turning to little moans as she mumbled his name over and over.

"Let me," he said, scooting forward, eyes locked upon the lips of her sex. "... Please."

Let him? Let him do what? Oh God, could he possibly want to do that?? Things were moving much faster than she’d
anticipated, but in her current state she didn’t much care. If that was what he wanted to do, she wouldn’t deny him. All
she could do was whimper and nod then close her eyes and let her head hang back on the pillow, eyes on the ceiling,
hoping he was really going to do what had crossed her mind.

She pulled her fingers back, opening up her folds for him. In an instant his left hand wrapped around her right leg and
his head descended. Then his mouth sealed over her folds and his tongue was swirling around her labia, lavishing
attention on her clit, his lips and tongue touching and licking and suckling every bit of her arousal. She had no idea
where he’d learned to do this and she didn’t care. Perhaps he was a natural at it, the way he’d been a natural at flying
in first year.

He moaned into her as his own pleasure mounted, and she bucked underneath him, gasping in with equal pleasure.

"Bloody hell!" she whimpered. "Do that again, ohhh please..."

So he did, and she squirmed as she neared her climax.

"Ohh God, Harry, OH God..."

He continued suckling her, his tongue flickering quickly, reaching every part of her most sensitive anatomy. Her
pleasure began to reach a crescendo and she shuddered under his mouth as a cry leapt from her throat.

"Oh HARRY!"

She bucked and dug her fingers into his hair. Pushing his head down more firmly onto her, she wriggled and writhed and
gasped as he went about his business. As a final wave of ecstasy washed over her she cried his name again. Soon more
feral groans escaped him as he shuddered with his own release.

Harry continued to nuzzle her, licking her gently as she lay there with her heart pounding, eyes wide and gazing at the
ceiling, her mouth hanging open, her breasts rising and falling in deep, collecting gasps. He seemed reluctant to remove
his lips from her body. Hermione, meanwhile, lay there for some time, legs open, hands twitching at her sides, the scene
just finished replaying over and over in her mind, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea that Harry Potter had
taken the initiative to make her come.

When he finally pulled his head away she could barely contemplate what had just happened. Her rational mind, which was
almost always in charge, had wanted to explore this uncharted territory between herself and Harry in a slow and orderly
way. But her irrational, limbic brain had let her be carried away by the heat of the moment, doing things she never
really thought she might do with him. As her mind and her heart waged war on each other, another wave of panic set in
and she suddenly sat up and brought her legs together. Pulling on her robe, she found her hands trembling as she
attempted to tie the knot. Harry sat watching her quietly, apparently waiting for her to speak.

She glanced at him with a shy smile that belied the way her heart was pounding against her ribs. "Well, I have so very
much to do tonight and..."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to leave?"

She turned and looked to him. "No."

A sudden rap at the door interrupted them….

"Harry, Hermione... Dinner!"

It was Lavender.

Harry leaped to his feet, stuffing his penis back into his pants, and raced over to open the door. There stood Lavender
with a very smug look on her face.

"How did you know I was in here?" he asked.

Hermione blanched when she saw Lavender roll her eyes. "Let's just call it a nagging suspicion," Lav smiled. Hermione
could swear there was a smirk in her eyes.

"I'm just talking to Hermione," Harry lied.

"I'm sure you are!" Lavender said, lifting her hands and trying to look innocent. "I have to go set the table! Don't be
too long."

Harry sighed and closed the door. Hermione pulled on her jeans and was putting on a shirt when he turned back to her.
Then he walked over to her, looked down at her belly and hesitantly put his hand forward.

"May I?"

She nodded, tenderness toward him welling up in her.

He stretched out his long fingers toward her belly. Flattening them over the Snitch, he stroked it gently.

"It is very beautiful," he said, looking up into her eyes.

She forced a tiny smile. Did everything between them the past few days come back to the Snitch? She wondered whether he
was interested in more than that damn magical tattoo on her belly. If not, what was the point of all they’d just done?
Hoping against hope, she stepped forward and kissed him tenderly.

"You'll see it again, Harry," she said. "You will."

He arched a brow. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yes. But not tonight." So much work to do, so very much to think about, and they needed to go down to
dinner before Ron and Lavender started getting ideas. As she buttoned up her shirt, her brows knitted with confusion,
her mind still spinning from the events of the past half-hour.

"I just need to process it all, Harry," she said. "I'm just - I need to get used to this idea."

"Of you and I - well -" he muttered.

She nodded, pleased that he wasn’t angry. "Exactly."

He nodded. "I understand."

She felt a load lift from her heart. He understood. He wouldn’t push her. Perhaps they could go back to taking baby
steps. She smiled and turned to him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you do!"

He pulled away and held the door for her. As they walked down the stairs, Harry a few steps behind her, Hermione didn’t
think she could watch him lick his lips the same way ever again.

^*^*^*^*^*^

------------------------------------------------------------------------

4. Faith

Chapter 4 – Faith

Well, here it is – the big smutty part. I hope it was worth waiting for. And of course, the biggest thanks go to Nancy
for orchestrating all the sex in this chapter and the preceding ones. Thanks to everyone who has read this far. Only 2
more chapters to go.

The dinner that followed was brief and tense. Molly Weasley had sent a home-cooked dinner by owl, the sort of meal
Hermione would have enjoyed immensely under more normal circumstances. But the circumstances were ineffably strange.
Lavender had a bawdy twinkle in her eyes, and Ron sat there with reddened checks and a smirk that suggested he could
barely keep himself from laughing. It was almost as if they really did have some inkling of what had gone on in
Hermione’s room. To make matters worse, Harry kept opening his mouth as if to speak but never actually said anything,
and every time he did this Hermione felt her stomach flip-flop and her knees turn to jelly, which made her very glad she
was seated.

The meal looked and smelled wonderful but, all things considered, she’d lost most of her appetite. So she ate as quickly
and quietly as she could then jumped up and left the table. As she hurried out of the dining room she caught a glimpse
of Harry, his lips parted as if to ask where she was going in such a hurry. She didn’t wait for his question but
retreated upstairs to her room as quickly as possible. For the first time in ages, she really hoped he wouldn’t stop by
her room to say goodnight. She had so very much to do, so many files to read and another report to work on, she really
didn’t have time for small talk.

At least that’s what she told herself as she began puttering at her desk, poring over documents and sifting through
reports. After two hours of trying (and failing) to keep him out of her mind she allowed herself to admit the obvious –
that she was anxious about being alone in the same room with him. She wasn’t afraid of him; he’d been a perfect
gentleman so far, as much as one could be in sexual matters like this, and he’d done nothing without being invited or
asking politely. His "let me… please" still rang in her heart, and the vision of him lowering his head and then suckling
her to ecstasy made her boil with desire to have him do it again.

That was the problem. She couldn’t see herself doing that with him again if all he cared about was the Snitch tattoo,
but she couldn’t bear to ask him about it and a large part of her couldn’t see how it could mean anything more to him.
But Ginny's words from the previous day rang in her ears. He adores you. He'd do anything for you. The more she thought
about the whole situation, the more complicated it seemed to get, and for the first time in years her Gryffindor courage
vanished. When she finally let herself stop thinking about it she went to bed, relieved that she had to get up early and
would again be gone by the time Harry came down for breakfast.

The next morning came much too soon, and after her shower Hermione dressed quickly and went down to breakfast, briefcase
in hand so she could make a quick exit. Ron and Lavender were putting on their cloaks as she entered the kitchen.

"You’re up awfully early, aren’t you?" she yawned at them.

Ron looked to Lavender with a hint of the smirk he’d worn last night. "Got an early practice at Chudley Stadium today.
Bad enough we got bounced from the playoffs, now we have to practice for a charity game. We’re playing the Appleby
Arrows next Sunday. All the proceeds go to Ward 49 at St. Mungo’s -- you know, where Gilderoy Lockhart is locked up." As
he shook his head in disgust, Lavender reached her hand up to his cheek.

"Oh, Ronnie, you know you’d rather be playing Quidditch than doing anything else…well, almost anything else!" she
laughed with that leering twinkle in her eye. Hermione hoped they wouldn’t look at her as she was sure her cheeks were
redder than the old Gryffindor scarf Ron was wearing. Lavender fastened her cloak then kissed Ron soundly and stood
apart from him in the foyer.

"Goodbye Ronnie, I’m off to the Prophet now. And ta ta, Hermione, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do," she winked then
disapparated from the flat.

Feeling herself redden again, Hermione turned and found Ron hovering nearby, about to hug her. "Don’t mind Lav, you know
how she gets sometimes." He looked down at her kindly. "Have a great day, Hermione. Everything will work out for the
best, I know it."

"Umm, right, Ron. Thanks," she muttered as he disapparated too.

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Ron and Lavender knew more about her and Harry than they were letting on, but
there was nothing to do about it now and she had to get to work soon. She was thankful Harry still hadn’t come down,
because she honestly didn’t know what she would say to him if he did. She used her wand to toast some bread, then ate
the toast quickly as she dug around the fridge and pulled out two whole meal rolls, a few slices of ham, some lettuce
and tomato. She made two ham and salad sandwiches, wrapped each in plastic wrap (another Muggle convenience she
appreciated much more than Ron did) and put one of the sandwiches into the fridge for Harry, in case he wanted something
quick for lunch. Then she stuffed the other sandwich into her briefcase and grabbed her cloak. Almost ready to
disapparate, she wrote a note on the whiteboard on the fridge:

"Dear Harry,

Ron has gone to early practice and I've gone to do some research in the Ministry archives before they get crowded. Will
be busy all day - see you tonight.

Love from,

Hermione

"PS - That Snitch is still a bother."

There. That sounded fine. Normal, noncommittal, but with an appropriate (she hoped) undertone of interest. And only she
and Harry would know what it really meant, she was sure of it.

She just hoped she wasn’t a bloody fool for writing it.

~~~*~~~*~~~

Hermione had planned her morning well. The Ministry archives were, indeed, only sparsely populated when she arrived
there for her morning’s research. She was trying to find documents that would firmly connect Mulciber and Nott, two
Death Eaters who had escaped from Azkaban a year ago, with the unicorn-poaching racket she was also researching. It was
long, difficult and tedious work, but she was sure that all she had to do was find the right parchment amongst the
sixty-two million parchments in the Ministry archives and the case against Mulciber and Nott would be airtight.
Unfortunately, the Ministry had not discovered the joys of computer databases, so every parchment was hand-catalogued
and cross-referenced then tucked away in the files using reducing charms. It would be a long, hard slog as usual, and
Hermione left her Ministry badge as collateral with Susan Bones, her old Hogwarts classmate who was now second assistant
librarian at the Ministry.

After three hours of digging through parchments, Hermione needed a change of scene and decided to take a lift back up to
level 2, where the Auror Division was headquartered. As she approached the archives desk to retrieve her badge from
Susan a parchment airplane floated up to her. She plucked the missile from the air and her eyebrow cocked when she saw
the handwriting on the parchment, which was addressed to "Miss Granger, That Damned Dusty Library, MoM." Inside it read:

"You are cordially invited to lunch with Lavender Brown. Get your butt down here now before I come looking for you. I
might even bump into Harry first. Ha ha.

Yours,

Lav."

The parchment then reassembled itself into an airplane and floated out of the archives, fluttering in front of one of
lifts as if it were waiting for Hermione to follow it.

"What's that all about?" Susan inquired as she watched the parchment airplane floating in the lift lobby.

"Lavender Brown has invited me to lunch," Hermione frowned.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Hmmm? Ummmm…neither…," Hermione replied, hoping she didn't sound panicked. "I mean… umm…personal stuff, I'm sure.
Probably wants to know what to get Ron for Christmas. She and Ron recently started…dating."

Hermione was too preoccupied to notice the smirk on Susan's face. "Christmas isn't for six months, Hermione. Are you
sure this is about Lavender and Ron?"

"Oh HONESTLY!" Hermione sighed heavily. "I…I have NO IDEA what else it could be about." With that she grabbed her badge
from the top of Susan's desk and bustled out toward the lift lobby. The parchment airplane stopped flittering, dipped
its nose to acknowledge her presence and then led Hermione into one of the gilded lifts. Soon the lift took her to level
8, where she followed the parchment airplane through the Atrium until it deposited her in front of the Fountain of
Magical Brethren. Seated there, resplendent in a violet cloak and a lilac pants suit, was the redoubtable Lavender
Brown.

"Hello, Lav," Hermione said, eyeing Lavender’s attire. "Lovely outfit. It’s so…you." Hermione forced a smile that
couldn’t quite reach her eyes. Was Lavender playing at something?

Lavender stood and air-kissed Hermione’s cheek. "Thank you, darling. Though I know you don’t really mean it and you’re
just killing time until I tell you why I’m really here."

Damn psychics! Hermione fumed and gave Lavender a long, appraising look. "Well spotted, Lav. So… why are you really
here?"

A wicked smile came over Lavender’s face. "This isn’t really the best place to have this conversation, Hermione. It’s
so… public…" – she leaned in conspiratorially – "and what I want to talk about is really a personal matter. So why don’t
we go over to the Leaky Cauldron and have a bite there?" She grabbed Hermione’s elbow and began to steer her toward the
Ministry entrance.

Hermione looked skeptical. "The Leaky Cauldron? Where everybody knows your name, and mine too? I don’t know, Lav…"

"Hermione, am I a witch or not? Can I erect a proper ward or not? Did I learn how to keep and use secret information in
the D.A. or not??" By this time they were at the security desk, where Lavender retrieved her wand from Eric Munch, the
perennial security guard.

"Well, yes, of course, but…"

"But nothing! Then off to the Cauldron we shall go!" And with that, Lavender led Hermione out of the Ministry
headquarters and, keeping hold of her elbow, apparated both of them to a back room of the Leaky Cauldron, where they
landed with a thud in two well-worn chairs.

"Lavender Brown!" Now Hermione was really fuming, and she was surprised to see the table laden with two platters of fish
and chips, two mugs of butterbeer and an open bottle of Old Ogden’s Firewhisky. "What in Dumbledore’s name possessed you
to bring me here? Whatever are you on about?"

"Shhhh…" Lavender hushed her, then took out her wand and waved it around at all four walls, the ceiling and the floor.
"Silencio!" The walls, door, floor and ceiling wobbled as the silencing charm took effect. "There now. Nice and private.
Now we can really talk."

"Stop being such a drama queen, Lav. Just spit it out. What’s going on?"

Lavender smiled coyly. "I could ask you the same question, Hermione. What’s going on with you and Harry?"

Stomach flip-flopping, Hermione tried to respond calmly. "With me and Harry? What makes you think anything is going on?
Did Ron say something?" She thought back to Ron’s odd declaration that morning. Everything will work out for the best, I
know it. Did he and Lavender really know anything? "If he’s been using those Extendible Ears, I’ll hex him into next
week," she smirked.

A hearty laugh escaped Lavender’s mouth as she rolled her eyes. "Oh honey, Ron and I didn’t need any Extendible Ears to
know what was happening in your room last night. But thanks for putting me in the mood for that myself…"

Hermione almost knocked over her mug of butterbeer as her hand flew up to her mouth in shock. "You…you heard us??"

"Every blessed grunt, groan and moan that either of you made. It was like listening to porn over the Wizarding Wireless
Network!" Lavender giggled.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden yet again. "Oh God…we forgot Silencio," she muttered, shaking her head with disbelief.
She was sure she had never, ever been so embarrassed in her entire life. She wished she were an animagus with an insect
form so she could scurry away and not have to face her friend. She'd rather be a ladybeetle or a cockroach right now
than sit here embarrassed to death.

Sensing her discomfort, Lavender patted Hermione's arm and chuckled kindly. "It's okay, honey. I've forgotten it a few
times too. That's a problem for us Muggleborns -- sometimes, in the heat of the moment, we forget to take every
precaution." She cocked her head, an inquiring look on her face.

It took only a second for Hermione to cotton on. "Oh…well… we didn't actually need to take every precaution," she
muttered.

"You didn't? But…the noises… we thought…" Now it was Lavender's turn to be shocked.

Cheeks still red, Hermione lifted her head and shook it slowly. "No, we didn't do the deed, if that's what you mean."

"You're having me on, aren't you?" Lavender goggled, but Hermione continued shaking her head. "Well then, what did you
do? Come on, Hermione, this is me, Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Divination here. If you don't tell me, I'll just have to read
your mind," Lavender smirked triumphantly.

Oh bugger, she's not going to stop asking until I tell her, Hermione realized. Catching Lavender's eye, she stared down
toward her own private parts then muttered, "He went down on me."

Lavender's eyes went wide. "Noooooo…. Only that?"

Hermione shook her head. "Well, no, he also wanked while he did me."

The look on Lavender's face morphed from shock to lascivious glee and she could barely contain her laughter. "Oh honey,
you two were so noisy, we were sure Harry was banging you for all he was worth!"

Hermione grimaced and rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Oh honestly, Lavender, is that all you
think about these days?" she barked, unconsciously wringing her hands. "Honestly. Banging. Really, the very idea of me
doing that with Harry is…well, it’s…I mean…"

She stopped in her tracks as the blush in her cheeks spread like wildfire to her throat and chest. The thought of having
sex with Harry was actually quite exciting. Oh bugger, I’m doomed, she thought. I want him. I want to do that with
Harry. Well, really, isn’t that what all this other… stuff… has been leading up to? Even contemplating it made her a bit
dizzy. Resting her chin in her hands, she found herself shuddering with anxiety. Lavender took the cue and sat primly
and quietly until Hermione spoke again.

"Lav, tell me the truth about something," Hermione began cautiously.

"What truth do you want me to tell?" Lavender asked.

Hermione laughed quietly. "Harry never really showed any interest in me until after I got that Snitch tattoo. But I
showed it to him the morning after I got it and it seems like ever since then, he’s been transfixed by it and –"

"You showed him the tattoo before last night?"

"Well, yes, you see, when I woke up the morning after the Quidditch party, I had this awful bloody hangover and my belly
itched and I needed to pee and I found this, this THING on my belly, and I was totally shocked, of course, and I
remembered that you were, um, in Ron’s bedroom so I couldn’t talk to you about it so I did the first thing I could think
of, and I apparated into Harry’s room so I could talk to him," Hermione said in a rush.

"I see."

"No, you don’t see. Not nearly as much as Harry saw. I was… partially undressed when I did it. I was hung over, and not
thinking straight, and I just popped in on him with my clothes half off, my shirt unbuttoned and my jeans zipper down
and he was sitting there on his bed in just a towel, I guess he’d just come out of the shower, and—"

"So he saw the Snitch on your belly? What did he do then?" Lavender’s voice was thick with intrigue.

"Well, he didn’t really do anything, he just kind of stared at it," Hermione explained. "It was like he couldn’t take
his eyes off it. And then… the strangest thing happened. I could feel the Snitch flapping its wings on my belly! It felt
like a hummingbird was flitting across my skin. And, well, it was a very sexy feeling…and then later that day I found
that the Snitch would flap around just about every time I even looked at him." She blushed again. "That’s when I
realized that even being near Harry turns me on. And that’s what terrifies me."

Lavender caught Hermione’s eyes in a steady, level gaze. "And why does being turned on by him terrify you? You’re hardly
the only witch who gets her knickers in a twist looking at him. He’s bloody handsome, if you hadn’t noticed."

"Well, certainly I’d noticed, I’d have to be blind not to. I just – I’d never allowed myself to think about him that
way…until recently," Hermione blushed and sighed again. She sat and picked at her chips, gathering her thoughts, hoping
she could make Lavender understand.

"Look, Lav," she continued carefully, "you’ve never had a male best friend. I’ve had two of them simultaneously since I
was eleven. When Ron and I dated in sixth year, I was terrified about how that would change my relationship with him and
with Harry. I was actually relieved when things didn’t work out with Ron, because that meant I could go back to being
his best friend. But I’ve never dated Harry and he’s really the best mate I’ve ever had, and now suddenly I’m having all
these…highly sexual feelings for him," she choked out. "But I don’t know if he’s doing these things with me because he’s
got sexual feelings for me too, or just because he’s hypnotized by that bloody stupid Snitch!" Leaning back in her
chair, she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed with frustration.

"And you’re afraid that if you go with these sexual feelings for him, you might lose him as a friend?"

Hermione nodded, relieved that Lavender understood. Sometimes it didn’t hurt to have a friend who’d earned an
Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Divination.

The two women sat in silence for a moment as Hermione waited for Lavender to offer whatever words of wisdom she might
have. Finally Lavender leaned toward her and took her hand.

"Hermione, honey," she began, "do you really think Harry doesn’t have these kinds of feelings too? Because I don’t think
a person needs to have the Sight to be able to see how he feels about you. In fact, you might be the only person who
doesn’t see it – and that might just be your way of protecting yourself."

Lavender’s smile radiated a kindness Hermione had rarely seen, which encouraged Hermione to say more. "I…I don’t know
what to think. I just know I feel more for him than I’ve ever felt for anybody. And I don’t know how or when it
happened, and I don’t really know what to do about it."

"You know, Hermione, you should try not to analyze everything so much. Just let yourself go with the flow for once and
don’t try to figure it out. If it feels good, why not let it happen?"

Lavender paused and eyed her friend carefully before continuing. "Do you know that American telly show called The
X-Files?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well," Lavender forged on, "one of my favorite X-Files was about a bloke who was a weather forecaster. He’d been
friends for years and years with this bird he worked with, and then suddenly one day, he could make it rain and snow.
Maybe he was a wizard, I don’t really know, but he had these really deep feelings for this girl and he didn’t even know
that he felt them, and instead his feelings came out in the weather. When Mulder and Scully came to investigate all this
weird weather, the girl ended up having a heart-to-heart talk with Scully."

Hermione looked at Lavender questioningly. "So what does this have to do with me and Harry?"

"It has to do with you and Harry because what Scully told the girl stuck in my mind. Scully said to her, ‘Well, it seems
to me that the best relationships -- the ones that last -- are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You
know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been
flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself
with.’ Maybe that’s what’s happening with you and Harry," Lavender finished, looking very pleased with herself.

As Hermione listened, a switch went on in her own heart, illuminating something that scared her almost as much as it
pleased her.

"So what should I do?" she frowned, her brows knit with confusion. "I thought if Harry and I went slowly and just…did a
few things, it would be easier. But it hasn’t worked out that way."

Lavender smiled again. "I think you should stop trying to be so logical about this. Take a chance. Let whatever happens
happen. I really think you’ll be leading Harry in a direction he already wants to go. Okay?"

Hermione stood up and pulled her cloak around herself. "Okay, Lav, point taken. You’ve given me a lot to think about.
Thanks for the lunch –" she looked at her mostly uneaten fish and chips –"but now I need to get back to work." Lavender
rose, pushed her chair back and hugged Hermione soundly.

"Everything will work out for the best," she said, "I just know it."

"You and Ron are the divination twins today," Hermione laughed. "It’s a pity Trelawney isn’t here to see you."

"She always said I was her best student," Lavender laughed back. "Now don’t you go prove me wrong!"

And with that Hermione heard a Pop! as Lavender disapparated from the Leaky Cauldron.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The afternoon dragged on at a snail’s pace as Hermione returned to the archives and buried herself in the files. Several
hours later, she still hadn’t found the documents she needed concerning Mulciber and Nott, so she went back to her
cubicle and read through several new folders on her desk, grimly wondering if Lupin’s new slave-driving tendencies were
related to the current phase of the moon.

Finally calling it a day around six o’clock, she apparated home to a very quiet kitchen. Ron was apparently still
training at Chudley, Lavender hadn’t come over yet, and there was a note on the whiteboard in Harry’s spikey script:

Hermione and Ron (and Lav too if you’re here),

I ate the rest of the fried chicken (sorry). I’ve got a load of work to catch up on so I’ll be in my room tonight. See
you later.

Harry

She noticed he hadn’t made any mention of the Snitch. Bugger. Maybe Lavender was wrong and he really didn’t return any
of her feelings. Right now, though, she was too hungry to worry about it. She realized she’d barely eaten all day, and
suddenly she felt very stroppy toward Harry, who’d eaten the last of the take-out chicken without even asking, the great
berk. She spooned some of last night’s Weasley casserole into a bowl and charmed it to a suitable temperature, then
snarfed it while reading the latest issue of Witch Weekly, which reinforced her opinion of how poorly she read others’
motives and feelings ("Justin Finch-Fletchley is engaged to Hannah Abbott? Merlin, I had him pegged wrong…").

Putting her dirty dishes in the sink, she let the magical chamois clean them while she trudged into the downstairs
bathroom. After shedding her clothes, she pulled her hair out from the elastic band that held it up and stepped into the
shower. She reveled in the feel of the warm water cascading down her skin, loosening the tension that had built up in
her muscles after several days of pulling parchments out of files in the Ministry archives. There was another tension
building in her body too, paralleling the tension that began building in her heart even before she had stumbled into
that tattoo parlor in a drunken stupor. She wanted so much to ease that tension, but now was not the time and her own
hands were not right for the task. But she knew whose were, and the thought made a wicked smile curl her lips.

After washing her hair she dried herself off then pulled her silk bathrobe around herself and apparated up to her room.
She wiggled into a pair of girly jock-style knickers, then slid into her favorite pants for lazing around the flat, a
pair of crushed-velvet slacks that Ginny had given her for Christmas a few years earlier. Lastly she pulled on a grey
singlet then dabbed a drop of jasmine perfume on her throat. Now she felt ready for what she needed to do. She would go
in and talk to Harry about what was happening between them.

She entered his room without knocking. He'd never seemed to mind in the past, though given the events of the past few
days, a part of her worried about what she might find when she entered. She was relieved to find Harry sitting quietly
at his desk, writing on a parchment from a Ministry file. He was wearing a black, snug-fitting tee-shirt (which did seem
to show off his broad, lean chest, though he probably hadn't thought of that when he put it on) and a pair of dark-green
tracksuit pants. At first he didn't acknowledge her presence, but eventually he put down his quill and smiled at her.
His smile quickly changed into a stare and the intensity of his gaze left her blushing.

"Hey," he said.

She took a quiet centering breath before speaking to him.

"Hello," she said, pursing her lips, feeling like a naughty little girl who'd been caught teasing her mum's cat. "I'm
sorry about being scarce this morning and...well last night too, I suppose." He twisted his lips thoughtfully in his
fingers, apparently weighing her apology.

"I didn't upset you, did I?" she continued.

"No, no," he said lightly. "I was just languishing in the belief that I'd become your wanton sex pup."

When his words sank into Hermione's brain, she realized he'd been struggling to keep a straight face.

"Harry!" she gasped, starting to chuckle.

Shrugging, he smiled bashfully. Hermione felt equally bashful--an odd feeling for her--but knew she had to continue
saying what she'd planned to say, so she stepped closer and sat on the edge of his desk. As she weighed her words, the
smile left her face.

"I've been thinking about this... A lot, actually. In fact..." -- she laughed sadly. How could it be so difficult to
talk to Harry? She had to stay focused -- "I've barely been able to think about anything else. And I decided--"

She took one more breath then forged on. " --that this whole thing has been sort of unfair on you."

Hermione was surprised to see that Harry was avoiding her eyes. His breathing was shallow and a blushed burned his
cheeks, as though he was afraid of what she might say next. Trying to reassure him, she covered one of his hands with
her own.

"Harry, I've been afraid...of so many things," she went on.

"Of me?" he said in a small, uncertain voice.

"Oh heavens, no!" she gasped. "Never you, Harry! Actually I...I was scared that...you really will laugh!"

As he arched his brow, she hoped her next revelation didn’t make him laugh.

"I... I was scared that the only reason you wanted to uhm...to do things with me was because of the Snitch..."

There. She’d laid it all out for him. Now the chips would fall where they might.

His reaction was not what she’d expected, though she hadn’t really known what to expect. His brows darted down and his
mouth wagged as a look of mingled confusion and relief swept over his face and something utterly amazing fell from his
mouth.

"Hermione," he croaked, "you're everything to me."

She blinked, her eyes suddenly moist. "R-really?"

He nodded, his face glowing with emotion. "Yes! You - you can't fall in love with someone just because of a tattoo."

Did he just say…? Hermione shrank from him a bit, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. He couldn’t have said that…
could he? Her head spun as the words ricocheted through her brain. She finally lowered her hand and gulped.

"You... you're in-" She could barely get those words out, the other one wouldn’t follow. The idea that Harry could be in
love with her was so much more than she’d ever imagined possible. Her heart suddenly felt like a balloon that would
burst through her ribs in another moment, and she reminded herself to breathe so she wouldn’t faint. Harry is in love
with me, she marveled.

"Completely and utterly," he sighed giddily. "It's been very distracting."

Hermione’s heart flooded with a happiness that left her almost breathless. "Well I'm sorry that I'm such a bloody
inconvenience!" she gasped, feeling more than a bit giddy herself.

"I'm not," Harry replied, and suddenly their mutual giddiness slipped away, replaced by an openness and vulnerability
that she’d never shown to anyone else and, she now realized, had never seen in Harry until this moment.

His hand still under her own, Harry stood up, his green eyes gleaming with the same vulnerability she felt toward him.
As his face slowly leaned in toward hers, Hermione felt their eleven years of friendship flash through her mind faster
than the Hogwarts Express on the home stretch. Through all those years and adventures, she and Harry had steadily grown
closer, sharing the good and bad of their daily lives to the point where she couldn’t remember the last time they’d
spent more than twenty-four hours apart. Now this beautiful man, whom she’d adored (she could now admit) for more years
than she could remember, had just proclaimed he was in love with her, and as he leaned toward her, his lips moving
inexorably toward her own, she could barely believe what was about to happen. As his lips touched hers, she trembled all
over, feeling like a twelve-year-old about to be kissed by her favorite pop star. She’d never melted under anyone’s kiss
before, but she found herself melting under Harry’s. His kiss was slow and firm, not demanding but quietly insistent,
full of the promise of something much grander and deeper than some fleeting attraction. She knew that for her, there was
no possibility of having a fleeting attraction to Harry. With him, it would be all or nothing – and his kiss said the
same.

Finally he pulled away from her and very gently stroked her jawline. His hand trailing on her face made her shiver with
delight.

"Harry..." she breathed.

His eyebrows arched in question.

"You're a bloody good kisser," she sighed, her head feeling almost as woozy as her heart.

Harry chuckled. "Ohhh, and I haven't even properly kissed you yet."

She bit her bottom lip, a hopeful smile lighting her face. "Well, would you like to give me a demonstration?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes and looking down to the pile of parchments on his desk. "Ah, I don't know... I do have an
awful lot of work to do-"

As laughter punctuated his last few words, Hermione realized he was having her on. The great berk would not get away
with this.

"Harry!" she gasped in an affronted tone while tugging his arm playfully.

He laughed aloud, his face twisting into her favorite lopsided grin as he looked at her. "You should see your face!"

"Very funny, I'm sure, you awful tease," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Me a tease?!" he cried. "Dear God! I'm not the one giving on-the-fly handjobs!"

"You didn’t seem to mind at the time," she shot back through crimson cheeks.

"No, I didn't," he replied, his voice and face softening. Suddenly the back of his knuckles grazed lightly over the
soft, round pad of her chin, and she felt her knees wobbling a bit beneath her. "In fact I rather enjoyed it."

As his knuckles feathered against her skin, her eyelids fluttered and she couldn’t help but smile. "That's good because
I intend on doing it again some time in the future," she sighed.

"Glad to hear it," he murmured and slowly began to nuzzle her cheek. The feel of his lips grazing her skin sent another
shiver through her and her breath came out in shallow puffs against his cheek and ear. Harry’s face lit up with a dreamy
smile as he continued to press sweet little kisses up across her cheekbone and into her hair. As he discovered her
earlobe and kissed that too, she sighed and clutched his shoulders.

"You smell good," he mumbled. "Always."

"Th- oh my!" Hermione gasped as he took her earlobe in his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. "Thank you." She could
definitely get used to this. She’d always wondered whether Harry was as romantic as she’s suspected, and now she was
discovering just how easily he could make her swoon.

"Don't mention it," he breathed into her ear, and his breath set her to trembling again. It was all so lovely, so
romantic, so…uncomfortable? She realized she must be sitting on something on his desk.

"Harry," she said, squirming in her spot.

"Hmm?" he breathed as he gently nibbled and licked her earlobe, sending a flood of sensations to even more sensitive
parts of her body. Whatever was making her uncomfortable was bloody inconvenient.

"My bottom is sore," she grimaced. "I think I'm sitting on something..."

He pulled her towards him by the small of her waist and stepped back. As she lifted her bottom from the desk, they saw
the quill on the table, quite rumpled, and the pointy metal lid of his inkpot where she had perched herself. She gasped
and patted her bottom.

"Oh no! Have I got ink on my bum?"

Harry chuckled as he turned her about and checked. "Oh dear."

"Ohhh what? Do I?" she fretted, still unable to see her backside.

He stepped back, folding his arms and stroked his jaw with a critical flourish. "I could do a Rorschach test with your
bottom."

"Ohh bugger!" she moaned. Bloody hell, did I ruin these pants? She seethed at herself for sitting down on his desk, of
all places, without checking to see what might be underneath her.

"I see a hippogriff," he teased.

She whimpered, too upset to laugh properly. "Ginny gave me these pants!"

"You can clean them, can't you?" he asked. "Just soak them."

"No, I bought you that ink," she said, twisting about and tugging at her pants. "It's wizard ink! Charmed to be fade
resistant and waterproof and stuff like that." She slapped herself internally for doing something as stupid as sitting
on an open inkpot. Fifty points from Gryffindor, she chided herself.

"Oh," was all he could say.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyelids. The romantic mood of a moment ago seemed to be crashing in front of her. "I can
only hope Mrs. Weasley knows a good charm to get rid of it."

He held out his hand to her as he walked into his ensuite.

"I'm sure she does. Here, take those pants off and we'll soak them anyway, to see if it does any good."

She walked into Harry’s bathroom behind him, sighing as she relished the view of his bum; despite not playing regularly
for several years, he still had the "Quidditch arse" that set hearts fluttering at Hogwarts in sixth and seventh years.
As he turned round to her, she realized he had, very innocently, managed to get her out of her pants.

"Oh, very smooth," she smirked, resisting the urge to believe he'd left the quill out just for this purpose.

"Are you going to try it or not?"

"Ah, why not?" she muttered.

There she was, alone with him again in the bathroom where all of this began just a few days ago. She sensed that taking
her pants off this time would start something that neither of them would want to stop, and the thought filled her with
mischief. Pushing down the elastic waistband, she wriggled out of the stained pants then left them in a heap on the
floor. As she stood there in nothing but her knickers and singlet, Harry pursed his lips delightedly. A sudden wave of
shyness made her toe the floor anxiously.

"They were the most sensible knickers in the store at the time," she said, standing tall. Honestly, a girl couldn't even
wear cute but sensible knickers without someone making a big deal of it. "They're very comfy," she went on.

Harry said nothing, but his face veered between a smirk and a leer. She stomped playfully to the sink and turned the tap
on full-blast. Behind her she could here Harry stifling a laugh.

"They are also stained with ink."

Stained? They're stained? Then I'll have to -- her heart leapt into her throat as the logical conclusion raced through
her mind, and she didn't have to think twice about the quantum leap she was about to make. She turned off the water and
very, very slowly turned around and gazed at Harry, hoping that the fire in her soul also blazed in her eyes.

"Well," she said breathlessly, barely able to contain her feelings, "I'm just going to have to take these off to soak
too, aren't I?"

"Uh- huhh- khem!" Harry cleared his throat and nodded, his emotions seeming barely in check. "I think that's a very
sensible measure."

Having his complete and undivided attention (at least the part that wasn't traveling south) put a wicked glint in
Hermione's eyes.

"And heaven knows I am a sensible woman," she said. Then she stepped forward and, looking straight at him, hooked her
thumb in the waistband of her knickers.

"Always," he answered, his voice suddenly husky, his eyes locked on hers. Hermione reveled in that huskiness and in what
her every movement seemed to be doing to him. Very deliberately and carefully, she moved her hips from side to side, the
tip of her tongue pressed to the middle of her upper lip, her brow wrinkled in concentration. Eyes still on his, she
wriggled out of the knickers and kicked them off, then tossed them over his head and out the bathroom door. Now she
stood half-naked physically but fully bared emotionally.

"I thought we were meant to be soaking those," he murmured, inching closer to her, watching her lips.

She shrugged one shoulder. "They were cheap knickers anyway."

The last objection cast aside, she flung herself toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him
voraciously. He seemed amused by her eagerness, but really, what did he expect? She’d never been one to go at things
half-arsed, and now that she’d taken this step, she’d be damned if she would hold anything back. Even wrapped in her
arms, he seemed much too far away, and the need to get closer burned in her as she hooked one leg up over his hip. His
hand caught her naked thigh, sending a shiver through her. Lips still locked to his, she tried to steer him out of the
bathroom. But as she continued kissing him she couldn’t steer very well and suddenly they collided with the bathroom
sideboard, causing a shudder of protest from the mirror and the sink.

"Oh shit!" he chuckled.

"Whoops!" she laughed.

Their laughter was short-lived as Harry leaned in and kissed her hungrily, his tongue stealing between her lips,
sweeping through her mouth, the kind of kiss she’d wanted and dreamed about even before the Snitch came to reside on her
skin. She could resist him no more than she could have resisted Imperio, but Harry didn’t need to command, as her own
desire made her want to go wherever he wished. She removed his hands from behind her waist and pulled them down to her
naked hips and thighs, offering herself to him fully. The time for being a gentleman was long past.

Quickly Harry took her cue and suddenly his lips trailed down her body. When they stopped at her stomach and he began
suckling the delicate skin there, a jolt of desire rocked her body.

"Harry..." she panted, twining her fingers in his hair. She’d always felt like the two of them were on the same
wavelength, but now he seemed to know what she enjoyed without even being told. And people say I’m clever, she marveled.
He nuzzled her belly, licking and kissing the Snitch, her pleasure mounting with every touch of his tongue and lips.
Then he burrowed lower, his nose sliding in among her curls.

"Harry!" she squealed as the tip of his tongue touched her clitoris. Realizing certain things needed attention before
she and Harry went much further, she leapt away from him and ran across his bedroom, then picked among the various
objects on his desk.

"Where is it?" she asked, still searching.

"Where is what?" he returned, apparently having entered the bedroom.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Your wand!" She needed his wand right now, as her own was back in her room and she
couldn’t exactly retrieve it in her current state of undress.

Harry pursed his lips, seeming to resist the temptation to make a dirty joke. "In the pocket of my coat hanging off the
chair."

Bending over the chair, Hermione dug around in Harry’s coat pocket until she found his wand. From the other side of the
bedroom she heard a hoarse, guttural "Oh my…"

She looked over her shoulder at him, confusion on her face. In her haste to find the wand she’d forgotten what part of
her anatomy was naked and pointing right toward him.

"I love your bottom, Hermione," he said. He gave a brief, boyish smile, the sort he used to give if she'd done a spell
particularly well at school. "And the bits that go with it."

A week ago she would have laughed and blushed wildly if anyone had suggested that Harry would ever see her bottom. Now
he was declaring his love for it, and his declaration gave her an incredibly naughty idea. She ducked her head away from
him and very deliberately lifted her bottom higher in the air, angling her pelvis directly toward him, giving him an
eyeful of all of those bits. Then, not waiting to determine his exact reaction, she stood up and waved Harry’s wand at
the door in a big, slow circle.

"Silencio!" she commanded.

The air around the door wobbled and as Hermione turned around, she took care of the other – and even more important –
business and tapped her belly, muttering the contraceptive charm in her head. Then she dropped the wand and slowly,
carefully swiped her arm along the top of his desk, clearing off a sizeable space on which to sit.

Everything taken care of to her satisfaction, she parked her naked bum on top of his desk. Then she opened her legs and,
putting her feet up on the arms of his work chair, she placed her hands strategically in front of her privates. He’d see
plenty of them in the near future, but first she intended to get him naked.

"Harry," she said pointedly.

He looked at her, his eyes glazed with desire. Flapping his mouth a bit, he barely choked out a sound.

"Uh - buh-"

"Take your pants off." This was going to be fun.

"What?"

She looked directly at his crotch, enjoying the bulge she knew was there because of her.

"Your pants, Harry. Take them off," she commanded, amusement flickering on her face.

"A-All of my-" he blubbered.

She arched a brow and grinned. He wasn’t nearly that dense, was he? No, of course not. Finally cottoning on, he nodded.

"All off..." he muttered.

His voice drifting off, he looked down and hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his track pants, then pushed
his pants and boxers down his legs, letting them drop around his ankles. Hermione shifted on the desk, her legs opening
wider, hands up on her knees, her thumbs twitching with anticipation, and peered raptly at his erection. The sight of
his very firm, unrestrained penis made her ache with lust. She’d now seen it four times in four days, and it still took
her breath away. It was such a lovely length, so generously proportioned and unabashedly male, strutting proudly from
its bed of raven curls, reigning over an equally impressive set of balls. Yes, Harry was hung. And now he’s mine, she
mused, enjoying the view.

"Now we're both half-naked." He looked down. "In a strange, strange way."

"Yes..." Hermione said, biting her bottom lip, unable to control either her old nervous habit or the blush in her
cheeks. No, half-naked wasn’t nearly naked enough. "My turn, eh?"

His brows arched inquisitively. Apparently she was going to have to lead him step by step into the abyss of bliss. Not
that she minded, of course – she just hadn’t figured on having to spell everything out for him. Gathering the hem of her
singlet between her fingers, she arched her back and pulled the slight garment up and over her head, then tossed it on
the floor.

Now she sat naked on his desk, her legs open, arms tucked at her sides. Flushed with desire and laying herself bare to
him in every way, she ached to see all of him too, though what she’d seen so far was more than enough to make her very
aroused. She’d always thought he had a very attractive chest, in the lean-muscled Quidditch player way rather than the
overly-muscled bodybuilder way. Now she wanted to see that lovely chest again, to drag her fingernails across it and
feather them across his nipples and lick lazy circles around his pectoral muscles, and more.

"Now you..." she nodded toward his tee shirt, impatience growing in her chest. He pulled the garment up over his head,
his hands shaking (she hoped with anticipation rather than fear), then tossed it over his shoulder.

Then he looked at his chest and frowned. "What?"

She’d just seen his chest a few days ago, yet now that he was completely nude, it seemed even nicer than she’d
remembered. Now she was seeing him au naturel but not yet engaged in any sex act; merely nude and erect (though there
was no "merely" about Harry’s erection), and his chest was yet another perfect piece of him. It was broad and lean, with
a smattering of black hair in the cleft between his pecs. Below his not-too-prominent abdominal muscles was a tiny swell
of belly, then a lovely long line of fine black hair leading from his navel down to his privates. Happy trails to me,
she thought. Merlin, he’s beautiful.

"Well... you have an awfully nice chest, don't you?" she said, suddenly feeling shy toward him.

He glanced down at himself and them back to her. "You really think so?"

She smiled appreciatively, her eyebrows lifting in approval, and he edged toward her, blushing like a schoolboy.

"Well... I like yours too," he offered. "Very much."

As well as they knew each other after eleven years, they barely knew each other at all this way and she giggled quietly
at the thought that finally, finally they were exploring each other physically. As she leaned back on the desk, he
rolled his chair away and stood between her legs. His hands slid up and down her thighs as deftly as they’d caressed a
Quidditch broom, his touch making her shudder to her core and drawing a raspy breath from her throat. Though he touched
her gently, almost reverently, the fact that they were his hands and not anyone else’s set her blood roaring and left
her dripping with need for him. Then his hands slid up her body, caressing her hips then settling at her waist, and she
scooted forward on the desk, pressing closer to him, his erection brushing her thigh and sending more shivers through
her.

When she looked in those green eyes she knew so well, she saw a swirl of emotions that echoed the maelstrom in her own
heart; it was as if friendship, longing and physical desire were heated up and boiled together into something neither of
them had ever felt before. He put his hand on her jaw and tenderly cradled and stroked it, and suddenly she felt as if
everything that had gone before had dropped away and they stood on the precipice of a new and wonderful land meant just
for them.

"Hermione..." he whispered as if she were the only woman in the world. But he didn’t need to say anything; she already
knew, and her eyes would tell him everything he needed to know. So she smiled and, leaning forward, nuzzled his nose
with her own. Then he kissed her and wrapped his arms tightly around her, gathering her to his body and picking her up
off his desk. The warmth and strength of his embrace, and the electricity that seemed to leap between their bodies, made
her gasp.

"Don't want you getting ink on your bum again, do you?" he mumbled hoarsely into her ear.

No, she definitely did not want that again, and she chuckled with glee as he pulled her against himself. Her legs were
wrapped around his smooth narrow hips, her folds were pressed firmly against his stomach and, if she wasn’t mistaken,
the tip of his penis was lightly touching one of her buttocks. She vaguely felt him taking small steps backwards as he
kissed her with a kiss full of years of pent-up love and lust and passion, his tongue stealing between her lips and
teeth, her own lips and tongue returning his passion. His mouth was a delicious cornucopia of moisture, taste and
texture, and she sighed and huffed against it, enraptured by how perfectly everything about him seemed to fit against
her. For a few blessed moments she’d forgotten about Mulciber and Nott and the damned dusty Ministry archives and Lupin
breathing down her neck for the next report. All she could think about (and she could barely think at all) was Harry’s
precious body pressed tightly against her own.

Suddenly they tumbled onto the bed and Hermione let out a tiny shocked gasp.

"Sorry," he apologized.

She shook her head and kissed him again, happy not to worry about where they were going. Realizing that he was still
wearing his glasses, she plucked them nimbly from his face and, stretching out an arm, put them out of harm’s way on his
bedside table.

"Don't need those for the moment, do we?" she smiled.

Harry shook his head.

They were on his bed now, and she realized she’d never lain on his bed before, at least not naked with her limbs wrapped
around him. It was a delicious, powerful thing, this business of lying naked on his bed with his chest just barely
brushing against her breasts, barely but just enough to send frissons of sensation from her nipples to down below.
Apparently Harry was enjoying this too, as he wriggled backwards a bit and very tentatively cupped one of her breasts in
the palm of his hand, his touch firm but gentle, just as she’d imagined it would be. Concentrating on the sensation,
Hermione bit her lower lip and arched her back, pleasure drifting across her face. When her nipple stiffened under his
palm, he squeezed it carefully and she responded with a happy sigh.

She watched him as he played with her breasts, watching his own hands stroking and squeezing them, and in return her
fingers grazed gently up and down his arms and shoulders. Then his head bent down and he took her nipple into his mouth.
As his tongue laved the sensitive flesh she gasped, folding her legs towards her belly and arching her back suddenly.

Harry seemed startled. "Did I hurt—"

"Uhn-nnn," she moaned. Hurting, no; making crazy, yes, she thought, shaking her head vigourously as she pulled him back
down to her breast. "Don’t stop."

The cheeky sod grinned at her and put his mouth back where it had been, making her sigh again. He continued to lavish
attention on her breast, stroking and caressing it, licking the curve. When he nipped the nub with his teeth, a strange
noise erupted from her throat and she felt her legs fall open beneath him as her coherent, rational mind fell out of her
head.

"Ohhhhh bloody hell," she muttered. If this was what the preliminaries felt like with Harry, could she survive the main
event? Before she could think on it, he smiled and shifted up and kissed her again, softly this time. As his fingertips
drifted down her skin, tracing light circles between her breasts, she shuddered and stroked his side with her bare foot.

She’d been so focused on everything happening between her and Harry that she’d not thought much of the Snitch, but now
she could feel it flapping wildly on her belly. Obviously Harry hadn’t forgotten it; he traced his fingers along the
pattern of the tattoo, then kissed her and dipped his fingers down past her curls. As he made long, lazy strokes on and
over her clit, her breath hitched and became faster and shallower, echoing the tension building in her body. She turned
her head and sighed, and Harry began to suckle her neck gently. When his lips found a certain very sensitive spot under
her jaw, she squirmed but smiled to herself, not the least bit surprised that he would guess to kiss her there. After
all, he knew her almost as well as she knew herself.

As he continued to kiss and stroke her, she raked her fingers up his chest until she found his nipples, then tweaked
them until he gasped. Turnabout is fair play, she thought with a naughty guttural chuckle. Harry responded by stroking
her lips and clit even more firmly. Her legs fell open again but she continued to stroke and tweak his nipples, and
judging by the smile on his face, he didn’t seem to mind at all. As his arousal continued to build even more obviously
than her own, she remembered the first time she’d taken him in her hand. Wanting to make sure he hadn’t forgotten, she
wrapped the fingers of her right hand around his erection, stroking the shaft and tracing lacy patterns on the tip. The
feel of him in her hand made her blood roar, and she felt her core melt as his fingers worked their magic on her.

Now it was her turn to make him melt. Removing her hand, she pushed him off her and onto his back on the bed, her skin
sliding against his as she drifted down toward his knees. He gave her a curious frown, as if he had no idea what she was
doing. Silly boy, she shrugged with a smile. Wasn’t it obvious? She wasn’t the only one who needed to be wet and ready.

"Can't go in unprepared," she breathed. "And don't make me go get the lube."

Harry shook his head, his mouth flopping like a fish out of water. He seemed completely shocked yet utterly delighted as
Hermione locked her eyes to the head of his penis then took him partway into her mouth. As her tongue moved up and down
and around his shaft, licking and tickling him, he dropped his head back and closed his eyes, a look of complete and
utter bliss playing across his face. She continued her ministrations with fingers, palms and pursed lips then, taking a
breath, took him even deeper, until she noticed a look of alarm on his face.

"Duh- oh God.... Gag reflex!!" he bleated, "Don't choke-"

She laughed at his assumption and continued to ply him with her tongue, remembering a story she’d read that asserted
(she thought rightly) that in oral sex, the giver was always in control. She’d not forgotten what Harry’s mouth had done
to her just last night, and she was determined to give as good as she’d gotten. She worked him until her mouth shook
around him and Harry groaned and gripped the sheets; she gave him a last long, wet lick and, satisfied he was now
adequately lubricated, pulled her mouth off him. Then she crawled up the bed, skirting past his penis and laid on top of
him.

"Didn't mean to scare you," she breathed, cradling his face, her eyes on his lips.

"You- I mean-" He stared at her, disbelief on his face. "When did you-"

"Best not to ask that," she replied, unable to hide her amusement. Her brain muttered a silent thank you to Alan
Plankinton, the fellow she’d dated while at the Auror Academy.

"No, I suppose..." He gulped. "You're just so-"

Just so what? Her raised eyebrows questioned him silently and Harry sighed with a disbelieving smile.

"-bloody dominant!"

He seemed surprised that his bossy eleven-year-old friend had grown into a sexually assertive young woman, and she
laughed and wriggled her naked body on top of his, unable to resist the urge to tease him. "Well," she jested naughtily,
"would you rather I roll over like a good little bitch and play dead?"

Harry blinked, an equally naughty idea seeming to possess him. Then he grinned and, growling like a rutting animal,
grabbed her and rolled them both over. She squealed and giggled as he suckled her neck for a few moments then looked in
her eyes again.

"Do you know, I think I love it when you talk dirty," he murmured with a grin.

What a difference a day makes, she thought. The same Harry who couldn’t believe she wanted him to watch her was now
excited by sexy banter, and she couldn’t help but grin back at him and wrap her arms around his neck.

"Hmmm, well, that's very interesting," she replied, closing her eyes as he kissed her neck again. "I suppose you want me
to spank you as well?"

He chuckled into her neck and mumbled, "Not tonight."

"Good," she said, then smiled as she ran her fingers through his beloved hair, now even messier than usual. "I prefer
kisses."

"Me too," he said with an intoxicated smile, nuzzling her again.

She lay there beneath him feeling equally besotted. She knew it was happening, yet she could hardly believe that the
idea of doing this with him had barely entered her consciousness only four days earlier. He kissed her again and she
wrapped her arms around his broad, smooth back, twining her fingers in his hair. Then she opened her legs wider and
wrapped them around his hips, those lovely, strong yet narrow hips that were so near what she wanted so desperately
inside her. With each breath of his lips on hers, her mouth opened a little wider and her tongue dipped a bit deeper
inside his own, coaxing him to do what she knew they both wanted.

She felt him settle between her legs, one hand stroking her breast and the other twined in her hair. As the tip of his
penis slowly stroked her folds, she trembled and dug her fingers into his arms and her heels into his bottom, her sighs
escalating along with her pleasure as he kissed her one more time and then slowly pushed himself inside her.

Nothing Hermione had ever done or seen or felt had prepared her for this. Every nerve in her body was on fire with the
sensation of being filled – and filled completely – by Harry, and her brain all but melted trying to determine why she’d
never done this until now with this sweet, wonderful, gorgeous, amazingly sexy man whom she’d adored for…well, forever.
She lay there in his arms, returning his long, slow, deep, wet kisses, reveling in the feel of his fingers in her hair,
her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, the better to feel every glorious, mind-bending sensation. As he continued
to kiss and caress her, she felt him angle his hips then sink into her again and again as if to better explore the new
territory he’d just entered. Every stroke, every glide, every touch of him on and inside her sent rivers of pleasure
rippling all over her body, leaving her limp and helpless with delight, and all she could do was moan and push back
against him.

Then Harry began to roll his hips slowly and something inside Hermione knew to stop thinking about what was happening
and just be. She knew something else instinctively too – that for as long as they lay here together this way, the rest
of the world didn’t exist and there was just Hermione and Harry, blessedly naked and totally wrapped up in each other
from head to toe.

Now she lost herself completely in the feel and taste and sound of him, how his skin slid against her own and he filled
her to bursting and his breath grew ragged as he threw himself totally into making love to her. Soon her moans and gasps
were all she needed to communicate her pleasure to him, and as she clutched him with her hands and legs and inner
muscles, a rough guttural groan escaped her and Harry responded by kissing her even more hotly and deeply. His kisses
and his ceaseless rolling and stroking sent a ripple of tiny shudders through in her body, and suddenly Harry groaned
and began to thrust into her almost with abandon, pumping like a champion. He kissed her yet again and as his thrusts
grew deeper and quicker, an old Muggle song ran through her head and made her smile:

I'm just wild about Harry

And Harry's wild about me!

The heav'nly blisses of his kisses,

Fill me with ecstasy!

He's sweet just like chocolate candy,

Or like the honey from the bee

Oh, I'm just wild about Harry,

And he's just wild about, cannot do without,

He’s just wild about me.

Suddenly she broke the kiss as heavy gasps and moans of ecstasy left her throat.

"Ohhh... Oh my-" She gulped and as her eyes flickered open, she cradled his face with her hands. "Yes, oh-" She was so
close, so very close to falling into that abyss of bliss. She would be there very, very soon and wished he could come
with her. She bit her lip trying to hold back, but Harry would have none of that.

"Just say it," he said with a ragged breath.

As his eyes bored into her soul, she tightened around him until, seconds later, a tsunami of sensation threatened to
drown her and she cried out, "Oh... oh HARRY!"

Her exclamation apparently pushed him over the edge, and in another second he was clenching and shuddering too, moaning
and growling like a wild animal as she gasped and whimpered her own resolution. As his orgasm concluded and he made a
last few shallow strokes within her, he cradled her face in his hands, his own face full of bliss and – perhaps – love.
He sighed and kissed her again, but rather than the heat of passion, this kiss was full of the sweetness of afterglow.
His eyes filled with emotion, Harry breathed her name over and over…

"Hermione…"

Oh, how she loved the way he breathed it, as though it were music to his ears. She tilted her head a bit sideways and
ran her fingertips through his fringe, now sweaty from the exertion of lovemaking, and her lips widened in a stunned and
blissful smile which he promptly kissed yet again.

Then Harry sighed and shifted himself partially off her so that the right half of his body lay on the bed. As she felt
him slip out of her, she pushed him off slowly, then quickly snuggled up to his side.

"... Hermione..." he began.

"Hmm?"

He licked his lips and looked at himself and then her.

"We're on the bed sideways," he announced.

"I know."

He moved to sit up, but she pushed him down again.

"Relax," she said and settled back onto his chest. Feeling happier than she’d felt in many months, she wanted to curl up
with him and enjoy the rest of the rapture washing through her. "There's no rule saying you have to lie on the bed in a
certain way."

He squirmed. "Yes, but I feel sticky."

"So do I," she said. "I want to snuggle for five minutes."

"Yeah but... I might fall asleep," he admitted with a sheepish little grin.

Men and their endorphins, she sighed. Can’t they stay awake for even five minutes afterwards? Bloody wimps, they’d never
make it through childbirth, she smirked, her impatience showing on her face as a frown. But if he’s really feeling that
sticky… A naughty idea seized her. There he lay, sticky and sweaty, but even more beautiful than before they’d done
this. His breath had just barely returned to normal, and his manhood was no longer saluting her. She just might have to
do something about that. She sat up and sighed dramatically, then eyed him over her shoulder.

"What are you saying, Harry?"

He nodded once and put his hand on hers. "I really need a shower now."

She considered this. She would definitely have to do something about it.

"Well, so do I!"

Then she got up and, without saying a word, strolled into his bathroom and stood there waiting to see how long it would
take him to cotton on. When a minute had passed and he still wasn’t there, she realized she would have to make things
more clear to him.

"Are you going to come have a shower or not?" she asked, poking her head out the bathroom door, an amused expression on
her face.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out, as Harry jumped off the bed, a devilish grin on his face, and chased her as
she ran squealing into the shower.

^*^*^*^*^*^

------------------------------------------------------------------------

5. Surrender

Chapter 5 – Surrender

This chapter contains one scene you won’t find in Nancy’s story, The Snitch. I hope it adds to your enjoyment (cough).
Thanks again for the very nice reviews.

That night Hermione had several dreams in which she and Harry made love. By the time they finally went to sleep, a few
hours after discovering that fateful ink stain on her bum, she and Harry had exhausted each other physically and she
would have been surprised if she’d dreamed of anything else. As she floated up from a deep sleep toward wakefulness, she
sensed a hand patting her hair and brushing it from her face, then a pair of strong arms wrapping around her and, even
more delicious, something firm and warm pressed gently between her buttocks. Even half-asleep, she felt completely warm
and happy, content in the cocoon of Harry’s body.

Finally, as the room grew brighter she stirred, rolling onto her back and taking a long breath as her eyes flittered
open.

"Ohh," she sighed, rubbing her face. "What time is it?"

Looking a bit panicked, Harry jerked his head around and stared at his alarm clock.

"Oh, bugger!" he growled, "it's seven! We've slept in!"

Harry crawled out of bed and started looking for clean clothes, as though he planned to get dressed immediately.
Hermione, however, had other plans. She walked into his bathroom, turned on the shower and, climbing in, began to rub
Harry’s soap on her body. Suddenly the shower door opened and Harry stumbled in and almost knocked her over. And the
silly boy actually looked surprised to see her there.

"Hermione-" he blinked at her.

She blinked back at him in pretend innocence. He opened his mouth as if to argue with her but just as quickly shut it,
apparently realizing that her warm, wet, naked body would brook no argument.

"It's all right, Harry," she said, watching his eyes follow the foamy suds as they slid down her body. "It'll be quicker
this way."

Still glued to her movements, Harry seemed entranced as her hands feathered over her body, pushing suds here and there
in a show of getting clean.

"Don’t you want to get clean too, Harry?" she asked, her voice demure but her soapy hands continuing to glide up and
down her body. "Here, come under the water with me so you can get nice and wet…"

She held her hand out and Harry seized it, moving under the shower stream with her. His eyes, half-full of sleep just
minutes ago, were now half-lidded with desire, and as the warm water streamed over him and Hermione, he placed his hands
on her breasts and palmed them lightly then ran his tongue up the side of her neck, stopping just below her ear.

"Actually, I was hoping to get you nice and wet," he whispered, sucking her earlobe as his hands began to roam up and
down and all around her. As she grasped his shoulders, he twined his fingers in her wet hair and pressed his body
against hers, and she didn’t have to look down to know how much he desired her. Rolling her nipple gently between his
fingers he planted a line of kisses from her earlobe along her jaw, finally seizing her lips in a branding kiss. She
stopped playing coy and opened her mouth to him, letting their tongues dance and mate for several long moments. When she
finally pulled away, she was breathless and slick with desire, and the Snitch was flapping madly again on her belly.

"Well," she panted, "I think -- you’ve done -- an outstanding job -- there. I’d give you -- an O, definitely."

"Don’t give me any marks so soon," he smirked, one hand holding the nape of her neck while the other reached lower and
played gently in her curls. "I’ve only just gotten started. Lean back against the corner of the shower."

Now who’s being dominant, she smiled but gladly complied. In the past few days she’d discovered that Harry was a natural
at so many more things than just flying and Quidditch, many of them involving his hands, mouth and cock (Did she think
that word? Bloody hell, the man was corrupting her completely …not that she minded in the least).

"Now spread your legs a bit," he instructed, and as she did so she was only a tiny bit shocked to see him drop to his
knees in front of her. He really is so beautiful, she thought, enjoying the sight of him kneeling on the tile shower
flower, his cock standing at attention just for her, his black hair and lean, creamy body glistening with water and his
eyes shining with need. She had no idea what she’d done to deserve to him, but she realized she hadn’t yet told him how
she felt and she wanted to remedy that failure as soon as possible.

"If you’re trying to make me fall in love with you, it won’t work," she said as he leaned back on his heels and slowly
ran his hands up her inner thighs. He stopped and looked up at her, something between confusion and terror on his face.

"You…won’t fall… I can’t…make… I mean…" he stuttered, leaning away from her with hurt in his eyes. She leaned over and,
taking his head gently in her hands, turned his face back up to her.

"Harry…I meant that you can’t make me fall in love with you because I already am in love with you," she explained,
stroking his face.

"You are?"

"Of course I am," she answered. She’d thought it was rather obvious, but perhaps Harry had not. At any rate, the
blissful expression he’d worn much of the past ten hours returned to his face and as he began to stroke her thighs
again, he moved closer until his nose was almost in her curls.

"I’m glad," he murmured, starting to nuzzle her there. "Now what were we doing again?"

"You were about to make me a very happy witch," she replied and Harry needed no further prompting. As his left hand
gripped her buttock, Hermione suddenly felt his tongue lapping between her folds, licking lazy circles around her clit.
His tongue was warm and soft and wriggled like a velvety butterfly against her sex, and when two long, slim fingers
suddenly slipped inside her, she bucked against his mouth, her breath ragged, her fingers clenching his hair. Leaning
against the shower wall, she lifted one foot and rubbed her big toe up and down along Harry’s cock, which caused his
tongue to whip against her more urgently, finally lavishing attention where she most needed it.

"Harry…" she whimpered as her legs began to turn to jelly beneath her and the Snitch’s flittering picked up speed.

"Mmmphmm?" he mumbled, continuing to lick and tease her.

"Have mercy," she moaned, and at that moment his fingers plunged deeper inside her while he sucked her until she
quivered against him and cried out his name. Weak in the knees from what he’d just done, she began to slide down the
wall, but Harry quickly stood up, lifted her by the waist, hooked one arm under her leg, and in one swift movement
sheathed himself inside her. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her lips to his and slid her tongue
inside his mouth. The taste of herself on his tongue tore down any shred of propriety she had left and suddenly she was
raking her fingernails across his back, arching into him as fast as she could while he licked her ear and rolled inside
her. As his strokes became more frenzied, she kissed him again then leaned back as he rested his face on her shoulder
and breathed "Hermione, my Hermione" over and over in a singsong tenor that rose and crested as he shuddered his release
inside her.

Their bodies completely spent, Hermione and Harry crumpled and slid down the wall together. As they sat in a heap on the
floor, Hermione realized the water was still running and rose to turn it off. She put one hand down to Harry, who took
it and pulled himself up, then cuddled up to her back and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hey," he breathed into her ear. His left hand rested gently on her waist, while his right lay over the Snitch, patting
it gently as if to calm it. "Are you okay?"

Turning her head, she looked sideways at him. "Other than feeling boneless and probably not able to walk very well, I’m
absolutely wonderful. And it’s all your fault!" she grinned.

"My fault?" he feigned offense. "I’m not the one who said it would be faster to shower together!"

Swiveling around in Harry’s arms, Hermione took his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly. "Well, yes, I guess I did
say that. Obviously I was misinformed!" she giggled and kissed him again. His arms tightened around her waist, his lips
pressing firmly against her neck and his cock hardening against her leg. Dear God, it doesn’t take much to get him
going, does it? she marveled. Much as she would have loved to accommodate him again, she really was starting to feel a
bit sore (this was their fourth time in less than twelve hours), and even without seeing the time she knew that their
interlude in the shower had put them even more behind schedule. There was nothing for it. They simply could not get to
work on time.

"Harry, please tell your friend Willy to go back to sleep now. We really must get to work," she said with a hint of her
old Head Girl bossy-boots tone of voice.

Unclamping his lips from her neck, Harry looked in her eyes with mock contrition on his face. "Yes, Miss Granger,
whatever you say. And, um, what if Willy won’t stay sleep? I have a feeling he’ll have insomnia in the near future," he
said, trying to suppress a wicked grin.

"Harry," she sighed, pushing herself away from him gently. "The past ten hours have been heaven for me. I can tell
you’ve enjoyed them too" – she blushed --" but now it’s time to get dressed, have some breakfast and go to work.
Besides," she gave him a conspiratorial wink, "we can always pick up where we left off later on."

Harry snickered, she hoped from thinking about what they might do later. "Of course. You’re right. And if we don’t get
to work soon, Lupin will have our skins." He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Metaphorically speaking, of course. So we
should get dressed now. Come and get me in a few minutes, okay?"

Then he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, grabbed a towel and went into his bedroom to dry off and put on some
clothes. Hermione quickly sneaked into her own room to do the same.

Five minutes later, she met Harry at his door and the two of them apparated down to the kitchen to find something to
eat. As Harry puttered around, Hermione set a pan on the stove, magicked a flame under it and cracked some eggs into the
pan to make scrambled eggs for two, a decision that was ratified when Harry's stomach grumbled loudly across the room.

"It's all right," she said, answering his digestive system, "I'm making enough for both of us."

"I'll make the coffee then, shall I?" he muttered tiredly, and Hermione smirked as he opened the top cupboard and,
stretching an arm, grabbed a pair of coffee cups, offering her a splendid view of his bum. His backside truly was
delicious, and now that she was involved with him, she couldn't resist the temptation to grab it.

"Hermione!" he yelped.

She grinned and ran back to the stove, taking the eggs off the flame, lust and love swelling in her heart and probably
visible on her face.

"I've wanted to do that forever!" she sighed with relief. "You have the loveliest bottom!"

"I do?" he chirped in surprise.

Dear Harry, she mused, so totally unaware of your attractiveness. Of course that’s part of your charm.

"Yes!" she gasped, "and I've never been able to tell you!"

Smirking, Harry shook his head and closed the cupboard. "Yes, well, you can safely assume that I think your bottom is
just as lovely."

"Thank you," she replied, not even attempting to stifle a blush.

While Harry continued making the coffee, Hermione laid out plates for them. After serving the scrambled eggs, she pulled
four pieces of bread from the bag and, too impatient to wait for the toaster, blasted them with a toasting spell.
Suddenly she heard a spoon clatter on the floor and, much to her delight, Harry bent over to pick it up. Without even
thinking on it, Hermione swept across the room, wand in one hand, toast in the other, and grabbed both of his butt
cheeks. Now that she had the freedom to do this to him, it was all too good to pass up.

"That's it!" Harry growled then slammed the spoon down on the counter and rounded on her.

Squealing with glee, Hermione dropped her wand and the toast on the table and started running. Harry leaped to one side
of the table and she stopped, feeling rather more mischievous than she had since she last went on a midnight escapade
with him at school. Gripping the back of a chair, she leaned from side to side and watched him carefully as he returned
each of her movements. Finally she bolted in one direct but he moved too quickly for her and caught her, roaring at his
own cleverness.

"Harry!" she giggled with mock chagrin as she squirmed in his arms.

"Ahahahahaha!" he laughed triumphantly and proceeded to plant his mouth firmly and hungrily on her neck while grabbing
and squeezing her bottom.

Hermione thought she could definitely get used to this side of Harry, this flirtatious side he'd hidden for so long but
apparently could contain no longer. Now after all those years of refusing to cross that unseen line, he was finally
showing his complete self to her, and she loved what she was seeing and feeling. His lips and hands made her shiver with
delight so that she could barely remember what they were supposed to be doing.

"Harry, we have to - uhnn..."

"Hmm?" he mumbled, still kissing her neck.

"Get ready for work!" she finally managed. Bugger, he was hard to resist.

He pulled his head away from her neck and met her eyes with a wicked gleam in his own.

"You started this, Miss Granger," he admonished her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and squirmed. "I did, didn't I?" she said with a dramatic grimace.

Harry nodded and took her lips with a fiery kiss that made her abandon all pretense of resisting. Obviously, with Harry
resistance was futile, so she lost herself in the feel of his lips on hers and his tongue feathering its way into her
mouth.

Suddenly a hearty and much too familiar chuckle came from the vicinity of the kitchen door. Leaping away from her, Harry
attempted to flatten his impossible-to-flatten hair, then grabbed the coffee cups and proceeded to spoon enormous
quantities of sugar into them. Flushed with embarrassment, Hermione pawed at her own hair and fidgeted with the
silverware on the table, straightening each piece compulsively.

In the doorway stood Ron wearing a huge, leering grin and a triumphant look in his blue eyes.

"Ohhhh Harry," came his slow, evil laugh. "Harry, Harry..."

Oh honestly, Hermione thought, tutting to herself, but the embarrassment of being discovered in Harry’s arms burned in
her cheeks. Not that she was embarrassed about being in love with Harry; she just thought they’d break the news to Ron
in a different way. Cheeks still red, she turned to the fridge and dug around in it, mostly to escape Ron’s gaze.

"Why aren't you at practice or something?" Harry spat at Ron, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders in a
"Who, me?" gesture.

"Not on today," Ron said. "Obviously someone wasn't expecting me to be here."

Obviously someone else was going to rub everything in. "Of course he expected you to be here," Hermione snapped at him,
slamming the fridge door shut with one hand while brandishing some rashers of bacon in the other. "You LIVE here, you
idiot!"

The great berk just sniggered at her and took a seat. "No need to get tetchy with me cause I interrupted a moment."

"Do you want some coffee, Ron?" Harry asked. Thank you for trying to change the subject, she thought, hoping he’d read
her mind

Ron said "No" and twisted in his chair a little. "I'd like some tea thanks. I got all the sleep I needed last night,
thank you."

Oh right, rub it in, she thought, glaring at him. Ron apparently found this amusing and continued to snicker as she went
back to frying the bacon and Harry fiddled with his coffee cup. Suddenly Lavender swished into the kitchen singing
loudly and happily.

"I'll tell you what I wanna do, oh, I wanna do it... Do it all night!! I wanna do it, do it to you right!"

Of all the outrageous things Lavender had done in the past eleven years, Hermione thought this took the cake, and all
she could do was glare. The girl certainly had brass – not to mention knowing the lyrics to that particular Prince song.
As embarrassed as she was, Hermione could only imagine how Harry felt. For a moment he shut his eyes, looking completely
mortified, then he seemed to regain his bearings.

"I take it you had fun last night, Lav?" he deadpanned.

"Of course," she said with a naughty grin as she sat down next to Ron. And that was all she said for quite some time.
Relief settling in her, Hermione cooked the bacon and shared it with her housemates. As Harry quickly shoved his food
down his throat, Hermione got a thrill from catching him trying to steal glances at her while she ate.

Finishing her meal, Lavender jumped up, winked at Hermione and Harry, then kissed Ron heartily and apparated off to
work. Ron yawned and grinned then shambled out into the lounge, mumbling that he wanted to watch some Veetee.

As Hermione finished her breakfast, Harry caught her eye for just a moment. She got up and piled the dishes in the sink,
then walked to the fridge, grabbed a marker and started writing on the whiteboard. As he stood up and grabbed his cloak,
she fastened her own and grabbed his hand.

"Come on, Lupin's going to kill us," she said. "Metaphorically speaking."

"Do we know what we're going to say to him?"

"We slept in," she shrugged. Well, that was true enough. No need to elaborate, and Lupin wouldn’t have the stones to
ask. "It happens."

A smile crept across Harry's face. "All right."

His smile seemed not entirely innocent, not too surprising considering their recent activities. She raised her eyebrows
and he shook his head and leaned toward her, kissing her softly. The touch of his lips weakened her resolve and she had
to remind herself where they had to go as soon as possible.

"Oh, Harry we are going to be late!" she said, squeezing his shoulder.

"Already late," he said rather smugly.

"Don't want to be any more late!" she worried.

Harry just grinned, and together, they apparated to work. On the fridge was the note Hermione had scribbled so hastily:

Dear Ron,

Do the dishes. That is not a request. We'll be back after work.

Get that damned smug look off your face.

From,

Hermione (and Harry).

PS. This has nothing to do with any Snitch whatsoever. No matter what anyone might say.

^*^*^*^*^*^

------------------------------------------------------------------------

6. Epilogue

Chapter 6 – Epilogue

Well, here it is, the end of our story, the end of the line. Again, I want to thank Nancy for allowing me the privilege
of writing Hermione’s point of view. And to all of you who have reviewed, thank you. To those of you considering leaving
a review, please do – like most writers I can never get too many reviews (especially if they’re as positive as the
reviews I’ve received for this story). Thank you all so much for allowing me to share this with you. –Anne U

^*^*^*^*^

It was déjà vu all over again. Ron and Lavender, Harry and Hermione sat together in the Leaky Cauldron, getting almost
as drunk as they had less than a week ago. As Lavender sang yet another Muggle drinking song that mentioned multiple
naughty body parts, Ron egged her on while Harry drank a pint of the Cauldron’s house-brewed beer. Hermione, for her
part, sat cuddled up to Harry’s side, sipping at her cocktail and shaking her head in dismay at Lavender’s behaviour.

"Please remind me why we agree to go out with that woman?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Hmm, because she's shagging Ron into submission?" Harry offered.

She gave him a jaundiced look that he didn’t miss.

"Oh, hang on, we went out with her before that. Hmm, must be the fact that she not only pays for our drinks but makes
sure we don't go home from these piss ups without life-altering body art," he said, and bobbed his glass at Hermione.

Ah yes, the life-altering body art. The Snitch. Actually she hadn’t properly thanked Lav yet for helping her get the
tattoo that had changed her life. The thought of the Snitch and its consequences sent a cascade of memories through her
mind, memories that left a naughty smirk on her lips. "Yes, well, I'll remember that."

It had certainly been an interesting day. When she and Harry got to work that morning, Lupin cornered them and Harry
apologized profusely, telling their boss that they’d both slept in. Harry sounded dutifully contrite, of course, but the
ferocious blush in his cheeks just might have given them away. Lupin merely arched a brow and admonished Harry not to
let it happen again. But it was obvious Lupin had put two and two (or in this case, one and one) together, and the
twinkle in his eyes made Hermione blush scarlet and sent her stomping off muttering curses at "that buggerysmeggery
werewolf."

Later than morning, as she dug through more files in the Ministry archives, Lavender swanned in, purportedly to
interview her for a column she was working on for the Prophet. Hermione, however, assumed it was just a smoke screen so
that Lav could tweak her again.

"You’re not really here to interview me, are you, Lav?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend.

"Well, no… now that you ask. I just wanted to know if that itch you’ve had got scratched," she grinned. "You know, the
one we talked about at lunch that day."

That chat rushed into Hermione’s mind and a roar somewhere between relief and amazement rushed from her mouth.
"Ahahahaha, yes, yes! Oh yes, my itch did get scratched in a big, big way. It wasn’t just the Snitch, Lav. Harry said
he’s in love with me," she smiled. "And that was before we – oh bugger, you already know – before we made love, so it
wasn’t some heat of the moment, thanks for the shag thing."

"I knew it, I KNEW IT!!" Lavender shrieked, practically dancing among the files.

"Shhhhh!" Hermione admonished, blushing yet again. It was at least the third time she’d blushed that morning and
suddenly she felt both annoyed and perplexed. Why should she blush about being with Harry? Was there something wrong
with them being in love? She’d sensed people tittering and tutting "I told you so" when she passed them in the corridor;
she’d chalked them off as gossipy tossers with nothing better to do. So what if they’d always thought (so the rumors
seemed to be drifting across the partitions) that she and Harry would eventually get together. Less than a week ago it
had never seriously crossed her mind that she’d even have a chance with him romantically, and now, miracle of miracles,
she was sharing his bed and his heart. It was almost too much for her to wrap her brain around, so she decided to stop
trying.

"I’m sorry, Lav," she apologized a moment later, regaining her composure. "You were right the other day. Harry really
did want to go in the direction I was leading him. And at the risk of sounding trite, it was…."

Lavender leaned toward her, a lascivious glint in her eyes.

"Magical," Hermione licked her lips. "If you try to make me say more, I’ll have to hex you. And I was always much better
at Charms than you."

Smiling brightly, Lavender leaned over and hugged Hermione. "I’m so glad for you, honey. And I’m thrilled for Harry too.
If ever two people belonged together, it’s the two of you. I’m just relieved you both finally figured it out. How about
joining Ronnie and me for a couple of rounds at the Leaky Cauldron tonight? My treat. Kind of a celebration of new love
all around."

Hermione eyed her warily. "You’re not going to drag me off to get another tattoo, are you?"

"Oh, no no no," Lavender laughed. "I wouldn’t think of it. But I’ve still got some of that rotgut left and I know two
blokes who haven’t drunk enough of it yet." As she flashed a blinding, conspiratorial smile, Hermione quickly caught on.
If the past week had taught her anything, it was to never underestimate Lavender Brown.

From then on, the day looked up. Shortly after noon, Harry came down to the library and dragged Hermione out (over her
very mild protestations) for a bite to eat. It was the first time in months they’d had lunch together and it was
wonderful to lean up to him in the booth and feed him bits of his sausage roll and laugh with him and hug him and behave
with him as one would with one’s lover. Because that’s what he was now, her lover as well as her best friend, and she
was sure she would go through the rest of the day with an idiotic grin on her face, all because she’d eaten lunch with
her lover and he’d kissed her goodbye before going back to work.

The rest of the day was considerably less embarrassing than the morning. She still heard some titters and giggles as she
walked the corridors but instead of cringing, all she did was flash a Cheshire-cat smile. Bugger them if they couldn’t
stand to see her happy. Bugger them worse if they couldn’t stand to see Harry happy. If there was anyone in the world
who deserved some happiness, it was Harry Potter, and her heart swelled every time she caught sight of him in the halls
of the Ministry. Being with him was more wonderful than she’d ever imagined, and she’d be damned if she’d let anyone
spoil this for either of them.

That evening, as planned, Hermione and Harry met Ron and Lavender at the Leaky Cauldron after work. The four of them
crowded around a corner of the bar, she and Harry along one edge, Ron and Lav on the other, and laughed and drank and
talked for hours. By the look on his face Hermione guessed that Harry was enjoying the evening as much as she was. But
he wasn’t nearly drunk enough.

She tapped on the bar, leaned over it and winked at Tom the Barkeep.

"Harry needs another one, Tom, mate," she said. "Look, he's not wobbling."

With a snort, Tom brought out a bottle of Old Ogden’s. "Don't mind on his sobriety, as long as the drinks is paid for,"
he said dryly.

"Always," said Harry, but his dour tone didn’t match the twinkle in his eyes.

Tom apparently caught the joke and, nodding, put another butterbeer on the bar for him.

They continued to drink, and drink, and drink some more, Hermione and Lavender plying both their boyfriends with liquor.
At one point Harry looked sideways at Hermione as if wondering what she was up to, but she just smiled at him and
offered him another shot of firewhisky. Perhaps he was worried about his performance later that night, but she really
didn’t care about that. It would be worth skipping a night, she thought (admitting that she was already becoming spoiled
in that regard) if certain other things actually went as planned.

Around one in the morning Hermione pulled Harry from the bar chair, giving him a sharp squeeze on his adorable bum.

"Come on," she mumbled, "time to go for a walk."

"Where?" he asked, wobbling more than a little as he stood up.

"Diagon Alley," said Lavender, tugging on Ron's arm and leading him out the back door of the pub.

Humming her favourite Gryffindor pride song under her breath, Hermione followed Lavender out into the alley behind the
Leaky Cauldron, Lav joining in the song occasionally with lyrics that would have drawn a detention and a withering look
from Professor McGonagall. Ron stuck close behind Lavender and a plodding Harry drew up the rear. Reaching the back
wall, Hermione pointed her wand at the third brick up and to the left from the dustbin and muttered at the wall.

"Oh DO keep... rgg... STILL!" she grumbled. Though the wand quivered a bit in her hand, she managed to smack the proper
brick with it, causing the usual shaking and folding of the bricks to reveal the entrance to Diagon Alley. As Lavender
pushed Ron through the opening, Hermione looked back and saw Harry just standing there, not even attempting to join
them. She realized he was pretty well pissed but there was one more thing to do that night and he couldn’t do it
standing next to the dust bin behind the Leaky Cauldron, so she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the alley after
her.

"Here, Harry," she said, pulling a bottle out of her bag. "Have some of this. You too, Ron."

Harry looked at the bottle as if she were offering him some lethal potion; he made a choking sound and waved his finger
wildly at it. "Tha's tha' evil green stuff!"

"It's fabulous!" exclaimed Lavender.

"Have some!" Hermione cajoled him. "Come on!"

Pulling out the stopper, she held the bottle up to Harry’s lips. He sighed, opening his mouth to take a sip, but
Hermione had other plans and practically poured the stuff down his throat, making him gulp and cough.

"You tryin' to DROWN me?!" he sputtered.

"Jus' 'ave some more," she said, pushing the bottle to him. "I's very impordant." Well, to me anyway.

"Whah for?" he eyed her warily.

"You'll see," she said.

Harry took another mouthful of the stuff, which quickly had the desired effect. Barely able to walk, he staggered around
as if not knowing quite where he was going and allowed Hermione to direct him down Knockturn Alley as Ron and Lavender
followed close behind.

As they entered the small shop next to Borgin & Burkes, Hermione couldn’t resist grabbing Harry’s bottom one more time.
That beautiful bottom would definitely be the right place for it.

~~*~~

Whistling, foot-tapping and various other strange sounds and sensations crept into Hermione’s consciousness as she
struggled to awaken from her drunken stupor the next morning. When she finally cracked her eyes open, she was stretched
out on her back with just her hair, shoulder and face peeking out of the quilt.

"Hmm," she smiled and rubbed her eyes, looking Harry up and down. He was standing there completely naked with his hands
on his hips, though for once his friend Willy was asleep. Nevertheless Harry was as beautiful as ever, and she propped
herself up on her elbow, leaned on her hand and sighed happily.

"What a wonderful sight to wake up to."

"I'm glad you enjoyed waking up," he said, "because it was quite a different experience for me."

"Was it?" she asked coyly, just now remembering why he might be a tad put out.

"Yes!" he nodded. "I woke up, and lo and behold, not only do I have a cracking headache from a certain vile green liquid
you made me consume-"

"I didn't hold my wand to your head, Harry," she countered. He was so adorable, she could barely contain her glee
looking at him.

He eyed her, his lips pursed. "No, you just poured it right down my throat."

"You swallowed," she smirked. Well, he didn’t seem too unhappy about it last night. She’d just helped him along a bit.

He sighed loudly. "--not ONLY do I have a cracking headache, but my poor arse cheek feels like a knarl decided to use it
for a pillow!"

Stifling a giggle, Hermione couldn’t keep from smirking again. "I wonder whatever's wrong with it?"

"Oh, I can tell you," he said, kneeling in front of her and bringing his face close, looking her straight in the eye.
"It's all thanks to a tattoo of a book saying 'Property of Hermione Granger'."

He continued to kneel and stare at her with a very stern expression that made Hermione blink. Then she giggled.

"You were very insistent on getting it," she said. "You can hardly blame me."

"You're behind it!" he growled, pointing at her. "You made me get it!"

"I merely made a suggestion!" she said, and as she sat up in bed the quilt fell down around her hips. "You can't blame
me for your strange decisions!"

"It's a decision I probably wouldn't have made if I hadn't been three sheets to the wind!" he insisted.

Hermione threw back the rest of the quilt and pulled her hair behind her shoulders. Harry's response was beginning to
worry her.

"Well what am I supposed to do? I can't very well get rid of it," she said, flapping her hand at him impatiently. She
hadn't counted on him reacting like this, and she felt her face twist into a childish, pouty expression. "Don't you like
it?"

Harry's own expression softened and he blinked. He seemed to want to respond but nothing came from his mouth, and
finally he sighed.

"I - I wouldn't say I didn't like it," he said and looked over his shoulder toward his bum. "It's... I'd say it's a
shock. I mean... I like the sentiment."

He likes the sentiment. Property of Hermione Granger. Yes, I rather like that myself, she grinned and jumped out of bed.

"Good!" she cried and hurled herself at him, hugging him tightly. Feeling her naked body against his own seemed to calm
Harry down and he relaxed in her arms, his anger apparently dissipated. Now she had an idea of how she might make this
up to him.

"Why don't you go downstairs and bring us up some breakfast. We can sit in bed all morning and misbehave," she winked.

A light smile fluttered across Harry's face and he nodded. "All right."

After he put on some pants and left his bedroom, Hermione decided to freshen up while he was gone. She went into his
bathroom and took care of some necessities, including brushing her teeth and taking a potion to cure her hangover.
Returning to Harry’s bedroom, she sat on the edge of his bed, fluffed her hair and pinched her cheeks to get some color
back in them, as the previous night’s bender had left her looking pasty and drained. Crawling back onto the bed, she
slid under the covers to wait for Harry and the breakfast he was making. Judging by the smells wafting up the stairs he
was cooking bacon and eggs, which set her mouth watering, though not as much as thinking about what would happen after
breakfast.

Suddenly a roar of laughter came up the stairs, followed by a string of expletives in Ron’s baritone voice, and Hermione
found herself giggling like an ickle firstie. Apparently Harry and Ron had discovered that they’d both gotten tattooed
in their drunken fog last night. By the sound of things they didn’t hold it against the two young women who’d so
craftily suggested the tattoos involved.

Good, she thought. Good, good, good. Better than good. I must remember to tell Lavender what a bloody genius she is.

Leaning back against the headboard, Hermione waited for Harry to return with their food. If anyone had told her a week
ago she would be lying here stark naked in Harry’s bed, waiting for him to get naked and join her, she would’ve choked
with shock then laughed in their face. Yet here she was, his green and white quilt lying loosely across her bare
breasts, cotton sheets feeling cool under her bum, and nothing had ever felt so right in her life.

Soon she heard Harry’s steps on the stairs, the wonderful smell of bacon and eggs getting closer and closer and finally
entering the room as he held out a tray of food in front of him. Hermione pulled herself up in the bed to make room for
the tray, which Harry placed gently in the middle of the bed. Pushing his pants down his hips, he stepped out of them
then slid under the quilt and sat next to her just as naked as she was. The heat of his body sent a wakeup call to the
Snitch, which began to stretch and flutter languidly on her belly.

"Mmmmm, nice," she whispered, nuzzling his jaw. "The breakfast looks good too. Thanks for making it."

"You’re very welcome," he returned, feeding her a forkful of scrambled eggs. For several minutes they took turns feeding
each other until they’d eaten their fill, then Harry levitated the dirty plate down to the floor. As soon as he rolled
onto his back, Hermione straddled him, a devilish smirk on her lips

"Hello," he said, raising his arms and laying them on her thighs in a way that tickled deliciously.

"Hello," she grinned, the Snitch starting to flitter more intensely as she brushed against his cock.

"What are you up to?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she sighed as she scooted down under the quilt. Silly boy…I’ll show him…

As she took him in her mouth, the Snitch burst out flapping again. Concentrating on her task, Hermione was surprised and
a little annoyed when Harry suddenly started squirming beneath her.

"Mmph!" she admonished him as she rose up from under the quilt. "Harry, unless you want me to bite it off, you have to
keep still-"

He looked at her questioningly. "What did Lavender get?"

Hermione blinked, wondering why he’d be talking about Lavender at a time like this.

He could tell she wasn’t following him and started explaining. "Well... I got a book. You got a Snitch. Ron got a quill.
If he got something, naturally Lavender must have gotten one, because the whole point in Ron and I getting tattoos was
revenge, right?"

Revenge? Perhaps. Revenge for the years Harry and Ron had been clueless about the two young women who yearned for them
right under their noses. She nodded. "Yes, you're right."

"So... what did she get?"

Hermione smirked, her nipples brushing Harry’s chest, then leaned up and whispered in his ear.

"A weasel."

Then she slid down under the quilt again and did her best to keep Harry from thinking about anything or anyone but her,
at least for the immediate future.

THE END

Thanks again to everyone for your reviews. I can’t promise I’ll write anything else like this (or in collaboration with
Nancy), but I do plan to continue to write H/Hr fics and post them here at Portkey. Hope to see you again the next time.
In the meantime I hope you’ll read my other fics on Portkey, which you can find here. – Anne U
