Nothing She Wouldn't Do

weird4hanson

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 18/11/2003
Last Updated: 28/12/2003
Status: completed

**RATING UPPED** No stranger to grief, Harry Potter gets hit one more time and hides himself away. And once again, only one person can make him open the door. The person who would do anything..anything for him..

Chapters

1. Nothing She Wouldn

2. II

3. III

1. Nothing She Wouldn

A/N: This story was came to me as I rode a bus recently and was written in an hour. Hope you like it and please review. Thanks!

Nothing She Wouldn't Do

It had happened again.

For the fourth time - or was it the fifth - in his existence, somebody close to him was gone. Forever. Somebody he loved had been extinquished, made into worm food with merely a pair of curt words and a malicious wand wave. Rendered falsely insignificant and inconsequential.

He wasn't anywhere to be found, having fled upon receiving the news of their friend's death. The other boys of Gryffindor Tower sat silently, haphazardly about the common room, quickly stifling any and all attempts at conversation with looks of appalled consternation. The dead man had been very well liked among the Gryffindors, even if his lessons had left a bit to be desired. Respect was due, dammit, and right now silence was the only means they could bear to utilize.

She sat with her housemates, the fading firelight reflecting fleetingly against the shiny Head Girl badge on her bosom, lost in anguished thought. Not for the dead man. She would miss him, she was very sad he was gone but was there anything she could do for him now? Must she not put all her efforts into helping those who still lived - especially the one for whom she lived? The one for whom her heart ached? The one for whom her cheeks were stained by tracks of salty tears, now dried? Her eyes, bloodshot, her nose-

There was nothing she wouldn't do for him.

So why was she sitting in the common room when he was out there, needing her? He'd always needed her, badly, though of course he'd never articulated as much. It simply went without saying. He knew he could count on her. For anything.

Or did he?

She walked the corridors to the seventh floor, her footsteps echoing almost obscenely in the deserted stone hallways. What right did her feet have of making such racket when the whole - ok, the majority- of Hogwarts was wracked with grief? But it couldn't be helped. He needed her and not even the laws of decency could hold her back.

There was nothing she wouldn't do for him.

The handle materialized out of thin air and she grasped it, wondering vaguely what the room had redesigned itself into, what it thought he required. She registered mild surprise upon seeing him sitting on what appeared to be a regular Hogwarts canopy bed. Was that what he needed? His bed?

"What're you doing here?" he asked, drawing her out of her musings.

The ache in her chest intensified at the look of utter anguish in his emerald eyes. He had obviously been crying and there were angry, red scratches up and down his arms, as if he had been clawing at himself in his grief.

He needed her, never mind the hollow tone of his voice.

She restrained herself from rushing him, made herself walk slowly across the room and sat down beside him. She gathered him into her arms and as she had expected, he didn't resist. Rather, he clung to her fiercely, sobbing into her neck and she welcomed the wetness of his tears on her skin, the sound of his harsh, guttural breathing, the quake of his sobs through her chest. Let him. Let him let it all out.

She might have held him for an eternity or an hour; what did it matter, since he gradually calmed down? He pulled away and wiped his eyes, avoiding her gaze until she touched his face. He might have cried himself out but he hadn't cried away the anguish. He hadn't cried away the guilt or the grief. They were still right there, shamelessly vying for the top spot on his self-overburdened conscience. She could almost hear the thoughts as they clashed in his skull. It'smyfault-ohGod-he'sgone-it'smyfault.

He needed to not think. To not think for maybe five fucking minutes. And she knew that. Knew, too, what she must do.

So, not taking her eyes off his, she reached for the buckle of his belt. His eyes widened - for a second, anguish, guilt and grief were knocked off their puffed up soapboxes by the bold, brashness of surprise.

"Wha-" he began but she put a finger to his lips, silencing him.

He watched her, looking steadily more amazed, as she undid his belt, his fly, his zipper and pulled his pants down.

She caressed him though his boxers, watching the deep, forest green of lust cloud his eyes as he hardened in her hand. She had never done this before, for anyone, but at this point in time this was what he needed.

There was nothing she wouldn't do for him, which was why she pushed the boxers down too and stroked him slowly, marvelling silently that something so firm could feel so soft all at the same time. That was why she took him into her mouth, tentatively swirling her tongue over the swollen head. That was why she breathe in his musky, boy-scent and felt the softness of the curly hair tickle the underside of her chin. It was why she cupped and fondled the soft pouches of his virility, registering his gasp.

She opened her eyes to watch him. His were closed, his cheeks flushed and his mouth slightly open. He was beginning to breathe hard though his nose as she bobbed slowly up and down his length. Her jaws were starting to ache but she kept going, picking up the pace, rubbing him with her hands too now and he gripped the blankets and groaned, raising his hips ever so slightly; pleadingly.

There was nothing she wouldn't do for him, so when he stiffened and cried out - her name - when his warm saltiness began spurting against the back of her throat - even though the taste caught her by surprise and she gagged - she didn't let go. She swallowed every last drop he gave her and slowly stroked his thighs until he calmed down. Then she tucked him in and zippered him up again, her hands shaking almost as badly as he had just been.

It was her turn to avoid his gaze just as it was his turn to touch her face, brushing a strand of her brown hair aside in awe.

The Head Boy badge glittered in the waning moonlight that streamed through the window as he kept his hand on her face, softly. She looked up into his beautiful, green eyes and found them shouting. They were shouting what his mouth couldn't articulate. The almonds of green were saying that he knew.

He knew there was nothing she wouldn't do for him.

And he loved her too.

2. II

A/N: Well.. I never intended to write more of this story. It was strictly a one-shot. But what do you know, there's no holding back inspiration when it decides to strike. Hope you guys like this. Also, to those who've read and liked my story "Safe in Harbor", I've written a one-shot outtake that I hope to put up in the next few days. Not sure if that will be before or after Christmas, but definitely before the New Year. So keep an eye out. Happy Holidays!

II

Her eyes filled up and overflowed before she could stop them. Now was not the time for weeping. Her tears might remind him of his own and why he had been shedding them in the first place.

But how could she help it? The most glorious thing, the one thing that she had been wanting for almost four years now, that her conscious mind had deemed impossible, had happened. The impossible had been made possible. Were Muggle farmers somewhere currently gaping in shock as their slopping hogs flew through the air like overstuffed bees? Was the devil handing out frozen popsicles to Hitler and Mussolini?

Because Harry Potter loved her and that should have been impossible. How could he love her - little bushy-haired, bossy, boring Hermione Granger? She was just his know-it-all best friend, his go-to guy (or rather girl) for obscure facts and dusty books.

But his eyes had told her. And they were still telling her as he slowly brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away her tears.

Maybe- maybe, she was just seeing what she wanted to see. He hadn't told her that, verbally, with words so maybe it wasn't really valid. It was not official, so she-

"I love you," he said, as if reading her mind. "I've loved you for so long, for years, but was too afraid to bring it up."

Well, take that Sir Doubting Thomas! Or is it Dame Thomasina? Madam Thomasetha? Lady Thom- oh shut up.

Harry loves me!

She wanted to hug herself in delight but instead threw her arms around him and laughed into his neck, rapturously. He hugged her back, rubbing her head slowly and she pulled away and looked into his face again. There was something in his eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. What could it possibly- oh yes. Lust. The deep, forest-green of lust. She had seen it a short while ago when she had-

Memories flooded her brain and she blushed crimson. Oh the gods, had she really done that?! Had she- oh shit! What could she possibly have been thinking?! Oh no, did that qualify as rape? He hadn't asked her to do that. He hadn't- well, he hadn't protested either. For all intents and purposes, he had liked it. Wasn't that his taste in her mouth, strangely pleasant just because it was his? If it were any other person's, she was sure she would be retching at the thought, but it was Harry's. And that made it better than even ice-cream to her. Ok, maybe not ice-cream. Maybe-

"That was amazing, what you did," he said softly, jolting her from her thoughts. "Why did you do it, though?"

She bit her lips nervously. "Um, I just wanted to. I wanted to cheer you up."

He grinned. "Well, let me see if there's a blue ribbon around here somewhere because you definitely earned one!"

She blushed again. Well, score one for Miss Bookworm, Cocksucker Extraordinaire! Ugh, that sounded so vulgar.

He touched her face gently and she looked up from trying to think up a more elegant moniker for what she had just done. "It's my turn now, though," he whispered.

What? His turn what? Her brow furrowed then cleared as her eyes widened. She shook her head quickly. "Oh, you don't have to do that. I didn't do it just because I wanted you to.. um.. to return the favor."

"You don't want me to?"

The waning moonlight gleamed off their badges and she stared into his eyes, feeling her heart start to pound. This could not possibly be happening! How many nights had she laid in her bed in the Girls' dormitory, touching herself, her mind skillfully transforming her fingers into his? How many times had her back arched in release as she bit her lips to hold back the cries of his name that wanted so badly to be set free? And now he was right here, gazing at her in longing, wanting to do that for her?

Please, if this is a dream, a wonderful, erotic dream, please, may I never wake up!

He was still looking at her, awaiting her answer and dropping her eyes shyly, she whispered "Oh Merlin, how I want you to!"

And suddenly his lips were on hers and she was on the verge of swooning with happiness as he kissed her expertly, his lips so soft, so sweet. His tongue slipped into her mouth, rubbing against hers and she couldn't have held back the moan if she tried.

The sound seemed to galvanize him into action and he hugged her to him fiercely, kissing her harder and she gripped his hair and surrendered.

Yes, Harry. Yes.

**********

He was kissing her. He, Harry Potter, was kissing her, Hermione Granger. God, he had wanted to do that for so long! How had he ever survived up to this point without knowing how warm and tender her lips were? She tasted like him and as he thought of what she had just done, how she had come to be tasting like him, the blood gushed to his dick, making him surge almost painfully against his trousers.

But it was his turn to make her cry out, to bring her to that high. Never in his wildest dreams (and oh boy, had he dreamed!) had he imagined that she would do what she had done tonight!

The shock of hearing of Hagrid's death, killed at the hand of Lucius Malfoy, had driven him away. He wanted to hide, needed to get away from all the sympathetic, yet ultimately useless, glances of his housemates and the only place he could think of was the Room of Requirement. It didn't even occur to him to be surprised by the bed that stood smack in the middle of the room when he opened the door. God knew, he wanted to curl up into a ball and scream in agony and a bed was as good a place as any to do that, he guessed.

And he had let it all out, had screamed until his throat felt raw, scratching at his arms. His fucking, murderous arms, because if he had not used them to hex that bastard Malfoy so thoroughly he had gone running to his daddy, Hagrid would probably still be alive. Hagrid had been killed in petty retaliation for Harry's hexing, or so he was convinced. Even though that twinkle-toed Commie bastard had deserved every one of the two dozen or so curses that Harry had fired at him in rapid succession. If he had only kept his temper in check! If he had only ignored that washed-out, silver-eyed asshole, Hagrid would still be alive.

It was all his fault and he had lain there and wallowed in the grief and self-loathing until Hermione had come and blown his mind.

He had always known her loyalty and solidarity. But it was only tonight that he had consciously discovered her love. It was only tonight that he had realized that she would do anything for him, and yes, that meant anything. And right now, she needed to know that the same held true for him.

There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

*******

His lips wandered to her neck as he suckled at her erratic pulsepoint, his arms reaching up to push her robes off her shoulders. She shrugged out of them impatiently, needing him in her arms, and the robes were getting in the way, dammit.

Harry grinned slightly as he pulled her grey school jumper over her head. Hermione's eyes were bright with hunger and her lips were red and swollen. Merlin, she was breathtaking!

He captured her lips again as his hands wandered to cup her breasts through her shirt and bra. He squeezed gently, marvelling at the soft, yielding mass and she leaned forward into his hands. Her nipples were like hard pebbles against his palms and he squeezed them. Hermione moaned softly and he repeated the action harder, squeezing and twisting.

Oh, what he was doing to her! Every movement of his fingers, of his lips sent shockwaves through her body. He was squeezing her nipples so hard, it should be hurting but instead tendrils of electricity snaked through her veins with every tug, culminating in that place between her legs that ached with wanting.

"Harry," she sobbed, gripping his arms and he began to frantically unbutton her shirt. He ripped it off her, undid the clasp of her bra with practiced ease and tossed that aside too. But, of course. It was common knowledge at Hogwarts that Harry Potter was quite the ladies' man when he wanted to be. Rumor was he had bedded more than half the girls in their year and basically all of the previous year, beginning with Cho Chang.

His lips descended on her left breast as he suckled the firm pink nipple into his mouth and all thoughts of his conquests fled her mind as the sensations swept over her. He pushed her back onto the bed, shifting his attention to the other breast and she buried her hands in his hair, writhing beneath him.

His hand crept up her thigh, pushing her skirt up as he went and she jerked as his fingers found the damp crotch of her knickers. He rubbed her gently through the thin cotton and surprisingly, she felt the tide rising within her, and oh God, she was going to-

He moved his fingers and she whimpered in frustration. His lips left her nipple to capture her lips again and she kissed him back hungrily, grinding her crotch against his hardness. Oh, she was so close. He had barely touched her, she was still wearing her knickers, for Circe's sake! but she was so close. Never, in all her young life had she ever been so aroused!

She tore her lips from his. "Oh, please, Harry. Oh, please."

He growled as he slid down her body, bunching her skirt up around her waist and slid her knickers roughly off her. Hermione panted in anticipation and nearly passed out when he suckled her swollen clit.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!" she cried, arching into his mouth and his tongue snaked out to lick her entire length, lingering on her bump. Her thighs quaked as he slipped a finger inside her, moving it in time with his mouth and as his tongue swept over her throbbing flesh again, she screamed as a white-hot tsunami crashed into her. The pleasure radiated from her every pore as her fingers grasped frantically at the blankets and her body shuddered uncontrollably.

She was going to die. She was surely going to perish into the vast puddle of juices that Harry was still greedily lapping up. She couldn't breathe, she was deaf, she was blind, she was blissfully caught up in the tumultuous ecstasy that was going to kill her wonderfully dead.

*********

Harry licked her until she fell back against the bed, trembling weakly. He was shaking too, from the sheer effort of holding back his own orgasm. Watching Hermione come was the most erotic thing he had ever seen, and that was saying something because some of the Hogwarts rumors about him were true. Suffice it to say, he had never been rendered so close to losing it by the mere sight of a woman in climax. But then again, he had never before been with the only girl he had ever loved.

What a sight she made! Her whole body was flushed, her hair a tangled mass of disarray. Her eyes were bright and glazed and her mouth was slightly open as she panted, trying to catch her breath. She was naked except for her socks and shoes and the hopelessly wrinkled skirt bunched around her waist. Her legs were wide open and Harry fought the urge to tear his clothes off and bury himself inside her-

He gulped. What a wanton picture. Had anybody ever thought to associate Hermione Granger with "wanton"? Doubtful.

She sighed and stretched luxuriously and he watched the way her still-hard nipples jutted against the air. He couldn't resist reaching out and squeezing one and she turned her head to smile at him.

"You alright?" he asked softly.

She laughed. "I have never been better." Her eyes caressed his and she sat up suddenly. "Oh, Harry. That was... that was..." She shook her head, unable to find a word to adequately describe what it was.

'Good,' he thought. 'Cause there's no way I could find one to describe how it was, either.'

"I know," he said, cupping her cheek. "I know, baby."

She gave a small sob and flung her arms around him and he hugged her to him fiercely, his hands lightly stroking her bare back.

He had her now. The love, the love of his life.

********
Well, please review. And let me know: should I write more? Or not? Thanks!

3. III

A/N: Wow, what a response! Thanks to everybody who reviewed. My little one-shot has obviously swelled :) Per all your requests, pleadings and downright demands, here is part three. The last part. I mean it, for real this time. This is the end. Enjoy and don't forget to review! Thanks mucho in advance.

III

They lay on the lone, canopied bed in the otherwise empty Room of Requirement, holding each other tenderly. The only sound was the soft whooshing of their breathing and the dull thud of his heart, though she was the only one who could hear the latter, of course, since her head was pillowed against his chest. Harry, who was still fully clothed, was slowly stroking her bare back, seemingly lost in thought and she frowned.

She knew him, knew that if they were quiet long enough, his thoughts would shift back to shoveling self-blame and guilt onto his own shoulders. Why did he insist on carting around so much liability? Did he fancy himself to be fucking Atlas, bearing the burden of the wizarding world?

It was NOT his fault. How many times had she told him that? It was all the fault of that demented, snake-eyed murderer of a man - was he even worthy of being called a man anymore - obsessed with his own hatred and hunger for world domination.

She shifted in his arms, leaning her head back to peer into his eyes.

Yep, there it was. The trademark Harry Potter look of self-loathing.

Ok, she loved this guy, she loved him more than life itself but sometimes she wanted to grab him by his untidy black mop and bitch-slap some sense into him! Either that or shag him senseless. Actually, that would be two different sides of the Sickle, in retrospect. One would be putting sense into him, the other would be taking sense away.

Hmm.. which to choose, which to choose?

She suppressed a scoff. As if there was any debate. If the boy could use his pecker as well as he used his tongue (and if the rumors were to be believed, boy howdy!) Not that she was in this solely for the sex, of course.

They hadn't technically had sex, had they?

Circe, this was all so surreal! One minute she was holding him while he cried and the next she was lying naked with him in bed, having just had the most exhilarating orgasm of her entire existence! Oh, and that was after she had gone down on him. Bloody hell.

But that wasn't the matter at hand.

"It's not your fault, Harry," she said quietly and he jerked.

This was.

His self-assured, water-off-the-duck's-back mask slipped into place with practiced ease so if you didn't know what to look for, you'd have missed it. Of course she didn't miss it. She knew him like the back of her hand, maybe better, and she would be damned if she'd let him keep doing this.

She sat up abruptly. "Listen to me, Harry Potter, I am sick and tired of you always absorbing the blame for everything! What happened to- oh for God's sake!" as she realized that she was still naked and Harry's eyes were glued to her chest. She swatted him before grabbing her shirt and quickly pulling it on.

He grinned at her, that boyish, lopsided grin that had first set her heart a-pounding back in third year when he had snuck into Hogsmeade without permission. That grin right now made her want to tear the shirt back off and jump his bones.

Do not turn into a nympho, Hermione Granger! Why the hell not? Just shut up.

Instead, she smoothed out her wrinkled skirt and crossed her arms. "Harry."

Now he was avoiding her eyes, looking everywhere but at her and she fought the urge to grab his head and force him to look. Well, short of stuffing his fingers in them, he couldn't shut off his ears. "I know what you're thinking. You're trying to come up with some way of making Hagrid's death your fault and it's not. It's not your fault, Harry. You had nothing to do with it."

"That's what you think," he said so softly that she had to strain to hear him.

What could he possibly be talking about?

"Harry," she said again and this time he looked up and her face softened as she saw the tears shining behind his glasses.

"I know what you're trying to do, Hermione. And I appreciate it. I really do." He closed his eyes and swallowed visibly. "But this time it really is my fault."

Wait a minute. Was he trying to say that he had personally been the one to Avada Kedavra Hagrid? Because that would mean either there were two Harry Potters running around (ye gods!) or he had made use of a time turner. Because as far as she knew, Hagrid had been killed early yesterday afternoon and they had been in Herbology at the time.

Her face must have betrayed her confusion because he sighed. "Hagrid was killed by Lucius Malfoy, right?"

She nodded. Professor Dumbledore had told her, Harry and Ron since they were the three students closest to the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

"But what Dumbledore didn't tell us was why Malfoy killed Hagrid. That was my fault."

"Wha-what?"

He looked up at her, the anguish deeply etched in his features once more. "Remember last week when I hexed Malfoy?"

She nodded again. How could she forget? She had never seen Harry look quite so scary as he had in those moments, his green eyes flashing almost malevolently. The closest she could compare with anyone was Dumbledore in one of the few times she had seen him angry. Power had seemed to emanate off Harry in waves and although he was obviously seething, his voice had never gone above a cold whisper as he had fired hex after hex onto the screaming Malfoy. Even now, she had no idea what Malfoy could possibly have said or done to piss Harry off so completely. He wouldn't tell either her or Ron when they had asked him.

" -but Malfoy swore that he would tell his father and his father would make me pay."

She stared at him in bewilderment and Harry jumped up off the bed, stalked to the other end of the room and spun around. "Don't you see?!" he yelled. "I hexed Malfoy. Malfoy told his dad and his dad killed Hagrid. To punish me. So it's my fault. If I hadn't hexed that albino piece of shit... if I hadn't-" his voice broke and he tore his glasses off and covered his eyes with a shaking hand.

Albino piece of shit? If the situation were not so grave, she'd have laughed out loud.

Oh, Harry.

Was that why he was taking it so hard? She knew why Hagrid had been killed, and it really had nothing to do with Harry. She'd overheard Professors McGonagall and Flitwick tearfully talking but hadn't had a chance to tell him.

Her eyes prickled as she walked over and slipped her arms around him. He clung to her and she held him as he sobbed messily into her neck for the second time that night. Oh, why did he have to have it so hard? Couldn't he even get one whole month untarnished by some kind of misery? Why the fuck was life so unfair?

Harry stopped sobbing and she pulled away and took his hand. She led him back to the bed, he once again avoiding her eyes. "Harry, Hagrid's death wasn't your fault, and I'm not just saying that."

He looked up at her then, a speck of desperate hope gleaming in the emerald orbs clouded by despair and her heart ached for him. "What d'you mean?" he croaked.

"I mean, I heard Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick talking. Apparently, Voldemort found out about Hagrid's brother, you know, Grawp. And he wanted to have another giant on his side, I guess, that has a connection with Hogwarts."

Harry was gazing at her in perplexion. "What does that have to do with this?" he asked irritably.

She sighed. Zeus, he could be dense. "Harry, Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to get Grawp. Of course Hagrid wasn't just going to let them take him without a fight and they killed him before help could get there."

He stood up slowly, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"Dumbledore didn't tell the school the whole story, because obviously none of the students are supposed to know about Grawp."

"But why didn't he tell us? You know, you, me and Ron. We obviously know about Grawp."

She shrugged. Some people said the Headmaster was going senile; she couldn't possibly dream of assuming she knew why he did the things he did. "I don't know. I'm sure he has his reasons." She reached out a hand. "But Harry, you see. It had nothing at all to do with you. Hagrid's death was in no way your fault."

He stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment, seeming scarcely able to believe what she had just told him. "It wasn't my fault?" he asked, sounding like a tiny child.

Oh Harry. "It wasn't your fault," she sobbed and he rushed to her and she enveloped him again. He was muttering something but he was also crying again and it was a while before she figured out what he was saying.

"Oh, God, Hermione. Oh, God, Hermione..."

And she held him tighter, her heart swelling with love for this man. How was it possible to love somebody so much? How was it possible to have your existence so wrapped up in another person's and still call your life your own? Because she was sure she would waste away and die if he were ever to cease being a part of her existence.

What did they call this in Muggle Science class? Symbiosis. That was it.

Finally, he pulled away and wiped his eyes shakily. She reached up and brushed his hair off his sweaty forehead. "I love you so much," she whispered and he looked up at her and smiled adorably.

"I love you too."

She sighed as his lips met hers and for a long moment, they kissed softly and slowly before he broke the kiss. "Hermione, thank you. Thank- you have no idea what that means. What it means to know.." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"Harry." He looked into her eyes again, the look of love and longing so profound that she wanted to weep. She was about to say something to him that she had never said to anyone before. "Make love to me."

Holding onto her virginity had been bittersweet, at best, because she had been doing it out of the secret hope that one day she could give it to Harry, and what were the chances that she would ever get to do that? Right up there with the Mussolini frozen popsicles. Yet, she had prevailed. Both of her past boyfriends had broken up with her because she had been unwilling to cross that line, and everything she and Harry had done tonight was further than she had ever gone with any of those guys.

Which was why she was so surprised by her own wantonness earlier. She had never done any of those things before, with anyone (except herself, thank you very much) but barely a twinge of self-consciousness reared its head. Was it normal to be that comfortable with another person, to trust someone so completely? Probably not, but if anybody looked up the definition of "abnormal", there'd probably be a picture of either herself or Harry there.

"Are you sure?" he asked, shaking her out of her thoughts and she leaned forward and kissed him softly.

"Yes, I'm sure." Oh Lord, was she sure.

In response, he pulled her closer and kissed her deeply and Hermione melted into his embrace, already tingling all over in anticipation of what was to come.

**********

Harry kissed her fiercely, his mind whirling with ebullient thought. It wasn't his fault! Hagrid's death had nothing to do with him. Oh the gods. Did that make him a horrible person for being happy that, for once, someone's death wasn't in any way connected with him? Because right now, even though he still grieved for Hagrid, a part of him was more elated than the proverbial pig in shit.

When he had thought himself responsible, it had been such a crushing, suffocating balloon of wretchedness bearing down on his head. There was a connection he shared with Hagrid that he didn't have with anyone else. Because Hagrid was the one who had told him who he really was. Hagrid was the one who had introduced him to this strange new world of witches, wizards, magic and fairies.

Real fairies, not that slang his Uncle Vernon nastily threw out in reference to gay people when he didn't want to offend his guests by saying 'poofs'.

And with the acceptance of responsibility for Hagrid's demise, he felt like he had killed the best part of himself. If he had, even inadvertantly, killed Hagrid, the bringer of magic to him, didn't that mean he had killed the magic? Who was he without magic? Nobody but a skinny, knock-kneed little twerp getting his ass kicked by Dudley and his gang.

But once again, his salvation had been swift and unblinkingly consistent. Who had once again pulled him firmly back from the mossy green teeth of despair? Who had just now offered him the most precious part of herself?

Her name echoed through his brain like ricocheting sherbet balls as he planted little kisses all over her face.

"I love you, I love you," he whispered with every kiss and she clutched him, pressing as much of herself against him as she could. His lips devoured hers again, their hands all over and he surrendered, losing himself so thoroughly in their kisses that he was surprised when he realized that they had somehow shed all their clothes.

Which was just as well. He wanted her so badly, it was beyond sinful.

Her skin was almost hot to the touch, her sweet nipples firm and beckoning and he happily heeded their siren call and suckled while she writhed and gasped. His fingers found their way to the junction of her thighs and he eagerly delved into her folds, stroking her firmly and she cried out and bucked against his hand, her wild head of hair thrown back.

Merlin, look at her! What a sensual goddess she would make! How could anyone call her an Ice Queen? They didn't know - and so help him, they never would know. He wanted to be the only one to ever see her like this, to see the way her eyelids fluttered as he slipped a finger into her moistness. He wanted to be the only one to ever marvel at how wet she could become.

Both she and Ron had asked him why he had hexed Malfoy so badly. What could Malfoy had said to so completely push him over the edge? Harry hadn't told either of them, or anyone for that matter, because Hermione would most likely have scolded him for losing his temper in the first place and Ron would surely have gone into an even more murderous rage than the one Harry had been in. Thank Merlin neither of them had been close enough to hear! Malfoy seemed to have been going for Harry alone.

Even in the blissful state he was currently in, he recognized the familiar surge of anger that flared as he remembered what Malfoy had said about Hermione. If Malfoy had stopped at the overused and desensitized "Mudblood", maybe, just maybe Harry could have walked away. But no. He just had to go on and sprout- God, Harry couldn't even stand to think about it! That fucker.

And the proverbial shit had hit the proverbial fan.

Bombarded it, more like. It had required one of Dumbledore's own powerful charms to make Harry stop his assault. The red haze of rage had been so all-consuming, he had been surprised that he hadn't Avada Kedavra-ed the jumped-up little Ferret in the heat of the moment. Malfoy had been barely recognizable by the end, though he still had had enough presence of mind to gasp out his threat.

And had had, at least, the effect of making Harry beat himself up unnecessarily tonight. As if the death of Hagrid were not reason enough to make him pay because, so help him, Malfoy would pay. Both Malfoys. Voldemort would pay. Every single one of those fucking, black-hearted bastards would pay.

But what had happened tonight between him and Hermione proved, among other things, that Malfoy was wrong. Voldemort was wrong. Love did fulfill itself. Love did prove itself and, right now, he was going to show her how much he loved her. He was going to make love to her until he was imprinted in every one of her cells, until no doubt would ever surface in her mind again.

Not where his love for her was concerned.

***********

She was on fire. His lips, his fingers, his tongue were causing her to burn up, causing her to smolder with an all-consuming hunger. Again and again, he brought her to the brink of ecstasy, only to pull away, leaving her sobbing with need.

He leaned back and grabbed his wand and she was dimly aware of him muttering a contraceptive spell on both of them before he kissed her again and they were sweet and drugging kisses, damaging kisses, firing up the emotions within her as she writhed under his hands dancing all over her body. Who knew that the backs of her knees were so erogenous? Her earlobes? Her moans and cries echoed through the room as Harry skillfully played with her body like a classically trained virtuoso with his trusty instrument.

He was trying to murder her, she was sure of it.

Maybe if she gave him a taste of his own medicine. Maybe- her fingers danced lightly over his back and down to his gorgeous backside. Quickly, she slipped her hand around and grasped his hard length. He hissed in surprise and she couldn't resist a small smirk of triumph. Holding him firmly with both hands, she stroked him slowly, reaching down to fondle his balls and he groaned and jerked before swiftly flipping them over so she was on top.

He pulled her head down to kiss her as his fingers found her again, this time stretching her deliciously as he slipped two fingers inside her. His thumb gently stroked her clit and the inferno flared within her again.

"Please," she panted. "Harry, I need-"

He slipped his hand away and she stroked his hardness again, registering his strangled groan. Oh, she wanted him, she wanted him! He moved her hips into position and feeling the smooth head of his member brush against her wetness, feeling frantic - Oh Merlin, I need.. - before she could change her mind, she grabbed hold of his shoulders and swiftly impaled herself on him.

They both cried out - him from the mind-boggling sensation of being finally deep inside her delicious heat and her from the sharp sting that stabbed through her body, making her squeeze her eyes shut against the tears.

Fucking hell, that hurt! That- that- fucking hell!

She fought the urge to squirm in discomfort and held herself still, her eyes tightly closed, letting her body get used to the rich fullness of him buried inside her. Slowly, the sting faded into an ambiguous throb as if it couldn't decide if it wanted to be pleasure or pain.

Be pleasure, be pleasure, be- oh God!

Her eyes snapped open to see Harry staring up at her, his green eyes heavy with emotion. "I love you," he said, as his fingers worked their magic at the place where they were joined and as the pleasure intensified, she instinctively began to move, raising herself slowly up and down on his hard length, and oh, she knew now why sex was such a big deal and if she never had to stop doing this, if she never had to unlock from him-

"I love you, Harry. I love you so much!"

Tears ran down her cheeks but they were of happiness, of wonder. They were of joy. She dipped her head to watch as he disappeared, reemerged, disappeared, reemerged as she moved on him faster and suddenly she was on her back, getting lost in his eyes as he stared down at her, his body pistoning into and out of hers.

Their lips met again in a searing kiss and the blood was pounding in her ears, her nails digging into his shoulders. He flipped them over again but this time she was lying flat on top of him, moving back and forth now and he braced his feet against the mattress and met her halfway every time she moved back. Her nipples brushed his sweaty chest tantalizingly with each movement as she supported her weight on her elbows and he raised his head to capture her lips again.

Every nerve, every muscle, every sinew of her body was screaming for release and still the fire flared, still the coil of white-hot wire in her stomach stretched taut with tension, still their bodies moved desperately, hungrily, frantically.

He managed to get his fingers between them again even as he began suckling her neck in time with their movements.

"Oh God, oh God," she whimpered as she felt the waves begin to loom over her head, poised on the brink, needing just one more thrust, just one more swirl of his fingers, just one more, oh please, Harry-

He bit her neck and strangely that was the thing that burst open the gates. The dam was let loose, the fire Incendio-ed and she was screaming helplessly, incoherently as her nails gripped his broad shoulders and the pleasure lambasted her ruthlessly. Her whole body quaked and throbbed like one big, overstimulated nerve ending and the stars danced behind her tightly clenched eyelids.

Vaguely, she was aware of Harry thrusting up hard into her so that she knew she would be sore the next day from those few thrusts alone and heard, as if from a great distance, him cry out as a warm wetness flooded her and he thrashed spasmodically beneath her.

"Hermione! Hermione!" he cried and oh, what a beautiful sound! For one long moment, time seemed suspended as their voices mingled in the dark room, rendered insignificant by the sheer beauty of them truly becoming one.

She surrendered to the ecstasy rumbling relentlessly through her body and they clung together for what seemed like eons, riding the wonderful wave and shuddering with numerous aftershocks before collapsing against each other in rapturous fatique.

**********

The fatique was, of course, short-lived and after deciding that it was much too late to bother going back to their rooms, they spent the rest of the night right there in the Room of Requirement. They had awoken in the middle of the night to make love again, slowly and tenderly in the murky darkness and the thought of getting up and leaving his warm embrace was practically blasphemous.

Besides, they were the Head Boy and Girl so they could be out as late as they wanted, as long as they weren't up to mischief.

She suppressed a giggle, as she glanced about the room lit by the pale light of the early morning. Had they been up to mischief? Because lordie, if that was mischief, then she sure as heck intended to be very mischievous from now on.

Oh, she felt so alive, so blessedly satisfied! She ached in places she hadn't known existed before, but that really wasn't anything unique, was it? Heretofore undiscovered muscles were certainly not the only things she had discovered about herself last night.

I am woman. Hear me roar!

"What're you thinking about?" he asked and she looked up into the vivid green eyes of the man she loved, gazing down at her lovingly as he ran his hand slowly up and down her arm.

Feeling suddenly carefree, she laughed aloud and held out her arms to him. Harry grinned and sank gladly into them and she held him, kissing his hairline, his scar and for a long moment they were silent, just holding each other close.

Finally, he rolled off her and propped himself up on one elbow, gazing into her eyes. "Are you sore? Do you hurt?"

Oh, he was such a sweetheart! And even though she was sore, she shook her head. "I'm ok." No reason to make him worry. Nothing a quick pain reliever charm couldn't cure, anyway.

He reached out to brush a lock of hair from her cheek. "I'm sorry. I should have been gentler. It's just.. I just.. I got carried away."

Carried away, indeed. She sat up and kissed him tenderly. "You're supposed to get carried away, silly. Besides, I like knowing I can make the good, great Harry Potter lose control like that."

He arched his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well, in that case.." he leaned over and kissed her and she sighed contentedly against his lips, melting in his embrace.

They were embarking on a brand-new journey, one that promised to be exciting and tumultuous. From best friends to red-hot lovers, literally overnight - it would not be easy. Voldemort was still out there, psychotically salivating for Harry's blood. There were Death Eater arses to be kicked, Hagrid's death to be avenged. There was Ron to inform about this new twist in the dynamics of the Trio - Merlin, she certainly wasn't looking forward to that particular conversation. It was bound to be awkward, to put it mildly.

There was the wizarding world and all its associated shit that was relevant simply because Harry Potter was Harry Potter.

But they were together now, and they were stronger for it. There was nothing either wouldn't do for the other and together, they would get through whatever was guaranteed to be thrown their way. Together, they would survive. Because Hermione Granger was bound and determined that they would; Harry needed it.

And there was nothing she wouldn't do for him.