Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author notes and acknowledgements: More things lifted from other stories. The "paging Mr. Kettle" line is the invention of Lori Summers, from the epic fic "Harry Potter and the Hero With a Thousand Faces." The reference to "maybe Harry should go on a game show" was paraphrased from a classic line uttered by John Cleese as Basil Fawtly in Fawtly Towers. Apart form that, it's all mine ^evil laugh^ Well, except for HP and all, which belongs to JK Rowling. And all the evil corporations who've licenced it from her. Hmph

Thank you again to Nykohl and Raye, betas extraordinaire.

Revelation in an Invisibility Cloak - Part 2

*

When she opened her eyes again, it took her a while to remember where she was.

What she had done.

Why the hell was Harry staring at her, gently shaking her, stroking her forehead, and why the hell was he naked and what the hell was she doing underneath him…

Oh yeah. That's right.

A small smile fluttered on her lips. Harry exhaled in relief.

"You okay?" he murmured, the back of his hand running feather-like across the smooth skin of her flushed cheeks. "I think you kinda spaced out there for a moment…"

She chuckled, low and deep in her chest, before reaching up and pulling him against her, kissing him gently to still his words. She flexed her pelvic muscles, still feeling him buried deep inside her, and he trembled in response. When they parted, he just lay there, propped up on his elbows, gazing at her so intently she had to look away. Absently, he reached up to stroke her hair, then cupping her face in his hand, moving it back so he could look her in the eye again.

Even lying there so contentedly, she felt the weight of his gaze, saw the shimmering pools in his eyes that seemed full of secrets, secrets that he wanted to tell. She wasn't sure if she was ready to hear them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed a finger on his lips, and said, "Not yet, Harry. Please. Let's just lie here for a minute. There's plenty of time for that."

He hesitated, before nodding and giving her a quick kiss. When he slid out of her, she fleetingly felt the pang of his absence, but she let him go. She closed her eyes as she felt his full weight on her again, as he nestled into her. She wrapped her arms around him, cradling his head against her breasts, squirming as he playfully nuzzled before settling down. Lazily, she stroked his back, up and down his spine, enjoying the feel of goose bumps rising to attention underneath her fingers, and his heavy breathing that slowed and thickened as he relaxed.

But she couldn't completely relax. While her body was in repose, her mind was spinning along like a whirling dervish.

Clichés exist for a reason. They perfectly describe situations, actions, words. And she and Harry were guilty of acting out one. They'd crossed the line. Not just stepped over it, but totally eradicated it.

But what did it mean for them? The start of something new? Or was it just a one-night aberration, never to be repeated and always to be avoided in future conversations with a guilty look and an aversion of the eyes?

Then of course, there were those photos. She couldn't believe that he hadn't done that before, it seemed almost like a nightly ritual. And the fact that he'd done it after coming back from clubbing…

And that was yet another thing. What the hell was he doing going to Muggle clubs? Dressed like a pretty-boy, carrying with him a pall of smoke and perfume and…

She craned her head to look at him. Yep, they were lipstick stains all right, smeared and pale from the sweat and, probably, her hands running all over his skin. It was funny how she hadn't noticed them during that time when all hell had broken loose.

All the inconsistencies that existed between the pale, unkempt and withdrawn Harry she'd known for so long, and this Harry, the wild, purely sexual being that she'd made fierce, abandoned love to, were pored over, analysed by her unwilling yet ever-present reason. And it just didn't add up.

She sighed, pressing a kiss to his hair, which was starting to escape from the controlled spikes he'd arranged it into and was resembling more the unruly mane that she was used to. She allowed herself a small smile while she ran her fingers through the mass. Some things obviously never changed.

"Why?" she heard herself whispering to him, before she could stop herself. "Why didn't you let me know how you felt?"

He didn't answer. He was silent for so long, she almost thought he'd dozed off. Except his heart was beating so rapidly, she could feel it hammering against her belly, a loud tattoo that just seemed to get faster and louder, sounding in her eardrums as its tremors rippled through her skin. She found herself holding in her breath, her own heart painfully beating a tripartite staccato in her chest.

Finally he spoke. His voice was gruff, almost annoyed. "I thought you didn't want to talk."

She waited a moment. Then, ferociously, she shoved him off her with all her strength, which, seeing as she was angrier than a mad snake, was considerable.

"Ooof!" he exclaimed as he teetered on the edge of the bed before regaining his balance. He shot her a glare, which she matched, burning with anger. He was indignant. "But you said you didn't want to talk about it yet!"

"I've changed my mind," she said coldly, enunciating each word into clipped projectiles that were intended to hit him like hexes.

Frustrated, he shook his head, glowering at her. "Oh, you've changed your mind, have you? How convenient. You're still the same, aren't you? Still think you can control everything and everyone, just Miss Perfect-Bloody-Prefect. Shit."

His words stung, and she struggled not to let it show. "Yes. Shit. That's exactly what you are, Harry. How refreshing that you can admit it to yourself." She pushed herself up on her elbows, and tried to pull the sheets around her, before realising that they'd never gotten under the sheets in the first place. Scowling, she crossed her arms over her breasts, covering them.

He gave her a scornful look. "Bit late for modesty, isn't it? I thought we got right past that."

"Shut up, you bloody prat!" she snapped. "You're avoiding the issue. And my question. Maybe you need it rephrased, since the first time was obviously a little too circumspect. How long have you been wanking to my pictures?"

He flinched at that. "You don't beat around the bush, do you?" he muttered. Sighing, he pushed himself up, sitting against the bed-head. He stared moodily at the cold fireplace, as though mesmerised by the lack of flames. His hands fidgeted on his belly, twisting, and she winced inwardly as he loudly cracked the knuckles of his thumbs, then the rest of his fingers on his right hand in succession. She couldn't stop herself from retorting, "Would you please stop doing that? It's bloody irritating."

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "So are you," before heaving himself off the bed and walking over to his jeans, which had landed near the fireplace in a now-dusty heap. As he moved, Hermione found herself appraising him, admiring his slim but sinewy body, not an ounce of unnecessary fat but not a stretch of wasted muscle either. He looked so damn good, with the candlelight softly illuminating his jet-black mess of spiky hair, drenching his pale skin like yellow moonlight. She found herself pressing her thighs together as he bent, exposing his arse to her as he scrabbled around in the pockets of his jeans. She felt a sudden, insane urge to sink her teeth into those tight apple-like cheeks…

Her approval quickly changed to annoyance as he straightened, carrying his wand and a pack of cigarettes. He slipped one out of the packet and Incendio'ed the tip. He put the filter to his lips and drew in smoke deeply, holding it and exhaling with a sigh of satisfaction, his eyes closed. Flicking ash off the end into the fireplace, he opened them and caught her staring at him, and those same eyes narrowed as he sensed her surprise and faint disapproval.

"What?" he spat out, aggressively. "In case you haven't noticed, this is my place, so I can damn well smoke if I please!"

"Well, you never smoked before!" she replied angrily. "Oh bloody hell!" she swore and jumped off the bed to stride over to him. She pulled the smoke from his slack fingers and watched his belligerent expression change to one of pure astonishment as she put it to her own lips and dragged on it for a few long seconds. Inhaling it deeply into her lungs, she felt her head spin and her heartbeat quicken as the nicotine rushed around her bloodstream like a rogue virus. God she'd needed that. She blew it out into his face, regarding him in smug satisfaction as the blue-tinged smoke eddied into his open mouth and took him by surprise; spluttering as it went down his throat, he pounded himself in the chest a few times, before glaring at her.

"Oh and I suppose that's your first-ever drag?" he sniped at her sarcastically, grabbing the cigarette back and taking another drag before passing it back to her.

Accepting it, she puffed again, less desperately, before answering. "No, of course not. I started in first year before I realised it'd probably be a really bad - "

"You what?" he yelled. "First year? You were eleven for Christ's sake!"

She laughed. "No no, not first year Hogwarts. First year uni!"

"Oh." He seemed to be a bit lost for words then. "Well, you shouldn't make it a habit, it's not good - "

"Uh-huh. Right. Paging Mr Kettle, there's a Mr Pot on Line One." She saw a smile almost crack his lips, before he got it under control. "Anyway, what I was about to say was that I started, realised it was a stupid habit to get into, not to mention not good for me, so I quit. Every now and then, though…." she shrugged and took another drag, before handing it back to him. "Anyway, I suppose you picked it up from the Muggles you go clubbing with, hey?"

He just gazed at her, disconcertingly. His face composed itself into another mask. This one was blank, revealing nothing, except for those damn eyes, blazing with such emotion as they stared right into her own. She forced herself not to look away this time.

"How do you know I go clubbing?" he asked softly.

She snorted. "Um, let's see. You're wearing…well, you were wearing Muggle gear. Very nice Muggle gear, if I do say so myself. And your scent was reminiscent of all the East End dives I've ever had the misfortune of venturing into. So, who are these new bunch of friends, hmm? I suppose you've told them everything, haven't you? Cosied up to them while Ron and I and everyone else are just discarded like used tissues?" She realised that her voice was rising, getting louder and harsher as she found yet more reserves of anger deep inside her. "I can't believe you, Harry Potter! All this time, we're thinking, `oh poor Harry,' we think you're so ashamed of yourself, so dragged down by guilt you can hardly stand up anymore, and we try, my God we try, to pull you out of the goddamned funk you've got yourself into. And tonight…. well, you've just been playing the martyr, haven't you? Pretending to be the burned-out frigging hero who can't face reality anymore, when all along all you've really done was gone and found yourself a new one!"

She was yelling at him now; she could see flecks of spit spraying in front of her, hitting Harry's stoic face, for she was so close that she could have kissed him. But all she wanted to do was shake him up, get through to him, make him to tell her why he'd put them - put her - through so much.

"How dare you!" she continued, her hands fisted by her side, while he stood there like a statue with a long forgotten soul burning in its stone eyes, except his own hands were also fisted, the right one grinding the end of the cigarette into a shreds of tobacco and paper as it slowly continued to smoulder. "How dare you do this to all of us! You could at least have let us share in your grief before it apparently went the way of the Death Eaters. Don't you even care anymore?" she finally shrieked, before stopping, her chest heaving, face burning with anger.

He just stared right back at her. Looked down at the glowing tip of the cigarette, dangerously close to his clenched fist as it had burned down so much. He flicked it carelessly into the fireplace, watching it bounce off the bricks and into the hearth, before saying quietly, "My grief hasn't gone anywhere, Hermione. Nor has my guilt. You can't know…it's part of me. Yes, I don't keep in touch much anymore. It was just too much. Too raw. Every time I saw someone, you, Ron, Luna, Ginny, whoever…for so long, all I could think about was Neville. He was only there because of that stupid prophecy. He only died because he…he…he wasn't chosen." He ended shakily, bitterness coating his words like treacle. His eyes brimmed with tears, before he blinked them away. He looked at her again. She cringed as she took in his cold gaze.

"I feel more guilty about that than you will ever know, Hermione. So, don't you dare to tell me what I am feeling, that my grief's just gone. Because it never fucking left."

His clipped words, while delivered so deadpan, were unable to mask the anguish behind them. Hermione couldn't stay close to him anymore - she backed away to sit on the bed, knees together primly, bending forward to lean on them with her elbows. She couldn't even look at him when she whispered, "I just wish you'd….you'd let us in. It hurt, Harry. I know you went through hell, but…I wish you'd let m-…I wish you'd let us help you." She sighed, and shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. It was really quite chilly in this room without a fire. Funny how she hadn't noticed before…

"Cold?" he asked her. She almost rolled her eyes. Maybe we can get him on a game show. Harry Potter, Muggle wanna-be extraordinaire. Speciality, the bleeding obvious. She merely nodded, though, her teeth starting to chatter. Why isn't he cold? she thought irritably, before she felt heat radiate from the fireplace as Harry lit a roaring fire with a twirl of his wand. "Mmmm," she found herself moaning, and stretched languorously, basking in the warmth that seemed to be blowing in like a summer's breeze. She opened her eyes to find Harry still staring at her, but not coldly; he was appreciatively roaming her body with his gaze, his lips slightly parted. She felt a slow blush mottle her skin, from her face down to the valley between her breasts as he evaluated her like one would a fine painting. No, that was a stupid analogy, way off the mark. No art critic staring at the latest modern-art pap would hold so much passion in a mere look.

Again, she remembered those photographs, which were now lying on the floor behind their cracked frame, and she felt herself seethe again. And she realised then that all her anger - it wasn't really about the fact that he'd abandoned everyone. It was that he'd abandoned her. Yet, apparently harboured this…crush, this obsession for her, for…how long? Though a part of her was contemptuous at this thought (that good old inner-voice which acerbically piped up, don't be too modest about this, hmm? Hell, he may even top himself over you, modern-day Marilyn that you are! Pffft!), she knew it was true. Hadn't she seen the look on his face when his eyes were glued to her photographic form and his hands were welded to his cock? Couldn't she see the way he was staring at her now?

Before she could say anything or react, he shook his head and gave her a hard look. "Anyway, you're not coming clean either. Are you?"

"Huh?" she asked distractedly. Her mind was still a million miles away with the looks he'd been searing on her skin.

He sighed almost inaudibly, before saying quietly, "Hermione, why don't you tell me what's really on your mind? All this bluster and bullshit; doesn't really have much to do with me not keeping in touch with everyone else, does it? The reason you're so pissed off is because of you and me, not anything else."

She spluttered, but before she could say anything he strode over to her and, like she'd done to him, placed a finger on her lips, to quieten her. She stared, doe-like, into his eyes, which transfixed her with their depths. Deer in headlights, she thought helplessly. Just as helplessly, she found herself kissing that finger, gently moulding her lips around the knuckle, looking into his eyes while she worshipped his finger.

He shuddered at the sight, his free hand moving to her shoulder, to stroke it, his fingers like hot brands. Cupping her face, he bent to kiss her, his soft lips delving into hers, until she was light-headed. He broke away first, leaving her gasping.

"No," he murmured, holding her face in both hands, grasping it so she couldn't look away. "Let me speak. You want to hear everything. It's a pretty lame story, but I'll tell you anyway. Because I…" he trailed off, biting his lip thoughtfully as he kept his gaze solely on her.

"What, Harry?" she whispered back, when he said no more. "Because you what?"

He didn't reply, just shook his head. "Not yet. Not until…"

"But…but-!" she exploded, "you can't just do that to me! You can't start then stop, for God's sake!"

He shushed her, once again putting his finger to her lips. Quite brave of him really: she wanted to bite it. Hard.

"Just let me tell it my way, okay?" he rasped, running his finger over her bottom lip.

Crossing her arms over her chest again, she mutely nodded, before settling back and tucking her legs underneath herself. Looked at him. Waited.

He ambled over to the fireplace, picked up his wand, which he'd deposited on the mantle, and transfigured an uncomfortable-looking chair out of nowhere, where he sat perched on the edge. He lit another cigarette from the pack he'd held in his hand all this time, and offered her one. She shook her head, her gaze saying get on with it.

He sighed again and dragged deeply on the cigarette. "Okay, you know how I was all fucked up after that crap, don't you?"

She nodded again. Yeah, she knew what he was talking about. The whole wizarding populace had known, courtesy of the Daily Prophet and every other tabloid rag worldwide.

"Yeah, well." Another drag. Deeper this time, before continuing. "It was hard. I hate playing the martyr. I hope you know that. But I was so…so angry." He shook his head in amazement, as if he'd realised this for the first time. "Everything. Sirius falling through a…a bloody hole for Christ's sake. Percy….God, who would've thought he'd become a Death Eater, of all things? And then Neville….Jesus."

Yes, yes, she knew all this! Why couldn't he get to the bloody point?

"It was Dumbledore, you know," he commented, oh so casually, before taking another drag.

It took a while for that to hit her. "What?" she blurted, absolutely flummoxed. "What do you bloody mean, it was Dumbledore?"

"He's the one who suggested I lie low. Cut myself off from everyone. He could see I wasn't coping. He thought it might do me some good, to get out for a while. Live amongst Muggles. Away from that place where everyone knows my face and this bloody brand on my forehead." He disgustedly swiped at the scar, and the contact with his fingers seemed to make it glow, pulsating with an eerie luminescence. She tore her eyes from it, a little spooked.

"Funny, isn't it?" he remarked almost conversationally. "You'd have thought maybe with Voldemort gone and everything, the scar might have gone too. I mean, everything he made seemed to disappear like smoke. Only trace of him left were the scum who licked his boots. So I wonder why this," he said, pointing to the scar, "stayed?"

"Maybe because it changed you for the better, Harry," she said quietly. "Do you think you would have been able to defeat him if you didn't have his essence? Some part of him that you used for good rather than bad?"

"Nah," he murmured morosely, shrugged his shoulders. "We both know it was luck, Hermione. It was either me," he stopped, and barked with humourless laughter, "or Neville. He chose me, and he chose me because I was apparently a half-blood like him. Damn scar was only Mum's doing, really. Just that last, useless little bit of magic that gave me slight protection. I really don't think it helped me in the end, all that much." He looked down at his cigarette, raising it to his lips before realising that it had burnt right down to the filter. Clicking his tongue irritably, he flicked it backwards into the fireplace, where it was devoured by greedy flames.

"Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked. Fact is I was getting homicidal after it all ended. Well-wishers, fans, family I never knew I had," he said wryly, a twisted grin on his face. It morphed into an angry grimace and he spat, "the bloody press. Even my friends, walking around on eggshells, like I was about to explode and take you all with me. No, I know you all meant - and mean - well, Hermione," he quickly added when she opened her mouth indignantly, "but you must admit that it's true. It wasn't all your fault, I know I was hard to be around."

She nodded before she could stop herself. She couldn't help but remember, even with the hurt of him withdrawing from everyone, there was that sense of relief as well, when they wouldn't have to walk into a room and see Harry in a corner, a perpetual scowl upon his face, glum and uncommunicative, while they - usually Ron and her - tried to include him, but got absolutely nowhere.

"Well, I had to…take time out. You know? Dumbledore saw things for what they were. Even though he's been a little…non-committal in the past, he could tell I was about to go postal, and this time he was pretty bloody forthcoming."

She felt the resentment in Harry, the mixed feelings Dumbledore inspired in him. He had a right to feel that way - Dumbledore had foolishly kept Harry at arm's length in fifth year, to try and protect him. And he'd tried to make up for it henceforth, after the death of Sirius, but Harry had never bestowed upon him that blind admiration he'd previously had for the great wizard after finding out that Dumbledore himself was only human, and made very human mistakes. And at Harry's revelation, Hermione herself felt tendrils of dislike for the old man curl around her heart, caused by the fact that he'd advised Harry to move away from them all. Even though she was starting to finally understand, rationally, why he had tiptoed off the radar, and why it had been good for him, she felt that old anger rise, and this time the target wasn't Harry.

"I know that you're thinking the old coot had no right to say so," Harry said, reading her mind uncannily well (or maybe it was the expression on her face), "but I'm glad he did. I think he told me what everyone else wasn't game enough to. That I was being an insufferable prat, you know? And that if I stayed any longer, well, I wouldn't exactly be the most popular bloke in the world. So, I made it….hard to find me. Gave myself a little room to breathe. Money wasn't an issue - I've lived pretty frugally. Well, except for the clothes," he added, smiling. It was a very strange smile, Definitely not a happy one.

They were silent for a while. The uncomfortable atmosphere seemed to thicken, the quiet of the room resounding in her ears, whining like feedback. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point; she didn't know what to say, but she had so much to say. Finally, she croaked, "Yeah, the clothes. Found some great night-spots, huh?" She tried to make a joke about it, but couldn't keep it up. "Harry, look. The fact is - and this is what pisses me off the most - the fact is that you've been living….well, a double life! And it's…really depressing that you could enjoy yourself so goddamned much and…and not include us," she finished feebly, knowing - and knowing that he knew - that by us, she really meant her.

But he didn't ridicule her. Or answer back hotly. He simply lowered his head, holding it in his hands. "I didn't really enjoy myself that much," he muttered, so quietly that she had to strain her ears to hear him. "It was - is - an outlet. I go into a club, they're playing loud music, so loud, so damn repetitive, it's like someone's taking a hammer and chisel and pounding it into my forehead, you know? I was walking the streets one night, ages ago. I'd never…really been in a place like that. You know, I was stuck with the Dursleys every summer, and there isn't really any nightlife in Hogsmeade. And I walk past and all I can hear is this jungle beat, you know? It was…shit, I don't know how to describe it." He raised his head, and Hermione saw that manic glint that had been in his eyes when he'd been above her, pumping himself in and out of her furiously. She shivered, partly at the memory of their lovemaking, but also in discomfort, his gaze giving birth to writhing snakes in her stomach.

"I tried to get in," Harry continued, looking straight through her, lost in his memories, "but this big arsehole refused. Said I was dressed like a bum, and I had to come back in decent clothing before he'd let me near the place. Almost hexed him a dick sticking out of his nostrils," he smiled, as if this would have been most amusing. "Wish I had, in a way. Would have been the funniest headline, eh? `The Boy Who Lived Gives Muggle Bouncer Extra Kudos with the Ladies.' Heh heh," he chuckled, before realising that Hermione was definitely not laughing with him. He cleared his throat, before continuing.

"Well, I went back the next night after shopping around, in the best threads I could find. I dunno why - I just didn't want someone telling me I couldn't do something. Been happening my whole life, after all."

"Not that it ever stopped you from doing what you were told not to!" Hermione retorted.

He just chuckled again. "Yeah, you're right. Anyway, I got past that bouncer, and…well, it was amazing. Smoke, these lights, all those people…and that music! I just started moving. I mean, I never could dance, never wanted to, and all of a sudden I'm just shuffling around and thrashing my bloody arms like this music has hypnotised me or something!" He shook his head again, a look of childlike wonder spreading across his face. "It became a way of forgetting, you know? Never really met anybody - I didn't want to. I don't have any Muggle friends, like you put it. All I wanted was that beat pounding in my head, and that was enough."

He trailed off again, staring into space. She quietly contemplated him for a while, and before she could shut her mouth, said, "Well, you obviously meet some people sometimes. Like tonight." She stared fixedly at the faint lipstick smears on his neck and temple that all of a sudden seemed to broaden and flash at her mockingly in the fluttering candlelight.

"What?" he asked her, bewildered. Then, for some reason, it clicked. He put his hand to his temple, rubbing the stain and pulling it off to peek at his fingers. "Yeah, well, it isn't what you think. I didn't kiss her, she kissed me. I was just dancing by myself, next to the DJ booth, ignoring the crowd and all of a sudden this bird that's high as a friggin' kite jumps into my arms and locks her bloody lips to me. I don't know. Pushed her off right fast - her fella looked like he wanted to stretch my tongue out of my head. Actually," he said thoughtfully, pausing and stroking his chin, "it's happened a fair bit. Must be all that Ecstasy they swallow like Smarties."

Hermione had a hunch that it wasn't just the drugs. She could see how Harry could attract female attacks - in those clothes, dancing away by himself, not looking to pick up, just lost in the music, dark, brooding…yeah, she could see it very vividly. And she could also imagine Harry acting on their affections, especially if there wasn't a forgotten boyfriend glaring daggers at him.

"Oh and I suppose you never did anything with any of these girls, hey?" she asked sarcastically, again before she could make her mouth stop.

Finally he reacted. Angrily. Pushing himself off the chair, he stormed over to the bed. "Oh yeah, and you're all Virgin Mary too aren't you?" he snapped. "I mean, I was just pounced on by a girl who's never had anything up her, wasn't I?"

"Well I wasn't going to wait around for you like some blushing medieval bride while you went off and found yourself!" she yelled back.

"I never fucking asked you to wait around!" he shouted.

"So then why the fuck are we yelling at each other?" she screamed.

They stared furiously at each other then, her on the bed, he towering above her, before his rage started to dissipate, until he sighed and sat next to her on the bed, grasping her hand. "This is ridiculous," he said softly. "We could sit here and storm around each other and tear each other apart till Uric rises from the dead - it's not going to solve anything."

"No," she breathed, pressing down on his hand. "You're right." She was silent for a while, letting the tension build between them, before asking timidly, "Why didn't you let me know? You know how I feel, I told you so long ago."

"Yeah. A long time ago," he said tiredly, letting go of her hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. His glasses-free nose, she realised again, but before she could ask him about it he'd pressed on.

"I just wasn't sure, you know? I…it'd changed between us. When you told me that, I didn't know how I felt. We were only sixteen, but I was sixteen going on forty. Then, when you nearly died…again…" he let a breath whistle through his teeth. "I knew how I felt about you then. But…I don't know. I guess I wasn't ready. Yeah I know, it's a shitty excuse, but it's the only one I can truthfully give you." He peered at her uncertainly, wanting her to believe, needing her to see that he wasn't being evasive, he'd just never tried to sort these feeling out in his head.

She understood. Not everyone could analyse their actions and intentions like she could, and did, on a regular basis. Proper little computer, you are, said that hateful voice, before she shoved it down again.

"What about now?" she whispered, reaching up a hand to run it through his hair. She felt him jumping slightly at her touch, and he put a hand on her thigh, sliding closer to her on the bed.

"Yeah," he whispered back, running his hand up and down her smooth skin. "I reckon we could have a go, don't you?" He smiled and gently kissed her.

In the candlelight, the warm flames crackling and popping, they kissed, old friends and new lovers. For a long time, they lost themselves in each other, the kiss the only thing that mattered in the world.

Then, true to form, her mind started spinning again. And it surveyed the ridiculousness of their situation - the lighting like one of those American daytime soaps, the way they'd fought like screaming banshees before falling into each others arms, holding onto each other and kissing passionately like they were the only people left in the world. Yep, the clichés lived on, and this time the thought made her giggle, mid-kiss. Before she could control herself she was braying with mirth; she had to shove a bemused and disgruntled Harry away so she could laugh, holding her belly and laughing so hard she felt her muscles clench in protest, tears running down her face.

"Wh-what?" Harry stuttered, staring at her as though she'd gone mad. "Hermione…?"

"Oh Harry!" she gasped, trying to calm down, "haven't you ever seen Days of Our Lives? The Bold and the Beautiful? Passions? There's a witch in that one too…" and again she burst into laughter again, lying back on the bed and dissolving into hysterical guffaws.

He stared at her helplessly at first, occasionally trying to poke her in the ribs to get her to shut up. But, as laughter invariably has a way of spreading, the corners of his lips started to twitch, and he was suddenly laughing alongside her, lying with his face in the pillow, banging his fists into the mattress as his chortling spiralled out of control, and all the tension of the time they'd spent screwing, arguing…the burden he'd carried all his life, the weariness that came from having seen too much at such a young age, it was released in a purging, purifying stream of uncontrollable, inexplicable hilarity.

"What…what…are...we…laughing…for?" Hermione choked, trying to be articulate and failing miserably.

"I…don't…" Harry tried to respond, before collapsing again in peals of laughter.

Finally, they seemed to quieten down; their laughter relaxed into mere chuckles, breathing coming in hitches as they surfaced for air, and they found themselves pressed closely into each other, clutching each other's shoulders, as if they'd been afraid of flying off the bed in the midst of their mirth. Slowly, almost sinuously, their arms stole around each other and they gazed into each others' eyes, noses almost touching.

"Harry," she murmured, brushing her lips over his, "I…I…you mean everything to me."

"Can't imagine why," he rasped back, his hand rising to knead through her hair, his eyes fixed to hers. "I've treated you like shit, all this time. Didn't even have the balls to tell you…"

"Shh," she kissed him again to shut him up, "I know how you feel. You don't have to say it out loud, not if you don't want to. I saw all, remember? I know."

He moaned, and kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and moaning again when she responded eagerly, her own tongue dancing with his. He jerked as her hand snaked down to cup his balls, her fingertips probing the pebbly skin before running up to his erection, squeezing and fondling.

Everything seemed to blur into a pleasurable haze, as she spread her legs and let his fingers do what they liked, working magic on her, gasping and writhing on the rumpled sheets. His tongue moved on her nipple, circling, the motions mimicking his fingers which played on her clit, and she found herself shooting closer and closer to orgasm, and she didn't want that, not yet, she wanted to be in control.

She grabbed his moving hand and with all her strength bodily rolled him onto his back. He lay there, a smile on his lips as he reached for her dangling breasts, running his thumbs over her erect nipples. "C'mon, Head Girl," he slyly said, "what are you waiting for?"

"Oooh, you will regret that, Potter," she growled, and in one quick motion, reached behind her, grabbed his cock, lifted her hips and guided him into her. The sweet shock of penetration almost made her swoon; she sat there, impaled on him, mouth open, gasping, staring into his eyes which had glazed over, the whites showing more than his pupils as he clenched in the sensation, his hands clutching the sheets and almost tearing them. "Oh fuuuuuck…" he groaned, before he grasped her buttocks and started to move, his hips forcing her up and down in slow, serpentine movements. She felt his length slide in and out of her, clit banging away on his pubic bone, and she felt her orgasm coiling around the base of them, and it hit her again, so suddenly she wasn't prepared; all she could do was hang on and shriek helplessly while it stampeded through her, and as it was subsided she felt herself climbing the slope of the next one.

My God, she thought, I never knew I was this orgasmic. She never had been with her few other lovers. This was absolutely amazing, mind-blowing. She imagined she was rising out of her own body, staring at them from above, and saw their locked bodies fused as one, he pumping upwards, faster and faster, while she was hunched over him, snarling like a hellcat and shuddering in pleasure as she rammed herself down on him harder, faster, groaning her way through another orgasm. She bent backwards, clutching his ankles and riding him out, his eyes transfixed on that place where his cock disappeared into her and he let out a bellow as he clutched her hips and lost control, spurting deep within her.

She let go of his ankles and collapsed on him, holding him like he was a life-raft in a stormy ocean, shuddering as the last vestiges of her orgasm pulsed through her, covering his face and neck with kisses, moaning and cooing with his choked cries as his climax just seemed to go on and on; finally he stopped pumping his hips into her and fell back, totally sated, holding onto her as desperately as she clutched him.

"Three times," she murmured in his ear, and he caught on, smiling through his heavy breathing as he ran his hands up and down her sweaty back.

"Yeah…" he sighed, "and I think you lost count, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but don't get a big head," she said, letting the muscles of her pussy tighten around his still-erect cock and loving the feel of him arching it higher into her in response. "I mean, really, both of yours are more than big enough," she whispered suggestively, reaching behind her and giving his balls a squeeze.

He sniggered, squeezing her butt in response. "Glad to hear it."

And they were silent again, the afterglow of good sex finally giving way to lethargy as they both fell into sleep, all the while whispering and stroking each other, affectionate sweet nothings that neither of them would remember. Sailing in her fog, however, just before she dropped off to sleep, she thought she heard herself whisper to him, "I love you." And, though impending sleep was muffling all sound and sensation, she thought she heard him say, "I love you too." And that would do, for the moment.

*

When they awoke, seemingly hours later, they immediately made love, but without the histrionics. It was slow and dreamy, and she lay underneath him, legs spread and ankles hooked into his butt cheeks, eyes closed as she revelled in the closeness, the intimacy of their coupling, the way he lovingly, almost reverently kissed her and pressed his forehead to hers, forcing her to open her eyes and look deep into his soul, the fire burning within him as he expressed what he could not say with his actions.

Afterwards, they lay again in each other's arms, talking softly. He told her all about his days, where he went, how he'd missed them all even as he'd shunned them. Especially how he'd missed her. She told him about her placement in Oxford, he wondered why she hadn't gone to one of the wizarding universities or prestigious American colleges, and she told him that her childhood dream had been to go to Oxford and buggered if the small issue of being a witch was going to stop that. He laughed and held her closer.

She asked him where they were, and he shocked her by casually remarking, "Oh, just above a shop in Knockturn Alley."

"But…I thought you wanted to live with Muggles?"

"Well, not forever." He frowned, the creases in his forehead stark in the light. "I'd had enough of living with the worst Muggles imaginable. Being free of the Dursleys, yet still in their world…well, it wasn't pleasant. And there's that old issue of not being able to use magic, being careful about what they see, blah blah blah." He smiled, and she was amazed at the transformation of his face. She'd so rarely seen him smile in the past few years, and it was beautiful to behold. "Also, they're bloody boring. I mean, there's rarely a broad-minded specimen among `em. Only good thing about them is their music - beats listening to a bunch of clueless magical folk ripping off Mustang Sally."

"Oh!!" she almost yelled. "That's where they got that from! Thank you Harry, that was going to drive me up the wall if I didn't figure it out soon!" and she plastered his face with kisses, laughing at his struggles.

"Urgh," he said, wiping saliva off his face. "I was right, you are nuts!"

She giggled, even as she felt a small knot of anxiety in her stomach. She was forgetting something, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what…

"Hey, I never asked you," Harry muttered drowsily, his fingers entwining restfully in her hair, "just how did you get here? No one knew where I was living yet."

"Oh," she dismissively waved her hand. "It wasn't on purpose." She giggled again, poking him in the ribs. "I didn't all of a sudden decide to find you and perv on you, you know. No, I accidentally Flooed in here. Had to sneeze, didn't I? In mid-utterance."

Low laughter burbled from Harry. "Funny that, it happened to me years ago. Remember?"

"Yeah…funny, you ended up in Knockturn Alley too, didn't you?"

"Yep." He looked at her seriously. "You were lucky, you didn't end up in Borgin's Little Shop of Freaky Shit while Malfoy and his father Dracula were in there."

"Yeah, tell me about it." She poked him again. "I ended up in a place almost as dangerous though," and kissed him before he could retort.

They settled back against the pillow after a half-hearted wrestling match, and he asked her, "Where were you going? They were probably expecting you hours ago."

And that's when it hit her. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten.

"Oh shit!" she shrieked, pushing him off her and jumping from the bed. "Lav's party! Ginny…jewellery…oh my God they're gonna think I'm lying in a gutter somewhere!"

He got off the bed and went to her. "Okay, calm down. All you have to do is use the Floo network to phone through, right? The old head in the fireplace routine?"

She felt herself taking deep, calming breaths, before muttering, "Yeah, of course, you're right. Okay…um, how long have I been here? What's the time?"

"Ah…" he peered at his watch, "almost three in the morning."

"Oh bloody hell!" her shrill voice made Harry wince, "Merlin knows what they're going through! I better let them know, quick!"

"Shhh…okay, no need to yell," he soothed. "Just calm yourself down…you want to tell them what happened?"

She hesitated and though for a moment. No, she didn't, not just yet anyway. She wanted to keep this between themselves for a while. Let them nourish whatever small flame they had between them before it was blown out by the craziness of the people around them.

"No," she said. "We'll just say….well, the truth, to a point. I accidentally Flooed into your…room. I got knocked unconscious, which by the way, really happened," she said accusingly. "And you came home and…found me, took care of me."

"Hmmm," he hummed thoughtfully. "Think they'll buy it?"

"Well, do they really have a choice?" she returned cheekily, before striding to the fireplace and pinching some Floo powder between her thumb and forefinger. She cast it into the flames and intoned, "Lavender and Justin Brown."

Before she could crouch down and put her head into the flames, Harry grabbed her shoulder and twirled her around hurriedly. "What?" he exclaimed. "Did you just say what I thought you said? Justin Brown? You don't mean Finch-Fletchely?"

Hermione grinned. "Yep, the one and same. Well, he already had a hyphenated last name; can you imagine if they'd taken his? And Lav certainly wasn't about to give up hers…Finch-Fletchely-Brown." She grimaced. "Nope. Justin was quite happy to get rid of that mouthful."

Harry stared at her in amazement, before shaking his head and muttering under his breath, "I always knew there was something strange about that bloke."

She chortled and, bending down, she thrust her head into the flames. She felt that sick, spinning sensation, before it settled and she took in the scene before her.

She saw exactly what she'd expected - Lav and Justin huddled in a corner, Lav sobbing, Ginny and Dean holding each other up supportively, Ron pacing relentlessly, his emotions written all over his face, and other people familiar and unfamiliar milling around uncertainly. No one had looked up and seen her head in the fireplace.

"Hi!" she said as cheerfully as she could.

Everyone jerked their heads up, and gaped at her unbelievingly, jaws seemingly touching their chests, before they crowded round the fireplace. Hermione was glad she'd done it this way; if she'd Flooed there directly she'd have been smothered.

"Oh my God, Herm!" Lav sobbed, almost reaching into the flames to stroke Hermione's face before Justin grabbed her hand to stop her. Hermione winced at that nickname that Lav had insisted on sticking with. "What happened? We were so worried…where are you? We've got Aurors looking for you all over the place!"

Ron and Ginny shoved her unceremoniously aside before Hermione could open her mouth. Ginny's makeup was ruined by tears, her face twisted in concern. "What happened, Hermione? What happened to you? Oh my God you look a mess!"

Again Hermione tried to speak and was overridden by Ron, who snarled "I'll kill `em, Hermione!" his face close to the flames. "Who got you? Who did it?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" she yelled over the top of them, their chattering worried voices lancing into her head and bringing back the pain of her headache. "Just shut up the lot of you! I'm okay! Nothing happened to me!"

Quickly she explained to them, editing her story and leaving out the interesting parts. They were all silent for a moment, before Ron said apprehensively, "Um…how did Harry react when he saw you on his floor, for God's sake? I mean, he's not exactly the most sociable of creatures nowadays."

"Oh, he was fine. Well, I think he was; I was unconscious, remember? He took care of me, and I only just woke up," she lied, hating herself for doing so.

"Can…can we see Harry?" Ginny asked cautiously.

She knew what the problem was; none of them believed her. Even though she'd tried to hide it, her sadness at being shunned by Harry had been obvious to everyone. They all seemed to know that she had harboured an unrequited love for him. They'd never told her, but she knew. And now they were incredulous.

"Yeah, sure," she answered, stifling her annoyance. "Hold on."

She pulled her head out of the fireplace, carefully so as not to breathe ash, and turned to Harry, who was sitting on the bed, his eyes on her. Hermione suspected that he'd been gawking at her exposed butt. She was surprised (and, she admitted to herself, a little disappointed) that he hadn't tried anything while she'd been incapacitated.

"They want to speak to you," she announced, and the lazy look on his face changed to one of uneasiness.

"Um...why?" he asked.

"Don't know. Well, actually I do, I think, but just let them see you're really here with me alright? Just don't tell them…you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he grumbled, before getting up and crouching beside her. He took a deep breath and propelled his head into the green flames.

"Hi guys," she heard him, muffled, and sounding as though from a great distance. She was surprised - she didn't know that you could hear this end of a conversation by Floo. The one time she'd been with someone using the Network like this - Harry, coincidentally - she'd been too preoccupied with trying to breathe around Millicent Bulstrode's hammy fists encircling her throat.

"Yeah, it was," he said. "She's okay now though."

He paused. "Yeah, I'm okay. Doing pretty well, actually."

As he talked to them, she studied his bent form. There were those round buttocks, the muscles taut, his strong arms bracing his weight on the floorboards, sparse ebony hair spattering his thighs. She reached out and laid a hand on his butt, and he jerked; she heard his voice falter, before he recovered and swatted at her hand with his. She playfully dodged and, reaching between his legs, ran a light finger down his flaccid penis. She was gratified as she saw it instantly start to fill with blood and rise to attention, and snickered evilly as she heard him groan briefly before he could control himself, then say "Yeah, I'm alright, just a little….um, sore."

She smiled and grasped his erection, pumping it slowly, feeling the full length of it in her hand. As he struggled to maintain the level of his voice, she slipped underneath him, leaning back on her elbows and facing the erect cock which twitched and bobbed in front of her. Craning her neck forward, she tentatively licked the eye which was oozing pre-come, tasting it, smearing it around the head, knowing that she was tasting herself as well as him. As his thighs tensed she pursed her mouth into a tight O and slowly covered his cock with it, letting it slide into her mouth and squeezing it with her lips, the veins and ridges of it throbbing as she took him in deeper, letting the back of her throat relax as she swallowed him almost entirely. She heard him wheeze like a dying man as she pulled off him with a gasp and repeated the action, while he chatted with people who hadn't seen him for so long and tried, in vain, to ignore the fact that he was being sucked off and deep throated by the girl who'd accidentally Flooed into his place of residence. She could hear his voice wandering, could tell by the hitches in his conversation he was losing concentration as she slid up and down on him, twisting and turning her head while her tongue massaged the underside of his cock. And just as she thought he was going to explode in her mouth, she heard a muffled "Yeah, see ya!" and he pulled his head out of the fireplace, falling back on his arse and slipping out of her mouth with a loud pop, an incredulous look on his face. Before he could say anything, she'd pounced on him again, this time grasping the root of his dick and ferociously attacking it with her mouth.

"Oh, oh, oh Jesus…" he gasped as his orgasm drew nearer, and even as she quickened her pace. "Hermione…I'm gonna, I'm gonna…"

She smiled mischievously as she slid up and looked at him, her tongue still dancing on the head of his cock. "What, baby?" she asked innocently, before devouring his cock with her warm mouth.

He groaned and lay back, his head smacking into the floorboards but apparently not registering on the pain scale, for he kept writhing and uncontrollably pumping his hips so that his cock was again sliding to the back of her throat, and she felt him flinch, and a strangled yell was torn from his lips as he clutched her shoulders and came, his warm semen filling her mouth. She couldn't believe there was so much; after all the orgasms he'd had in the past few hours. She swallowed his come, finding that she didn't mind the salty taste of it, and she felt rather than heard his heels drum the floor in a wild rhythm as the last tremors of orgasm swept through him.

She kept him in her mouth for a while, licking him and swallowing until she'd gotten all his come, before pulling her mouth off him and her resting her head on his thigh. He had propped himself up on his elbows, and was gazing at her with wonder and affection, and deep gratitude. "Oh my God, Hermione," he murmured, reaching forward to stroke the hair from her flushed forehead. "That was amazing…I never would have asked you…"

"I know," she smiled at him, her hand gently stroking his semi-erect cock. "I wanted to, okay? Anyway, I told you I'd get you back for calling me Head Girl."

His mouth curled into a slow, dangerous grin. "Oh, you think that was payback, huh? I'm gonna get you for doing that while I was talking to people I haven't actually seen for ages…bloody hell, woman, I almost screamed out in the middle of conversation!"

She chucked. "Okay, lets see how you pull this one off," she said, and she slid up his body to kiss him, letting him taste himself on her lips.

*

The next few hours were spent losing themselves in each other. Until dawn poked its grey, tousled head around the heavy drapes, they'd both come many times, sleeping fitfully, only to climb onto each other at the first sign of alertness or wakefulness.

She learnt many things about herself that night, and the whole of the next day. And he did get his own back, many times over. But none was so sweet as when he murmured to her, "You know when you were under the invisibility cloak and watching me….well, you know?"

"Yes?" she asked, anticipation rising inside her.

"Well, d'you think…d'you think you could do the same thing? Let me hide while you…"

She smiled at his shyness, before slipping out from underneath him and letting her hand steal down to her crotch. "I'll give you ten seconds to find that bloody cloak," before closing her eyes, smiling as she felt the bedsprings bounce and his feet hit the floor. I could get used to this, she thought lazily, and it was that inner voice that had so far given her nothing but grief. Finally speaking for her, not to her. And she smiled as she heard him mutter, "Ready." And gasped in pleasure as her thumb grazed her clit.

Finis.