A Darkened Doorway

Author’s Notes

June 1, 2004

This is a slightly revised version of A Darkened Doorway. Not much has changed at all, but thanks to danielerin, my wonderful new Brit-picker and grammar beta and to Forest, one of this fics most ardent supporters, this version is much more British. And, I hope all of those pesky typos are gone now!

This story started a couple of months ago as an idea from reading a list of subjects for the HP Ficathon. I wrote one page of the idea and left it, instead choosing to concentrate on completing Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.

Wednesday, while killing time in a Laundromat (long story) I came upon the page I had written and decided to try to finish it. This, is the result. Of course, it being me, a one shot four page ficlet has turned into 45 with multiple chapters. Whether this is good or bad remains to be seen.

This is my attempt to write something other than fluffy romance. I’m rating it R for language, sexual innuendo and lots of f-bombs.

The beginning of this story takes place in a ‘red light district’ in London. Vleigh thinks they have outlawed those types of areas, and I have no idea. Since this is fiction and is therefore not grounded in reality, it’s staying. It is inspired by the great city of New Orleans, and one particular establishment that has mannequin legs sitting on a swing, swinging from above the sign that says “Girls, Girls, Girls.” Those legs are very distracting, especially after about 4 Hurricanes.

A big thank you to Phoenix Song for giving my villain motivation and to Vleigh and PS for betaing for me.

***

A DARKENED DOORWAY

by cheering charm

Chapter 1

“Get a room, for Christ’s sake!”

Hermione shook her head in disgust at the couple plastered against the wall, exhibiting an inordinate amount of public affection.

“Just ignore it,” Harry said. “Do you see them?”

“They’re about 100 yards ahead, across the street in front of the ’Girls! Girls! Girls!’ sign.”

“I expect those two will walk right past that. And…they did.”

“When I volunteered for this assignment, I didn’t realize I was signing up for an education in male homosexuality.”

“You haven’t read a book about that?” Harry teased.

“Not lately, no.”

They walked on in silence, stopping as their marks stopped, peering into windows, attempting to blend in with their surroundings.

That was no easy feat considering the area of London they were in. Maybe it was Hermione’s imagination, but everyone seemed to be a couple. And rather open about their mutual desire, she thought as they passed a man, running his tongue across the cheek of a woman, a gesture she apparently liked and Hermione found revolting.

“Hold my hand,” Hermione demanded, grabbing Harry’s.

“We are sticking out a bit, aren’t we?” Harry said. “Want me to lick your face?”

“As appealing as that sounds, no,” Hermione said dryly, distracted despite herself by a man shagging a woman from behind in a darkened doorway.

Lovely. I’m a voyeur.

She shook her head as she peered down the street, eyeing their marks. Goyle and Crabbe were so easy to follow; their stupidity had not decreased with age. Not only did they wear eye-catching clothes (tonight they were wearing absurdly bright island shirts), but they walked as slow as their brains worked— at a snail’s pace.

As they crept down the street, the crowd started changing and thickening to reflect the shift in business. Men were holding hands with other men, women, some who looked like men, were walking arm in arm with other women. One thing didn’t change: the public display of affection.

“That’s not something you see every day,” Harry said, turning his head to watch two stunningly beautiful women show the world how they felt about each other. “Unfortunately,” he added with a leer.

“Can we stay focused here, please?”

“You’re one to talk. I saw you watching that couple in the doorway. Perve.”

Ignoring him, Hermione said, “Where did they go?”

“Right back there,” Harry said, pointing behind them.

“No, you pervert, Crabbe and Goyle!”

The brightly colored shirts across the street were gone. Harry pulled Hermione across the street by the hand, holding his other up to stop traffic as they crossed. They walked rapidly up the pavement, dodging people, looking around frantically. Thoughts of having to explain to Moody why two of his best Aurors had lost track of two of the stupidest Death Eaters ran through Hermione’s mind.

“You were distracted? By what?”

“Well, Harry was watching these two hot chicks feel each other up and I was preoccupied by the image of two people fucking in a doorway.”

We have got to find them right now! Hermione thought desperately.

“Shit!” she heard Harry exclaim before he pushed her into a doorway that led to the offices above the stores on the street. Before she knew or understood what was happening, Harry’s lips were on hers.

“Crabbe and Goyle are coming toward us,” he said into her mouth.

“Right,” she replied wondering how long they would have to stay like this at the rate those two walked.

She felt Harry move closer to her, into the shadows of the doorway, and press his body to hers.

Are his hands around my waist? she wondered vaguely, as his lips softened from a chaste, stage kiss into something she wasn’t expecting. He ran his tongue along her lips and she instinctively opened her mouth, tasting Harry for the first time.

Hermione would reason later that her response to Harry had more to do with the atmosphere they were surrounded by than him. But, she would never forget the reaction, despite her willingness to.

She wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled his head closer to her, her tongue frantically exploring his mouth. She felt his hands roam to her backside as he pulled her hips closer to him, squeezing her arse in the process.

Are we still pretending here? she wondered hazily, as one of his hands roamed up underneath her shirt and to her breast.

The same moment she registered that Harry’s hand was up her shirt she realized that it wasn’t Harry’s wand she was feeling on her abdomen.

That was what shocked her back to reality.

They pulled apart abruptly, both gasping for air, matching looks of bewilderment on their faces. Harry quickly removed his hand from her breast, leaving her bra slightly askew. She looked at his lips, swollen and red from kissing her, and had the urge to kiss him again. She reluctantly moved her eyes to his, finding him staring at her lips as if he had never seen them before. Fog slowly disappeared from the edges of his glasses, which were slightly out of kilter on his nose. He straightened them absently and leaned back out of the doorway, looking for Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione took the opportunity to discreetly straighten her bra.

“Come on,” he said hoarsely before clearing his throat. “They’ve gone past.”

They followed in awkward silence, both looking fixedly on the backs of the Death Eaters. The fluttering in Hermione’s stomach wouldn’t stop — as if each step she took was a missed stair. Thoughts were swirling in Hermione’s mind, none of which would slow down long enough to allow her to analyze what had just happened. As a result, she felt slightly dazed and very confused.

“Did they just turn into an alley?” she asked.

“I think so,” Harry said, reaching in his jacket for his wand. Hermione did the same, and they turned the corner into the alley, ready for what might be waiting for them.

They looked cautiously around the deserted alley. An overflowing rubbish bin was on the left wall, under a rickety metal fire exit. Harry looked up the fire exit, while Hermione walked cautiously down the opposite wall, to the end of the alley. A chain link fence with a ‘Beware of Dog’ sign greeted her. Behind the locked gate was the remainder of the empty alley, boxed in on three sides by the brick walls of the surrounding stores.

She turned to find Harry walking towards her. “They’re gone.”

“Wrong.”

Harry whirled around and Hermione brought her wand up, searching for the source of the unmistakable grunt of Goyle. She heard a familiar incantation, and Goyle appeared slowly, as if being poured out of a bucket. Moments later, Crabbe appeared the same way.

“You two never did give us enough credit,” Goyle said derisively.

“Enjoy your little snogging session back there?” Crabbe said with a leer, looking pointedly at Harry’s crotch. “I see you did, Potter. You really shouldn’t wear such tight pants, especially in this neighborhood,” he said, pursing his lips and kissing the air.

“You are disgusting, Crabbe,” Hermione said.

Crabbe shrugged his shoulders.

“Wonder what your boyfriend would think about your little display back there, Mudblood,” Goyle said with a sneer.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth as Goyle said, “Expelliarmus!” The force of the spell knocked Hermione off of her feet and her wand went flying into the air and over the locked fence behind her. She fell to the ground and saw brightly colored flashes light up the alleyway.

“Accio wand!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet. She turned to find Goyle rubbing his eyes and screaming, apparently on the receiving end of a conjunctivitus curse from Harry.

“Serpentsortia!”

A long, thick snake flew out of Crabbe’s wand, encircling Harry’s neck. Harry’s face began to redden as the snake wrapped itself tightly around Harry’s throat, rendering his ability to speak parseltongue completely useless. Harry clawed frantically at the slippery snake, gagging and gasping for air.

“Immobulus!” Hermione shouted, freezing Crabbe mid incantation. She turned her attention to the snake wrapped around Harry’s neck. Harry’s face was turning a dangerous shade of purple. She said the first thing that came to her mind, hoping it would work.

“Vipera evanesco!”

The snake disappeared in a puff of black smoke, and Harry fell to his knees, gasping for air. She took a step toward him as she felt the unmistakable energy of a curse hit her body. As she fell to the ground, she saw Goyle, eyes seeping with puss, pointing his wand in her general direction. Confusion flooded through her as she felt her insides explode. He didn’t say anything, she thought as the world around her fell away.

Although she felt nothing she knew she was laying on the ground, her eyes staring up at the sky. Where are the stars? Why is everything so black? The darkness moved in around her, muting everything but the sound of her shallow breathing.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” she heard someone whisper, and she felt thudding on the ground nearby. She heard more urgent whispering as she gagged, turned her head and threw up. The thudding returned, closer, and stopped, followed by a moaning and a clatter.

“Hermione?” she heard, her head being lifted from the ground and placed on something soft. She forced her eyes to focus and saw two bright lights reflected down on her. A slight movement and the lights became Harry’s eyes, his face etched with worry inches from hers.

She looked at his lips again and was disappointed to see they were thin and white. Where did his puffy lips go? She tried to lift her hand, but her body refused to listen. A sharp pain pierced her side and she groaned.

“Hermione?” she heard Harry call anxiously. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve called for a mediwizard. They’ll be here soon. Just hang on, okay?”

She saw tears streaming down his face. This must be bad, she thought, as another pain shot through her.

“Harry,” she said. Fluid rushed into her throat and she coughed. Flecks of red fluid shot from her mouth and landed on Harry’s face, spraying his glasses. She turned her head and coughed again, blood pouring out of her mouth.

I’m dying.

She turned her head and looked at Harry, who was crying openly now. “We should have done that a long time ago,” she said weakly, as her eyes drooped closed and a cool black shroud enveloped her.

A Darkened Doorway

by cheering charm

Chapter 2

Harry stood in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall for support. It had been a week since it had happened and Harry still felt weak every time he saw her.

He couldn’t get it out of his mind.

Any of it.

The taste of mint in her mouth as she ran her tongue around his…

The feel of her breast in his hand, her nipple hard under his fingers…

Blood gushing out of her mouth as she said what he had been thinking only minutes before when they stopped kissing…

Her eyes rolling back in her head as her body went limp…

The feeling in his stomach when he realized she was dead…

He moved his glasses up, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly, willing away the persistent headache he’d had for a week. He opened his eyes, hoping for a different scene. Instead he was met with the same one: Hermione lying comatose and lifeless in a hospital bed. Her boyfriend was slumped in a chair beside her, worry and anger etched on his face even as he slept.

Hermione lay motionless in her bed, diminished and frail in repose. Gone was the quiet energy she brought to a room, energy Harry had never appreciated before. Harry wondered if her hair was the source of this energy as it too lay limply on her pillow.

Despite their pasty, dry appearance, Harry couldn’t stop himself from staring at her lips for long periods of time. He would catch himself running his fingertips across his lips trying to grasp the feeling of her lips on his that his mind repeatedly conjured. He had kissed many women and enjoyed each as much as the other. But he had never been so distracted by the memory of a kiss as he was by his kiss with Hermione.

He had enough first kisses to recognize the feelings associated with it. And, he reassured himself, these were the same feelings he had when he kissed Hermione. There was nothing different in this kiss at all.

Pulling her into the doorway and kissing her was a ruse, a means to an end, and she knew that as well as he did. Over the years they had even joked about one day being put in a position on assignment where they had to act as more than friends. Each time it had ended in playful ribbing about icky boy germs and kissing a sister.

Harry didn’t have a sister, but he didn’t imagine that kissing Hermione resembled that in the least.

He dreamt about it every night, each time the dream progressing a bit further, until he had a difficult time remembering where the memory stopped and the dream began.

He pushed off from the wall, wanting desperately to leave the room — to get away from the reminder of what he had for a brief moment in a dingy doorway, and to get away from the reason, sitting asleep in the chair, he would never have it again.

**

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, then closed at the harsh bright light that greeted her. She raised her hand to her eyes, thankful that this time it responded. She took a deep breath and didn’t feel the pain in her side anymore. Wondering what Harry had done to take the pain away, she attempted to open her eyes again to ask. She held her hand over her eyes, wondering why in the world it was so bright when it should be nighttime, and turned her head, saying “Har…”

The word died in her mouth as she saw Ron slumped in a very uncomfortable looking chair, asleep. She looked around and realized she was in fact in a private room in St. Mungos.

“Ron,” she croaked, her throat dry and scratchy. Ron awoke with a jerk, looking around mindlessly, apparently trying to process where he was. His eyes landed on Hermione and relief swept across his face.

“Hermione! You’re awake!” he said, sitting forward in his chair, reaching gently for her hand. “I was so worried.” He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically before stopping to wonder if she really was. Granted, she wasn’t in any pain, which was a good sign. As she smiled into Ron’s worried face, the fight with Crabbe and Goyle came back to her, followed quickly by what happened between Harry and her.

She looked away from Ron’s face and shifted in the bed. “Don’t move!” he ordered. “Let me get the Healer! She’ll want to know you’ve finally woken up.”

“Finally? How long have I been out?”

“Two weeks,” Ron said as he poked his head out the door and yelled down the hall. “Susan! She’s awake!”

“Two weeks?” Hermione said softly to herself.

“Yes, you gave us quite a scare. When the mediwizards brought you in, they thought you were dead. Apparently Harry went ballistic and threatened all types of unforgivables and torture if they didn’t revive you. They did, of course. I guess being Harry Potter was a good thing this one time,” he said with a grin.

“I guess so,” she said with a weak smile.

“Well, look who’s awake!” Susan Bones said cheerfully as she walked through the door.

“Hello, Susan.”

“You gave us quite a scare, Hermione.”

“So I hear,” Hermione said.

Ron squeezed her hand and stood up. “I’m going to floo everyone the good news!”

As the door closed behind Ron, Susan turned to Hermione with a smile on her face. “You are a lucky woman, Hermione,” she said, pulling the thin bed sheet down, and gently pressing on her abdomen. “Ron’s been here every day, all day for two weeks,” she continued, pulling an overlong wand out of her robe. She passed the wand up and down Hermione’s body, the gauges and dials set in the handle clicking and whirring.

“Yes, I am lucky,” Hermione said in a small voice, guilt consuming her.

Susan stopped the wand over Hermione’s abdomen, and the whirring of the dials increased dramatically.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Hermione said.

“It could be worse considering the state you were in when you arrived.” Susan pocketed the wand and asked, “Do you have any idea what curse was used on you?”

“I didn’t hear the incantation.”

“Neither did Harry.”

“You’ve never seen this before?”

“No, and neither have the older healers. It is either a new curse, which I hope not, or a sub-par wizard tried an unforgivable on you.”

“The second sounds about right.”

Susan looked at her questioningly, waiting for more information. Hermione smiled at her and said, “I can’t tell you anything more, Susan. You know my job.”

Susan smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know.” She held Hermione’s hand.

“Has Healer Bones been replaced by my friend Susan?” Hermione asked jokingly.

“Temporarily,” Susan said, smiling before turning serious. “You were dead when they brought you in, Hermione.”

“Ron said something like that but I thought he was being dramatic.” She could see from the look on her friend’s face that he wasn’t. “I was dead?”

“Yes. I was here and checked you myself. That is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. It was made even more difficult with Harry in the room.”

Hermione looked away from Susan, attempting to hide any alteration in her demeanor the mention of Harry’s name might reveal. Instead she focused on her stomach, which underneath the still white sheet was churning and fluttering uncontrollably.

“He was quite adamant that we try to revive you. He wouldn’t leave the room until we did. He kept mumbling something about ‘waiting too long’ or something.”

Hermione had to remind herself to breathe as her statement to Harry before she lost consciousness came back to her. She didn’t want to have an audience while she attempted to sort her feelings out.

“So what is the prognosis? When can I leave?”

Susan gave her a curious look before answering her questions. “Your organs are healing nicely. You should be back to normal in four to six weeks.”

“Four to six weeks? I have to stay here that long?”

“No, of course not. But you will have a load of restrictions on what you can do for a while.”

“Well, I guess if the alternative is being dead, I can’t complain too terribly much.”

**

Harry stood outside the door to Hermione’s room, debating whether or not he should go in. He could hear a multitude of voices on the other side in what sounded like a grand party, no doubt being hosted by the twins. Part of him wanted to see her for the first time in exactly this situation, surrounded by a throng of people in an effort to keep the inevitable rejection at bay. Another part, the larger part of him, wanted to see her for the first time alone so he could pull her in his arms and confess his feelings for her. Still another part wanted to take the easy way out and never see her again.

He looked down at the bouquet of tulips he brought before sighing and turning to leave. He couldn’t do it. There was no way he could pretend to be happy in front of his family and friends. Because, despite the fact that he was overjoyed that she was alive and awake, he was not happy at the prospect of seeing Ron fawn over her. He stopped halfway down the hall and turned around, walking briskly toward the room and opening the door before he could change his mind.

The sound increased exponentially and he was greeted with an unmistakable Weasley scene. People were everywhere, talking, laughing, eating and drinking. Gaily lit balloons were floating lazily around the room and music was coming from somewhere. It took a moment before anyone realized he was even there, but when they did, the back slapping and hand shaking began in earnest. Harry was moved forward through the crowd of Weasleys, friends and co-workers, until the bed that held Hermione stopped him. Ron was perched on the opposite side of the bed, a large smile plastered on his face. Hermione’s bed was tilted up so that she was almost sitting up. A tiara adorned with flashing, multi-colored lights was sitting askew on her head. Harry laughed as the lights changed from flashing randomly to flashing “Sleeping Beauty” three times in succession before reverting to its random pattern.

His eyes met hers and the smile froze on her face. Harry’s stomach dropped when he realized that she had been dreading this meeting as much as he had. He hurriedly pasted a smile on his face and thrust the flowers toward her. “Welcome back, sleepyhead.”

She reached for the flowers. “Thank you. They’re lovely.” She pulled them to her nose and took a deep breath. Harry looked over at the window ledge and saw a plethora of bouquets, each dwarfing his by at least half. He looked back at her and caught her watching him. He shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts. At least I didn’t buy them at the hospital gift shop.”

“Hey!” Ron said indignantly. “It’s a nice gift shop,” and Harry knew immediately that Ron had bought the largest bouquet at the gift shop.

“Ron! Come here for a sec!” Fred called from the other side of the room.

“Be right back,” he said, lifting Hermione’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away, his stomach churning.

When he had looked everywhere but where he wanted to look, he dragged his eyes back to Hermione. She shifted her legs under the blankets and patted the side of the bed. “Sit down.”

“How are you?” he said, sitting down.

“Alive, thanks to you. I hear you threw a little weight around to get them to bring me back to life,” she said, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe a little,” Harry said sheepishly, color creeping into his cheeks.

“I thought you hated using your name to get special treatment.”

Harry locked his eyes on hers. “I was desperate.”

She placed her hand over his resting in his lap. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry looked down at her hand, shifting his so that he was holding hers. “Anytime,” he whispered. He felt her fingers tighten on his, giving him the courage to broach the subject hanging between them. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.”

Harry looked around the room. “Now…”

“…isn’t the best time,” Hermione interrupted. “Can you come back later? When everyone has left?”

“Does Ron ever leave?” Harry said with what he hoped was less bitterness in his voice than he felt.

“He will tonight,” Hermione said firmly.

**

Three hours later, Harry was still waiting for Ron to leave. He had been sitting in the back corner of the packed waiting room, watching for any sign of Ron. His bum was starting to hurt from the uncomfortable plastic chair. With his upcoming conversation with Hermione weighing heavily on his mind, he never even considered conjuring a cushion to provide himself with a modicum of relief. Instead, he wiggled uncomfortably, changing positions in a futile attempt to ease his pain.

He jumped up out of the chair, his arse chapped in more ways than one. He was tired of waiting; he had to move. Just as he left the anonymity of the sea of faces, Ron emerged from the elevator and spotted him. He waved and called to Harry with a smile.

“Hey! What are you doing back here?”

“I thought I would come see her without so many people around. You know, work stuff,” he said, thinking quickly.

Ron’s face darkened a little. “She’s very tired. I think that can wait until tomorrow, or even later.”

Harry knew from the tone of his voice that there was no way Ron was going to let him go back upto her room. He wouldn’t be surprised if he escorted Harry home and sat outside his door to make sure he stayed put.

Harry kicked himself for mentioning work, a sore subject between Ron and Hermione for some time now. For the past few years, as Hermione’s assignments became more dangerous and her hours more unpredictable, Ron had begun grumbling about her job more and more. Harry suspected that Ron had always been a bit jealous of her job, especially considering the fact that he hadn’t had the exam results at Hogwarts to pursue a course of study as an Auror, while Harry and Hermione had.

Of course, over the last eight years, Ron hadn’t done too badly in his chosen field. After working with his brothers for a couple of years and learning the ropes of managing a store, Ron had persuaded them to invest in a Quidditch supply shop in Hogsmeade, with him as manager. They agreed, and with the sweat equity Ron put into it, he was now majority owner of a very successful business. But, despite his success, the sting of not being able to work with his two best friends was still there, surfacing from time to time.

Now was one of those times.

“Want to get a drink?” Ron asked.

“Sure,” Harry murmured.

Arriving at the Leaky Cauldron, Ron walked up to the bar and ordered their drinks while Harry searched the crowded pub for a table, realizing by the size of the crowd that it was Friday night. Harry grabbed a booth being vacated by a very drunk couple just as Ron arrived loaded down with drinks.

“Who’s joining us?” Harry asked.

“No one. We’re celebrating!” he exclaimed, placing two shots and a pint of ale down in front of Harry.

Harry groaned inwardly. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was to get drunk with the boyfriend of the woman he was afraid he was in love with. No telling what would come out of his mouth after he consumed the minibar Ron was lying out in front of him.

He reluctantly lifted a shot glass, Ron’s beaming face greeting him across the rim.

“Cheers!” Ron said.

“Cheers,” Harry mumbled throwing the shot back. The liquid burned his throat and his face screwed up in response. He grabbed his pint of ale to wash it down.

“She looked good, didn’t she?” Ron said, absolutely hyper with energy.

“Yeah, she did,” Harry agreed.

“Susan says she can go home in a couple of days. Of course, she’s going to have to take it easy for a couple of weeks. Bed rest for one, no heavy lifting, etc.,” Ron said, waving his hand. “That’s going to be torture for Hermione, having to stay in bed. Whatever the curse was, it made a mess. Something the healers had never seen before.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, looking anywhere but at Ron. He knew what was coming.

“Who did it to her, Harry?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not, damn it?!”

“Because it’s our job and it’s classified.”

“I’m your best friend and her boyfriend!”

“I’m sorry Ron. Even if I knew who it was, I couldn’t tell you,” Harry lied.

“So, you don’t know who it was?”

“I can’t talk about it, Ron. Really.”

Ron stared at him for a long while, before picking up his second shot. Harry picked his up and toasted Ron, who had downed his before Harry even began. As the liquid filled Harry’s mouth and began sliding down his throat, Ron announced, “I’m going to ask Hermione to marry me.”

Harry choked, liquor squirting out of his nose and mouth. His entire face was on fire, the alcohol burning his throat, nose and mouth, along with the flush of red from anger running up his neck and face. He slammed the glass down on the table, bracing himself for the coughing fit that was coming in an effort to rid his lungs of the burning alcohol.

Ron stood up and leaned over the table, whacking Harry uselessly on the back. Harry had the urge to punch his face in at that very moment, if only he could catch his breath.

“Are you okay, mate?”

I’ll be fine once I kick your arse, Harry thought bitterly.

Instead of giving into his suddenly violent urge, he pulled his pint toward him and took a long pull. He sat it down, looked at Ron and was reminded of his announcement. He grabbed his ale again and downed the rest of it, the prospect of getting drunk beginning to sound more appealing.

He waved his glass at a barmaid. “Congratulations,” he said to Ron with a fake smile on his face.

Ron grinned. “She hasn’t said yes. Yet.”

“Do you have a ring?”

“No, I’m going to get one tomorrow. Will you come with me?”

“Oh no! I don’t think so. That’s something you need to do on your own.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Harry pulled the glass of ale out of the waitress’s hand and began drinking it before she turned to leave the table.

“Hey, slow down,” Ron chided.

Harry stared into his half empty pint. I wonder if there is enough liquid in there to drown myself with.

“As much as I hate seeing her in pain, I think this might have been good for us, you know?” Ron said thoughtfully.

“How do you figure?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about asking her to marry me for years, but I just haven’t. First she was in training, then I opened the store — things just got busy. And we both got a bit comfortable in the relationship, I guess. Why get married? We aren’t ready for sprogs, and that is really the only thing we don’t have, you know?”

Harry grunted, not particularly wanting to be reminded that the Ron and Hermione had sex.

“I’m hoping when she says yes that we can talk about her job, and her quitting it.”

Harry leaned back in the booth, appraising his best friend. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“She loves what she does. She isn’t going to want to leave.”

“She may not have a choice,” Ron said defiantly.

Harry smirked at Ron. The thought ran through his mind that if Ron took this approach to everything that Hermione would be single in no time. “You say that to her and I would expect a ring to be thrown right back in your face.”

“You think she loves her job more than me?”

I hope so.

“No, I think she will resent you asking her to choose. And, she will choose her job just to prove how independent she is.”

“I’m not trying to take away her independence! I don’t want her to die! That is a possibility every day she goes to work.” Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You think I’m being selfish, don’t you?” he challenged. Ron cut Harry off before he had a chance to speak. “Before you answer that, just think about how you would feel if you were in my situation, watching the woman you love lay comatose in the hospital, wondering if she is going to ever wake up. All that runs through your mind is missed opportunities, things you should have, but never said to her or did with her. It is the worst feeling in the world.”

Anger welled up inside of Harry. He wanted to scream at Ron that that was exactly the situation he had been in for the past two weeks. The only difference was Harry was thinking about the opportunities he would never have, while Ron was lamenting about the opportunities he had and squandered. Harry felt very little pity for him at the moment.

He took a deep breath. “Look, Ron, I think you should wait a while to ask her to marry you. She has just had a major trauma. I’m sure she is a bit dazed about it all still. Let her get her bearings for a week or two, then ask her.”

Now Ron looked like he wanted to drown in his ale. “I just want her to be safe. That job is not safe. I can’t imagine being married to someone and not knowing where she is, whom she is with, what she is doing or when she will be home. What kind of life is that?”

Harry avoided Ron’s gaze. It was a question that plagued many of his coworkers and the reason many were unmarried or divorced, and one of the various reasons for his bachelorhood.

“It’ll all work out,” Harry said halfheartedly. He downed the rest of his ale and stood up. “I’d better go. Early day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, standing up. “I’m going back to the hospital. Hermione will be asleep by now, so I won’t disturb her.”

“Isn’t that chair uncomfortable?”

“You have no idea,” Ron said, as they threw their money on the table.

“Why don’t you go home and get some rest in a real bed. I’ll go sit with Hermione.”

Ron looked at him sideways. “You just want to talk to her about work.”

“No, I don’t. I swear. I won’t even wake her up. Just sit in that uncomfortable chair and try to sleep.”

“You sure you don’t mind?” Ron asked. Harry could almost see the joy in his eyes at the thought of sleeping on a real mattress.

“Positive.”

**

“Visiting hours are over.”

“Yes, well this is a special case,” Harry said in his most charming voice.

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

Well, you see, I have to find out if my best friend feels the same way about me as I do about her, or if she is in love with our other best friend.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, in a shameless attempt to show his scar without having to actually say, “I’m Harry Potter, let me in.”

The things I do for this woman.

Apparently, this witch wasn’t impressed. She stared at his forehead with a bored look on her face, slowly chewing the gum in her mouth. “Visiting hours are over,” she repeated tonelessly.

Harry dropped his arms and decided to beg. “Please. I’m begging you. I need to talk to someone alone, tonight. It is very, very important.” The witch stared at him and blew a huge bubble in his face. “You could even say it is a matter of life or death,” he said seriously.

She crossed her arms and stared at her fingernails, supremely unconcerned for his plight.

“Come on! I’ll do anything!”

At this statement, she perked up considerably. “Anything?”

Uh-oh, I think I’m going to regret this.

**

Harry crept into Hermione’s room, closing the door soundlessly behind him. He padded softly over to her bed and sat down in the chair vacated by Ron. He sat for a moment, watching Hermione sleep. Her face was turned toward him affording him a front row seat to watch the woman who had been monopolizing his thoughts for the past two weeks.

He pulled his chair as close as possible and leaned toward Hermione. Hesitantly, he reached up and pushed a strand of hair from her face, gently running his fingers down her smooth skin. He balled his hand into a fist and rested his chin on it, part of him wanting her to continue to sleep and part wanting her to wake up. Placing his arm on the edge of the bed, he laid his head down and let his eyes droop closed.

In his dream, she was smiling at him and running her hand through his hair. He smiled back at her and said her name softly, reaching up to touch her face.

“Harry?”

He lifted his head slightly and opened his eyes realizing the sensation of Hermione’s fingers running through his hair was real.

“Now who is the sleepyhead?” she asked.

“Have I been asleep long?”

“I have no idea. I just woke up.” Hermione smiled at him and dropped her hand to her lap.

“Don’t stop,” Harry pleaded.

“Harry…” she started, running her hand through his hair again.

“Shhh,” he said, placing his fingers on her lips. “Don’t say anything. I want to tell you something before you break my heart.”

She opened her mouth again, but Harry pressed his fingers firmly against her lips. “Please.”

She acquiesced and closed her mouth.

“I’ve been telling myself for two weeks that the snog meant nothing, that none of the feelings I felt were unique. And I’ve almost convinced myself of it. But there is just one problem: I can’t stop thinking about you. I dream about you at night. I think about you all day. I can’t get you or our kiss out of my mind. The way your lips felt, the mint I tasted on your tongue, the feel of your breast.” Harry stopped and looked away from Hermione’s gaze, hoping that she didn’t see the evidence of his desire that was making him so uncomfortable now. He scooted his chair closer in an effort to move anything incriminating from her view.

He grasped her hand and stared at it as if his life depended on it. “I don’t know what I feel for you. I’ve always loved you, but never in a romantic way. Am I in love with you now? I’ve never been in love, so I don’t know. Do I want you?” He pulled his eyes to hers. “More than anything,” he whispered.

Hermione’s eyes widened and her hand stopped stroking his hair. She ran her hand through his hair down his neck, cupping his chin in her hand. “Why do you think I’m going to break your heart?” she whispered.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “Because Ron is going to ask you to marry him.”

**

The words hung in the air like an anvil, their weight reminding them of the rest of the world beyond the walls of her hospital room.

“Oh,” she said lamely, her hand dropping to her lap again.

A part of Hermione marveled at how she could go from such a state of elation to despair in the span of seconds. Harry had just said the words she had been hoping to hear all day. She wasn’t alone; Harry had felt something in their kiss, too. For a few blissful seconds, her mind had been filled with nothing but Harry, the sensations she felt in that doorway racing through her body. It was absurdly easy to forget the rest of the world existed when she looked into Harry’s green eyes.

The world came hurtling back to her when he mentioned Ron’s name. The shame she had felt all day quickly replaced the euphoria Harry’s declaration brought. She had been battling herself for hours, alternating between her apparent desire for Harry and her commitment to Ron. If Ron had treated her poorly, or their relationship wasn’t as strong as it was, there was no doubt in her mind that her longing for Harry would win hands down. Her feelings were that strong. Every time she had a sudden craving for Harry, she had looked at Ron and was enveloped in guilt.

“What are you going to tell him?” Harry asked tentatively.

Hermione leaned her head back against her pillows and stared at the ceiling. “Two weeks ago, I would have jumped in his arms shouting ‘Yes! Yes!’”

“And now?”

Hermione looked down at Harry’s face. “Now, I would always wonder.”

She heard a slight sigh from Harry and saw his shoulders relax a bit. Harry bowed his head and squeezed her hand. When he lifted his head, Hermione saw tears rolling down his cheeks and a slight smile on his lips.

“I know I shouldn’t be so happy that my best friend is going to have his heart broken, but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t get too cocky. I’m as confused about my feelings as you are about yours. This whole thing may be a bloody train wreck.”

“God, I hope not.”

Hermione stared at Harry for a moment, the feeling that her life was about to veer out of control slamming into her. What was she doing? More importantly, why was she doing it? She and Ron had a good relationship and they loved each other. Marriage had been a given, although they hadn’t talked about it specifically. She was in a comfortable, stable, loving relationship. Was she honestly considering throwing that all away because of a passionate kiss that could very well have been a fluke?

I think the curse addled my brain, along with my intestines.

Wanting to get her mind off of her newly acquired self-destructive behaviors, Hermione asked, “What happened to Crabbe and Goyle?”

“I promised Ron I wouldn’t talk to you about work.”

“You’ll just try to steal his girlfriend.”

Why did I say that?

Harry sat back abruptly, his eyes widened in shock. “That’s not what I’m doing. I came here to tell you how I feel. It’s up to you what happens from here.” Harry folded his hands in his lap. “What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly.

Harry stood up abruptly. “I should go, let you rest.”

More energy than she realized she had shot through her arm as she grabbed Harry’s hand. “No! I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “But this conversation isn’t quite turning out like I thought it would. I was expecting complete rejection, but hoping for undying love. Instead I get something in between. I’m not exactly mentally prepared for ambiguity.”

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” Hermione asked, getting angry. “I’ve been with Ron for years and I love him. I don’t want to hurt him. But, I’m not stupid; I know there was something more to that kiss. I want to forget it happened, but I can’t.”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Someone is going to get hurt, no matter what we do.”

Hermione patted the bed beside her, and Harry sat down. “Let’s be honest here, Harry. If this were anyone but you, the decision would be easy. But it is you, and I, and Ron. Our history makes it complicated.”

“Isn’t it just great that the one woman I can’t get off my mind is the one woman I can’t have?”

“We just have to give it time, Harry.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head towards the hand she placed gently on his cheek, lightly kissing her palm. He placed his warm hand over hers, his striking green eyes meeting hers in a meaningful look. The fluttering that had begun in her stomach when she woke up to find Harry sitting beside her bed increased dramatically. His eyes were temporarily obscured from her view by light reflecting off the lenses of his glasses as he moved toward her. She blinked, blinded for a second, and opened her eyes to see Harry’s face only inches from hers. She felt his fingers gently rub her chin as he pulled her lips to his.

Damn! It wasn’t a fluke, was the first thought she had as his lips gently nipped at hers, sending shockwaves down her spine. “Okay,” she said, pulling away quickly. “So that question is answered.”

“I’m not so sure,” Harry replied, sliding his hand around her neck and pulling her into a passionate kiss. She framed his face with her hands, her need for more matching his. They frantically explored each other’s mouths, Hermione turned on despite herself at the possibility that they could be disturbed any minute by a nurse or a healer. Or even Ron.

When they finally broke apart, they stared at each other for a long while without speaking.

“What do we do from here?” Harry asked quietly.

“I have no idea.”

A Darkened Doorway

by cheering charm

*** Chapter 3

Harry shifted the files under his arm and knocked on the door to Hermione’s flat.

“Who is it?” he heard her call.

“Harry!”

The door swung open unassisted and Harry entered the empty room. “Hermione?”

“I’m getting dressed. Be out in a sec.”

“Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Harry said with a grin, placing the stack of files on the kitchen table.

“Ha ha!” she said sarcastically as she walked slowly into the room. Harry rushed over to her side and grabbed her arm for support. Hermione laughed. “My legs are fine, it just feels like my insides are sloshing around every time I move, so I walk slowly.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Well, it feels lovely, too. I can’t wait to get my hands on Goyle, the bastard,” she said viciously.

“Whoa, cabin fever setting in a bit?” Harry said, helping her settle into a chair. Hermione shot him a heated look and he clamped his mouth shut.

“So, what did you bring me today?”

“Lots of reading material. Transcripts of surveillance obtained over the last few days. You might fall asleep from boredom. Crabbe and Goyle aren’t very entertaining.”

“I’m surprised they have a large enough vocabulary to warrant this much paper,” she said, leafing through a thick folder.

“Well, I believe one of the new agents took the directive to ’transcribe everything’ literally, so I believe there is a rather graphic sex scene on page 42.”

“I’m going to be sick.”

“I’m teasing, Hermione. This isn’t all Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy is planning something, but it’s obvious Crabbe and Goyle don’t know any of the details.”

Hermione grimaced slightly and shifted in her chair. “Have they mentioned us at all?”

Harry knew what she was referring to without asking. “Yes, they made a couple of jokes about it the week after it happened. I was able to brush it off to Moody as remnants of a Hogwarts grudge. I didn’t put anything in the report about it.”

“You should have!”

“What?” Harry asked, shocked. “Why?”

“Because, by leaving it out, you’re lying!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, and when we do catch them, Crabbe and Goyle will surely mention it, and we will have to lie again,” she said exasperated.

“I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to know.”

“Not the details, of course. But, it is part of our job to blend in to the surroundings. Considering where we were, what we did was appropriate.”

“All I remember are the details.”

“That’s a first,” Hermione said teasingly.

Harry tilted his head and looked up in the air thoughtfully. “I do believe that was a thinly veiled insult.”

“It wasn’t veiled at all,” Hermione said with a grin.

“Ouch,” Harry said laughing. He moved his chair next to hers and put his arm around her shoulder, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Besides all the sloshing, how are you feeling?”

“Better now,” she said, holding Harry’s free hand and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Glad I can help.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, each staring into space, wondering who would bring it up. Harry, as usual, caved first.

“Has he asked you yet?”

“No.”

It had been two weeks since Hermione’s release from the hospital and each day Harry expected a different scene to play out during his daily visit. So far, Ron had kept to Harry’s advice and not asked Hermione to marry him. But, Harry knew that something was going to happen soon; he could feel it. More accurately, he dreaded it.

They hadn’t talked about it specifically, but Harry knew that Hermione was waiting to tell Ron until he popped the question. To Harry, this seemed a very cruel thing to do. He knew that he personally would rather be told before he embarrassed himself by professing undying love in the way a marriage proposal implied. Possibly, she was waiting for an opening to broach the subject, although what kind of opening that might be, Harry didn’t know. He did know that Ron was being very good to her while she was incapacitated (a fact that set Harry’s teeth on edge). Ron’s solicitousness surely added to Hermione’s guilt. Ron was going to be hurt badly in this and neither of them wanted that to happen.

After their kiss in the hospital, Harry knew that he needed to keep his hands off of Hermione or risk devouring her whole. It was a test of his willpower, to be sure. It had taken him a week to gather the mental strength and courage to hold her hand. Flashes of his dreams would run through his mind, which he quickly pushed away, not only because of the “Ron factor” as he called it, but because of her physical condition as well. He had no idea what the doctor’s orders were with regard to sex, and he wasn’t about to ask and risk sounding like a sex-crazed maniac, which he admitted secretly that he was when it came to Hermione.

Harry glanced at the clock and asked, “When is Ron coming over?”

“He isn’t. He has that business conference, remember? He gets home tomorrow sometime.”

“Oh, right. Have a big night out on the town planned?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d go dancing. Do a little stage diving, hang out in a mosh pit. You know, the usual.”

“I guess takeaway and watching a film on the sofa sounds boring in comparison.”

“Dreadfully. But I’ll suffer through,” Hermione replied with a smile.

Harry gave her a quick kiss on the nose. “I’ll be back straightaway.”

**

“Okay, here are your choices,” Harry said, holding up three DVD cases. “Middle aged pudgy guy on a deserted island, semi-geek in spandex, or a doomed love story set on a sinking ship.”

“I’m not interested in a movie with no dialogue considering I have no dialogue all day, so middle aged pudgy guy is out. Doomed love story hits just a little too close to home right now. So, I guess it is semigeek in spandex.”

“Good choice.”

Harry worked the controls of the muggle machines until the start screen of the movie was showing. “Be right back,” he said, walking into the loo.

Hermione got off the sofa and walked slowly to the sink for a drink of water. She stood there filling up her glass and staring out of the window above the sink. The street below was deserted, with occasional honks from cars on streets further away breaking the silence. She looked absently at the deserted building across the way, which had been under perpetual remodel since she moved into her flat two years ago. She could just see the outline of workbenches and machinery through the window directly across from her. Her brows furrowed as she saw a quick flash of light.

“Hermione!” Harry called, making her jump. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a drink of water,” she replied, holding up the glass.

Harry walked up behind her and gently took the glass from her hand. “You should let me do that for you. That’s why I’m here.”

The flash of light she’d seen earlier fled her mind when she felt his body lightly press against hers as he leaned forward to place the glass in the sink. Her reaction to it was immediate and had nothing to do with her fragile physical condition. “Is that why you are here?” she asked softly.

Harry paused and looked at her, his face inches from hers. “Among other reasons.”

“Hmm,” she said, her eyes roaming over his face, finally landing on his lips. “Why haven’t you kissed me since I’ve been home?”

“I want to, trust me. I don’t want you to regret it. Which you would.” She looked away, out the kitchen window. He gently turned her face back to his. “And, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop,” he said, stroking her face.

She leaned forward and nibbled his ear. “Yes, you would. I trust you,” she whispered. “Harry, I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

He pulled her forward, pressing her hips to his, so she felt his erection clearly through their clothes. “Don’t do this to me, Hermione,” he said hoarsely. “I know I can’t have you right now because of your condition and because of Ron. Are you telling me you have decided? That you are going to tell Ron no when he asks you?”

“I’m telling you I have to know what my feelings for you are, and I can’t with hand holding and pecks on the cheek.”

Harry released her quickly and stepped back. “That’s all you are getting until you decide. I’m not going to be a test run. It’s called taking a risk, Hermione. Or am I not worth it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” Hermione snapped.

“Then what is it? Why won’t you tell Ron?” Harry asked, his voice rising.

“Tell him what? ‘Harry and I shared this passionate kiss so I am going to throw our relationship away because I want to sleep with him?’”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Don’t be daft, Harry. That would destroy him.”

“Oh, but it’s okay to destroy me?” Harry said sarcastically. “Why is that, Hermione?”

“You’re stronger than he is.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just better at faking it.”

A resounding silence followed this statement, and Hermione realized that she had been overestimating Harry all these years. The difference between Ron and Harry wasn’t their strengths, but how they masked their weaknesses. Ron never tried to; Harry had been programmed at an early age to hide his true self or risk the ire of his relatives.

Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist, resting her head on his chest. “I’m sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “Just tell him something. Anything. I can’t take this much longer.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow night when he comes by.”

“Fair enough.”

He pulled her head off his chest and looked down at her, running his fingers through her hair. He sighed heavily and pulled her arms from around his waist.

“Let’s watch the film,” he said leading her over to the sofa.

Hermione lay down on the sofa while Harry turned off the lights and started the movie. He deposited himself on the floor, leaning up against the sofa close to where her head was, but far enough away for her to be able to see.

“Why don’t you get up here with me?” she asked.

“No,” Harry replied firmly.

“I’m not going to attack you,” Hermione teased.

“Yes, you will. I’m irresistible.”

Hermione rolled her eyes behind Harry.

“I saw that!” he said, eyes fixed on the TV.

“What?” Hermione said innocently.

“You rolled your eyes.”

“How would you know that?”

He turned his head to look at her. “I know you.” He raised his eyebrows, challenging her to deny the eye roll. “You can make it up to me by playing with my hair,” he said with a grin.

“Oh, all right,” she said in mock irritation. Secretly, she had wanted to run her hands through his hair for a fortnight.

His hair was as she remembered, soft, almost silky running through her fingers. It was so dark; in certain light it seemed almost blue. The light from the TV flickered on Harry’s face, alternately casting him in shadow and lighting up the room, which in Hermione’s opinion was a rather appropriate way to study such a complex character as Harry Potter.

She could not explain what had happened over the last month. The feeling that her life was spinning out of control had abated somewhat, but only because she was stuck in her flat, completely unable to do anything, relying on others to help her with the most menial tasks. Dormant was the word that came to her mind. Her physical life was dormant.

But her emotional life…that was another story.

When she had been released from St. Mungos a week after coming out of her coma, it was with strict orders to stay in bed: “don’t walk too much, no standing on your feet, no heavy lifting, no light lifting, don’t sit for too long, lay on your back, not your side or your stomach.” The list of things she couldn’t do was endless. As she expected, and feared, Ron insisted on moving in temporarily to help her.

Despite the fact they had been together for seven years, she had resisted the idea of living together. Hermione had always held the belief that you didn’t live with someone until you were married. Everyone, including Harry, teased her good-naturedly about it, but she stood firm. And with Ron’s shop in Hogsmeade and Hermione’s job in London, it just didn’t seem to make sense.

Ron was being very sweet and overly solicitous to her, helping her with everything, just as the doctor ordered. But it was driving Hermione crazy. Everything about him was driving Hermione crazy. His mere presence was a daily reminder of her betrayal and, unbelievably to her, she began to resent him for it. Matters weren’t helped in the least by the fact that she was expecting him to pop the question every time he returned from the other room.

And then there was Harry. Each day, in the late afternoon, he brought files by for her to review. They both knew that this was unnecessary; she was officially on leave and not required or expected to work at all. But this was never mentioned lest their built-in excuse to see each other be taken away.

Hermione had come to view his visits as dates. Their progression certainly reminded her of that. At first, they had been awkward around each other, uncomfortable with and unsure about their relationship. As the days went by, they adjusted to seeing the other in this new light, and his visits became more relaxed and normal, but with an underlying tension that had not been there before. And she loved the tension. Frankly, she couldn’t get enough of it, for the tension was like prolonged foreplay, the undercurrents of which held the promise of a divine release.

In short, she anticipated Harry’s visits … and dreaded Ron’s return home.

And she hated herself for it.

Ron was completely innocent in this doomed situation. He was being the perfect boyfriend and had been the perfect boyfriend for seven years. A month ago she would have told anyone that asked that theirs was the perfect relationship.

How could one kiss destroy that?

“Are you even watching the movie?” Harry asked, turning his eyes to her.

“Yes,” she said, looking at the screen for the first time.

“Uh-huh,” Harry said skeptically.

Hermione turned her attention to the movie as she continued to stroke Harry’s head.

Those glasses are really geeky, she thought vaguely, her eyes drooping closed. Slowly they opened again, as a spider bit poor Peter Parker.

Ron would hate this movie, spiders everywhere, she thought, the sound of the movie becoming more and more distant. She felt her hand fall to her side, and she jerked awake.

“Hey,” Harry said softly. “Come here.”

He put one arm under her knees and the other under her back and lifted her effortlessly. Exhaustion had overtaken her and her head fell limply on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said weakly.

“Shhh,” Harry replied, laying her gently on the bed.

“I need to brush my teeth,” she mumbled, pulling the blankets from underneath her with Harry’s help.

“I’m sure you can go one night without it. Or will they throw you out of the Children of Dentists Society if you don’t?”

Hermione tried to swat him on the arm but couldn’t lift hers. Instead she held his hand. “Will you stay tonight?”

“Sure. I’ll sleep on thesettee.”

“No. Stay in here,” she said throwing her hand limply over to the empty part of the bed. Her eyes fluttered closed again, and she forced them open. “Please.”

“Sure,” Harry said.

Hermione closed her eyes and smiled as she heard Harry taking his shoes and his belt off. She felt the bed give and knew he had lain down. She scooted over until her side was touching his. “I have to lay on my back,” she muttered, eyes still closed.

She felt Harry move onto his side and drape his arm across her midriff. She felt his breath on her cheek and smiled, reaching blindly to touch his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” A few seconds later he added, “You’re beautiful.”

“Hmm” was all Hermione could get out, her rebuttal being hijacked by sleep. The sound of Harry’s slow, steady breathing lulled her to sleep moments before her subconscious mind heard “I love you.”

**

“Crabbe and Goyle are coming toward us.”

“Right.”

Harry stepped closer to Hermione and felt her breasts press against his chest. Unconsciously, his lips softened and he leaned into her, her body now the only thing he was aware of. She opened her mouth to him and he was struck by how warm, soft and gentle her tongue was. But that soon changed; her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

When had he ever felt this way? He couldn’t think at all, his senses were consumed with her. He could smell the light, slightly citrus aroma of her perfume; he could hear her rapid, shallow breathing. She tasted of mint, and something completely unique, foreign and intoxicating. His hands roamed down her body, exploring as much as possible, pausing on her arse, pulling her closer. He had an insane urge for his body to be fused with Hermione’s, like this, forever.

They pulled apart abruptly and were suddenly spinning through a darkened space, landing softly on a bed in the middle of a sunlit meadow.

“Hermione,” Harry said, pulling her towards him, wanting to feel her lips on his again. He heard a groan escape from deep within as he felt the physical confirmation of his feelings for her shoot through his body. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said, kissing her repeatedly. “The way you taste, the way you feel…” he moved his hand up her shirt and captured her breast, gently pinching her nipple and feeling her respond immediately.

“Harry,” she said softly, returning his kiss.

“I love you, Hermione. I have to have you.”

“Harry, wake up,” he heard her say softly, shaking his shoulder gently.

His eyes opened slowly, not wanting to let go of the world he was enveloped in. He was greeted with an eerily similar scene, the sunlit meadow replaced by a room dimly lit by the streetlights outside. Hermione was lying on her back, her head turned toward him, a serious expression on her face. Her hand was gently stroking his face, periodically moving back to run through his hair.

“You were dreaming.”

It was then that Harry realized that his hand was on her breast. He slowly moved his hand down, away from her breast, her hardened nipple leaving a trail of sensation down his palm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, ashamed and angry at his lack of control, even in sleep. He knew when she asked him to stay that it was a mistake. But lately he seemed wholly unable, or unwilling, to deny her anything. “I really should go.”

He moved to sit up and was stopped by Hermione’s arm across his chest. “I didn’t wake you up for you to leave. I woke you up because I wanted to look you in the eyes and hear you say you love me.”

“I was talking in my sleep?”

Hermione nodded her head. She leaned forward and kissed his lips, lingering for a long moment. When she pulled away, her expression had changed from serious, to determined. “Harry, I know this is wrong.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “But, I can’t deny what I feel. I can’t deny what I want.” She lifted his hand and returned it to her breast, her eyes never leaving his.

Harry looked down at his hand and felt his stomach quiver. He slowly moved the strap of her cotton camisole over her shoulder and down her arm, pushing the material covering her breast aside. His hand returned, gently squeezing and kneading her small, firm breast. He began to slowly trace his fingertips around her nipple, widening and narrowing the circle so her entire breast was attended to. He reluctantly pulled his eyes from her breast and looked at her, her eyes closed, mouth slightly open and her face lax with desire.

He leaned forward, mouth almost touching hers, his eyes fixed on her closed eyelids. “Hermione?”

When her eyes opened and met his he whispered, “I love you.”

She closed the distance between their mouths and nipped at his lips, kissing him softly at first before desire overcame their senses. Harry realized that she didn’t say “I love you” back to him, but he didn’t care at that moment. She wanted him, that was evident, and that was enough for now. Although he knew this could progress only so far tonight, he was determined that what did happen between them would be memorable enough to convince her of her feelings, or at least enough for him to hold in his memory for the rest of his life.

He kissed around her jaw to her ear, whispering endearments as he continued down her neck, repeating his declaration of love for her often to keep her mind focused on him, as opposed to any doubts and regrets that might spring up. He replaced his hand on her breast with his mouth and heard Hermione hum in pleasure as his tongue tickled her nipple. He opened his mouth wide and took her entire breast in, sucking it into his mouth completely. She gasped and pulled his head closer to her body.

He released her breast and kissed her chest, his hand running down her body to rest on her knee. He gently pushed it outward opening her legs as he moved his body over hers. Supporting his weight on his arms to avoid lying directly on top of her, he pushed his pelvis into hers. Despite the fact they were fully clothed, he still felt enough of her through the material that he almost lost control. He stopped and rested his forehead on hers. “Hermione, this is exquisite torture,” he said, a pained smile on his face.

“I don’t want to torture you,” she said, moving her hand to the front of his trousers and beginning to move the zipper down.

“I want to make love to you,” Harry replied in a strangled voice.

“Well, I want to kill you!”

Jerked back to reality by the sound of a third voice in the room, they both jumped and looked around.

Standing in the doorway, a rucksack thrown over his shoulder was their best friend, Ron Weasley, his wand pointed directly at them.

---

A Darkened Doorway

by cheering charm

Chapter 4

Harry rolled off of Hermione as if she was on fire. Hermione sat up, adjusting her camisole to conceal her breasts.

“Ron…” she began and stopped. What could she say? What in the world do you say in a situation like this?

“It’s not what you think,” Harry said weakly.

I’m quite sure that isn’t the right thing to say.

“Oh, it isn’t what I think? Tell me, Harry, what am I thinking right now?”

Harry opened his mouth as if to speak, then apparently thought better of it and clamped it shut.

“Ron, let me explain,” Hermione began again.

“Explain what? What my best friend is doing fucking my girlfriend?”

“Ron, that isn’t…”

“DON’T LIE TO ME! I SAW YOU! I HEARD EVERYTHING!”

Hermione’s heart clenched. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of Ron standing before her, her worst fears realized. She was struck by how trite this all was; how she, and Harry too if his comment was any indication, automatically grasped for justification of their actions, using the words of countless literary figures and movie characters that she had always found so unbelievable and idiotic.

Ron threw his bag toward the bed, hitting Harry solidly in the chest. “You bloody bastard! I ought to kill you right now.”

He stalked toward the bed menacingly as Hermione cried out, “Ron, NO!” and threw her arm out in front of Harry in a feeble attempt to protect him while Ron yelled, “Accio wand!”

Harry’s wand, which had been resting on the nightstand by the bed, flew into Ron’s hand. He pointed his wand at Hermione and said, “Where’s yours?”

Her arm still in front of Harry, Hermione said, “Ron, you’re overreacting. Let’s just talk about this for a minute.”

“Where is your wand?” Ron growled.

Hermione stared at him, seeing him for the first time. This was not the reaction she was expecting from him. The Ron she knew would have been hurt, but a homicidal rage? She honestly never would have thought he had it in him.

Of course, he did just catch you in bed with his best friend.

What have I done?

“Ron, I’m so sorry…”

“YOUR WAND!” he screamed, his face red with rage.

“In the nightstand drawer,” Hermione replied quickly, and the possibility that Ron might actually kill them seeped into her brain.

“Open the drawer, slowly.”

Hermione did as instructed, and the wand flew cleanly into Ron’s hand. He looked at the wands held in his hand and smiled wickedly. Watching Harry and Hermione, he pointed his wand at theirs and said, “Abrumpere.”

With a loud crack accompanied by multicolored sparks, their wands snapped cleanly in two.

“Ron, what in the Hell are you doing?” Harry yelled.

“What am I doing?” Ron asked incredulously. A lopsided grin crossed his features and he said, “The question is, what are we doing?”

“What?” Harry said, his confusion matching Hermione’s. Ron’s demeanor had changed quite drastically from a homicidal rage to what could only be described as giddy.

“Ron, I don’t know what is wrong with you, but if you would just calm down and let us explain…”

The rest of the sentence died in Hermione’s throat as two of the last people in the world she would expect walked through the door of her bedroom, wands at the ready. She and Harry barely had time to register shock before Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle uttered the incantation that rendered them unconscious.

**

Hermione felt the groan emit from her throat more than she heard it. With great effort, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. She tried to move her hand and couldn’t. She looked down to find her body completely bound to a chair. From her shoulders to her ankles, rope encircled her body, not one inch of her visible.

Through the dim light of the room, she surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings. The room was large, probably 100 x 100 feet, and empty, except for what appeared to be building materials and equipment. Brick columns that supported the high ceiling ran through the room in two rows, roughly twenty feet apart from each other. To her right was a long wall consisting of the same red brick, tall windows spaced evenly down its length. All of the windows, save one, were covered in dark paper. She looked out the one window available and saw, straight across the street, the window over her kitchen sink.

She looked to her left and saw Harry, still unconscious, bound in a chair facing her. They were sitting in the middle of the room, a makeshift worktable to her right, the door that she assumed led to the hallway to her left.

Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen.

“Good, you’re awake,” she heard Ron say from behind her. He walked around and knelt in front of her. “How are you feeling? Ropes too tight?” he asked solicitously.

“Ron, what has gotten into you?” Hermione whispered. “Crabbe and Goyle? What are you playing at?”

He stood up and smiled down at her. “All in due time.” He looked at his watch and started. “Which we don’t have much of. I’d better wake up sleeping beauty here.”

He walked over to Harry, reared his fist back and hit him squarely in the jaw.

“RON!”

Harry’s head jerked back and lay still, his mouth gaping open, blood oozing from his lower lip. Ron looked at Hermione with a sly smile. “I guess that didn’t work, did it? But it sure felt good.” He turned back to Harry and slapped him on the face repeatedly. “Wake up, loverboy!” he said, with no response from Harry.

Ron sighed and pulled out his wand.

“NO!” Hermione screamed.

Ron looked at her with distaste. “I’m not going to kill him. At least not until he’s awake.” With a flick of his wrist, a stream of water squirted out of the end of his wand and onto Harry’s face. A few seconds later, Harry shook his head and sputtered, moving his head from side to side in a vain attempt to escape the streaming water.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Ron said cheerfully, pocketing his wand and walking over to lean against the makeshift table.

“So, Harry, how long have you been fucking Hermione?”

“I’m not…” Harry started. “That isn’t what we were doing.”

“Really? Hmm, let’s see. I walk in to find you sucking on her tits and whispering how much you love her, right before you mount her and tell her you want to make love to her. Call me crazy, but that my friend is, at the very least, a precursor to fucking.”

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, wanting this nightmare to end. She felt tears brimming behind her eyelids and she closed her eyes tightly to stem their flow. Hearing Ron repeat, in crude detail, what she and Harry were doing when he walked in made it seem vile and dirty. And it made her feel like a whore.

She couldn’t believe that it had come to this — that she hadn’t the courage to tell Ron what happened with Harry in the doorway, that she had been so naive to think that her feelings for Harry and the problems that came with them would just go away. Her valiant attempt to save Ron grief and heartache and her inability to control her feelings for Harry had made everything much, much worse.

“So? How long?” she heard Ron repeat.

“It isn’t what you think. If you would just stop being so crude for a minute, I could explain everything to you,” Harry said angrily.

“Okay,” Ron said checking his watch. “You have one minute.”

Hermione looked at Harry, tears spilling from her eyes. “It started the night she was hurt. We were in this seedy part of London, following Crabbe and Goyle. They ducked into a shop and we lost them for a moment. While we were searching up and down the street, they came out of a shop right next to where we were standing. I grabbed Hermione and pushed her into the doorway, and kissed her to obscure our faces from them. And, well, the kiss progressed into more than we intended.”

“You shagged right there, in the street?” Ron said in shock.

“NO!” Harry yelled. “I meant that we felt more for each other after the kiss.”

“Go on.”

“The night I went back to the hospital to stay with her for you, I told her how I felt and we kissed again. Then, tonight, well…”

He turned his head to Hermione. “When were you going to tell me?”

“The next time I saw you,” she replied, looking down at the ground.

“I know how you feel about her,” Ron said, craning his head toward Harry. “But, I don’t recall hearing Hermione say how she feels about you.” Ron was leaning against the table nonchalantly, his arms crossed. “Well? Do you love him?”

Hermione closed her eyes again, wanting nothing more than for this to be a dream that she would wake from, alone in bed, the sun streaming into her room.

“Come on, Hermione. It is a simple question. Yes or no.”

She looked up and saw Harry staring at her, clearly as interested in her answer as Ron was. “Yes,” she mouthed.

“I’m sorry, your lips moved, but I didn’t hear anything.” Ron cupped his hand around his ear. “Say again?”

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly. Despite their seemingly dire situation, she saw relief wash over Harry and his mouth turn up into a small smile.

“Perfect,” Ron said, grinning now from ear to ear.

Harry’s relieved expression turned to one of complete puzzlement. “First, you threaten to kill us because we were together. She tells you she loves me and now you are acting like you’ve been given a free pass at Honeydukes,” Harry said angrily. “What is wrong with you?”

A grimace crossed Ron’s features and he turned away from them and doubled over slightly. “You know, Potter, I’ve always admired your timing.”

Total confusion swept through Hermione as she and Harry heard a groan escape Ron. She could see his hands gripping the workbench, pulsing, his skin moving up and down his arms as if waves of water were flowing underneath. She heard a sickening smacking and squishing sound as Ron’s clothes began to enlarge. He let out a final yell, of triumph or relief, Hermione wasn’t sure.

Anger coursed through her body, shunting surprise to the side as she stared into the sneering face of Draco Malfoy.

---

A Darkened Doorway

by cheering charm

Chapter 5

Harry couldn’t decide if he was more angry or relieved.

His first thought, as he heard the telltale signs of Ron transforming into someone else, was happiness that it hadn’t been Ron that had walked in on him and Hermione. Their friendship hadn’t been destroyed. A quick glance at Hermione confirmed that the exact same thoughts were running through her mind.

Then he saw Malfoy’s face, and anger boiled up in him.

Malfoy laughed heartily for what seemed to Harry like five minutes. When he finally was able to control himself he said, “I never thought the day would come when the two of you would be relieved to see me.”

Harry strained against the ropes that bound him tightly to his chair, anger coursing through his body when the realization hit him that Malfoy had outsmarted them. He felt the ropes tighten as he struggled, constricting his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“Hermione! Don’t move!” Harry yelled as he saw her wiggle against her restraints. He heard the creak of ropes as they tightened around her. Hermione grimaced in pain and went stock-still.

“Yes, Granger, do be still. I would hate for you to die from your restraints. I want to have the pleasure of killing you myself.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, her voice cold as ice. “Malfoy, you bastard! I’m going to kill you.”

The amusement dropped from Malfoy’s face. “Like you killed my father, mudblood?” he said, icily.

“I didn’t kill your father. Voldemort did,” Hermione replied angrily.

“Since neither my father nor the Dark Lord are here to confirm or deny your allegation, I prefer to believe you did it. It will make killing you so much more satisfying.”

“So, that is what this is all about? Revenge for something I didn’t even do?”

Malfoy looked up at the ceiling as if thinking. He nodded his head and replied. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Malfoy pushed off from the table that had been supporting him and began to pace back and forth between Hermione and Harry. “That was one of the Dark Lord’s weaknesses, I think. His goals were too broad. Power and world domination, that encompasses so much. You get stretched too thin, your focus shifts back and forth between your responsibilities. Who needs the hassle? I say find a goal and concentrate on that. Then, move on to the next goal. World domination will come in time.”

He stopped pacing and turned to Hermione his face a mask of evil. “My goal from the day you killed my father has been to kill you.”

“Seeing as it’s taken you seven years to catch me, world domination may be a bit out of your reach if all of your objectives take this long.”

A resounding crack ripped through the air and Harry saw Hermione’s head snap to the right. He screamed in frustration and once again strained against the ropes holding him in place, which tightened further. Malfoy bent down, his face level with Hermione’s. She slowly moved her head back to face him, shaking her head once to the left to move her hair out of her face. Admiration swelled inside Harry as he saw Hermione narrow her eyes and return Malfoy’s steely gaze.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since third year,” he whispered malevolently.

Harry was relieved to see Hermione bite back the retort he knew was on the tip of her tongue. He couldn’t stand to watch Malfoy hit Hermione and be powerless to help her.

Malfoy returned to his pacing. “So, I needed a plan. How to kill you? It was just my luck that you actually did become an Auror, so I knew your abilities to avoid capture would probably be better than my ability to catch you unaware. So, I bided my time. I knew eventually that you would screw up. No one is as perfect as you project to be.

“Imagine my surprise when the opportunity I had been waiting for came just a few short weeks ago. I had given Crabbe, Goyle and a few other loyal Death Eaters permission to kill you if they ever had the opportunity. You see, another one of the Dark Lord’s weaknesses was his determination to be the one that killed Harry Potter personally. Yes, I wanted the pleasure of torturing you and seeing you die, but I knew that it was more important that you be dead, and not that I be the one to kill you.

“Of course, Goyle fucked it up. If he‘d said the incantation, you would have died instantly. But he’s been working on his ability to think spells instead of saying them and the moron did that instead.” Malfoy shook his head. “I was just about to torture some sense into him, when out of desperation, he told me about your little display in the street, which gave me an idea. A little bit of planning, a little bit of luck, and here we are,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air with a triumphant look on his face.

“You know, it was really very easy to get into your flat. I wasn’t entirely sure if the Polyjuice ruse would work with all of the charms and wards you and Potter have on your flats. I’m really surprised that Moody, considering his personal history with a Polyjuice imposter, wouldn’t have that as a required ward.” Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure when they find your bodies, they will discover the oversight and correct it.”

Harry looked over at Hermione and found a disgusted look on her face.

“Ah, I see that the cleverest witch around has suddenly realized that it was I and not Ron watching you two,” he shuddered dramatically, “do whatever it is you were doing.” He walked around behind Hermione’s chair and bent down, putting his lips close to her ear so that Harry could barely hear what he said. “I have to admit, though, that I was turned on. You are quite a bit more…responsive than I thought you would be.”

“SHUT UP, MALFOY!”

“Ohh, Potter is getting jealous. He really must like you. I guess after the appetizer you gave him earlier, that’s understandable.”

“So help me God, Malfoy, I’m going to kill you,” Harry raged.

“You do that,” Malfoy replied, supremely unconcerned, his attention still on Hermione. Using his wand, he moved her hair from her shoulder, exposing her neck. “So, tell me Hermione, were you going to go down on him? Hmm? Was that your plan?”

Harry watched Hermione use every ounce of strength she had to maintain her composure. He could only imagine the emotions she was feeling right now — rage and anger at Malfoy, without a doubt. But also, if he knew her, she was also regretting every second of what happened between the two of them. And if he was honest with himself, coming from Malfoy’s mouth with the descriptions he was using, it didn’t sound like something that happened between two people in love.

Apparently realizing that she wasn’t going to answer, he continued. “I knew when I heard the zipper that it was time to break up the little party. The last thing I wanted to see was Little Harry greeting the world. You should have seen the look on your faces when I spoke up!” He doubled over with laughter yet again. “That right there was worth waiting seven years for.” He did an impression of Harry and Hermione’s shocked faces in turn and roared with laughter at his own joke. He wiped tears away from his eyes, and his laughter died out into a sigh. “Ohhh, I wish I would’ve had a camera. That would be a picture worth a thousand words.”

Hermione had had enough. “If one of your goals in your master plan was to humiliate me, then mission accomplished, you have. Congratulations,” she said sarcastically. “Now, if you are going to torture and kill me, get on with it. Frankly, I’m tired of listening to your shit.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh. How Hermione could come out with that statement in the particular situation they were in, he had no idea. But he was extremely impressed with it, nonetheless. He hoped it was part of a plan she had formulated to get them out of this mess while Malfoy droned on about himself, because, at the moment, things didn’t look too rosy to Harry. They were tied up, very well as far as he could tell, their wands were broken in two and nowhere in sight and the git that had been harboring a grudge against them for years was holding the only wand.

Things did not look good.

Malfoy was looking at Hermione through narrowed eyes. “Yes, let’s get on with it.” He turned toward Harry and said, “Cru…” and stopped. He tapped his wand on his temple. “No, that’s too easy. And you’ve already been tortured like that, haven’t you, Potter?”

He turned and pointed his wand at Hermione. “I could torture you.” He pulled his wand up again. “No, physical pain isn’t enough suffering for you. I believe mental torture would be more painful for you.”

He walked around them again and stopped, near the door. “I think it is time to expand our little party, don’t you?”

For the first time that night, Harry, and Hermione, too, by the look on her face, was afraid. Instinct told him that Malfoy was about to bring someone close to them into his demented game. Realization hit the two of them at the same time. A moment later, Crabbe and Goyle walked through the door, dragging an unconscious Ron between them. Malfoy conjured a chair and they plopped him down in it, binding him with ropes the same way they had bound Harry and Hermione. Their chairs were set facing each other in a perfect triangle, so each could see the others’ faces fully. Dread replaced fear in Harry’s heart, as he finally understood the fullness of Malfoy’s plan.

Malfoy slapped Ron on the face a few times, waking him up. Ron shook his head to clear it and looked around at them, then down at the ropes tying him. Comprehension dawned on him as Malfoy said magnanimously, “Welcome to the party!”

***

“What’s going on?” Ron asked, looking at Harry and Hermione in turn.

Malfoy answered. “This is what I believe Muggles call an intervention.”

Ron gave Harry a look that clearly said, ‘What is this idiot talking about?’

“An intervention, Weasley,” Malfoy said with exasperation. “I thought with all of your family’s Muggle-loving ways you at the very least would know about it.” He shook his head as if Ron had let him down. “An intervention is when friends and family members get together in a room with a loved one who is traveling a dark path. Usually, the person is addicted to something that is not good for them.” Malfoy walked around behind Ron and put his hands on his shoulders. “I am here, Ronald, as your friend.”

Ron attempted to shrug Malfoy’s hands off of him. “You aren’t a friend of mine.”

He leaned down and whispered in Ron’s ear. “Neither are these two.” He straightened up and said to the room at large, “Are you going to tell him, or shall I?”

Hermione looked down at the floor, unable to watch what was about to happen, even though she knew that it was her actions, or inactions, that were the cause.

“Ron, don’t listen to him,” Harry said urgently. “He is just trying to ruin our friendship.”

“I’m trying to ruin your friendship? No, no, no, no. I think you and little Miss Granger have done that all on your own.” Malfoy sighed heavily, as if what he was about to say was very painful for him. “It seems that your two best friends have been running around together behind your back.”

The perplexed look Ron had sported since waking up was replaced with shock. He looked from Harry to Hermione and said, “What?”

Malfoy nodded sagely. “It’s true. They have been shagging each other for months, probably years. And having a good laugh at your expense, too.”

“That’s not true!” Hermione said. “Ron, he’s lying.”

“Would you like proof?”

Hermione’s heart stopped beating. She had thought for a brief moment that if it was just her and Harry’s word against Malfoy’s that there was a chance that they could bluff and lie their way through this, at least until some sort of plan came to her or Harry. But, if Malfoy had proof…what could he possibly have?

“I don’t believe you,” Ron said defiantly. “Any proof you give will be lies, too.”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” He gestured toward Crabbe, who brought a large flat object forward from the shadows. He turned it around and held it in front of his body, a human easel for a picture of Hermione standing in front of her kitchen sink looking out the window earlier that night.

Hermione let out a groan as Malfoy waved his wand at the picture. Immediately, the images started moving. Harry came up behind her and removed the glass from her hand…Hermione turned to face him, standing very close, talking…Harry reached up and stroked her face…she moved forward and whispered in his ear, her nibbling his ear abundantly evident…Harry pulled her towards him roughly, and wrapped his arms around her waist…the image reset, and began again.

Hermione looked at Harry and they both realized that, even if by some miracle they survived this, their life as they knew it, the life they wanted together, was over.

“Ron,” Harry began, “we haven’t been going around together for months, and we certainly haven’t been laughing at you behind your back. He is making this seem worse than it is.”

“You know, Harry, I have to hand it to you,” Malfoy said. “You really are an accomplished liar. I admire the way you have always been able to distort the truth to fit your best interests. Sadly, I don’t think it is going to work this time.”

He walked around behind Ron and leaned forward, whispering in his ear. “I meant it when I said I was your friend, Weasley. You should be thanking me. When I went to Granger’s flat to capture them, I was able to stop them just before they, you know,” he punched his fist in the air lightly, “fucked.”

Ron’s head jerked around towards Malfoy, his eyes narrowed in contempt. “You are a liar.”

“Tell me, Ron. Does Hermione make this humming noise,” he paused and hummed note for a few seconds, “when you suck on her tits? Because she did with Harry.”

“ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!” Ron yelled, rocking his chair dangerously at his effort to get free.

“Obviously, she does.”

Malfoy walked over and squatted in front of Hermione. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. “Awww, the Mudblood is crying. So, Hermione, are you crying because you’ve hurt Ron? Or, is it because you realize he finally sees you for the slag you are?”

Something inside Hermione snapped. But instead of reacting as Malfoy was hoping, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, the final tears she would cry that night falling down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and looked directly into Malfoy’s cold blue eyes. “No, Malfoy, they are tears of joy from the visual I have of handing you over to the guards at Azkaban. It is policy now for known Death Eaters to receive the kiss before they have even been taken to their cell. Did you know that?” she asked curiously.

He paused, his sneering smile frozen in place. Then an appreciative grin broke through the chill. “You know,” he said to everyone, “You’ve got to admire a woman that can look death in the face and have a catchy comeback. Even if they are a Mudblood.”

He stood up and walked over to Ron. “How does it feel to once again be second best to Potter? She loves him, you know. She told me that earlier, when she thought I was you.” Malfoy slapped himself dramatically in the forehead at Ron’s confused look. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you! This is the best part of the story! When I went to her flat, I pretended to be you, polyjuice potion and all,” he said airily waving his hand in explanation. “You should have seen the look of shock on their faces when they saw you standing in the doorway.”

Ron was staring at Harry, a look of anger etched on his face. “If it makes you feel any better, Weasley, they really did feel bad about it. I could tell. Of course, a few minutes earlier, when Harry was laying on top of her I don’t think you were on their mind at all.”

“MALFOY, STOP IT!” Hermione yelled. “Ron, this sounds worse coming from Malfoy. I was going to tell you everything tonight.”

“How much better could it sound coming from you, Hermione?” Ron snapped, directing his anger at her. Hermione caught Malfoy’s look of victory over Ron’s shoulder.

“They did you wrong, Weasley. For once, you did nothing to screw this up. I’m as shocked about that as you are,” Malfoy said. “You know, I’ve actually begun to admire you, just a bit. You pulled yourself up from that hovel you grew up in and became a respected businessman. But, you and I both know, well everyone knows, that these two have always felt better than you. They have more money, they’re smarter, they’re better looking…well, maybe not the Mudblood. Everyone knows that you were the third wheel, the loveable funny sidekick of the ’Trio,’ he said, emphasizing the last word sarcastically. “Of course, you did get the girl. But everyone knew that eventually, Harry Potter would win that, too.”

Malfoy walked away from Ron toward Hermione, wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a wicked grin. “You’ve known that all along, haven’t you, Ron?” he asked, still facing Hermione. “You’ve felt their pity all these years.” He turned abruptly towards Ron. “I think it’s time for a little payback, don’t you? You get to choose who dies first, Ron. Potter or Granger.”

Hermione looked wide-eyed at Harry, who was staring at Ron. Ron looked between the two of them and back at Malfoy, an inscrutable expression on his face. Hermione had seen a similar expression from him when he was poring over account ledgers from his business, concentrating.

He is actually deciding who should die!

“I’ve decided,” he said flatly, his eyes fixed on Hermione.

“Great!” Malfoy said, rubbing his hands together.

He turned his head to Malfoy. “But I want to do it.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock and an appreciative grin spread across his face. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Weasley.”

“I guess being betrayed by your two best friends puts everything into perspective, somehow,” Ron replied, staring daggers at Harry.

Malfoy waved his wand and the ropes disappeared from around Ron. Crabbe and Goyle inched closer, their wands out. Ron rubbed his arms and stood slowly. Malfoy had raised his wand. “Nothing funny, Weasley.”

“Don’t worry, Draco. I should thank you for opening my eyes to the true nature of my best friends.” Ron walked over and faced Harry, his back to Hermione.

“Great!” Malfoy said. “You’ve chosen Potter. I’ve wanted to see him die since the moment I heard his name.”

Ron looked at Malfoy and held out his hand. “My wand?”

Malfoy snapped his fingers and Goyle approached, handing Ron’s wand to him. He took it in his hand and pointed it between Harry’s eyes. Unflinchingly, Harry raised his head and stared at Ron. “Now I understand why you told me to wait to ask Hermione to marry me. You thought the longer I waited, the better chance you had to win her over.” He shook his head and turned away from him, walking towards Hermione.

Hermione couldn’t look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground, wanting more than anything to die. “Look at me,” he said quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione moved her eyes up slowly to Ron’s. The pain she saw there broke her heart, and tears she had been determined not to shed began to flow freely down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Ron,” she whispered. “I should have told you. I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear.”

“I know,” he mouthed silently before saying in a cold voice, “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it Hermione?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, Hermione saw determination and fear there. She looked quickly at Harry, who shook his head slightly.

With a quick wink of his eye Ron turned to Malfoy. “Forgive me for my lack of knowledge about unforgivables. How does the Avada Kedavra work?”

“It’s really rather simple,” Malfoy began. He waved his wand and said, “You do this with your wand and say the words. The important part is the feeling behind it. That is what makes it effective.”

“Right,” Ron said waving his wand as instructed. He stood directly between Harry and Hermione, looking back and forth between them.

Malfoy slapped Ron on the back. “Good luck,” he said, stepping back and crossing his arms, waiting. Ron turned to Harry and said, “I never thought my best friend would betray me like you have. I hate you right now more than I’ve hated anyone in my life. Except MALFOY!” he yelled, turning and hitting Malfoy squarely in the jaw.

Malfoy fell back, his wand knocked out of his hand. Ron turned quickly and yelled, “Stupefy!” in the direction of Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione heard a grunt and saw a flash of red light streak past Ron’s head. He ducked down and pointed his wand at Harry. “Evanesco!” he shouted, and the ropes binding Harry disappeared.

Harry bounded up and lunged toward Malfoy, who was crawling toward his wand, his mouth bleeding profusely. Ron stood up and pointed his wand at Crabbe, who had fallen over Goyle in his haste to get at Ron. “Petrificus Totalus!” Crabbe froze and fell over on the spot, only his eyes moving in his head.

Ron ran over and kicked Goyle in the side, then across the head. Goyle went unconscious and lay still.

Hermione heard a crash and turned to see Harry and Malfoy falling into the worktable. Harry landed on top of Malfoy and began beating his head against the floor repeatedly. She felt the ropes around her disappear and she lunged for Malfoy’s wand.

“Harry, stop! You are killing him!” she cried, scrambling to her feet with Malfoy’s wand grasped in her hand.

“Good!” Harry said, his face red with anger. He switched from pounding his head into the ground to hitting him in the face.

Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm. “Stop it, Harry! It’s over.” His fist in the air, he looked at Hermione for the first time. Harry’s face began to relax and his panting breaths began to slow, as he looked at her. “He can’t hurt us anymore,” she whispered.

Harry looked down at Malfoy who lay on the floor, bleeding and groaning. His eyes shifted up and Hermione followed Harry’s gaze over her shoulder to find Ron standing behind them, his wand pointed down to his side, a stunned expression etched on his face. Hermione quickly let go of Harry’s arm and stood up.

“Ron, you were brilliant! I honestly thought you were going to kill one of us for a minute.”

Ron stood there for a moment, staring between the two of them, the hurt expression from earlier clearly evident. “Well, the day’s not over yet,” he replied. Hermione’s eyes widened and Ron gave her a small smile.

She felt Harry walk up beside her, and she stepped away slightly. He looked at her for a moment, before saying to Ron, “Thanks, mate. You saved our arses.”

“Yeah, well, someone had to.”

And the three of them stood there, all of Malfoy’s truths and lies hanging heavily in the air between them.

---

A Darkened Doorway by cheering charm

***

Author’s Notes:

Thanks everyone for the great reviews! You have made writing this story a pleasure!

A couple of people were surprised that Harry’s wand was so easily broken. It is my understanding, from canon, that Harry’s wand is an ordinary wand unless it is battling Voldemort. Then, his wand won’t work properly. It doesn’t say anywhere that it is special in any other way. So, I see no reason why it wouldn’t break.

I’m so happy that no one has flamed me about Ron in this story. I was a bit nervous about it, based on my past experience. But, like me, it seems that most everyone is tired of evil, stupid git Ron. So, let’s hear it for some Ron love…as long as it isn’t with Hermione.

Here is the final chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

***

Epilogue

Ron placed the box on the table. “I think that’s it,” he said quietly, looking around Hermione’s flat.

Hermione eyed the box of Ron’s possessions wondering how a seven-year relationship could be so easily contained within its small confines. She looked up from her perch on the table at Ron, who was studiously avoiding her gaze, casting his eyes around on anything but her form.

“Ron?”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, finally moving his eyes to hers. It took all of her courage to continue looking into his deadened eyes. She willed herself not to cry, as memories of his blue eyes full of laughter raced through her mind.

“We need to talk about it.”

“No, you need to talk about it. I heard more than I needed to know the other night.”

“Ron, I…”

“NO, HERMIONE! I’m not going to listen to your confession so you can feel better about everything.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she said in a small voice, breaking eye contact and looking down at her hands.

Ron snorted disdainfully and picked up the box. Without a word, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought it would go away. I hoped it would go away.”

Ron stopped halfway to the door. Hermione looked up and saw his broad back slump a bit in defeat. She heard him let out a great breath before he turned to her. “Then why didn’t you ask him to go away?” Ron asked angrily.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t,” Ron said flatly, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “Why not? Have you always felt something for Harry?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “Never. I have been with the man I wanted to be with for seven years. I have not been pining away for Harry.”

Hermione saw a slight relaxation of Ron’s shoulders. “Then what happened? What changed?” he asked wearily.

“Will you sit down?” she asked tentatively. “Please,” she pleaded as Ron continued to stand holding his box.

Placing the box on the floor by his feet, he pulled out a chair opposite Hermione and sat down.

In the days following their confrontation with Malfoy, she had been going over what she would say to Ron when the time came. All versions of this conversation seemed inane now that she was sitting across the table with him. He crossed his arms and slumped down in his chair a bit, waiting for her to start, not helping her in the least.

“That night, before I got hurt, Harry and I kissed. It started as a way to hide our faces from Crabbe and Goyle. It progressed into something more, surprising both of us.”

Ron inhaled deeply and closed his eyes tightly, as if to squeeze the picture forming in his mind out of his consciousness. She saw the muscles in his jaw twitch and imagined him clenching his teeth together tightly.

“After I woke up, Harry told me how he felt. I was confused to say the least. I loved you very much, but the feelings I had for Harry were real, too. I didn’t know what to do. So I didn’t do anything. I thought eventually a solution would come to me where no one would get hurt, everyone would be happy and we could all stay friends.”

“That’s rather illogical of you, Hermione,” Ron said scathingly.

“Yes, well, dealing with emotions has never been my strong suit.”

Ron snorted his agreement and leaned his chair back on two legs, waiting. When Hermione didn’t speak, he raised his eyebrows. “Is that it? That’s your explanation?”

Hermione bowed her head. This is not going well, she thought. She forced herself to look back at Ron. “It is difficult to describe what you don’t understand. And I don’t understand any of what I feel for Harry. I don’t know what happened or why it happened. It’s an indescribable feeling.”

“Try,” Ron challenged his chair dropping back on all four legs with a thud.

“Why, Ron? Why do you want me to hurt you?”

“I want to know what Harry has that I don’t so I won’t make the same mistakes the next time around,” he replied sarcastically.

“This isn’t about the differences between you and Harry, or Harry being better than you! I’ve never thought Harry was better than you and I still don’t,” she said angrily. “If Harry and I had never kissed, we would have gone our entire lives without being more than friends. But when he kissed me, it changed. I can’t explain why, but I can’t deny it either. I don’t want to deny it.” It feels too good.

Ron stood from the table abruptly and walked over to the sink. With his back turned to Hermione, he stared out the window at the building across the street. “What would have happened if Malfoy hadn’t interrupted you?”

Hermione’s stomach clenched at the question. Two seemingly opposite emotions overtook her at once: pain for Ron and the truth she didn’t want to reveal, and pleasure at the memory of Harry. She forced thoughts of Harry out of her mind and took a deep breath, but no words would come.

“Tell me, Hermione,” Ron said, his voice cold.

“Isn’t it enough to know that something happened? Why do you want the details?”

Ron turned to her, a frightening look on his face. “You wanted to have this conversation, Hermione. Not me. What’s wrong? Is the burden of your deception not lifting like you thought it would?” he asked mockingly. “You don’t feel better about it all now that it’s out in the open? I know I feel loads better!” he said throwing his arms wide.

Hermione stifled a sob as Ron stalked over to her. He leaned down, his face only inches from hers, the anger and hatred written there a shock to Hermione’s senses.

“This isn’t going exactly like you planned, is it? You wanted my blessing, didn’t you? You wanted me to say ‘No hard feelings, I hope you two have a great life together, let’s still all be best friends,’ give you a warm fuzzy hug and be on my way. Well, guess what? That’s not going to happen. Ever.”

He grabbed his box from the floor and stormed to the door, yanking it open. Standing on the other side, her arm raised to knock, was Susan Bones. The smile on her face faded as she saw the look on Ron’s.

“Hi, Susan,” he mumbled, brushing past her.

“Hi…Ron,” she said to his retreating back, a confused look on her face. She looked into the room at Hermione, statuesque in her chair by the table, the only evidence of life the tears silently trickling down her face.

**

“Hermione?”

Harry closed the door gently behind him, looking around the darkened flat. “Hermione?” he called again, a bit louder, as he walked through the kitchen and down the hallway to Hermione’s room.

Hermione was curled up on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest, her Gryffindor blanket tucked around her. He smiled at her peacefulness and walked towards the bed, kicking his shoes off as he crawled up next to her. He placed an arm around her waist and snuggled up to her. Expecting her to be asleep, he was surprised, but happy, when she took his hand in hers and pulled him closer.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said quietly.

“Shouldn’t you be on your back?” he asked, pulling her hair away from her neck and placing a soft kiss there.

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do. I want you to get better,” he said gently, moving away slightly and softly pulling her shoulder towards him. The smile on his face vanished when he saw her splotchy face and red-rimmed, tear-stained eyes. “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

“Ron came by today.”

Harry’s hand, which had been running through her hair, stopped. “What happened?”

Hermione’s face screwed up in pain and tears began to flow freely down her face. “It was horrible. I tried to explain what happened, but I couldn’t. How can I explain this? I don’t understand it myself!” she cried miserably. “Harry, I’ve ruined everything. It’s all my fault,” she sobbed, turning onto her side again, away from Harry.

“This is not all your fault. If blame needs to be assigned, put it on me. I could have lied to you at the hospital, said the kiss meant nothing, and not told you about Ron’s proposal. I was only thinking about myself and what I wanted.”

Harry draped his arm across her waist again and pulled her closer to him. “Ron is hurting right now, but he will come around eventually.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, he won’t. You should have seen the look on his face, Harry.”

Harry sighed, his silent fears coming true. Over the last few days, he had tried to put himself in Ron’s place. Each time he did, the result was the same. He couldn’t imagine being capable of forgiveness in the same situation. He had resigned himself to the fact that he had, most likely, lost his best friend forever.

“It will all work out,” he said reassuringly to Hermione. “I love you,” he said, kissing her on the neck lightly.

“I can’t do this,” Hermione said, sitting up abruptly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“Do what?” Harry asked confused.

“We can’t be together.”

“I know that. I’m not trying to make love to you. I was just comforting you.”

“I’m not talking about that. We can’t be together. Ever,” Hermione said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Dread seeped into every pore on Harry’s body. “What are you talking about?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s over,” she said with finality, standing from the bed. “We’ve caused too much pain already.”

“No,” Harry said, sitting up on his knees. “Don’t do this, Hermione.”

“It will never work, Harry. I don’t know that I could ever look at you or touch you without being reminded of what we did to Ron.”

“Hermione, this is all very painful right now, I know. We are both dealing with the loss of someone we love very much. But we have to give it time.”

“I know, but Ron…”

Harry stood up abruptly and grabbed Hermione by the arms. “I don’t care about RON, okay?! I care about you and me. That is all that matters to me! I’m sorry we hurt Ron. I didn’t want to and neither did you. But he is a big boy, Hermione. He’ll get over it.”

Hermione wrenched her arms from his grasp. “He’ll get over it? That’s a callous thing to say!”

“I’m tired of thinking of what is in everyone else’s best interests! For once in my life, I’m going to do what is best for me. I’m going to do what I want! And I want you!” he said, pointing at her in exclamation. “Ron had his chance. For seven years, no less. It isn’t my fault he never got the nerve or whatever to ask you to marry him. Maybe he didn’t appreciate what he had in you, but I do. And I’m not going to stand by and let you throw it away because of guilt!”

Harry stood there, breathless from his tirade and the adrenaline running through his body. He stepped forward and pulled Hermione into his arms, crushing his mouth to hers. He felt a momentary resistance before she melted into his arms. A low moan escaped from somewhere deep within him as he ran his tongue along the inside of her mouth. He moved his hands up and cupped her face, pulling her away from him, looking deep into her eyes.

“I’m not going to let you go, Hermione. Ever. I’ll fight for you until I die, if I have to.” He pulled her forward and tenderly kissed her lips. “You are all I want. All I need. Is that enough for you?”

Hermione’s eyes roamed over his face, searching for what, he didn’t know. She pulled his head to hers and placed her lips on his. “Yes,” she said through her kiss. “You are enough for me.”

**

One week later, Harry was standing at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, looking at the slumped form of his best friend.

“We need to talk,” Harry said, tapping Ron on the shoulder.

Ron glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eyes and replied “Drop dead.”

“Can I get you something, Harry?” Madam Rosmerta said from behind the bar.

“No, thanks. Just need to talk to Ron,” Harry replied smiling.

“I’m not going to talk to you,” Ron replied in a low voice.

“Fine, then just listen.” Harry sat on the barstool next to him. “We didn’t mean for this to happen, Ron.” Harry paused, hoping Ron would say something. Instead, Ron raised his shot glass to Rosmerta in silent request.

“I’m in love with her, mate. She is all I think about, day and night. When I’m around her, the rest of the world ceases to exist. I would do anything to make her happy. Anything.”

Ron took the shot from Rosmerta and threw it back, slamming the glass down on the bar. He stood and rummaged in his pockets before throwing some money on the bar. “Thanks, Rosmerta,” he said, turning to leave.

Harry sat there for a moment, before rising and following Ron out the door. Once out on the street, he called after Ron. “What are you most upset about? The fact that Hermione is in love with someone else, or the fact that she’s in love with me?”

Ron stopped dead in his tracks. Harry walked slowly up to him. “I think it’s because it’s me.Do you remember our conversation in the Leaky Cauldron? Not once did you say you loved Hermione. Not once. You talked about wanting to protect her, keeping her safe, feeling comfortable with her, but love was never mentioned. You weren’t talking about someone you were in love with. You were talking about your best friend.”

Harry walked around to face Ron, who was staring straight ahead, the muscle in his jaw working furiously. “Do you feel the same way about her as I do? Does the world stop? Do your knees get weak? Mine do. It’s the greatest feeling in the world.”

Harry looked away for a moment. “I know what we did was wrong, Ron. I’m more sorry than you will ever know. This isn’t just a primal attraction or lust. Do you think I would risk our friendship, all three of ours, on something like that? She is the woman I’m meant to be with. She is everything to me.”

Harry looked back at Ron to find him staring at him, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend, although I’m afraid I already have. I – we – want you to be part of our lives. I know it will take time for you to forgive us. But, I hope that you can one day. If you don’t, then Malfoy will have won.”

Harry slapped Ron on the shoulder and began to walk away. He stopped and said over his shoulder. “We aren’t going to date publicly for a while. We thought it best, considering whom the three of us are, to keep a low profile. The only other person that knows about any of this besides the three of us is Susan.”

Harry began walking again. “What about Malfoy?” he heard Ron call out.

Harry turned, finding Ron facing him. Harry gave him a grin and said, “Hermione wasn’t bluffing Malfoy about the Kiss.”

The first smile Harry had seen from Ron in days broke across his face. “You know, maybe something good came out of this after all.”

Three Weeks Later

Hermione laid her book down on the table beside her chair and rose to walk to the pool. Without breaking stride she dove, rather inexpertly, into the cool water.

Thank Merlin no one saw that.

She rose from the water and smoothed her hair back, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it fell upon her upturned face. Leisurely, she swam to the side of the pool and hooked her arms over the edge. She looked around at the palm trees and overgrown vegetation that enclosed the pool from the street not thirty feet away. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, laying it down on her crossed arms. She felt the water gently move her weightless body up and down with its currents as her mind drifted to its obsessive subject … Harry.

He had been less than pleased when she told him her plan to spend the remainder of her recuperation in the south of France instead of England. It had been his intention to take care of her and nurse her back to health. Upon her explanation, Harry acquiesced, albeit grudgingly.

Convalescence in a warmer climate had actually been Susan’s idea. After pouring her heart out to her the day of her row with Ron, and crying on Susan’s shoulder, she had mentioned it, even saying she had some distant family members that might have a room to let. Once the idea was planted, it grew in her mind until the idea of being caged in her flat for four weeks was absolute torture. Of course, Hermione realized quickly, that Susan’s suggestion wasn’t completely philanthropic; she was excited about the prospect of ‘having’ to check on a patient in the south of France.

Although she had little resembled herself over the past weeks, Hermione knew herself well enough to know that she needed time away from Harry, Ron and everything that had happened for her to sort everything out. Her life, so ordered and predictable for so long, had taken a frightening and wonderful turn. More than anything, she needed time to adjust before she was caught up in the whirlwind that loving Harry promised to bring.

The first two weeks she had spent exploring the town of Hyeres and its medieval marketplace in the morning, lying by the pool with a book during the day and taking long walks on the beach in the late afternoon. Evenings were spent sitting in the garden or around the pool talking with the congenial witch and wizard from whom she was renting a room. She did not offer, and they did not ask, about her love life. Although when they found out who she was, they would delicately inquire periodically about her role in defeating Voldemort. She would nimbly skirt the issue and move on to something else. They never asked directly about The-Boy-Who-Lived.

But he was never far from her mind.

A tiny part of her wondered if being away from him would cause her feelings for him to diminish, as if it was his proximity more than anything that made her feel the way she did. It took less than one day for her to realize that this notion was ridiculous. In fact, the farther away from him she traveled, the stronger her feelings for him grew until the time and space she had so desired became suffocating.

At least once a day, usually more often, she began packing her bag to return to Harry. One day, she even got so far as the garden gate before turning around. Her ability to stay away from him became her last grasp at independence. Lurking in her mind was the knowledge that her ability to master her feelings and emotions and control her life would evaporate as soon as she saw Harry again. What was most disturbing to her was that she didn’t care. All she wanted was Harry. She didn’t care what she had to sacrifice to have him.

Her stomach fluttered as she remembered the feeling of his hand on her breast, his body on hers, the words he whispered in her ear. She had replayed that scene over and over in her mind, trying and finally succeeding after three weeks to forget, or at least push deep into her subconscious all that came after that.

“One more week,” she mumbled.

“What happens in one week?”

She jerked her head up at the familiar voice. A huge grin broke across her face as her eyes landed on Harry, standing by the garden gate, hands in the pockets of his shorts.

“I get to see you again.”

He walked forward and knelt down beside the pool. “You’re seeing me now.”

Hermione reached out and playfully pinched his leg. “Ow!” he cried.

“Yep, you’re real.” She tilted her head and squinted, the sun beating down on her. “Why did you come?”

“Three weeks was long enough. I had to see you. Do you want me to leave?”

“Hell, no.” She placed her palms on the edge of the pool and raised herself out nimbly. Harry stepped back as water cascaded down her body and splashed onto the ground. Hermione walked over to her chair, grabbed a towel and began drying off. She turned to see Harry standing, rooted to the same spot, a silly grin on his face. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you in a bikini,” he said, looking pointedly at her tanned body.

“Oh,” she said, wrapping the towel around her waist.

Harry walked toward her and tugged the towel off. “Don’t cover up on my account,” he said playfully.

“Okay,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he ran his hands along her side, resting them on her hips. “How did you find me?”

“Susan. I bribed her.”

“Remind me to thank her for being so weak when I get home.”

“Have you enjoyed your time away?”

“Yes and no. Yes, it has been nice to get away. No, I’ve missed you terribly.”

“I’ve missed you, too. But,” he said, holding her at arms length, “I can’t complain too much. You look good.”

“And I didn’t before?” she said with a lopsided grin.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not even going to answer that question, it’s so stupid. How are you feeling?”

“Besides a bit of lingering guilt, 100% better.” She paused before asking, “Have you talked to Ron?”

“Yes, a few weeks ago.”

“And?”

“He didn’t say much. But he was happy when I told him about Malfoy being given the Kiss. I’ve seen him a couple of times and even though he hasn’t talked to me, he hasn’t hexed me either. So it isn’t a total lost cause.”

Hermione looked at the buttons on Harry’s shirt. “Hey,” he said softly, lifting her chin. “He’ll come around eventually. And anyway,” he said playfully, picking her up, “I didn’t come here to talk about him. I came here to see you. And to kiss you right here,” he said, kissing the base of Hermione’s neck. “And here,” he said kissing her shoulder, “and here,” he said, kissing the hollow of her neck.

He nuzzled his head in her neck and ran kisses all along her damp skin. “Mmmm, you taste good,” he whispered, setting her feet on the ground before pressing his lips to hers.

Hermione finally felt and savored what she had been dreaming about for three weeks. She was relieved to realize that it was every bit as wonderful as she remembered. New, exquisite sensations were assaulting her as she felt his warm hands slide over her bare skin. She felt his hands tug lightly at her top, his thumbs running under the band and lightly scraping the underside of her breast. All thoughts of anyone or anything else fled her mind as she felt her body respond to him.

They broke apart, breathless from desire. “I’m sorry if I sound crass, but I have to know when I’m going to be able to make love to you,” Harry said hoarsely.

“One more week,” Hermione replied.

She couldn’t restrain the laughter that erupted at the crestfallen look on Harry’s face. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in is ear. “That was a joke,” she giggled.

He jerked his head back, eyes wide, and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It wasn’t very funny.”

“Yeah, it was,” Hermione said, laughing heartily.

“Keep acting like that and maybe it will be a week,” Harry said, turning to go.

“Oh no you don’t!” she called, grabbing his arm and pulling him back to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think it is time we finished what we started in that doorway.”

*****

I have written a little NC-17 cookie that picks up where this leaves off, titled “In Context.” If you are interested in reading it click HERE.

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