Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter Three

Capture.

Lavender sat on the couch, daring to look coy. She had been snogging Ron only yesterday, as if doing so would save her life, and now she sat there looking shy. Shy like a dragon, perhaps.

She nibbled little pieces of ham, picked from a slice of pizza held demurely in one hand. Ron watched her, enthralled by the process of picking ham from melted cheese, bringing ham to lightly glossed lips, popping ham between them, then the licking and suckling of the tomato-sauce covered fingers. Harry wasn't entirely sure if Ron knew he was staring. He wasn't entirely sure if Lavender knew he was watching. They just sat there, absolutely content to be basking in each other's attentions.

He looked about himself, sighing. Hermione was finishing up her shower, and Harry felt like another one. A very cold one.

Yes, it was shock, pure shock. He just couldn't reconcile the idea of the woman he'd known all these years to that of the one who had turned about and brought him to climax in his own damned bathroom with a single clever little hand. When he did, when he struggled with the loose ends and brought them all together, his heart felt full to burst and his mind spun, giddy and delirious.

He didn't really want to be in that state in front of Ron and Lavender, so he just thought about the Department protocols for new trainees and their ... dear Godric.

Hermione walked into the room briskly, clipping her long damp hair atop of her head with a bright smile at all in the room.

"Hey Lav," she said, and bending over at the couch, she gave Lavender a hug. As she did this, she also gave Harry a brilliant view of her bum in a very nice pair of jeans.

He stifled a whimper.

From that moment on, time went very slowly for Harry. Ron seemed content to sit on the couch and eat pizza, watching Lavender and Hermione talk to each other, one chatty and bubbly, the other sedate and warm. Harry couldn't look at Hermione without seeing her in that accursed dark pink silk gown, that damned Snitch not just sitting sedately on her belly anymore, but shuddering and flitting madly, as if challenging him to come and catch it.

You were born to catch the Snitch, Harry.

What the hell was THAT supposed to mean anyway?!

He sat at his chair in the corner, watching the scene, trying not to watch Hermione like Ron was watching Lavender, wondering when the hell things got so complicated.

Probably at the point where she took a hold of your old man, he thought to himself.

It was a battle not to close his eyes as the memory went through his mind. He kept them open, watching Lavender and Hermione talk. Both he and Ron were uncharacteristically quiet, he noticed. Usually they were taking part in any discussion going on, a big happy raucous session of chatter and camaraderie. This was a quiet sizzling charade of a visit. He knew why Lavender was here, and it had nothing to do with showing Hermione her brand new nail polish colour.

Harry's mind was so wrapped up in not thinking of naughty things that he hadn't noticed Lavender getting up and walking off, without any explanation whatsoever. She merely winked at Hermione and disappeared, Harry's thoughts and attention elsewhere. It wasn't till she'd been gone for some time that Harry looked up and saw Hermione on the couch by herself, Ron in the kitchen cleaning up.

"Did Lavender leave?"

"No," said Ron. "Just in the other room."

Harry didn't have to ask which room that was. Hermione was stretched out on the couch, arms up behind her head, t-shirt riding up her midriff baring her flat light-brown stomach. Ron finished with the kitchen duties and walked off, not even saying good night, or "I'll go get Lav." He just walked off into his room, and Harry knew he wouldn't see Ron again till morning.

He looked back to Hermione. She'd brought an arm down and laid it across her chest, sighing tiredly. She was gazing at her feet thoughtfully, twiddling her toes every now and again.

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

He blinked. She glanced over to him and he clambered for speech.

"No." Great, real smooth, Harry, he thought darkly. Since when did he have problems talking to Hermione? "W-why do you ask?"

Perhaps that was marginally better.

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

He felt a little indignant at that.

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

Hermione lifted a brow and the corner of her mouth went with it.

"You're annoyed with me."

"I'm not."

"Oh?"

Why didn't she believe him in this simple fact? She sighed, a patient look on her face very similar to the one he'd get if he was having trouble with his homework and he'd asked her if he could look at hers. She sat up on the couch and propped her legs up either side of her in a rather manly position. Leaning her elbows on her knees, she gazed across the coffee table at Harry, her feet gripping the edge of it. There was concern in her eyes as she spoke to him.

"Did I upset you?"

He shook his head, refusing to meet those eyes (they made him burn and he couldn't bear it right at that moment). Her voice was soft with fear as she said, "Did you not like it? Or - or me doing it to you?"

He licked his lips, feeling a child all of a sudden.

"I liked it."

There was a quiet moment where they sat together, saying nothing, Harry gazing at his fingers knotting themselves together, Hermione watching him. He wasn't sure how the mere act of sitting in a lounge room together could be a turn on, but he his body was getting worked up all over again. All she had to do was sit on the couch like a boy and forget that girls weren't supposed to have their legs open like that, even if they were wearing jeans.

"Harry..."

He looked up. Her hand was resting gently upon her clothed crotch, fingers stroking the seam of the seat of her pants in a very idle way. She leant on the other hand, looking thoughtful as ever.

"When I walked in on you..."

She paused, and he nodded for her to continue.

"... Were you thinking about me?"

His cheeks burned and his heart thumped wildly. His mouth moved but no sound escaped him, and he didn't even know where to begin with that one. Some part of him pushed him to say something, and a strangled, "Yes," came out. He was terrified that he'd said something wrong until a pleased flicker of a smile played in the corners of her mouth. Ready to launch into a heartfelt apology, he was surprised to hear the next thing that left Hermione's lips.

"Good."

Good? It was good? He'd had that fully-fledged erection over her and that pleased her? Confusion gripped him. What the hell did she want? Did people that wanted to date each other, or loved each other in any serious way - did they act the way Hermione did with him? Walking in, touching a place most intimate then walking out, doing nothing more? Some part of him actually appreciated the tip-toe progress they had been making, because he didn't even know what he wanted yet.

Hermione stood, stretching languidly before bending and cradling Harry's cheek.

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

He nodded, disappointment crashing through him at the thought of not seeing her for that long.

Then her lips were on his, soft, clinging and gentle. Just as quickly, they were gone and she was smiling warmly.

"Goodnight, Harry."

With that, she was off to bed.

~~*~~

He barely slept that night. How a kiss could make such an impact on him was beyond him. He'd kissed other girls before, and not an hour before his latest the very girl in question had given him a sterling hand job. Yet that very action paled in comparison to that gentle look in her eyes and her kiss on his mouth. The fact remained, Hermione had kissed him. She'd never kissed him before. It was strange that such a little bit of contact could have a world of meaning in it beyond that of touching one's private parts.

He was no longer just turned on. It had shifted beyond that with her kiss. Something deep within him that had been a sleeping bud now bloomed unexpectedly, and he almost felt drunk on it all. He felt like he did when he had his very first crush, but far more intense. It was new and demanding and dominating. His life rippled in the waves crashing throughout him.

He could barely concentrate in his training sessions. Moody was thoroughly irritated by the nearly permanent faraway glaze in Harry's eyes. In the afternoon of going through piles of paperwork and having meetings to sort intelligence from mere rumour, Harry felt just a little detached. It wasn't until after a rigourous workshop on trying to find a missing and dangerous dark wizard that Remus Lupin pulled Harry aside into a small room, a concerned look on his face. Of course, Harry didn't know he was being pulled aside. He thought he was going to look through some photos of evidence with Lupin.

He was surprised to see Lupin sit down and plant his hands on his knee with a frown on his face.

"Harry."

"Sir?"

Lupin blinked and then lifted a hand, shaking his head. "Relax. This is private business."

Harry felt the skin of his back crawl oddly. It wasn't rare for Lupin to sit down with him and talk about things. His ex-Professor had been rather devoted to keeping up the role of Godfather and role model for Harry, even if the boy was now grown to a twenty-two year old man. Lupin's mask of thoughtfulness broke and a puzzled look crossed his face.

"Are you all right?"

Harry's brows rose and he blinked.

"Yes."

Lupin just tilted his head, staring at Harry judiciously. He hated when Lupin did that as it often made his head hurt somehow.

"You are?"

"Yes."

Lupin continued to stare at him, offering only a quick, thoughtful, "Huhm."

Harry squirmed under the scrutiny.

"Am I in trouble?"

Lupin looked a little amused at that, and he shook his head. "No, no, of course not. I just noticed you've been a little... preoccupied?"

Without his bidding, a blush roared in his cheeks, and Harry hid his face behind a hand.

"Oh."

"Did you want to talk about it, Harry?"

Oh God, he thought. The very idea of telling Lupin about what had happened in the past two days horrified him. Humiliation and embarrassment flooded him and he edged towards the door, wishing he could just run away.

"I know you're not - you've never been encouraged to talk about things," Lupin said. "I just want you to know I'm here, outside of work duties, all right?" His eyes twinkled a little then. "And this room is sealed and protected with the best privacy charms in the entire country. So if you *did* want to talk, there's not a chance in hell of anyone hearing us."

Harry sucked in a big breath of air, the temptation of getting all the tension and confusion off his chest presenting itself for the first time. And really - wouldn't Lupin, being older, have a far better perspective on this sort of thing than, say, Ron?

Walking past Lupin, Harry took a seat at the weathered old wooden table that his friend and colleague was sitting on. He buried his face in his hands, sighing deeply.

"It's been the oddest two days of my life."

"How so?"

Dropping his hands, Harry looked up to Lupin.

"Hermione got a tattoo."

Lupin's brows lifted up high and he looked genuinely surprised. "She did?"

"She did," he said, nodding. "Right here." Leaning back in his chair, he tapped the space above his pelvis.

Lupin's brows did not descend. "Ah."

"It's a tattoo of a Snitch."

Finally, Lupin's brows sank down and he stood, turning to take a proper seat at the table. He folded his hands together, leaning his mouth on it and gazing at Harry thoughtfully.

"There's more, I take it?"

Harry gave a long, tired nod.

"She was horrified," he said. "Utterly and entirely. I tried to tell her it looked all right. Thing is, to show me, she - well she - " He blushed. "She was only in her underthings. In... " He rubbed his eyelids. "Flimsy, see-through underthings."

"I see."

Harry shook his head. "Oh, I don't know if you, I mean - you've seen her! And if you could imagine-"

"I don't think I want to."

He looked at Lupin in surprise, who lifted his hands in a defensive pose.

"Harry, she's young enough to be my daughter!"

"Oh. Oh right." Harry nodded. "Yes."

"I see why it would be unnerving, though."

"Yes."

Lupin smiled a little then, the kind of warm, knowing smile one only had when they could look back on such problems with authority. "I take it you liked what you saw."

At that, Harry whimpered. "I got to see it again!"

"She showed it to you?"

Harry looked at Lupin. This 'talking' and 'sharing' thing was turning out to be easier than he expected. There had to be a catch. Oh well, it would make itself clear eventually. He looked at Lupin levelly.

"Not intentionally. She Apparated into my bathroom to use the shower, in a bathrobe, knickers, bra and not a lot else-"

"Please," said Lupin, a little crease in his brow. "Don't go into detail."

Harry nearly laughed at that, but he was too nervous.

"What did you do?"

"Not a lot," he said, feeling his throat tighten in embarrassment. "I was stark naked."

"I see."

"No, you don't," said Harry, cheeks bright red, looking like he wanted to hide away for a very long time. "I was, I mean..." Clearing his throat, he pointed down there and then stopped quickly because Lupin seemed to get it very quickly.

"I see."

Yes, now he saw, thought Harry. He couldn't believe he'd told Lupin this much, but after beginning it all started to tumble out.

"And was she -"

"She stared at it! Me!" He shook himself. "She just stared!"

"Well..." Lupin shrugged. "She's a young woman, you're a young man, I mean..."

Lifting his gaze to Lupin, Harry looked shocked. Lupin just shrugged.

"All I'm saying, Harry, is that it's natural for you to - explore things - at your age."

Harry nodded, staring at the opposite wall of rich redwood panelling. Natural. Yes. Very.

"So is that why-"

"Oh no," said Harry, shaking his head fervently. "No, no, no. It's bad enough I have the mental picture of that damned little Snitch in my head. Then she-" He gulped, trying to get his mouth to move, but it wouldn't. "She..."

"She?"

Harry pointed to his willy and felt about four.

"Wh-" Lupin went pale, eyes going wide. "She-"

His hands shook as they made a vague approximation of what went on. Lupin quickly looked away, nodding shortly, and Harry felt embarrassed beyond all reason. He stuffed his hands between his knees and looked away, wishing he could just die right there.

"I uhm-" Blinking, his mentor looked somewhat confused. "You- " A sigh. "This might be a difficult question to answer, but uhm - did you not want... to experience that?"

"I liked it," said Harry, "Of course I did. But it's just - it's Hermione."

"Right."

Harry nodded and buried his face in his hands. His heart twisted in his chest.

"She just - right there in the bathroom. Did it and walked off and..." He frowned. "She didn't even kiss me, or say anything."

"Ohh."

It was a significant 'Ohh'. The 'Ohh' of someone who had gained some sort of understanding. Whatever it was Lupin knew, Harry wanted to know it too, to understand the chaotic mess that he found himself in the middle of. He stared at Lupin, who looked back at him with a gentle smile.

"Keep going, Harry."

Harry blinked, pointing at Lupin. "You went 'ohh'."

"I did?"

"Yes."

Lupin nodded. "Yes. Well?"

"Why?" Harry said, persisting. "Why the oh?"

Clearing his throat, Lupin weaved his fingers together, looking thoughtful.

"Let me ask you something, Harry."

"All right." There was caution in his voice.

Lupin's amber eyes met his, serenity there that comforted him. "You're attracted to Hermione, that's perfectly normal. In fact, I don't know if there are many men about your age that don't appreciate her for what she is." Lupin stopped to rub his moustache, then continued. "Do you think the reason you might be - uhm - troubled, by all of this is because you're uncertain of what she feels? Towards you?"

"Of course it is!" Harry cried. "Who pops in, gets their mate off and walks out as happy as you please?! Who does that?!"

Lupin wasn't ruffled by Harry's raised voice. He merely shrugged.

"Someone who's confused," he said. "Someone who doesn't want to lose their 'mate', because of curiosity or something more that they don't feel in control of."

With a whimper, Harry buried his head in his arms, just wishing for it to become clear. Obviously Lupin didn't have all the answers. He didn't know why Hermione was behaving like she was. He felt Lupin's hand on his shoulder, patting it gently.

"I was thinking of her when it happened," he said. "When I - with -" He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. "She asked me about it. Asked me if I'd been thinking her when she popped in. I said yes, because I was and-" He sat up again, narrowing his eyes, looking utterly confused. "She said that this was good."

Lupin nodded.

"Then... she finally kissed me. And I haven't been able to think straight since."

A smile spread across Lupin's face and he patted Harry on the shoulder again.

"Harry. Talk to her. Spend some time with her doing something other than discussing work or watching Ron and Lavender present to each other."

Glancing up, Harry met Lupin's gentle expression.

"Trust me, it'll aid the situation if you're not running into each other and doing the first thing that enters your minds." Lupin's mouth formed an amused curl, and Harry felt a little shocked to see the man smirk. "Well, maybe not your minds."

Harry could only gasp at that.

Lupin chuckled, pulling himself to his feet.

"All right, Harry. It's only an hour before you're off for the day. I'll talk to Moody, you go home and relax before you worry yourself a stomach ulcer."

Harry frowned. This wasn't procedure.

"Are you sure?"

"Go home, Harry," said Lupin, standing and opening the door to the little room. "That's an order."

With a heavy sigh, Harry nodded and did what he was told.

~~*~~

The flat was very quiet when he returned home. Dishes were piled up next to the sink and waiting their turned to be washed by the magic chamois and scrub-brush. He only had to wonder for a moment where Ron was. There was a thump and a female giggle, and then complete silence.

"Don't give it a bloody rest or anything, will you Ron?" mumbled Harry darkly, walking to the fridge and looking at the message board. There was a new message on it in Hermione's pretty flowing hand.

"Harry Potter,

Snitch still at large.

Love from

Hermione."

A perfectly innocent message to anyone else in the world, but to Harry it was a not-so-gentle reminder that what had happened wasn't going to go away, or be swept under the carpet. He forgot about it for that moment and opened the fridge, digging out leftovers from the day before and heating them up on the stove with a little bit of magic. His mind wandered as he went about what seemed to him now a dull routine. He'd been pleased with this way of life for years and suddenly, it wasn't enough anymore.

Eating was more of a chore than something to enjoy, as his nerves were playing hell with his stomach. It wasn't the sort of nerves one got from being scared of something, nothing like that. It was the nerves of anticipation, of eagerness.

He didn't realise until he caught himself staring at the front door that he was waiting for Hermione to come home.

Standing abruptly, he washed his dishes (forgetting he could charm the chamois and scrubbing brush to do it for him) and set them in the drying rack. His hands were shaking and he didn't like the reason why, not at all. Sense had left him and something like madness and fear took its place.

He couldn't be feeling this way, not for Hermione. It didn't matter that she was beautiful (so damned beautiful), it didn't matter that he wanted her. He'd never been in a long lasting relationship before, so the odds of him screwing things up were strong. The very thought of alienating Hermione in such an eventuality, of losing her... It tore him apart.

He clomped off up the stairs to his room, clenching his teeth, trying not to think about her in any way. It was too difficult, and after a day of thinking about not thinking about her, he was thoroughly wound up. A pining need was reaching a fever pitch, and shame rushed him as he realised what he wanted to do.

Maybe, just maybe, it was his hormones talking, he reasoned. Perhaps if he just let himself go once or twice, he'd feel normal again. He shed his shoes, pants, tie, cloak, underpants. He sighed, throwing himself back on the bed, shirt hanging off his shoulders, hand finding its place.

He closed his eyes and the Snitch shivered back to life in his consciousness.

Snitch still at large.

Too bloody right it was. He hated himself as his body grew excited at the thought of her, at the thought of the little drawing on her flesh. Maybe it's a terrible kink, he thought. Maybe I just have a thing for tattoos.

He knew though, knew in his very soul, that such a tattoo on someone else would do nothing for him. It was because it was on *her* belly, marking her body, signalling the triumph of all that she was, that he was sent so wild.

He breathed evenly, trying to get it out of the way, over and done with and no longer a problem. He struggled to think of something other than her to excite him, but everyone else was a shadow compared to her, everyone else was a bland substitute.

Just as he gnashed his teeth in desperate frustration, the door to his room opened and closed.

He was too afraid to open his eyes, worried that perhaps Ron had accidentally glimpsed him, and he silently swore at himself for not locking the damned thing.

"Well..."

A soft voice, one that he knew too well but with a hint of something he wasn't accustomed to.

"... I keep running into you like this."

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

"Don't."

He looked over to her, brows knitting, his expression a question.

"Please," she added, softly.

"Why?"

She was in her work clothes, bushy brown hair clipped atop of her head, and she was leaning against the door. Hermione pushed herself up, stepping over to the bed and then sitting on the edge of it. She didn't look at his nakedness, nor his hand on himself. She just met his eyes with a gentle look.

"I like to see it."

He frowned a little deeper.

"I like to see you."

He leant on a propped elbow and eyed her. "Why?"

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

With a sigh, he fell back onto the bed, gazing at the ceiling, closing his eyes and feeling himself still firm in his hand.

Suddenly, two little hands wrapped about his own. They moved it, slowly, coaxing it to begin again in its rhythm. He felt her soft hair across his chest, and he thought perhaps she'd taken her hair out. He didn't open his eyes to see; he didn't want to distract himself from the sensations flooding him. It was her smell, her touch, her breath.

She shifted, and her hands moved, her cheek touching his.

"What are you thinking about, Harry?"

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

She smiled, but he only heard it in a breathy puff of a laugh. "Good."

That sound sent his mind reeling, his body thrumming delightfully. Good, good, good. It echoed within him. She liked him thinking about her and touching himself, liked him losing himself over all that she was.

"What do you want to do to me, Harry?" she asked.

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

She sucked in a breath, the curling smile on her face one of wicked curiosity. "Soon."

That was all it took for him to lose his control. As his body shook and shuddered about him, he could hear her sighing, the softest of pleased moans in her voice. When the tide had crashed through him and left him spent, he breathed unsteadily, staring at the ceiling, looking for all the world as though he'd just run a mile.

Brown hair obscured his vision and soft velvet lips kissed his own.

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

Another kiss and she was gone.

~~*~~

Harry was glad that he was working on the streets with Tonks the next day. It gave him a chance to sit there and relax a little as they stared at a dank, dirty old looking townhouse that only wizards could see. Next to him sat Tonks, looking for all the world like an old Muggle woman, but with young sparkling obsidian eyes. The only incongruous thing about her was that she was making her way through a packet of caramel covered popcorn, which was usually not the snack of choice for old ladies. It was also not entirely normal for old Muggle women to talk about the latest thing on the Wizard Wireless, but since to Muggles, wireless radio was archaic and out of date, it served her illusion quite nicely.

"But if that spoilt talentless trollop Courtni Boudoir thinks she can outperform the Weird Sisters, she's got another think coming!" Tonks munched angrily on some popcorn. "Can't stand that little chit."

Harry chuckled, glad to be working beside Tonks for once.

"Hey." She tugged on his sleeve, peering at his eyes through his sunglasses and low hat. "I saw Remus pull you aside yesterday. You in trouble?"

"Uhm... no," he said. He was surprised at Tonks' perceptiveness, but then he quickly realised that someone of her experience would be good at watching people without them realising it.

She just peered at him.

"Don't look at me like that, Tonks," he said, sounding pained.

"I know when I'm not being told something, Harry," she said. "How long have we been friends for, now?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry sighed. "Seven years."

"That's right," she said. "You know you can talk to me about anything. Absolutely anything."

"I'm all right," he said reflexively.

Tonks just giggled. "Yeah right."

He sighed again. "I already told Lupin all about it yesterday."

"Must have been juicy then."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, brow raised.

"He had that look in his eyes," she said, a shadow of a smirk on her old lips. "Like he'd just heard a very dirty joke."

His cheeks burnt as they blushed crimson, and he uncurled the collar of his jacket and sank into it. The most un-old-lady-like sound then came from Tonks' mouth.

"OoooOOoooh!" She poked him in the shoulder, giggling, "Harry needed advice on seeeex!"

"Tonks!"

"You DID!"

"Our cover!" he growled, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop himself from strangling her. He glanced around, and thankfully nobody noticed anything. He looked back to her. "Really, it's none of your-"

"I'm right!"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes you were, now please, for the love of God, shut UP!"

Tonks wriggled in her place. "Who? Who is it?"

He kept his eyes firmly on the dilapidated townhouse, jaw clenched tightly shut. With a sterling effort, he ignored Tonks ringing off names of half his co-workers, quite happy with the fact that he was impassive as a rock.

"Hmm, not Genevieve, not your type. HAhaha! It's me!" She giggled and nudged him in the ribs. "Only kidding, Harry. Wouldn't want my scrawny old arse."

Harry neglected to mention that he'd always looked up to Tonks and thought her very beautiful, as it would have definitely inflamed the situation and made it all the more embarrassing for him.

"So, not Gen, not Freda. Oh heavens, not Hermione?!"

Harry flinched.

"It IS!"

Kill me now, God, he thought darkly. Kill me right now. Let that bus coming down the road swerve and smack into me. Please. Damn. Thanks for nothing.

"Tonks, do I have to remind you we're on the job again?"

She sniggered. "I'm your superior, buddy!"

He ground his teeth. "What are you going to do - order me to tell you about my *private* affairs?"

There was an old chin on his shoulder, and sparkling black eyes gazing up at him teasingly.

"I could."

"Yes, but that would have to go in our report."

"I'm sure Moody would love to read about your exploits," she said.

It was all too much for him. He buried his face in his hands, whimpering and curling up into his lap. Tonks patted his back, eyes fixed across the street.

"It's all right, Harry," she said. "I'll keep it out of the report."

He sat up abruptly, turning his head and glaring at her, deadpan.

She shrugged. "You can tell me anything!"

"I've already told Lupin everything, I'm not repeating myself."

Batting her eyelashes, she tilted her head. "Not even for me?"

"Why do you want to know anyway?" he asked, exasperated.

"Because I can help you!" she said. "I'm your friend, Harry, and I'd like to think that I am there for you!"

"You are," he said, "But do you have to ask about the intimate details of my private life?"

Tipping her head, she smiled. "The best kinda friends know that shit!"

He gave a great sigh, leaning back on the bench they sat on and giving up. So he told her. He told her about the party, about the tattoo and how he'd first seen it, about how he couldn't get it out of his mind, about how wild it made him and how Hermione found that out, and how Hermione seemed to enjoy playing with his willy.

"Awwwww!" Tonks clasped her hands together and hugged them to her shoulder, biting her bottom lip with glee. "She looooves you!"

"Tonks..."

"Well, she loves your wanger at least."

"Tonks!"

"Have some popcorn."

He shook his head, waving the box of caramelised treats away. He didn't feel like breathing, let alone eating. For a minute or two there was silence, and he wondered if now Tonks was sated, that she was going to be quiet. No such luck.

"I think you're thinking about it too much."

He blinked. "You do?"

"Yes," she said. "Stop rationalising it and go with it."

"Go with it?" He gave a helpless sigh. "How can I? The best and closest friend next to Ron that I've ever had has taken up the habit of giving me hand jobs, and then for the rest of the time, acting like nothing is bloody well different!"

Tonks lifted a brow at this, looking amused.

"I mean, why should I understand that? Why should I? She's meant the world to me all this time and I thought that it'd be different!"

The amusement was gone from Tonks' expression. She looked gentle now, knowing. Harry didn't stop to think on what he had said, he didn't even realise the meaning behind it.

"I thought..." He sighed, words failing him.

"What did you think would be different?"

"... Uhm..."

"Did you think you'd get together with her one day?"

Harry frowned. "That's presumptuous."

Tonks smiled. "Am I right?"

"Not really," he said. "I just - never liked to think about being without her. And I knew there'd come a time where I'd have to deal with it. I didn't think that this would be it."

"Aaaah."

He wished there'd be a movement from inside the townhouse across the street or someone arriving in some unpredictable way - anything - just to change the subject and give him the opportunity to take his mind off what he was currently talking about.

"Somehow I don't think Hermione minds what you're sharing with her."

He rolled his bottom lip under his tongue, eyes fixed ahead.

"If she did, she wouldn't be doing it."

"It's not the issue," he said darkly.

"You're making it too much of an issue," said Tonks. "She's exploring the fringes of something new and she wants you to go there with her. You, and no one else, Harry."

There was a growl deep in Harry's throat and he swallowed.

"She's done these things with other people."

"Yeah, but those people weren't you," she said. "It was never so much of a risk, was it? Never meant as much as it does with you."

He shrugged.

"Let her in, Harry, let her discover something with you."

He wanted to do that, more than anything, but he was afraid.

The curtain in the window of the front of the house rustled and Harry stood, gripping his wand. Tonks stood up next to him, shoving her packet of popcorn into her large fleecy jacket.

"Time to rumble," she said conversationally, as if she had just announced it was tea-time.

As they crossed the street, Harry found himself very grateful to have Nymphadora Tonks as a partner.

~~*~~

He was late home that day, and when he made his way into the flat, he was limping. Ron and Lavender were lazing on the couch reading the Daily Prophet together, and when he entered the room, Ron glanced up and looked thoroughly alarmed.

"Harry!"

"Harry!" echoed Lav.

"You look awful!" he gasped. "What happened?"

"Oh, we cornered a tough one today," he said, "No big deal. Tonks took him on before I could get a look in and it was over in a jiff." He growled as he pointed to his sore foot. "I did that coming down the stairs in that shithole of a house he lived in. Bloody things collapsed underneath me."

"Oh dear," said Lavender.

There was the smell of cooking food in the flat and, looking about, he realised he couldn't see Hermione.

"Where's Hermione?"

"In her room," smiled Lavender, sitting down at the couch again. "Working on some papers, she said."

"How exciting," he said in a droll tone. "I'm having a shower."

"Have fun," said Lavender, smirking at the copy of the Daily Prophet she had in her hands. "We'll call you for dinner if you like."

"That would be nice."

Harry made his way up to his room, his skin crawling as he felt unavoidably suspicious. Did Lavender know? Did Hermione say something to her? If Hermione said something to Lavender, then Lavender might have said something to Ron, and then Ron would have known about him - oh GOD. He stopped thinking about it. It just wasn't possible. Then again.... there was a glint Lavender's eyes that told him she knew something was going on. He didn't like it.

He rushed his shower and fastidiously avoided looking at his genitals. He tried to shut off those feelings inside of him, shut off any part of his sexuality, just thought about work and sport and what he might have for dinner (the food he'd smelt didn't smell bad, so he assumed Mrs. Weasley had sent Ron a hamper of leftovers).

He dried himself off, pulled himself into boxers, a pair of dark green tracksuit pants and a black t-shirt. Some part of him ached to see Hermione after his long, terrible day, but the rest of him rallied against that idea because it was just the sort of thing that would lead to more illicit hanky panky, and not that he disliked it, but it was starting to really depress him. So. His night. He could write up that report of his day with Tonks. He didn't have to do that right away though, no. He could go downstairs and watch some television, but he knew there'd be the same old shit on it anyway, and he'd have to put up with Lavender and Ron pawing each other, which he couldn't stand to see in his current state of mind.

He walked out of the room, down the stairs, pondering it further. Perhaps he could sit in bed and read one of Ron's many Quidditch magazines. Or he could go for a quick drink at the local pub. In his mind, the image of the Snitch on Hermione's belly flittered enticingly. Blinking and looking up, he saw he was standing outside her door.

"Bollocks."

He had to wonder if there was any point fighting it, the strange new feeling that was spoiling his belly and making his heart race. He stepped from foot to foot, biting his lip, uncertainty plaguing him. With a final grunt of defeat, he knocked on her door.

"Hermione?"

"Come in."

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Some part of his mind fancied that the lights might be low and that she'd be in her favourite brown sweater, reading a book. He'd seen her doing that many times before. What he saw was not what he expected. The light was on and by her was a brighter lamp. He knew Ron was baffled by her insistence to use Muggle light sources, but she'd often shoot back that she refused to lose her eyesight squinting in the darkness of candles and flame. The lighting lacked romance, but it made up for it with the revealing of detail. Her hair gleamed in the clear light and it lit her face beautifully as she hunched over a pile of parchment. He was quite shocked to see her sitting there quite calmly in *that* dark pink silk robe. She had it tightly tied shut about her, and despite how much skin it covered, it clung to her frame in a painfully delightful way. He instinctively looked down at his feet, not at her, cheeks burning anew. He had many memories of her working hard, scribbling away at parchments, but never was she wearing something so revealing.

Finishing her sentence with a flourish of her quill, she finally sat up. Placing down the quill, she looked at him with a smile, but as soon as she saw him her smile disappeared.

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

She was on her feet and over to him, feeling at the bruise on his head and then slowly making her way down, checking him over. She smelt strongly of shampoo and he realised she must have only come from her bath a little while ago.

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

His foot had a fair few scratches on it, which would be healed overnight after the magical salve that had been placed on it took its time to work. He looked to his bare foot and blushed.

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

"Harry!"

With a gasp, she wrapped her arms about his middle, hugging him tightly.

"I'm all right."

He patted her shoulder nervously, trying to reassure her, but too frightened to touch her more than that.

"Why does this sort of thing always happen to you?" she muttered.

He frowned, pulling himself away and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

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

"I'm sorry," she said. "You scared me."

He nodded quietly, sighing. She sighed in return, curling an arm around his. She leant her head against his shoulder and he felt a flutter inside of him, despite his attempts at keeping his distance from such feelings.

"Harry..."

Her voice speaking his name made something in him drift dreamily. "Yes..."

"Do you trust me?"

He looked down at that. It was an odd question to ask, because he had always trusted her, no question. The puzzled look on his face seemed to communicate his confusion to her, and she gulped and spoke further.

"Do you... trust my intentions?"

He licked his lips.

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

Her arms hooked about his shoulders, her brown eyes gleaming.

"It's me here, Harry."

Fear burst inside his chest and he nodded. "I know."

She settled a hand on his cheek and she tilted her head. "I won't leave you."

He hadn't realised how much he needed to hear those words until he was in her arms, hugging her with all his might, revelling in the feeling of her embrace. It was such a small little sentence, but it bolstered him and made him feel like it was okay, that this thing they were tumbling into wouldn't divide them.

Her hands curled about her back, and wriggling from him a little, she guided his hands from behind her to her belly, where the knot of her robe was. His mouth went dry, his brain feeling numb shock at the thought of seeing her naked. And he was sure she was naked under that thing. He could see no strap of her bra making a lump on her shoulder, or any pantyline to speak of on her hip. His breath escaped his control, and his cheeks burned.

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

The belt of the robe dropped down and the flimsy silk hung open. He could see a band of nakedness, from her neck right down. His heart crashed into his ribs as it beat soundly, and some part of him wailed in disappointment as he saw she was wearing black silk knickers. They were hipsters... no wonder he missed them. Above those accursed knickers flittered that bewitching little golden tattoo.

She took his hands in hers and stepped backwards towards her bed. There was a glint in her eyes and he was too overwhelmed to even think about what she had planned.

"Hermione-" He coughed, hardly in control of his mouth. "Are you- I mean- should we-"

"Baby steps, Harry," she said softly, sitting him on the edge of her bed.

She pulled her robe open and rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the dark-pink satin.

His soul stilled. He felt himself falling, falling so very quickly, his stomach pushing up into his throat. She was so beautiful. So much light toned skin, a slim yet elegantly curving figure, with a sweet little belly and round pert breasts. She was a nymph to him, a vision of unspeakable delight. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head and gasp.

She looked down, shrugging and casting a disparaging look at herself. He'd seen her look like that before and he leant forward, taking her hand. He gazed into her eyes, not knowing how to say what he wanted to say. She gazed back at him, squeezing his hand.

"Thank you," he breathed.

She rolled her eyes, sitting down next to him.

"You are beautiful," he said, firmly.

She looked to him, brows tilting up, that something new in her eyes again that made his entire self flip-flop. He leant forward, catching her lips in his, not caring if she wanted to do this in her baby steps or not. He just lost himself in the sensation of her lips, of the sweet curves of flesh that played beneath his own, of the gentle stroking of her tongue that made him want to open up and slip inside of her at the same time.

Of a sudden she pulled away, shyness about her.

"Will you watch me?"

"Huh-uh... Watch you?"

She nodded, coyly biting her bottom lip. "Watch me..." Her hands dipped down between her legs and she blushed.

It dawned upon him in a heady rush. He nodded, and whether he muttered a gasping "yes" or not, he didn't know. Watching Hermione pleasure herself, watching her... He felt faint, and he gripped the bed.

She scooted back on the bed, her eyes on him, and once in a comfortable spot in her pillows, she lifted her hips and pushed down her knickers. He gulped, trying to find something that told him that this wasn't some wonderful dream he was having. He pinched himself, and twitched at the pain. Ohhh, it was real.

"You can come closer," she said.

He was sitting at the end of the bed, on the edge. He shifted back, eyes raking the beautifully lilting and swelling frame. She had the loveliest figure, he was quite sure it was the most marvelous he'd ever seen. Elegant shoulders, breasts that looked just the perfect size for the palms of his hands, narrow waist and strong looking hips that led down to lithe light brown legs.

Then her legs parted.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then thought it best just to shut it, shut it right up and let her get on with whatever wonderful thing she wanted to show him. She kept opening her legs until he had a clear view of her, and her fingers skidded down there, stroking the dark curls. He barely stifled a whimper. From under her hand peeked that gleaming golden Snitch, quivering and shuddering as the wings fluttered as fast as they could.

"Closer, Harry," she said, and patted her knee to let him know how close she wanted him.

He was not one to deny her. He leant closer, those other lips very clear in the normal Muggle electrical light that he was so glad she insisted on using.

Her fingers dipped in her curls, stroking slowly, teasingly, and then slipped down to her lips, which she parted.

Harry gasped then, unable to stop himself, leaning on her knee to stop himself from falling over. Her middle finger skidded up and down the silky palate between her lips, and he watched eagerly, feeling himself get very, very aroused. It was a fight not to grab himself. He'd let Hermione stay in control.

The finger dipped down suddenly, and into her. That dark pink mysterious space was a new obsession for him, a brand new Snitch, the one she referred to and the one he'd been afraid to reach for. But how to reach for it? How to seize it?

He could hear her breaths become hot and audible as her fingers flickered up, and her other hand pulled back the curls and the folds so she could expose the little piece of herself that ached for attention. And he saw it, before she covered it in a stroking finger, saw that little nub that was swelling as quickly as he was. He mindlessly gripped the thigh he had leant his head on, sighing dreamily.

Not that he knew it, but it made Hermione moan.

He felt so blessed to see this part of her, so special. His heart lifted higher and higher as she grew more intensely aroused. Her breaths rushed, and her lips and fingers gleamed. Harry felt himself breathing deeply himself, his other hand drifting over his own arousal, eyes locked on Hermione.

"You can touch yourself too, Harry," she mumbled, tilting her head back some. "Please, please touch yourself."

He didn't have to be asked twice. Watching her fingers flutter over her folds, he pushed his pants down, taking a hold of himself, edging forward so she could see him.

"Like that?"

A smile drifted across her face and her eyes were on him.

"Yes, yes."

There seemed to be a new energy about her now he was exposed, and her movements began to get frenzied. Her fingers were flickering back and forth as fast as the wings of the Snitch on her belly, her breasts quivering in her swift movements and hurried gasps for air. Her eyes never moved off him, and as he stroked himself faster, so did she.

"Oh God," she mumbled. "I like seeing you like this, I do..."

He had to grin, meeting her eyes with a wicked gleam in his own.

"I should have known you'd be a talker."

Her eyes drifted shut for a moment and she grinned back at him. She was so very adorable that he turned his head, taking the closest bit of flesh and kissing it hungrily. It happened to be her inner thigh, and she gave a sudden panicking gasp.

"Harry!"

That little shred of wickedness swelled in his heart, and he felt such utter delight in hearing her so helpless. Bending his head down, he did it again, kissing the silky plane of her inner thigh, letting his tongue trace delicious patterns, tasting salt and skin and sex. He shook as he worked himself and he could feel her muscles of her thigh tremble under his mouth. She gasped, mumbling his name over and over.

He knew he would lose himself any minute. He could smell a range of delightful perfumes; her hair, her sweat, her body. He could hear her become more vocal, her gasps becoming little moans.

"Let me," he said, scooting forward, a hungry rumble in his voice, his eyes locked upon her lips. "... Please."

She whimpered and nodded, closing her eyes, her head hanging back against the pillow. She pulled her fingers away, pulling back the curls and folds for him. Without a second thought he descended, sealing his lips over hers, his tongue swirling about the flesh underneath him, tasting the most unique flavour imaginable and enjoying its every nuance, a strange inescapable trickle of disbelief setting him on fire.

He moaned into her as his own pleasure mounted and he could feel her buck a little underneath his mouth, a desperate gasp leaving her.

"Bloody hell!" she whimpered, clawing at the bed sheets underneath her. "Do that again, ohhh please..."

So he did, and she gave a long, delicious squirm of pleasure.

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

Yes, he liked to hear her say his name like that. He suckled her firmly, tongue flickering as fast as her fingers ever did, dipping into the depths of her folds, not missing a spot about that sensitive place. He was shocked to feel her body quiver about his mouth, and her voice rose and leapt to a cry.

"Oh HARRY!"

She bucked and he grinned within, feeling her fingers dip into his hair and press him down onto her. Her wriggling and writhing and gasping pushed him, and her voice crying out his name toppled him over the edge.

His heart pounded as he felt that delicious surge through his body, that precious release which she also seemed to be enjoying. He nuzzled her, licking her tenderly. He wasn't sure how long he lingered there, doting upon her sex, but he knew it would never be long enough for him. He was very hesitant as he pulled his head away, seeing that poor Hermione couldn't take much more of his attentions.

Sitting up, holding himself loosely in his hands, he looked over her.

She lay there, eyes wide and gazing at the ceiling, her mouth hanging open, her breasts rising and falling in deep, collecting gasps. She just shook her head, licking her lips, her hands twitching at her sides, her legs still open. He was very happy to watch her like that for some time. His mind sang the same thing over and over again.

I did that to her. She's got that look of absolute bliss because I gave it to her. At that thought, a humbling feeling engulfed him, and he wondered why it was he that was lucky enough to make her feel like that, why he was the one she wanted so close to her. He didn't dwell on it, for there self-doubt lay. He just gazed at her, so pretty and glowing.

Finally, after lying there for some time, she shakily pulled her legs together, wrapping her silk robe about herself and tying the knot with trembling hands. He watched her quietly, waiting for her to speak.

Glancing to him, she gave a shy smile. He wondered how she could be shy after something like that, but she was.

"Well, I have so very much to do tonight and..."

He lifted his brows. "You want me to leave?"

She turned and looked to him. "No."

There was a sudden rap at the door.

"Harry, Hermione... Dinner!"

It was Lavender.

He leapt to his feet, stuffing his privates back into his pants and racing to the door. Opening it, he scowled down at the petite brunette in the doorway, who looked pretty damned smug.

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

She rolled her eyes. "Let's just call it a nagging suspicion."

"I'm just talking to Hermione."

"I'm sure you are!" she said, lifting her hands, looking utterly innocent. "I have to go set the table! Don't be too long."

Harry sighed, turning back into Hermione's room and closing the door. He felt an undue amount of annoyance at Lavender. The cheeky little wench had interrupted a special moment. He turned and saw that Hermione was pulling on a shirt. He could see that Snitch struggling to be seen from the waistband of her pants.

He walked over to her, idly, gazing at her belly, and hesitantly, he put his hand forward.

"May I?"

She nodded, her eyes soft.

His fingers flattened over the Snitch, stroking it gently.

"It is very beautiful." He looked up to her lovely brown eyes.

She smiled faintly and, stepping forward, she kissed his lips tenderly.

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

His brows lifted. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yes. But not tonight." At that, she buttoned up her shirt.

He was going to ask her why, but it seemed pointless. He had the sneaky feeling she'd let him know. And she did. His very look was askance.

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

"Of you and I - well -"

She nodded thoroughly. "Exactly."

He nodded now. "I understand."

She smiled brightly, turning and hugging him tightly. "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you do!"

Harry's heart leapt. He didn't think he could ever hear her say "Oh Harry" the same way again.

~~*~~

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