The Snitch

Title: The Snitch

Author: nacey

Email: tosh@opera.iinet.net.au

Category: Romance, humour

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: After a drunken night of revelry, Hermione stumbles into Harry's room and shows him a brand new tattoo she had no idea she had gotten. In the days that follow, Harry cannot get his mind off the glittering tattoo on her belly. Can someone fall in love just because of a tattoo?

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

Author notes: Okay, this was a real labour of love. I wrote this, the first sixty percent on my own, then I joined forces with Anne and I wrote it and showed her bits as I went. She decided about halfway through this process that she wanted to write a version of this story following Hermione's point of view, and I begged her to please, please do it. She's done a real sterling job, I cannot tell you how much fun it's been to collaborate with her. It's been very hard work though, and I think the both of us will be having a big break of silly one shots! (Hang on, me? One shots! I wish!! I am incapable of writing anything under 10,000 words!!) Anyway, I want to thank and send huge public hugs to Anne - you really are a star. She also wrote the very last scene (the breakfast in bed bit), even though I redid the dialogue (much to her chagrin I assure you). I also wanted to thank my hard-working beta Queen, Lissanne, who never stops supporting me in my writing (or my art!). You are a real sweet heart, it's a joy to have you helping me out. My stories wouldn't be so great without you! I also want to thank my new betas that helped me with this - Molly, Jennifer - I thank you most sincerely! And Molly is a real legend, she did some wonderful edits. Dude, you owe me about five bucks in quarters!

Without further ado - The Snitch! (a lot of fuss for a very silly story!)

~~*~~

Chapter One.

Marking.

They were all insanely drunk. This was absolutely no surprise, as instead of bowing out in the first round of semi-finals, for once the Chudley Cannons had made it to the last round of semi-finals, only to be beaten by the Falmouth Falcons. All this was wonderful news. Ron was a player for the Cannons, a remarkable feat but not too remarkable, considering how horrid the team usually played. Ron had made it on the team a year before, and in that short year, he'd inspired the team with his deep felt passion for the side and the game. Plus he had a few damned good ideas that the Captain took up, and it improved their game immensely. Ron was many things, stubborn, short-tempered and sometimes downright thick-headed, but Harry couldn't deny he was an amazing strategist.

The upshot of all of this was that Ron had dragged his best friends in all the world into a tiny pub in Devon, a favourite Chudley hangout, and demanded drink after drink. As the night wore on, the entire orange-clad team becoming slowly more intoxicated.

Harry was certain that this was the wildest party he'd ever been to. There were Quidditch Girlfriends by the bucket load; young, blonde bombshells with pretty eyes, pouty lips and perfect little giggles. They knew everything about Quidditch, and gossiped amongst themselves about the sports politics. They considered themselves the experts of the sport, and loathed the common fan. Quite simply, they were exactly the kind of people Hermione couldn't stand. Harry could see her nursing a pint with a scowl on her face that would scare even the likes of Knockturn Alley thoroughfare. Despite her great dislike for the girls down the other end of the bar, she doggedly turned up as often as she could. Harry was just as loyal, and attended just as often.

This unity was seen as a little odd by the Quidditch Girlfriends. Hermione wasn't going out with him, and Harry was just his old school buddy. He would see them peering at both him and Hermione, and sometimes he fancied he could see the words vividly shaped on their perfectly lipsticked lips; Why did they always hang around? He guessed it was a bit strange, in their minds, a bit bizarre. Heavens knew what the three of them were really doing together all the time. Their scandal-devouring minds no doubt went to town with the possibilities.

Of course, their intense dislike of Hermione and Harry started so innocently, really.

"Are you Ron's girlfriend?"

Hermione had laughed. "Oh! Goodness, no. I'm his best friend. My name's Hermione."

For that she had received a charming smile, the kind of smile from someone who thought they knew better. "Oh, I see." Blue eyes had roved up and down appraisingly. A glass of very expensive wine was lifted to perfectly round lips. "That's an interesting top. Very - understated."

"Oh!" Hermione had looked down. "It's just a something I bought for a night out."

"Of course." Again, a charmed smile from the girl that made Harry grind his teeth together. It didn't reach the girl's eyes however. "Yes, I often think about trying the second-hand chic look myself, but I doubt I could really pull it off. My looks require fine haute couture. It doesn't gel." Another raking with the eyes, and a tilt of the head. "It works with you wonderfully. Must be that natural look you have. Almost mousy in a charming sort of way."

Hermione's expression froze. Harry could see her taking in every bit of the slim girl in front of her, and it was all he could do not to step in and tell the girl where to go. Hermione, however, could fight her own battles, and in the next moment she proved this beautifully.

A thin smile broke on Hermione's face, and she gave a chuckling sigh.

"Aaah. Must be wonderful to have the time and energy to invest in your appearance." She shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't have time for a heavy regimen. Not with my career anyway."

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

There was a little bit of evil glee in the curl of Hermione's lips as she said, "I work for the Ministry."

"Ah, are you a secretary there?"

Hermione met the girl's eyes and there was a dangerous spark in her own. "Oh no, nothing so mundane. I hunt down Dark Wizards, and the blonde cows that follow them."

"Oh."

That finished the conversation and any chance of the girls accepting Hermione. Not that he thought this would bother her. He could see she couldn't stand the pack of bints.

The treatment that Hermione got made Harry incredibly mad, and since then he'd made a habit of looking out for her when they did turn up at a league or team party. He knew she hated it when he did that; she believed she could look after herself. It still didn't hurt to have the watchful eyes of Harry Potter on the drove of Quidditch girlfriends, should they decide to take a turn for the nasty. This didn't aid popularity, but that was pretty much a lost cause anyway.

There was, of a sudden, a great racket at the door of the pub, and Miss Lavender Brown made her entrance. She was resplendent in a stylish soft pink power suit, her brown hair piled on top of her head. Hugging a ridiculously furry jacket to her stomach, she grinned at the party and waved.

"There you are!"

She approached the group, sighing fitfully and pulling her purse from her sleek black leather bag.

"What *are* you lot doing here? This is an important occasion! You should be at the Leaky Cauldron!"

The most influential of the Quidditch girlfriends, a young lady by the name of Sandra Levine, lifted a perfectly plucked brow and huffed.

"This is the traditional pub of the Chudley Cannons," said Sandra. "It's where we always have our celebrations."

Lavender looked around at the party and chuckled, this time in disbelief.

"Yes, but the press don't come here."

"We find the media rabble annoying."

This made Lavender giggle. "You're a team that was struggling only two years ago. Trust me - the press would do you some good. Might get you more people coming to your games."

The Quidditch girlfriends huddled together.

"I'm not entirely sure how you think you can give us advice. We've been following Quidditch all our lives. You are just some worker on a newspaper."

"I'm a reporter in THE newspaper, honey," Lavender said, throwing the comment over her shoulder as she walked past the girls. "Where's Hermione? Or my Ronnie friend for that matter?"

Ron edged forward with a blush in his cheeks to receive a hearty hug from Lavender. It was strange how Lavender had been thrust into their lives again, after a couple of years apart and in different areas and professions. She worked with strident ambition at the Daily Prophet. She'd gone from being the astrologer, to gossip column editor, to doing social commentary, her drive powered by the memory of the struggle to finally defeat Voldemort. They were dark days, and Lavender's Muggle roots made her a target. Her and her family, all of whom did not survive those dark times unscathed. She didn't like to talk about what she'd suffered - she just focused on life, and being the bright bubbly woman they knew at school. Making her way up the ranks at the newspaper had lead Lavender to seek out Harry again as he was still an influential figure in the issues of dealing with dark wizards and Ministry politics. After a few meetings and a sustained professional relationship, it lead to a night of drunken revelry. Since then they'd opened their life to Lavender, who was delighted about it. Harry was glad to have her around. He remembered well the hard work she put into being in the DA, and he appreciated her loyalty to him in her work. She was terribly busy with her job, but she loved to come to parties for Ron. She had a huge amount of affection for Ron, and had no compunction in letting him know.

She was well dressed, well spoken, and sharp as a tack. The Quidditch girls despised her more than they did Hermione. Harry knew that Hermione adored the girl even more for that reason alone.

Lavender dragged Ron to the end of the bar where Hermione was stationed with Harry.

"Good, we're starting already," she said.

Hermione smiled, squeezing Lavender's hand as she sat down next to her. "With this lot, we'll need it."

"Fuck 'em," Lavender muttered, waving her hand at the bartender. "Snobby tarts, the lot of them."

Ron smirked a little and sat down next to Lavender. "I had to have the friends nobody likes."

Lavender sat tall and lifted a brow. "The boys like me." She looked to the team, who were so utterly drunk that a dung-bomb could erupt under their noses and they wouldn't care.

"You're a pretty girl, Lav, that's no surprise."

Lavender batted her eyelashes at Ron and smiled. "That's sweet of you to say."

The redhead smiled, secret pleasure in his expression.

Harry was relieved to see Lavender there. She distracted Hermione from the barrage of unfriendly glances at the end of the bar. Their times out with Lavender were almost always affairs to remember, and as Lavender ordered up a storm with the bartender, he realised that this time would be no different.

He looked to Hermione, who finished off her pint. The years of struggle against foes of varied kinds had given her a quiet maturity that Harry liked. On the whole, however, she was the same old Hermione. Same bushy hair, same lovely brown eyes that had so much going on behind them. He wondered if the girls were maybe jealous of Hermione. She was so very smart and powerful, and she was lovely to look at, too. There was absolutely no effort required on her part to look beautiful, or to be special. She just was.

Lavender smacked the bar. "We're going to do shots, lots of them. Tequila first. Come on!"

Hermione groaned. "Oh, I don't want this to be a repeat of Harry's birthday."

"Miss Granger!" admonished Lavender. "Of course it won't be. This will be even better."

Harry smiled at the expression that fluttered across Hermione's face as a shot of tequila was stuffed into her hand. He soon had his own little shot glass, and Lavender was now fixing Ron with some, too.

"Okay, ready? Ready! You're ready, right?"

With a smirk Harry nodded, and after a swift countdown from Lav, they knocked back the sharp clear liquid. Lavender growled and gnashed her teeth appreciatively.

"Yes! Yes sir!"

She clapped her hands and looked to her friends. "All right! Who wants a slippery nipple?!"

As always happened at these parties, the boys in the team drifted down the bar to take part in the drinking games Lavender liked to set up and to enjoy the loud, rambunctious company she and Ron became when the liquor hit their systems.

"Voldie! Voldie! What a bloody baldie!

Whines like a bitch and a snake up his mouldy

Bum Bum! Knock back the Rum!"

Everyone knocked back a rum.

"Better to be drunk than that sick fuck's chum!

Shrivelled pin-dick and a foetus for a head!

Such a fucking wanker, alive or dead!

Pickle me, jar me, lock me up tight!"

Everyone hurriedly knocked back some vodka for that line.

"I'd rather be a gherkin than his fuck for a night!"

Hands started slamming the bar and the revelers chanted.

"One, two, three, four, Riddle is a bloody bore! Five, six, seven, eight, Riddle loves to masturbate!"

Again more alcohol was consumed, and then everybody cheered at the wonderful rendition of the song that had become a faithful standard. Harry didn't join in on it; he'd been there when they'd finally defeated the bastard, but he did knock back a drink in time, and smiled, grateful that they were there to joke about it all. Hermione leaned in, and it didn't escape his notice that she hadn't sung the songs either.

"Amazing that not one of them flinched to say his name," she murmured to his ear.

Harry smiled, sipping at a beer. "Not even Ron," he muttered to her.

He felt very, very drunk. The room was slowly turning about him and his tongue didn't seem to want to pronounce words properly. Huddled to his side was Hermione in a similar state of inebriation. Lavender had been feeding her a steady stream of liquor, and she'd accepted it gladly. Harry noticed that Lavender brought out Hermione's more adventurous side, much like he did himself. He'd never gotten Hermione to do half the things Lav had managed. Once, he was privy to a conversation of rather intimate matters. It had started on kissing techniques and had strayed into whether they'd kissed other girls or not, and what it would be like if they had. Lavender had said rather happily that if Hermione ever wanted to try it she'd be more than willing. Hermione blushed and smiled at Harry, seeming to back out of that conversation rather quickly. Why she looked at *him* of all people, he had no idea. He had to make sure he kept eye contact and her attention away from his crotch, which was suffering from a rather embarrassing condition of being harder than Hagrid's scones.

It seemed this night would be just as raucous.

"Let's really stick it up them," said Lavender, tipping her head towards the Quidditch Girlfriends and grabbing Hermione's hand. "Let's snog!"

Hermione blinked, her cheeks going utterly scarlet.

"Uhm - why?"

"Why not?" Lavender cried. "That lot are so painfully predictable that they'd bust their last brain cell over it for sure! You know they love a scandal." A deliciously evil grin flittered across her face. "Besides! It'll send 'em insane when their precious boyfriends all ignore them and ogle us! Come on!"

Harry felt his blood growing hot. Two girls kissing was a spectacle most men were mad for. If the aforementioned girls were to include *his* Hermione and the impish Lavender... That was the kind of thing the wettest of dreams were made of.

Glancing at the crowd at the bar, Hermione shrugged. "One condition."

Lavender nodded. "Shoot."

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

"Oh Hermione," cooed Lavender, inching closer. "That's just fine."

Ron fidgeted, edging towards Harry. He didn't seem entirely thrilled about it all. He drew close to Harry, worry clear in his eyes.

"You don't think she's after Hermione, do you?"

Somehow, Harry didn't think so, and he shook his head at Ron to say as much. Lavender never called Hermione 'hers', not like she did with Ron. This looked to Harry to be a playful exploration rather than the final admission of love. Hermione closed her eyes as Lavender leant in, pretty glossed lips against naturally pink. She tilted her head and the lips opened. Harry was utterly enchanted by the sight. He couldn't pull his eyes away and he was only vaguely aware of the rest of the pub roaring its approval. Too quickly the kiss was over and Hermione's cheeks were crimson.

Her eyes were on him, and he burned up all over again. Some part of him wanted to make her blush like that, make her feel what he was feeling now.

He blinked, shaking himself. How utterly silly of him to think like that.

Lavender grinned, giving Hermione a final stroke on the cheek.

"That was lovely," she said. "You taste like Black Russians and chocolate."

Ron's face was as red as his hair. He licked his lips, watching the exchange with what looked like crashing disappointment. Harry knew that expression anywhere and he made a mental note to reassure the fellow that if he was interested in Lavender, his chances were nowhere near shot. Especially since the girl was sidling up to him with a twinkle in her eye that was unmistakable.

Well, maybe it would sort itself out.

The kiss had the desired effect amongst the Quidditch girlfriends. Eyes were rolled and expressions of disgust and shock exchanged. Harry really didn't see what the big deal was about. People kissed in pubs all the time.

Another drink had made its way into his hand, and he looked up to see Lavender doling out drinks to them again. Harry wondered how she managed to deal with so much of the stuff. Then again, she was so busy that she didn't get to spend time off like this very often. When she partied, she partied as hard as she worked.

He looked back to Hermione. She was leaning against him, talking to Lavender. Well - listening to Lavender. Lavender was prattling away at her about some kind of wizard politics, which delighted Hermione no end. Hermione wasn't an overly touchy-feely sort of girl, but when they were both drunk like this, they often made contact in some way or another, whether it be hugs or snuggling on a couch back at the flat they shared or just holding hands. He knew most people wouldn't understand that, especially seeing as Hermione wasn't even his girlfriend. He figured when they were inebriated, their fears fled them and they were free to share the bond few could fathom.

His fingers found their way into her hair and he felt the soft tresses in his fingers, his drunken mind utterly wrapped up in the sensation.

Suddenly, a gold flitter zipped towards him. With a inward gasp, his hand shot out and grabbed at it. Despite his drunkenness, he caught it effortlessly. Looking at his hand, he saw a Snitch struggling helplessly in his long fingers.

A roar broke out at the other end of the bar and one of the players punched the air triumphantly.

"Told you!" cried Daltrey. "Once a Seeker, always a Seeker! Obsessed with the Snitch till your dying day, mate! I knew he'd catch the fucker, I KNEW it! Pay up!"

Blinking, Harry placed the Snitch down on the bar.

"Good catch mate," muttered Ron, impressed.

"Guess he's right," shrugged Harry.

Ron shook his head. "It is a shame you don't play Quidditch anymore. I swear you're the best Seeker around."

Harry gave Ron a warm, knowing smile.

"You know I'm too busy with Ministry work to even think about it."

Ron nodded. "Still. Damned shame."

The strange thing was Harry didn't feel that way at all. The odd weekends he spent playing a game of garden Quidditch was enough to satisfy him. Quite simply, being an Auror with Hermione was his life. He loved it, as harrowing as it was as a profession.

The hours wore on and for Harry, the room began to spin slightly faster and faster. It was twelve when the publican slammed shut the till and looked to the drunken party-goers.

"Time to shut up shop, folks."

Lavender gasped and grabbed Ron's hand. "I'm not ready to go home yet."

Ron, quite inebriated, had a funny faraway look in his eyes as he met her alarmed glare.

"We won't!" said Hermione. Harry wasn't sure if it was the copious amounts of tequila or the vodka talking through her, but she propped herself up on the foot-rest of the bar to stand taller than everyone and put her hand in the air. She let out a shrill whistle that got the attention of everyone in the bar.

"Harry and the rest of us are going to the Leaky Cauldron! Who's coming with us?!"

~~*~~

Most of the Chudley players went with them. Only a few of the less popular (and blonde) Quidditch girlfriends tagged along, but that suited them fine. The Leaky Cauldron was an all-night establishment, mainly because it doubled as a hotel, but also because it was one of the most popular Wizarding pubs in all of London. It didn't pay to have early closing hours.

The usually quiet little pub became noisy very quickly. The Chudleys piled in, some with their orange cloaks tied around their heads like long Arab scarves, all of them chanting the team anthem like some holy dirge. Some of the older residents of the pub shook their heads, but this wasn't out of the ordinary. Parties often swept through the Cauldron and the young drunken louts were looked at with mingled annoyance and affection.

The wholesale consumption of alcohol didn't slow any. In fact it became more fervent, and the already toddled Harry was becoming concerned that there would be some serious cases of alcohol poisoning, despite the famous high constitutions possessed by wizards.

Ron was sipping at firewhisky, a chatting bubbly Lavender wrapped around his arm. He lifted his brows, mumbling.

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

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

Ron shook his head at that.

"She will work for the Department of Mysteries," said Lavender with one of her prophetic smiles.

Hermione's eyes boggled at her. "How did you know she-"

Lavender only wiggled her brows. Looking away, Hermione cradled her stomach in her hands.

Harry tilted his head at Hermione. "You all right?"

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

Jumping off her stool, she ran off towards the little witches room, hands clamped over her mouth. Lav shook her head.

"Lightweight."

Harry gave her a dry look and went after Hermione. He could hear her retching from the door of the ladies' toilets.

"Hermione?!"

Nothing, just retching.

"Hermione? You want me to come in?"

When she didn't answer he walked in, glad to see that they hadn't charmed the toilets to expel people with willies. He found Hermione in the third cubicle, and the first thing he did was to kneel beside her and pull her thick brown hair from her face as she retched. With a sigh, he stroked her hair, shaking his head.

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

Hermione only groaned. She was sat on the floor and, after leaning on the rim of the bowl, she reached up and grabbed some toilet paper, wiping at her face.

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

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

"Will you be all right?"

She nodded, and turning, she burrowed into his arms, snuggling to the nape of his neck. Harry wasn't often treated to such embraces, ones that made him feel strong somehow, as if the circle of his arms about her was a solace for her, a special place. He wrapped his arms about her tightly, unwittingly pressing his lips to her hair. He always loved to hold Hermione; she was the single most important woman in his life. But in this embrace, there was something else growing from the proximity, something growing uneasy in him in a delicious sort of way. He'd always been content with the way things were, and he'd needed a time of dull inaction after the seven years of repeated conflict that had been his rather unorthodox years at Hogwarts. Quite simply, being single and having his friends around him, and just doing his job day in day out, was all he wanted or needed.

Until now.

The feeling of her in his arms recalled the years she'd comforted him and he was surprised to find that he liked needing her, liked having her there to turn to all the time. The idea of her not being in his life in any way or form was so awful that his brain refused to even look at it as a concept. It quite simply belonged in the realms of the absurd. Harry without Hermione about him didn't work. It didn't happen.

She shifted, looking up into his eyes, a sorry expression in her own.

"I must look terrible," she mumbled.

Harry had to smile at that and he cradled her cheek, stroking it with his thumb as he shook his head.

"You never look terrible," he said.

She snorted and shakily pulled herself to her feet.

"Please! I'm not silly, you know." Standing in the cubicle, she swayed a little on her feet. She pointed at him, the finger not exactly firm, but wandering to and fro. "You have this strange idea in your head that I'm pretty or something and it's utter bunkum. Bunkum!" She went to poke him in the chest to reaffirm her point, but only managed to poke him in the nipple. She frowned at him, shaking hands grabbing his shoulders.

"You need to keep still, Harry, you're gonna make me sick again."

Turning, she strode out of the cubicle and washed her face in the basin.

Harry walked over, plodding a little thanks to the levels of alcohol in his system. He pulled her hair from her face again. Abruptly, Hermione stood, glaring at him.

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

He glanced about himself, sheepish, and he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I was looking for Moaning Myrtle."

"Huh." She bent over and washed her face and gargled water. Standing, she scowled at her reflection in the mirror. "All my bloody make-up's been washed off." She waved a hand at her reflection in disgust and turned away, striding for the door. "Bloody waste of time anyway."

Harry had to agree with her there. She looked quite lovely without it.

~~*~~

Harry had hoped that this would have heralded the end of Hermione's consumption of the silly juice. It wasn't. With coaxing and cajoling from Lavender, more rounds were handed out, and in a mere two hours they were all so very wasted, cognitive thought was a real challenge.

The world was spinning. Harry wasn't sure why he let Lavender give him any more shots. She'd fed him all sorts of obscene sounding cocktails, the names sounding more like a catalogue of porno tapes than things one drank. Wizard or Muggle, alcoholic drinks often had gimmicky names, many connected with sex, because when one was drunk, the stupidest things were amusing. Right now, Ron was finding the Snitch the team had taken with them to the party very amusing. He'd dropped it down Lavender's top and she was squealing as it wriggled and flapped for its freedom.

"Oh my GOD this thing is OBSCENE!" she cried, and Hermione had her hands over her mouth in shock, obviously agreeing on that point.

"GO GET IT RONNIE!" cried one of the Quidditch team, and the rest of them joined in with roaring laughter.

"Get it out, get it OUT!" she squealed, flapping her coat and shoving her breasts in his face. She clawed at her blouse and Ron didn't need a second invitation. Slipping his hands deftly under her blouse, he corralled the thing up between her breasts and it popped out from her cleavage and zipped into the air. But she wasn't looking at the Snitch. Her blue eyes were fixed on Ron's, her mouth hanging open in mingled shock and arousal. She pulled a hank of her hair out of her face, gulping. Ron's hands were still under her top. The players were roaring and cackling at the display, but both Ron and Lavender seemed utterly unaware of it all. She placed her hands on his, which were flat on her stomach under her breasts, and the tiniest of smiles curled the corners of her mouth, the devil in her expression.

Hermione leant forward, wobbling a little.

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

The Chudleys found this incredibly amusing, as they all had some strange notion that Hermione was in love with Ron. They all nudged and cheered Ron, who had taken his hands out of Lavender's blouse with a stunned expression on his face.

"Sorry," he muttered, and Lavender just shook her head with a smile.

Harry didn't remember much after that point in the evening. Things got really very naughty, as one of the players started doing body-shots of tequila on his girlfriend and invited other people to give it a go. Harry declined and Hermione looked rather disappointed. She didn't seem to want to do them with anyone else, and Harry thought that odd since there were some rather well-built and handsome single fellows in the Chudley contingent.

Lavender had some kind of bright idea and, grabbing Hermione, she wandered off out of the pub. Harry thought maybe they were going into Diagon Alley to look for some food. Lord knows he felt like a plate of hot chips and tomato sauce right then and there. It was when they were longer than half an hour that Harry grew very worried.

Staggering out of the pub with Ron, they looked all up and down Diagon Alley. They weren't there. Harry panicked.

"Where are they?" he said. "They should be here, somewhere - they're not!"

Ron could only shrug, and he knew Harry was just saying all this to deal with the rising fear inside of him.

They were approaching the darker, less sanitary end of Diagon Alley, that led into Knockturn Alley. Harry was just beginning to really become blindingly worried when two girls staggered out of Knockturn Alley and whacked right into them.

Harry was horrified to see that it was Hermione and Lavender, laughing themselves silly.

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth worked and no sound came out. "Wh- what the hell were you after anyway?"

With a soused smile, Lavender held up a bottle of rather toxic looking green liquid.

"This stuff," she said. "Very strong naughty wizard's stuff that I couldn' get at the Cauldron." With a nose-wrinkling ingratiating smile, she extended her arm to him, offering him a sip of the stuff. "Chug-a-lug, Harry!"

With a sigh, Harry grabbed the bottle. He deliberately put himself between the girls and Knockturn Alley, directing them back to safer areas. He figured, as he looked at the bottle, that he may as well sample the stuff the girls clearly risked their lives for. Damned fools.

Pulling the stopper on the bottle, he took a sniff and nearly got knocked off his feet. Lavender saw this and elbowed Harry sharply in the ribs.

"Good shit, Harry."

Dear God, he thought. What *did* she get her hands on here? With a quick swig, he knocked some of the stuff back. The world spun. Fire roared in his mouth and throat and belly and he missed a step and nearly fell right over. Thankfully, Ron caught him.

"Whah-the--"

"Careful Harry!" gasped Hermione, "It'sss *very* strong."

He would have said, "No SHIT!" but that would have taken too much coordination of his tongue and lips. He just glared at her.

What he couldn't believe was that Lavender and Hermione had had some of this noxious liquid and were quite merry. Fucked beyond reproach, but quite merry.

Now with this quarry of liver-destroying liquid, the drunken lot were rather happy to go to home. Home was Harry, Ron and Hermione's flat. They all piled in, senseless and beyond control, Harry making his way into the kitchen and raiding the pantry. Hermione followed him, and when they came back into the lounge room with biscuits and flavoured crackers, they were greeted to the sight of Ron and Lavender kissing passionately on the couch. It wasn't just heated frivolous snogging that people would be embarrassed of the next day. One could always tell when people meant it, and these two certainly did. With a sigh, Hermione dropped the food on the coffee table and turned away. She smiled, looking very pleased about it all.

"Well, I'm goin' to bed," she said. Ron and Lavender were oblivious.

Harry nodded, leaving the room with her. Plodding down the hall, Harry came to the door of his room. He was surprised to find a hand in his and, looking down, he saw that Hermione was smiling at him. He lifted his brows in askance.

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

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

Stepping forward, Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek. It wasn't a quick peck, that was the first thing he noticed. Maybe it was because she was so very drunk, but she leant against him as her lips touched his cheek, and there was the slightest nuzzle as she pulled away.

"Night, Harry," she breathed, something in her eyes that Harry was certain he'd never seen before.

She turned and disappeared into her room. As Harry walked into his own, pulling at his clothes and not entirely succeeding in removing them all, that look haunted him. It chased him into his dreams as he fell asleep.

~~*~~

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Chapter Two.

Discovery.

That night, he dreamt of cinnamon hair and gentle little kisses. Beguiling perfume and delicious soft curves, things that were blissful and sent him mad all at once. When he woke his breaths were heavy, and the thumping tingling crush of arousal had claimed him completely. In his mostly-asleep state he let his hand drift down into his pants, just to get rid of the feeling, just to utterly surrender to it. It wasn't until an orgasm crashed through him that he realised that he was thinking of those brown eyes that had watched out for him since childhood. That he'd grown frenzied and released himself over the closest friend he'd ever known. Hauling himself to his feet, he cleaned himself up and retreated to his own bathroom, guilt beginning to build up in his chest over what had just happened.

Not in your right mind, Harry. Had far too much to drink. Nobody drinks that much tequila and has normal dreams. It's the worm that does it. Makes most people dream of the silliest things, certainly.

The shower was cleansing, relieving, relaxing. His mind continued to work through the logic, that nagging guilt that chased him ever gaining.

It's perfectly natural, he reasoned. Men are sexual animals, they have naughty dreams about all sorts of people.

But it wasn't a dream, came a dark little voice. It was desire, a waking desire clear as day. In your half-asleep pawing you thought of her, Hermione. Specifically everything about her, her hair, her eyes, her pert little boobs and her perfect arse. You thought of it all and you wanted it. You wanted it so badly you spent yourself on it. Face it.

You want to shag her.

Harry was horrified with himself. He'd known her for so long, she was so very special to him. He wasn't sure what had brought it all on, this strange idea that he wanted to have sex with Hermione, of all people. Hermione!

He'd always thought her pretty, and she was. Perfectly lovely in that pixie-like way, not a flawless beauty, certainly, but a sort that he thought was really quite exceptional. With make-up, without, she was utterly breathtaking. At least he thought so. He'd never felt bad about thinking that because he always accepted it as a sound fact; Hermione was gorgeous.

He was utterly mystified, however, where this roaring blinding urge had come from, that swelled in his sleep and had consumed him upon waking. He'd never done anything like this in regards to Hermione before. He felt just a little bit dirty about it, and bugger Merlin up a tree if that wasn't a turn on.

I'm sick, he thought. I am so very sick.

Done with his shower, he walked into his room, sitting on his bed in only his towel. Without any warning there was a pop! and Hermione was by the door, looking horrified.

Harry's mouth popped open. She was half-dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and a powder-blue blouse that was unbuttoned from top to bottom. It hung mostly closed, covering her bra. When she moved it fluttered open, and to his shock he saw that it was the flimsiest excuse of a bra he'd ever seen. It was sheer, purple, transparent, and each time she paced back and forth, the shirt would flutter open and he could see her nipples. Her pink, rosy soft looking nipples. His lips and tongue itched, guilt blasted through him and he felt insane. Grabbing his clothes off the bed, he pulled them into his lap. Hermione seemed oblivious to the fact that he was only in a towel.

In fact, she was pacing back and forth and babbling with a horrified look on her face. He'd heard absolutely nothing she'd said. He gulped and blinked.

"Uhm... What?"

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

He could only shake his head.

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

"Put where?"

"HERE!"

And then she did it. She tugged open her jeans and pulled them down about her hips. He was enlightened to the fact that her knickers were as see-through as her bra was, and by Merlin, he could see her fuzz. It was dark and soft looking, he just wanted to nuzzle it and - holy shit. Stop. Thought. Now.

Pulling his eyes up, he saw what she was so worked up about, what had made her pop into his room in such a way.

Peeking out of those tantalising knickers was the most delicate little piece of body art he'd ever seen. It was a tattoo, but like none he'd ever seen on a Muggle before. It was intricate, a life-like etching of that gold fluttering little ball he was so instinctively attuned to. The colour of it positively gleamed, and the little wings were tiny slivers of silver, just like the real thing. His gaze was captured, and he was shocked to see the wings flutter restlessly.

"It moved!"

"Yes, it does that!" she said, sounding annoyed. "It's attuned to my mood!"

Harry found it hard to drag his eyes away from it. It was enchanting, utterly beautiful.

"W-why?"

She frowned.

"Why did you get a Snitch on you?"

She blinked and, pulling up her pants, she zipped them shut and hid the tattoo. Some part of him felt terribly disappointed.

"I have no idea! No idea at all!"

Talking was hard. He managed to get the next sentence out, however.

"Why'd you show me?"

Those brown eyes were on his, neat black brows knitting together as she frowned. Pulling closed her blouse, she sighed.

"I don't know."

Without another word, she popped out of the room.

~~*~~

Harry practically crept out of the room that morning. For some reason, he didn't want to run into Ron or Lavender. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to talk to Hermione. She seemed in a terrible mood and he didn't really blame her. She was permanently marked and she couldn't remember why she did it. It would have been like Harry coming home with a flapping book branded on his bum.

He was very quiet when he toed his way into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed for work. Hermione sat at the table, staring at the paper, her voluminous hair tied up atop of her head. She wore a neat little grey jacket, a light purple t-shirt and a pair of very neat jeans. Over this was a black flowing cloak, and on her feet she wore black boots. She often dressed this sort of smart casual style to work. Tonks had always worn the most casual and laid-back of clothes, whilst other people there wore suits. Harry liked how you could wear what you liked there. He often opted for a white billowing shirt, trim pants and a cloak. Hermione had told him that the girls loved it when he dressed like that. He honestly couldn't tell.

She didn't look up as he entered the room. She nibbled on a piece of toast and studiously scanned the front page of the Daily Prophet. He quickly discovered that he hated her not talking to him. Usually when they were up, they were quickly chatting, and communicated as much with their body language as they did their words. Right now there was a wall, and Harry was at a loss to explain it.

Awkwardly, he held up the kettle.

"Tea? Coffee?"

She shook her head and looked back to the paper.

He sighed and quickly went about making himself something to eat. As he set up his breakfast at the table (across from Hermione), he watched her, trying to judge her mood. Was she tired? Or maybe cranky? Or genuinely pissed off? He sat down and he could see her face better. Her mouth was taut and she was definitely blushing. He had planned to say something nice, or something gentle or comforting. What came out was nothing of those things.

"Won't it come off?"

Those dark eyes flicked up to his and she let out an even sigh.

"No. It's a tattoo. I'm stuck with it for life."

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

She blinked and gave another sigh, rubbing her temples.

"It's not that simple, Harry. Wizard Tattoo artists aren't regulated like Muggle ones. Not in Knockturn Alley, anyway! They don't want the mark to fade, their livelihood depends on it, so they're always coming up with better and stronger tonics and potions and paints and you bloody name it! I couldn't remove this unless I was deeply knowledgeable of the trade!" She was beginning to get very upset. "And I'm not! I could kick the bums of all the tattoo artists between here and freaking Hogwarts but I couldn't get this bloody thing off me!"

He grabbed her hand, concern flooding him. He looked into her eyes and could see that she was on the verge of tears.

"Hey, hey..."

Slowly, she met his eyes.

"I think it looks very pretty."

The pretense of control fled her, and she buried her face in her arms, whimpering.

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

"Why?" he asked. "It's just a tattoo."

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

"But look at it the other way."

"What other way?!"

He took her hand again, trying to calm her.

"Well, the Snitch used to be a little golden bird called the Golden Snidget, and it was a really big deal to catch it, because this guy was going to award a hundred and fifty galleons to the guy that caught it during a game of Quidditch hundreds of years ago. And now it's become a symbolic thing... this little golden ball. It's like... what everyone wants, more than anything. It's success, and victory, and triumph. That's a powerful thing to have on your body." He looked down to her tummy, though not consciously, and kept on. "It also represents elusiveness and desire." Pressing his lips together and blushing, he took his hand away. "I think that's pretty appropriate, if you ask me."

He didn't look at her. He was too frightened to. He couldn't believe that he'd said what he had, but it just bubbled up inside of him and came out. Maybe she'd be even madder at him, but looking up, he saw her gazing past the table, a glint of thought and mischief in her eyes.

She jumped to her feet, clearing up her place, as busy-bodied as she ever was during the morning, and she strode to Harry briskly.

"Thanks,Harry."

She dropped a kiss on his cheek quickly before grabbing a scarf and Apparating out of sight.

~~*~~

Elusiveness. Desire.

The first always piqued Harry's interests. He had always wanted what was difficult to acquire or achieve. Getting away from his relatives, being a good wizard, not dying, playing a good game of Quidditch, becoming an Auror, having the semblance of a normal life after the mess of his last years of school.

The latter was something he rarely indulged himself in. In his first fumbled attempt at romance, he was too confused and clueless to understand what was going on. Since that time, he'd slowly come to understand new things about women. Through tragedy and trial, he soon realised that the difference between men and women, beyond physicality, wasn't that marked. Both got afraid, both felt lonely, and both appreciated honesty and openness. Unfortunately being open wasn't something Harry was very good at. He didn't bother with romance again. He looked after his friends and family and he tried to be the best Auror he could be. In all his fighting, his battles and his challenges, desire was a weakness. Never let it be known to the enemy and never let it distract you or leave you open to attack.

But now Harry was experiencing a third thing that was forever bound with the first two, but something he never really had to deal with. He'd always been too busy getting the job done to stop and indulge.

Temptation.

Twisted in his mind was the vision of that golden sliver of ink, fluttering above the dark curls peeking behind flimsy purple knickers. Over and again that little Snitch would sweep in and out of his memory, distracting him from his normal trains of thought, pulling him away from perfectly droll things like reading the paper, or training rosters, or deciding which kind of whole meal salad roll he was going to have for lunch. The Snitch would flitter through his mind and settle over that forbidden crop of dark hair, and a hunger would flare up inside him, his eager Seeker fingers itching to chase it.

But it wasn't around him. He'd always be in the middle of the daily grind. He'd get thoroughly distracted and get a spell to the side of the head from a trainee, or trip on his cloak and run into a street lamp, or something equally embarrassing as that. He'd swear under his breath, banish the accursed vision from his memory and concentrate on making sure it didn't return.

Then he'd forget and it'd flit right back into the forefront of his thoughts again, and he'd nearly get run over crossing the street. She'd only had the bloody thing for about twelve hours and already Harry was singularly obsessed with the thought of it. Some part was very, very keen on seeing it again.

He couldn't really figure out why. It was just a picture of a Snitch, and it was just-- No. It would never be 'just' Hermione's anything. Every part of Hermione was special, and having that little symbol in such a potent spot made his heart sing and his mind spin.

It was while he was buying some bread and milk that the thought hit him that in some way, the tattoo might have been put there for him.

He barked in laughter, right in the middle of the deli, and shook his head, giggling at the very thought. It was probably Lavender's suggestion, the extension of some great big joke.

He'd have the chance to find out, too. Ron was in the kitchen when he got home, staring at the fridge as he was apt to do. Ron wasn't used to big, white cold appliances in kitchens, and especially not ones with Muggle and Wizard photographs stuck all over it, novelty magnets keeping them in place and a little whiteboard stuck to the door for notes. Harry and Hermione had made it their own fridge, and Harry was surprised at how much fun that turned out to be. For the first month of their moving in, they left each other notes on the whiteboard with silly or lewd drawings underneath them.

Today it was mostly empty, with "Harry's a plonker -- HG" at the top. Ron looked up as Harry came in, chewing on a peanut paste sandwich.

"I was gonna leave a message on that fridge thing," he said. He always called it 'that fridge thing', even though he'd been around a fridge for nearly two years now. He was like that with most Muggle appliances - somehow untrustworthy and disdainful of them, but not viciously so. "Lav is gonna be here after she comes home from work. You don't mind, do you?"

Harry smirked.

"Oh, of course not."

Ron rolled his eyes, knowing that tone from Harry. "Yeah, yeah, ha ha. Ron's got himself a girlfriend."

Harry put the milk in the fridge and shrugged. "I never said a thing. Is she your girlfriend?"

The redhead licked his lips in thought as he swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. After a moment's pondering, he looked up at Harry, pointing at him around the meal.

"You know, I've been thinking about that. We uhm - we -" He blushed bright red.

"Oh!" Harry realised quickly what he meant. He and Ron never really went into details about their love life when they talked. But they did share their status, as they clung to each other in the confusing and terrible arena of romance. Women were mad, quite simply. They understood each other. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"Yes!" said Ron. "It's ..." A shy grin flashed across his face. "Yes."

"Then what's the big question?"

Shrugging, Ron sat down at the dining table.

"You know, Lavender is a sort of - progressive - kind of person. You know. She's always so keen to be different and ahead of everyone. It's why she's such a good reporter, why she's so into that whole Divination stuff. But me... I'm old fashioned."

Harry looked thoughtful, sitting across from Ron. "And?"

"Well, keeping that in mind... sex might mean something different to her than it does to me. I mean, with my upbringing and everything it means... well... you know..." He blushed furiously. "I - I have no idea what it means to her."

Harry gave his best friend a sad, warm smile, and sighed.

"I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that, mate."

"I know," Ron said, nodding. He sighed, rubbing his eyeballs. "I've been training all day. I'm bloody exhausted, and I stink." With a slap of the table, he pulled himself to his feet. "I'm going to have a shower."

He walked past Harry, dropping a heavy hand on his best friend's shoulder.

"Hey Ron?" Ron looked back. "I think the fact that she wants to see you today is a good indication that she's serious about things."

Ron nodded slowly. "I guess you have a point."

Harry grinned. "I know I do. Usually after a big all-nighter, she's off in Reporter Land and we don't see her for a good couple of weeks at least."

A goofy grin spread across Ron's face. "I didn't think about it like that."

Harry nodded and knew that Ron wouldn't. He had the unfortunate habit of being down on himself, the upshot of which that he always assumed the best of others and the worst of himself.

Looking about the kitchen, Harry thought about the night ahead. He mentally set aside time for reading through some reports from work, and knew that Lavender's visit would demand at least a little bit of his attention. Lavender was like that.

He stretched, walking about the kitchen table once and, with a yawn, he decided that he, too, wanted and needed a shower. He thought a quick one wouldn't tax the flat's hot water system too badly, and even if it did, he knew a couple of clever charms that could aid him in that circumstance. Plodding up the steps to his room, he pulled at the buttons of his shirt, eyes closed, thinking about all the details of work that still swirled through his mind. He thought nothing of leaving his bathroom door open. Ron was in his room downstairs, Hermione was still at work (writing the reports always took longer than doing the things that went in them). If Ron wanted Harry, he'd knock on his bedroom door, and the bathroom door wasn't visible from his bedroom door.

He wearily tugged at his shirt, unbuttoned his pants, pulling the clothes from his body and staring at his bathroom wall.

On a framed tile, hanging on a peg, was a tacky little picture of a old-fashioned Snitch, with feathered instead of wire-like wings, fluttering away happily. Hermione had got it for him as a house-warming present (they'd all gotten each other something small and pointless when they'd moved in). In his mind he could see the sleeker, shinier Snitch that fluttered above Hermione's pubic region, the light brown skin around it, and the darkness down below.

He caught a breath and was shocked to find his breaths had become shallow. He felt fire in his blood and, looking down at his naked self, he was ashamed to see that the rest of him wasn't entirely unaffected by the memory of her tattoo.

"Again?" he breathed.

He was used to becoming aroused now and again. It was a part of life as a man. One just usually thought of someone unsavoury in a sexual situation and it would go away. He'd even grown a little firm before at some of the lovely little outfits Hermione had put on. That was normal, that was quite expected - she was a beautiful woman.

But this... the raging desire that flooded him was not something he was accustomed to, not something he'd ever thought he'd associate with Hermione. Both his body and mind seemed to be rebelling against him, however, and now he had a problem. This was the second time he'd been in the situation. Question was, did he go with it, or did he try to make it go away?

The Snitch fluttered in his mind's eye again, over dusky skin and deep brown curls...

No, no. It was not going to go away. They probably didn't make showers cold enough to deal with what he was feeling. He sighed, leaning on the sink, covering his face in his hands and wondering how the hell he got into this mess. He was so busy trying not to think about Hermione's Snitch (which didn't help the situation any, only compounded it), that he didn't hear the sudden pop and didn't instinctively reach for his towel.

He just opened his eyes and lifted his face from his hands.

At the door stood Hermione, eyes wide, the young woman utterly transfixed. She wore nothing but a dark pink silk robe and white underthings. Lacy white underthings. The front of her robe was undone and the Snitch down there burst into life with frantic flapping. The little gold ball quivered in delight. Well, some part of him thought in a droll tone, I got my wish. I saw it again. How lovely.

The other part of him was not currently capable of coherent thought. It couldn't possibly be. His childhood friend of ten years was staring at him and he was naked, sporting a raging erection, which, by coincidence, was caused by said friend. There were simply no words in existence that could express the emotions that bolted through him in that moment.

He didn't even think to cover himself.

Hermione finally made a strangled gasp of a noise, turning around and jumping out the door.

Blinking, Harry grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, his cheeks burning up. Hermione lingered in the door, stepping from foot to foot, face buried in her hands and a gasp leaving her.

"Harry..."

"It's all right," he said. "Are you okay?"

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

Harry's mouth wagged for a moment, then he found his voice. "The last kid went home early today. I just did some training with Moody and came home." He looked down and realised he was still erect inside his towel. "What are you doing home early?"

Hermione was still pacing back and forth, visibly shaken, covering her face as if unable to bring herself to look at him.

"I finished my report on the - the..." She made a funny noise. "They let me have an early day for once!"

It was normal for Hermione to use Harry's shower if Ron was in the shared bathroom downstairs. It didn't happen very often, but it wasn't an unexpected occurrence. There'd been near-misses and embarrassed chuckles as they ducked away, wrapped in towels and robes. It was the sort of thing you had to deal with when sharing a living space. Never could Harry foresee *this* kind of embarrassment though. He was sure she'd stood there for a good ten seconds, just staring in horror.

Staring at his vulnerable, undeniably sexual self.

He clutched the towel as he leant against the door. She stood in the doorway, face in her hands, eyes gazing at the floor. He wondered why she still stood there, why she just didn't laugh it off and forget about it.

Then again, if he'd walked in and saw Hermione with her legs spread, he could- Woah. Not the thing to think of in a towel.

He leant on the door, watching her quietly. "You grossed out?"

Her eyes lifted to his, genuine surprise in her eyes. They gleamed, and she sucked in a breath. She gulped, mouth parted as if she was reaching for the words. After a moment, she shook her head.

Harry felt a rush of tingles nearly floor him. All he could manage was, "Oh."

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

He shook his head.

Hermione did something unexpected then. She pushed herself up from the door frame, and placed one of her elegant hands over his own, which clutched his towel around his narrow hips. He looked down at her, watching her. She was gazing at their hands, as if weighing the situation. He felt the floor disappear under his feet as her fingers curled about his and pulled his hands aside. He could feel his heart in his throat as his towel dropped to the floor.

He could barely breath. He was still erect and now he was exposed to her. Except now she wasn't shocked or horrified. Her eyes glinted as she peered down at him. His mouth edged open in a tiny gasp as her fingers curled about him, the thumb running up and down the underside of him. He didn't know what to do or say, and in silence Hermione answered him. The fingertips of her other hand touched his lips, and with a sigh she leant her head on his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. She didn't kiss him, she didn't speak. He gasped against her fingers, feeling each stroke like a crash of delight, just watching her hand work him. His legs shook as his blood roared under his skin. He could feel her eyes upon him, feel them look up to his face, and then down to her business. He had no idea at all how she got so very damned clever, and he didn't want to know. He couldn't think on that, he couldn't think on much. His body was pounding away without him, ready to explode without him even able to understand what was going on.

And then it happened. Bliss crashed through him and he was releasing all of the burning that had built in him since he'd seen her half-dressed, seen that flickering little ball. He was releasing himself too, and as he gasped for air, he looked down at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Huh- Hermione..."

She looked to him, her face gentle. She was close, so very close, the moist puff of her breath fluttering across his lips. As quickly as she leant in, she pulled away, walking to the sink and slowly, carefully, washing her hands. She dried them, pulled closed her silk gown about her, and walked to the door.

She paused in the door frame where Harry leant limply. Tilting her head, she placed a hand on his jaw, stroking it softly.

"Lavender's going to be here in half an hour," she said in a breath. "Better get ready."

He nodded, barely able to digest what she said to him. The next thing she said was crystal clear though, and he understood exactly what she meant.

She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, gazing at his unclothed form hanging against the doorway.

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

Then she was gone.

~~*~~

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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.

~~*~~

-->

What followed was very probably the strangest dinner he'd ever attended, not so much for the food, but for the behaviour of the company. Ron looked like he was constantly withholding laughter (his cheeks were very red), and Lavender had an unmistakable twinkle in her blue eyes. Hermione was the most business-like and quiet he'd ever seen her. She finished her dinner very quickly and it was testament to her embarrassment that she rushed through, of all things, one of Mrs. Weasley's home-cooked meals. Before Harry could say a word to her over the table, she jumped to her feet and rushed off to her room, and Harry felt disappointment flood him. It seemed obvious to him that Ron and Lavender had some idea of what went on in Hermione's room not fifteen minutes ago. How they knew... well, Lavender had said to Harry a long time back that she considered herself quite the gifted Seer (though he'd never believed her), so perhaps she was better than he'd originally given her credit for.

He was tempted to pop by Hermione's room on the way to his, but he knew that his report on the day's events simply couldn't wait any longer and he'd already gotten in trouble twice that year for turning in his reports late. After the boring and embarrassing task of describing exactly what happened to him that day, ( "-at which point the stairs collapsed completely and I fell into the cellar-"), he tumbled into bed, fully aware of the ridiculously late hour.

The house was strangely deserted the next day when he got up, and for one awful moment he thought he'd slept in. This apparently wasn't the case, as there was a message for him on the white board on the fridge.

Dear Harry,

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

Love from,

Hermione.

He was about to open the fridge, but he spotted a PS.

PS - That Snitch is still a bother.

He felt his cheeks burn in a blush. He had to wonder if either Ron or Lav would get that reference, but he didn't dare ask for fear of incriminating himself and Hermione. He shoved all thought of it out of his mind as he made his breakfast.

After a small meal, he Apparated to work. He went straight to his office, and for the next three hours, worked on his report. As his mind was wrapped up in his work, his heart sighed, and that part of him wished he could have seen Hermione that morning before leaving for work. He immediately felt foolish for that, and convinced himself it was a matter of routine, that he always saw Hermione before work so that's why he missed it.

This didn't account for the half empty feeling in his chest, or the fact that not even his work left him fully satisfied that week. When his lunch hour came, he had to get out of the Ministry building. On a whim, he Apparated to Chudley Stadium (subtitled Walkin's Windslip Broom Wax Stadium) where he was warmly received by Ron and his rowdy team mates. Sometimes they liked to goad Harry into having a fly on one of their brooms, and Harry needed no great encouragement as they were the finest brooms Harry had ever seen - racing brooms of impeccable quality and precision. They loved to watch him catch the Snitch, and the team Seeker had quite the case of hero worship in regards to Harry. Today the team was very busy preparing for a charity game against the Appleby Arrows, so they did not stop to greet him for long. They were back to training fairly quickly. Ron hung back, however, as his reserve trained in his stead, while they both had some lunch. Harry munched on a ham and salad sandwich and sipped at coffee in a foam cup. Ron had a self-sealing, self-heated plate of his mother's cooking, which Harry dared to nick bits of, as beef casserole was far more palatable to him than the wholemeal healthy sandwich in his hands.

"Oi! What's wrong with your sandwich?" Amusement flittered onto Ron's heavily freckled face. "Didn't Hermione make it?"

"Only cause she was making some for herself at the same time," said Harry, sounding far more defensive than he intended. "It's just that she doesn't like me not eating."

"Not eating?"

He blushed. "Sometimes I forget to leave the building for lunch. She - made me these so I had something to eat if I stayed in." Ron smirked. "What's that look for?"

"Nothing." He shook his head and stuffed a hunk of beef between his teeth.

"Bull."

Ron lifted his brows and tried to look innocent, which he failed to do entirely. Harry just took a bite of his sandwich, which he irrationally resented for being made by Hermione.

"So... uhm..."

Harry stared ahead at the orange-clad players zooming about the pitch, at the sun beating down on the healthy thick green grass, not wanting to think on why Ron sounded suddenly smug.

"What's going on with you and Hermione, then, eh?"

Harry's eyes snapped to Ron and he glared at him.

"What makes you think-"

"You can't fool your old buddy-"

"Has Lavender been telling you things?" Harry said after gulping down a big mouthful of ham sandwich. "She read my mood, that sneak!"

Harry realised as he said this that it might anger Ron, a man always fiercely protective of his romantic interests. He was ready for him to redden around the ears and tell him never to speak ill of his girl again, but this didn't happen. Ron just burst into hearty laughter.

"Mate, mate..." He dropped a hand onto Harry's shoulder. "You did not have to be gifted with the sight to hear what we heard last night."

After a moment of frozen terror, the molten heat of embarrassment surged through Harry, and he wrapped his head in his arms, moaning pitifully. He remembered clearly every moan, every grunt, ever blessed cry that the both of them made, and died again and again as he recalled each sound.

"We forgot 'silencio'..." he whimpered.

"You're both Muggle-raised," Ron said in an understanding tone, "It's all right. Anyway - hearing Hermione make all those noises kinda got Lavender in a right mood. Though..." Ron winced. "I'd be happy if I never heard you moan again."

Harry whimpered again, never feeling so mortified in his life.

"Harry, calm down, it's me here!"

"I know!" he wailed.

"Well at least it wasn't someone like Tonks, or Lupin, or Neville or worse - me Mum!"

Harry sat up, pulled his head from his arms, his hair rumpled and an utter mess (more so than usual). He looked very serious. "You're right."

"Right," nodded Ron.

No, it was too much. The thought of it all flooded him and he broke down into a fit of the whimpers again, burying his head in his arms once more.

"I have never been so embarrassed in all my LIFE!" he said pitifully, all muffled.

"Even more embarrassed than that time Fred and George sent you the pretend fan mail with the singing knickers in it?"

Harry sat up, glaring flatly at Ron. Even Snape would have been hard pressed to match his withering look.

"No, Ron, I would think this is worse."

"All right, no need to get snippy!" Ron sighed, his good nature seemingly unstoppable. "So what was it like, then?" He smirked. "Did you - I mean, I know you must have-"

"No, I didn't, and I'd rather not talk about it."

Harry felt hot all over, humiliation and discomfort making him want to get away. Yet, some part of him made him sit right where he was. Damned needy self, he thought darkly.

"Harry," said Ron suddenly, "I'm your best friend. You can talk to me about these things, remember?"

Harry grit his teeth, wondering why everyone was so damned interested in his love life all of a sudden. He was sure he'd be perfectly happy if he never heard the words 'You can talk to me' ever, ever again. With a sigh of defeat, he squished the plastic wrap Hermione had put around his sandwiches in his fist.

"We didn't do - well... it, if that's what you're thinking."

Ron lifted his brows, an open-mouthed leer on his face. He stayed silent, obviously waiting for more details. Harry grudgingly continued.

"Hermione and I, we uhm..." He made vague 'v' shaped motions with his hands, indicating a pair of legs, then stuck his tongue out hesitantly and, very stiffly, bent forward in the most robotic mime of cunnilingus ever performed. He quickly stopped, looking away and blushing fiercely.

Ron's eyes flew wide open in shock, and he gave such a whoop that it echoed around the stadium. Harry hissed, begging him to be quiet. His best friend had collapsed into hearty laughter.

"Harry," sniggered Ron, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, "You are an ANIMAL, mate! With the noises she was making, Lav and I thought you must have been going at it like rabbits-"

"-Ron-"

"But just with your mouth, man!? That's amazing!"

He felt his embarrassment flee him, and all at once a heavy disappointment swamped him. He growled.

"Obviously not good enough. She avoided me this morning and outside of our bedrooms, it's business as usual."

"Yeah, well, that's Hermione for you, isn't it?" he said. "She's always been funny about her love life with us. It's probably killing her that she's having these feelings for you."

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot again, but this time in frustration and pain. "Or it could be that she doesn't feel anything much at all and is just experimenting..."

Ron began to laugh again, and Harry drifted to silence. He didn't need to ask Ron, "What?" because the po-faced expression he wore said it quite eloquently.

"I'm sorry, Harry, it's just the very idea of Hermione NOT having feelings for you is preposterous."

Harry frowned slowly. "Uhm... do they put vodka in the team orange juice or did you get hit in the head with a bludger a couple of times this morning?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! You know what I'm talking about."

"No," said Harry, stubbornly, "I don't."

"Okay," said Ron, his tone playfully condescending. "Let's see... What are the three things that Hermione's life as revolved around for the past eleven years?" He looked up into the air in feigned thought, tapping his fingers as he went. "Well, it's work, family and friends, and - you."

"Me?"

Ron met his expression without faltering. For once in the last four years of his life, he was being entirely serious.

"Listen, Harry. For as long as I've known that girl, it's been about you." Harry was about to interrupt but Ron saw this and shut him up with a glare. "I mean it. She's done so much for you and it's just a part of who she is. To be honest, I don't think she'd know what to do without you in her life. I reckon she'd go nuts."

Harry gave him a doubting look. "Oh come off it, Ron. She went out with you in sixth year, and when we left school, that guy from the Auror Academy. She was quite happy being with other people then."

Ron was shaking his head.

"No, mate. You know what Hermione and I talked about most often, not only in our very brief relationship but in the whole time we've been friends?"

Harry shook his head.

"You. What things you'd like. How you're coping with your classes. How you're doing on your own on the holidays. How good you're getting at whatever new curse you're working on at the time. You name it. You have always been her favourite topic of conversation and it's always been one of the few things I can talk to her about without her getting bored or stroppy with me." He paused, shrugging a shoulder. "And even then I manage to get her narky, but that's usually if I happen to suggest that at one of these Quidditch parties you should go have some fun with one of the pretty birds that hang around, you know - one that won't stick around and give you the shits."

Harry blinked at that suggestion. "I what..?"

"You know, just cause you deserve it, mate, a nice time, I mean, without the complications."

Rubbing his eyelids with his fingers, Harry growled quietly.

"This is exactly my problem, Ron. I don't want some random woman, I don't want five minute kinky interludes-" He whimpered, "As enjoyable as they are. I tell you what I DO want. I want complications. I want all the things that go with being in love with someone." He folded his arms, jutting his lips out sulkily. "And I bloody well want Hermione."

His best friend wrung a delighted grin from his face, seemingly trying to look as serious as he could manage, and he put his hand on Harry's shoulder again. When Harry looked at him, his expression softened.

"Listen, Harry, you know Hermione. She's a strong-minded woman with big ideas, but when you let her know how you're feeling, she comes back down to earth again. You just have to tell her what's bothering you, all right?"

Harry snorted. "She'll get angry at me for moving too fast or - or not respecting her need to 'process' or whatever."

"You can't let her bugger you around!" said Ron firmly. "If she knew this was hurting you, she'd stop, I know it."

"But - I think I don't want her to - I mean - what if this is all she'll give me?" He closed his eyes and saw fluttering gold and silver and light skin, terror at the thought of all it stood for being gone from his life forever.

"If you let her know what you're feeling, and she tells you to sod off..." He shook his head. "I'll shave her kneazle-cat and charm it green." Ron's momentary spell of wisdom seemed to have passed, and Harry could only chuckle sadly. "But I have a feeling it won't come to that," finished Ron.

He was glad Ron had such confidence, because he certainly didn't. Ron soon rejoined his team mates, slapping Harry on the back fondly. Harry watched the team play for a little while before going back to work. The sweeping, flitting play wrapped his mind up in thoughts of sport and not of his confusing love life, and he was perfectly happy watching the game, completely distracted from his problems.

At least until Chudley's Seeker grabbed the Snitch, swooping down to the ground, rolling deftly then skipping to his feet, doing a little skip of joy and waving the golden winged ball at the Captain.

Harry's fingers itched, and with a heavy sigh, he left for work.

~~*~~

The rest of the day positively dragged by for Harry and he was very glad to get home to the relative peace and tranquility of his flat. He had an early dinner of Muggle oven fried food, left a note on the fridge for Ron and Hermione, saying that he'd eaten and would be working in his room all night. This afforded him all the time alone he could want or need, and he buried himself in his work for some hours, immersed in briefs and dossiers and fat reports authored by H.J. Granger, the very tone of which he found utterly tormenting. It took him back to long days at Hogwarts where Hermione took it on herself to lecture him and Ron about what they'd missed in class, and he didn't want to think about her at that moment.

He was halfway through a report on the link between a unicorn poaching racket and increases in Dark attacks at certain apothecaries in the country when the door of his room opened and closed. He knew who it was without looking. He could smell her Muggle shampoo and the lightest of perfumes from his desk by the door. He did not look up. Her very presence made his heart beat painfully, confusion bubbling up in him, and desire - such desire.

He struggled with the indignant anger that had been simmering inside of him all day. He was so very glad to finally see her that it dissipated, slipping away like water through one's fingers.

He looked up to her and smiled. Joy bubbled up in his heart as a similarly naughty smirk drifted across her lips. He could see that she changed out of her work clothes. She wore a pair of blood red crushed velvet pants, the strangest article of clothing that she owned (which were incredibly comfortable according to Hermione) and she often wore them about the flat. Other than that, she wore a fluffy pair of pink socks and a low-cut grey singlet. She was not a fashion sensation but she did look very comfortable. Her hair was out and tumbling about her shoulders, her fringe framing her face just so, and Harry was sure she was the loveliest woman he'd ever set eyes on. His staring seemed to make her blush. He put down his quill, heart bouncing within him, and he tried his very best to look laid back. It never occurred to him that Hermione would know better.

"Hey."

Her brown eyes twinkled in the lamplight.

"Hello," she said. She pursed her lips, looking like a naughty imp that had been caught teasing the cat. "I'm sorry about being scarce this morning, and... well last night too, I suppose."

She said sorry, she said sorry. He tried not to grin. He twisted his lips thoughtfully in his fingers, or at least an affectation of thoughtfulness. In reality, he was contemplating her bosom.

"I didn't upset you, did I?"

"No, no," he said lightly, valiantly trying not to smirk. "I was just languishing in the belief that I'd become your wanton sex pup."

He struggled to keep the serious look on his face, which began to crumble as Hermione gasped and broke into a chuckle.

"Harry!"

He shrugged, smiling bashfully. Hermione looked similarly embarrassed and, stepping forward, she sat on the edge of his desk. Her smile faded.

"I've been thinking about this... A lot, actually. In fact..." She gave a sad laugh. "I've barely been able to think about anything else. And I decided-"

That she's going to break it all off. She doesn't want me like that. She's going to stop touching me. His mind filled in the blanks frantically as his heart thumped painfully.

"That this whole thing has been sort of unfair on you."

Aaaand she wants to stop. His breath was shallow, his cheeks burned, and he barely dared to meet her eyes. His heart leapt in shock as her hand covered one of his.

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

"Of me?" he found himself saying, voice small and full of uncertainty.

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

He lifted his brows expectantly, wishing she'd just say it and put him out of his misery.

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

His brows darted down and his mouth wagged. He'd been so very terrified that she wanted to stop things between them, and then she said this... Something like relief but mostly confusion whirled about in his head and he spoke, barely aware of what he was saying.

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

She blinked, eyes gleaming. "R-really?"

He nodded, unable to control much of what he said for the sudden flush of something warm and delicious roaring about inside of him. "Yes! You - you can't fall in love with someone just because of a tattoo."

She seemed to shrink a touch, her hand shooting to her mouth. It lowered and she gulped.

"You... you're in-"

He wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. But it was too late now, all too late and he just didn't care anymore. She started it, and he'd let her face it.

"Completely and utterly," he said, heart thumping madly. "It's been very distracting."

"Well I'm sorry that I'm such a bloody inconvenience!" she gasped, looking happy but sounding breathless.

"I'm not sorry at all."

The mirth on her face faded, and all that remained was the open, vulnerable emotion that he first consciously glimpsed in the ladies toilet of the Leaky Cauldron, that he'd seen flickers of over the years and gained comfort from, even though he never stopped to examine what it was that was happening between them. After all the years of slowly drifting together, of their lives interweaving and becoming so very intermingled that their being apart was rare, he realised he didn't want to wait anymore, to see if they would stumble their way into an outcome or fall apart because of unspoken tensions. He stood, his hand still under Hermione's, his eyes telling her exactly what he was feeling. Her own darling brown eyes gleamed and she seemed stunned, as if the man slowly leaning closer to her was some movie star of infinite fame and charm and not Harry who went to school with her and got stroppy with her for reminding him to do his homework and encouraged her to break perfectly reasonable school rules. As his lips touched hers, he saw her tremble all over, and he felt himself swoon a little at that, revelling in the fact that it was he that made her move so. The kiss was slow, firm, a thing that had them still and in awe, for a moment unmoving and just feeling their lips pursed together, for more than fleeting affection or attraction, but blossoming and lasting love. He felt as though it were the first kiss all over again. Finally, he pulled away and tentatively, he stroked the delicate line of her jaw. It was so smooth...

"Harry..." she breathed.

He lifted his brows.

"You're a bloody good kisser," she sighed, looking a little drunk, and Harry chuckled.

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

She took her bottom lip in her teeth, a hopeful look about her. "Well, would you like to give me a demonstration?"

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

His last few words were punctuated with his own laughter as Hermione gripped his arm and tugged it with an affronted yet playful gasp.

"Harry!"

He laughed freely, grinning at her expression. "You should see your face!"

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

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

She blushed ferociously but said, "You didn't seem to mind at the time."

"No, I didn't." He leant in again, soft smile on his face, trying the back of his knuckles over the round of her chin. "In fact, I rather enjoyed it."

Her eyelids fluttered at the caress and her lips curled into a smile. "That's good, because I intend on doing it again some time in the future."

"Glad to hear it," he murmured, nuzzling her cheek experimentally. The warmth coming from her skin was so very delightful, and her breath tickled his cheek and ear. With a dreamy smile, he continued, drifting his lips over her skin, pressing gentle tiny kisses up the line of her cheek bone, into her hair, and finding her earlobe, he kissed that too. He could hear her sigh and her hands clutched his shoulders.

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

"Th- oh my!" She gasped as he took her earlobe in his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he breathed into her ear, and he could feel her tremble again.

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

"Hmm?"

He was too busy discovering the joys of Hermione's earlobe to see why she was wriggling.

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

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

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

Harry chuckled as he turned her about and checked. He was afforded a lovely view of her bottom, and he was quite tempted to place a hand on it just in the affectation of checking, but he knew she wasn't in the mood for that. On her left bottom cheek was a lovely great black splotch, soaked into the fabric of her pants.

"Oh dear."

"Ohhh what? Do I?"

He stepped back, folding his arms, stroking his jaw and looking like the seasoned art critic. "I could do a Rorschach test with your bottom."

"Ohh bugger!"

"I see a tiger."

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

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

"No, I bought you that ink," she said, twisting about and tugging at her pants. "It's wizard ink! Charmed to be fade resistant and waterproof and stuff like that."

"Oh."

She sighed, rubbing her eyelids. "I can only hope Mrs. Weasley knows a good charm to get rid of it."

He held out his hand, walking into his bathroom.

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

He heard Hermione sigh as she walked into the bathroom behind him, and when he glanced at her he saw a smirk on her face.

"Oh, very smooth."

"Are you going to try it or not?"

"Ah, why not?" she muttered.

She wriggled her hips in an all too delectable way, pushing the elastic waist band down quiet effortlessly. Doffing the pants, she revealed a pair of white girl jocks with hot pink trim and a picture of a stylised white kitten on the centre panel, which looked absolutely gorgeous on her and made Harry's heart melt entirely. She spotted the delighted little purse of his lips and toed the floor anxiously.

"They were the most sensible knickers in the store at the time." She stood tall. "They're very comfy."

Harry smirked, his very look saying "I'll bet they are."

With a playful huff, she stomped to his sink and turned the tap on hard. He felt an evil prickle of glee dance across his heart as his eyes looked at her backside, and he did his best not to laugh.

"They are also stained with ink."

Hermione's hurried fretting movements at the sink stilled, and she turned off the water. Slowly, very slowly, she turned about. The steady gaze she hit him with was fire, and he felt hot trickles all over his body.

"Well," she said, sounding a tad breathless. "I'm just going to have to take these off to soak too, aren't I?"

"Uh- huhh- khem!" He cleared his throat, nodding, feeling gleeful trembles break out in his limbs and face. "I think that's a very sensible measure."

There was a glint in Hermione's eyes and he could tell she was very happy to have his rapt attention.

"And heaven knows I am a sensible woman," she said, stepping forward, holding his eyes, hooking her thumb in the waist band of her knickers.

"Always."

He tried to keep his eyes on hers, and he found his voice was suddenly husky without his control. Something inside him leapt with shock and delight as the tip of her tongue emerged from her mouth, pressing the middle of her top lip, a little wrinkle of concentration between her brows as she angled her hips from side to side. She wriggled (her eyes still on his), and very possibly kicked (He wasn't looking at her legs to be sure). Harry was vaguely aware of a pink and white shape sailing through the air and out of the bathroom door.

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

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

At that she hopped forward, her arms wrapping around his neck and her lips on his. He felt a chuckle in his throat at her eagerness, though it didn't surprise him entirely as Hermione was never one to go at things half-arsed. He couldn't help but groan as one of her blessedly naked legs hooked about his hip, and in catching it, he got a handful of silky thigh. There was very little he was aware of other than her. He didn't even realise she'd been steering him till they both collided into the sideboard of the bathroom, and the mirror and sink shook in objection.

"Oh shit!" he chuckled.

"Whoops!"

They laughed for only a moment, Harry leaning in and capturing her lips, stealing between them hungrily. He kissed her deeply, hotly, the way he'd wanted to for days (or was it years?) and she offered no resistance, opening herself to him; her lips, her legs. Her hands seized his and pulled them down to her hips and thighs, and Harry understood entirely.

Don't be such a bloody gentleman!

An evil little spark ignited inside of him and without warning he dragged his lips down her body, taking a mouthful of her stomach when he reached it and suckling firmly.

"Harry..."

Her fingers were in his hair and he decided that he liked that very much indeed. He nuzzled her, licking the Snitch, kissing it, then burrowing his nose lower.

"Harry!"

He'd only had the briefest taste of her when she leapt up and ran to his desk. His eyes were locked on her hips and as she escaped him, joy of joy, rapture of rapture, he was given quite the show as he watched her bolt across the room, the lower half of her entirely naked. The sight of her dainty bottom in bouncing motion would be burnt into his memory forever. Those were the things that the mysterious smiles of old men were made of.

He stepped into the bedroom, watching her pick about his desk.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

She looked over her shoulder. "Your wand!"

Harry pursed his lips, squashing any temptation to make a dirty joke out of that.

"In the pocket of my coat hanging off the chair."

As Hermione then bent over, her delicious behind pointing right at him, Harry knew that there was, indeed, a God.

"Oh my..."

He hadn't even realised he'd said anything till she looked over her shoulder with confusion.

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

She ducked her head away a moment, and with what could only be deliberation, her bottom lifted higher and she angled her pelvis up to him. His mouth went dry as blood surged downstairs, and it was all he could do not to walk right over there, press himself into her from behind and rub for dear life. He didn't because she was now trying to cast a charm.

Standing, she waved the wand at the door in a slow, big, circle.

"Silencio!"

The air about the door shimmered and, turning around, he saw her tapping her own belly. She abandoned the wand then, carefully clearing a space on his desk with a slow, deliberate swipe of her arm. Satisfied that she had a place to sit, she turned about, proud as she pleased, and parked her naked bottom on top of it, opening her legs and putting her feet on the arms of his comfy work chair, planting her hands in front of her private parts - more to tease Harry than to bid herself modesty (he guessed).

"Harry."

He opened his mouth, dragging his eyes back to hers and with a lot of concentration that had to be redirected from lower down, he managed to make a sound.

"Uh - buh-"

"Take your pants off."

"What?"

Her eyes dropped down to his crotch.

"Your pants, Harry. Take them off."

She looked amused. Slowly, he realised that he was still in the tracksuit pants and t-shirt that he often wore about the house after a long day at work.

"A-All of my-"

She just ticked a brow with a cheeky smile and he nodded.

"All off..." He drifted off, looking down and hooking his thumbs into his pants.

From the corner of his eye he saw her hands move and as his pants dropped around his ankles, she changed her posture. The coy, shy curl of her body had gone, her legs were parted but her hands were now on her knees, her thumbs twitching, and she was peering at his crotch with rapt attention. He shuffled, blushing as he noticed he was very firm and that his penis was quite happy for the sudden lack of restraint.

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

"Yes..." Hermione took her bottom lip in her teeth, a blush coming up in her cheeks. "My turn, eh?"

He lifted his brows, wondering what she meant.

She gathered the hem of her singlet in her fingers and, with a delightful arc of her body, pulled it up over her head. Her breasts stretched with her, then shuddered as she brought her arms down, and he felt his mouth watering. There she was, naked, on his desk, legs open, arms tucked at her side with a flushed, hungry look about her. He was pretty sure this was heaven. His penis agreed with him.

"Now you..."

She sounded impatient. He realised that he still had his t-shirt on, a body-hugging sort of thing (but not in the Colin Creevey goes to fanciful nightclubs sort of way) that was very comfortable, and he pulled it up over his head with shaking hands. Hermione's eyes seemed to grow wider as he threw the shirt over his shoulder, and he frowned, looking at his chest.

"What?"

A flicker of the shy, uncertain girl danced across her features.

"Well... you have an awfully nice chest, don't you?"

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

A coy but appreciative smile touched her lips and he blushed, edging towards her.

"Well... I like yours too. Very much."

She giggled quietly, leaning back as he rolled his chair away and took its place, daring to put his hands on her thighs. He looked down, watching them slide over the smooth light-brown skin, and the shudder that went through her as he did so. Her mouth dropped open a touch and a breath rasped from her. His hands were so large and clumsy on her gentle curves, he barely felt worthy to touch her. He slid them up her body, blood roaring as he caressed her hips, and he settled them in the lilt of her waist. She scooted forward on the desk, her eyes meeting his.

There was something in them that echoed the swirling emotions within him. Always it had been that way, and now, in this precious moment, it was just what he'd always wanted, what he'd always needed. He cradled her jaw, tenderly, stroking it as he felt something pass between them and something new begin.

"Hermione..."

She cut him off with a shadow of a bright smile, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose with hers. He needed no further prompting. Her eyes said everything he needed to know. He kissed her, a strange tingling heat between the small space between their bodies, and he slid his arms tightly around her, bundling her to him and lifting her off the table. He heard her gasp, and he mumbled low in her ear.

"Don't want you getting ink on your bum again, do we?"

She chuckled and let him pull her against him, her legs wrapping around his hips, and oh, blessing of blessings, her warm sex pressed against his stomach. She was light in his arms and he barely noticed the steps he took as he kissed her again, nuzzling and adoring her with his lips, stealing between her teeth and swirling his tongue against hers. It was such a relief to finally kiss her so, kiss her with passion and lust and love and all those things he'd been wrapping up deeply inside him for what felt like forever. Her sighs and tiny huffs were delicious to hear, and it all completely bewitched him, pushing the mundane normality of life far, far away and the maddening reality of the moment rushed in and drowned him. It was the best thing he'd ever felt, and he'd only just started making love to her.

His stomach jumped in his chest as they tumbled onto the bed, and Hermione let out a little gasp of shock.

"Sorry..."

She shook her head and kissed him again, seemingly happy to concentrate on Harry instead of clinging to him and worrying about them falling over (though she didn't pull her arms and legs from around him). Nimble fingers caressed his ears and everything went a little blurry as she plucked his glasses from his face. She smiled warmly.

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

He only shook his head. His heart began to pound as he realised that the warm round things brushing his chest were her naked breasts, and with a wriggle backwards, he bent down and tentatively cupped one in his hand. Hermione took her bottom lip in her teeth, arching her back towards him, a look of enjoyment fluttering across her features. He was thrilled to feel her nipples become firm under his palm, and he carefully squeezed the flesh in his hand. Hermione sighed happily.

He was barely aware of her hands stroking his shoulders and arms as he watching his own hands play with her breasts, and he bent his head, taking a nipple into his mouth, exploring it with his tongue.

Hermione gasped suddenly, her legs folding towards her belly and her back arcing suddenly.

"Did I hurt-"

"Uhn-nn" She shook her head vigourously and pulled him back down to her. "Don't stop."

He grinned at her and put his mouth back on her, and he could hear her sigh again. He loved breasts. He was reminded of this fact most vividly as he stroked and caressed Hermione's, licking the sweet curve and playfully biting the nub at its centre. A funny sort of wibbling noise came from Hermione's throat then, and her legs fell open.

"Ohhh bloody hell," she managed to mutter after a moment of incoherence.

Love flushed in his heart, and with another smile he shifted back up, looking into her eyes and kissing her softly. His fingertips drifted down between her breasts, tracing light, airy circles about them (she shuddered, stroking his side with her foot), and then down over the rise and fall of her small stomach, and then he traced the spot where the Snitch was flying madly. He pursed his lips on hers for a long moment, then opened them, dipping his fingers down past her curls.

She seemed to skip a breath as he found her sensitive flesh, and her chest rose and fell faster as he began long, lazy strokes over her.

Turning her head, she sighed, and Harry pressed his mouth over her neck, suckling it gently, tickling the sweet spot under her jaw that he knew he most certainly had. She squirmed, and he grinned internally. He loved knowing her so well.

Her hands roamed his form as he kissed and worked her, and he gave an odd squeak as her fingers found his nipples and tweaked them. He could only gasp after that, despite the deep, naughty chuckling in the back of Hermione's throat.

He stroked her firmer down there in retaliation and her legs fell open again, but she did not surrender his nipples, which he couldn't help but be glad of, as it was building on the warm tingling that was slowly consuming him.

One of the hands left his chest, and he felt a sensation that had haunted him relentlessly for the past few days - her fingers curling around his erection. Blood roared in his skin as she began to stroke him, and he stroked her in return, his hand becoming rather slippery.

He was surprised to feel her push him down onto the bed, and her body was against his, skin drifting against skin, as she scooted down. He frowned at her, curiosity in his gaze. She smiled shyly, shrugging as if it should all be obvious.

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

His mouth wagged and he shook his head. To his utter shock and delight, Hermione, eyes locked to the head of his penis, took him partway into her mouth. His head dropped back and his eyes closed as a brand new wash of emotion and sensation bombarded him. He could feel her tongue trace and tickle him, her lips pursing hard about him, her hands caressing and stroking all that wasn't in her mouth. His disbelief mounted as he felt himself go deeper, and he looked up in alarm when it felt like she wasn't going to stop.

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

He could feel her laughing about him, and it was an awesome sensation. He gripped the sheets and groaned as she shook around him, and with a wet long lick, she pulled away. He was now slick from her saliva, which he realised was her intention in the first place. It was a damned dirty way to prepare him, and he could only shake his head as she crawled up the bed and laid on top of him (avoiding his willy for now).

"Didn't mean to scare you," she breathed, eyeing his lips, cradling his face tenderly.

"You- I mean-" He stared at her in awe. "When did you-"

"Best not to ask that," she said with a smirk.

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

She lifted her brows at him and he sighed with a disbelieving smile.

"-bloody dominant!"

She laughed at that and she wriggled her body on top of his in a deliberately teasing way. "Well, would you rather I roll over like a good little bitch and play dead?"

He blinked, and something in him snapped. He grinned, and a growl took him as he grabbed her and rolled them both over, his mouth closing on her neck. She squealed and giggled, and after a moment of suckling her neck, he met her eyes again.

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

She grinned back at him, wrapping her arms about his neck. "Hmm, well, that's very interesting." She closed her eyes as he kissed her neck again, and she continued. "I suppose you want me to spank you as well?"

He giggled against her neck and mumbled about her flesh. "Not tonight."

"Good," she said, running her fingers through his hair dotingly. "I prefer kisses."

Her affection pulled him from her neck and he nuzzled her with a besotted smile.

"Me too."

He kissed her again, her fingers in his hair, her legs parting and wrapping about his narrow hips. He could feel her coaxing him, and her kisses were growing more open, her tongue dipping deeper within him. She didn't have to say anything, he knew she wanted more, and so did he.

He settled between her legs, a hand caressing her breast and another resting in her hair (how he loved to touch it), letting the tip of his penis slowly stroke her lips. He felt her tremble, her fingers digging into his arms, her heels digging into his bottom. Her vocal sighs filled his ears and he responded with a gentle moan of his own, which he felt shudder in their lips pressed hard together.

It was only a moment that he took to ready himself, as her plaintive gasps were demands in themselves for him to stop dilly-dallying. He wriggled in one final attempt at positioning and kissing her, he slowly pushed himself in.

His mind turned inside-out. He felt it peel away from his skull and flip, and the strange sensation of falling into hot water took him at the same time. His very spirit gloried in the contact and demanded to know why, why, why he hadn't done this with the precious woman in his arms before now? He couldn't think on it - he couldn't think of anything. All he could do was kiss her, bury his fingers in her hair, breath with her, feel with her. He could feel her arms and legs fold about him, and he loved how she clung to him so, loved how she was so damned hot about him... He angled his hips, slowly, carefully, feeling for the new space he wanted to get to know (oh so very) intimately. Again he sank within her, again sheets of delight broke out across his skin, tingling his every nerve, and Hermione let out a helpless moan.

His hips began a slow rolling and he stopped thinking in words, stopped thinking in logic. All he knew was Hermione; her hair, her smell, the taste of her skin, the feeling of her surrounding him entirely. Her breathing began to match his pace and he listened to her intently, listened to her pleased little sounds, her gasping which was growing to moaning.

Something indescribable mounted in his body. With every stroke it grew, with every kiss. He was now utterly at home inside her, and he began to push, began to quicken, eager to take her to the extremes she'd pushed him with a single blessed hand. She clutched him with her hands, her legs, her inner muscles, a rough groan lifting from the back of her throat. He kissed her, adoring her with his tongue as he did the rest of himself, little shudders growing in her body around him. It made him lose his sanity, made him lose touch of the tiny shred of shyness or propriety he had left within him. He groaned, thrusting dedicatedly into her now, his own passion making him a little crazy.

Hermione, Hermione... my Hermione...

His mind sang this little song as he moved within her.

How I love my Hermione...

Her lips broke away from his and she began to gasp heavily, cries leaving her throat.

"Ohhh... Oh my-" She gulped, her eyes flickering open, her fingertips stroking his jaw. "Yes, oh-" She bit her lip, but he didn't want her to hold a thing in.

"Just say it," he said on a ragged breath, his eyes gazing right onto her.

She tightened about him as he met her eyes, and a great cry left her.

"Oh... oh HARRY!"

His name leaving her lips in such a rough, impassioned cry sent him hurtling past his limits, his body clenching and shuddering within her and without her. He wondered what all the noise was and he suddenly realised that it was him, he was moaning and growling like some wild animal, and it was him making Hermione whimper and gasp. He cradled her face as he made his final strokes within her, the waves of his release slowing gently.

With a sigh he kissed her, a warm, binding kiss that he felt all over. He breathed her name, and some part of him wanted to tell her that he loved her... but he'd read somewhere (or was it heard from Lavender) that one was never supposed to say that after sex. It was tacky, or some such. He let his eyes say it instead, and he spoke it in the music of her name.

"Hermione..."

She tilted her head, running her fingertips through his now sweaty fringe. A stunned, blissful smile drifted across her face, and he was sure he'd never seen her look so beautiful. He had to kiss her again, so he did. With a sigh he lay on the bed, and half on Hermione (unwittingly), trying to gather his wits but only managing to gather bliss.

He felt her little hands push him off her slowly, and he was worried until she snuggled to his side. It only then occurred to him that he was probably much heavier than her and was squashing her.

"... Hermione..."

"Hmm?"

He licked his lips, looking about them and feeling very silly.

"We're on the bed sideways."

"I know."

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

"Relax," she said, settling onto his chest happily. "There's no rule saying you have to lie on the bed in a certain way."

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

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

A feeling of embarrassment flushed through him then.

"Yeah but... I might fall asleep."

She sighed, a frown making a dent in her brow. She sat up, affecting great bother, and she eyed him over her shoulder. "What are you saying, Harry?"

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

She considered this. "Well, so do I!"

Without another word, she got up, strolling into his bathroom. He watched her disappear into it. For a long moment, he wondered what she was doing. He just said he wanted to use the shower and she was stealing his turn from him under his nose...

She stuck her head out the door, a look of amusement on her face.

"Are you going to come have a shower or not?"

A dawning feeling came over him and he nearly slapped himself. He didn't because he was too busy running into the bathroom after a squealing Hermione.

-->

~~*~~

Chapter Four

Surrender

When Harry woke that morning, he was smothered with bushy brown hair. He spluttered, trying to get it from his face, and he blushed as he realised there was some drool in her hair from it being in his mouth all night. He patted it, a frown on his face, and then carefully brushed it from her face and pressed it down, trying to snuggle in behind her. He wrapped his arms about her, and with a slow, warm tingle through his body, he remembered the events of the previous night. He smiled, a broad, sleepy smile, and thought about all that he felt about him.

His body against hers, both of them as bare as the day they were born, wrapped up in each other. He was sure there was nothing so perfect in the world than that.

He lay there for he didn't know how long, watching a bright gold stripe of sun steal in from his curtains and crawl down the opposite wall. He was utterly content, just feeling this new thing, of sharing his bed with someone. No, not just with someone - with Hermione.

He snuggled tighter, idly watching the gold beam of sunlight continue to crawl down the wall. It wasn't until it hit the handle of the top of his chest of drawers that a niggling worry grew in his heart. Just as his brain was clambering to get a hold of what was concerning him, Hermione stirred, rolling onto her back and taking a waking breath.

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

Realisation slammed panic through him, and he jerked his head around and checked his alarm clock.

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

Hermione was already up and out of bed as he crawled out, and he searched out a clean pair of underpants and some clothes to get dressed into. He was so wrapped up in getting ready for work that he didn't notice what Hermione was doing. He ran into his bathroom, jumping right into the shower, barely noticing that he didn't have to get undressed, and bumped into the soapy, warm, wet body of Hermione. He blinked.

"Hermione-"

She just blinked innocently at him. He opened his mouth, but after looking at her, dripping and naked, he forgot what he was going to argue about.

"It's all right, Harry," she said, washing herself with a frothing bar of soap, the suds sliding down her body, Harry's eyes following their tracks. "It'll be quicker this way."

It wasn't any quicker that way. In fact, he was sure that it was the longest morning shower he'd ever taken. As they Apparated down stairs, fully dressed, hair damp, Harry was trying to concoct a list of reasons why he was late. It occurred to him that they both had the same superior: Lupin. It would be highly suspicious that they were both late. It would be even more ridiculous if they had differing reasons why this was so. Embarrassment swelled in his stomach, and he wasn't so sure if he was hungry. Hermione began to cook some eggs, however, and his stomach changed its mind and complained loudly that it was so very empty.

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

"I'll make the coffee then, shall I?" he muttered tiredly, and Hermione smirked.

Sleepiness encroached on his awareness as he pulled out some coffee cups from the top cupboard. As he did so, a little hand grabbed his bottom and he leapt with a yelp.

"Hermione!"

She grinned and ran back to the stove, taking the eggs off the flame with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"I've wanted to do that forever!" she sighed, looking very relieved. "You have the loveliest bottom!"

"I do?"

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

He shook his head with a smirk, closing the cupboard behind him. "Yes, well, you can safely assume that I think your bottom is just as lovely."

"Thank you."

He busied himself with the coffee, Hermione laying out plates and doling out scrambled eggs. He smelt the cooking of bread and out of the corner of his eye he could see her toasting some bread with a blast from her wand. He put his concentration back to the coffee, and he went to grab a teaspoon from the sink. The thing flipped from his fingers as he had rushed himself and not gotten a proper purchase of the slippery metal utensil, and it clattered onto the floor. He bent over, picking it up, and this time two hands grabbed at his behind.

"That's it!" he growled, slamming down the spoon and rounding on Hermione.

She squealed, abandoning her wand and toast on the table and running. He leapt to one side of the kitchen table and she stopped, gripping one of the chairs, a glint of mischievous joy in her eyes. She edged back and forth, watching him carefully, and he matched every movement. Finally she bolted one way and with an easy sidestep he caught her, roaring happily, her cries and giggles in his ears.

"Harry!"

With a hearty, triumphant laugh, he descended on her neck, kissing it hungrily and taking great handfuls of her bottom and squeezing it with relish. Hermione laughed, the breathiness of arousal mixed up in it, only playing at resisting him.

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

"Hmm?"

"Get ready for work!" she finally managed.

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

"You started this, Miss Granger."

She took her bottom lip in her teeth and squirmed. "I did, didn't I?"

He nodded, and without another word he took her lips in his, kissing her hotly, quite forgetting about his tardiness again. He thought Hermione may have whimpered something about her make-up, but he wasn't paying all that much attention to anything but her moist lips.

He had just stolen between them with his tongue when he heard a familiar chuckle by the kitchen door. Leaping away, he flattened his hair, grabbing for coffee cups and jabbing at the sugar with the teaspoon he'd abandoned, and spooning far too much of it into the cups in question. Hermione was in a similar state of embarrassment, pawing at her hair and straightening the cutlery on the table.

Ron stood at the doorway, long lanky hands wringing at the biggest shit-eating grin Harry was sure he'd ever seen on his best friend's face. His blue eyes positively glittered with triumph, and a long, slow, evil laugh fell from him.

"Ohhhh Harry," he said. "Harry, Harry..."

Hermione rolled her eyes, tutting to herself. She turned and dug into the fridge, probably to hide the bright red blush in her cheeks.

"Why aren't you at practice or something?" Harry found himself biting out at Ron, and Ron just lifted his red brows and wagged his shoulders teasingly.

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

"Of course he expected you to be here," snapped Hermione, slamming closed the fridge door and gripping some wrapped rashers of bacon in her hand. "You LIVE here, you idiot!"

Ron just sniggered. "No need to get tetchy with me cause I interrupted a moment."

"Do you want some coffee, Ron?" Harry asked, trying valiantly to change the subject.

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

Hermione glared daggers at him, which only seemed to fuel his amusement. She busied herself with frying the bacon, and Harry tried to put back some of the sugar he'd dumped into his cup. As he did so, a certain someone else swanned into the room behind them, singing happily at the top of her lungs.

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

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the humiliation increase. Hermione was glaring at Lavender, utter shock in her expression. For the first time in years, Harry felt like throttling Lavender.

In an attempt to turn the situation around, he said, "I take it you had fun last night, Lav?"

"Of course," she said, sitting down next to Ron and grinning naughtily. Harry was surprised to discover that the woman had some sense of mercy or propriety, because that's all she chose to say.

Hermione's shoulders seemed to sag in relief when the silence stretched on from Lavender, and she very quickly cooked the bacon and shared it out. Harry all but stuffed his breakfast into his mouth, body working to get his morning routine finished, his mind lingering on the sweet activities of the night before. He found himself sneaking glimpses of Hermione, wondering in the joy he now got in something as mundane as watching the poor girl eat.

He could have thanked God when Lavender jumped up, winking at Harry and Hermione, and giving Ron a hearty kiss, Apparated off to work. Harry was glad, very glad, that she had such a busy schedule. Ron yawned and grinned and mumbled something about trying to find something on the VeeTee to watch. Harry gripped his knife and fork, his eyes meeting Hermione's only for a moment.

She got up, piling the dishes in the sink and striding to the fridge, she grabbed the marker hanging from it by a string and scribbled on the message board.

Harry stood, gathering his cloak, wondering just how the day was supposed to go now. Hermione answered that for him. She fastened the hook of her cloak and grabbed his hand.

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

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

"We slept in," she said simply. "It happens."

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

She lifted her brows to him matter of factly. He'd seen her pull that face a thousand times, often in justification of some rather important rule she'd just broken. He shook his head and leant in, kissing her softly. Her business-like stance grew a little limp, and she squeezed his shoulder.

"Oh, Harry we are going to be late!"

"Already late," he said.

"Don't want to be any LATER!"

Harry just grinned, and together, they Apparated to work. On the fridge was a hastily scribbled note.

Dear Ron,

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

Get that damned smug look off your face.

From,

Hermione (and Harry).

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

~~*~~

AN: I want to thank each and every one of you for your feedback so far. I'm really chuffed and very thankful for your support - bless every single one of you. *kisses to you all* One more chapter!

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Epilogue

He wasn't entirely sure why, but he was drunk. Again. Lavender was singing some crude Muggle drinking song and Hermione was looking appropriately mortified by her behaviour. Ron was egging her on, which was entirely expected on Harry's part. Harry was content to drink at the sweet wheaty beer that was brewed on the premises especially, and continue to cuddle Hermione to his side. She shook her head, supping at her own cocktail.

"Please remind me why we agree to go out with that woman?"

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

She eyed him.

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

Hermione's eyes narrowed and a naughty smirk drifted across her lips. "Yes, well, I'll remember that."

He wasn't entirely sure he was secure in her tone.

That day at work had been quite an experience for Harry, for many reasons. Lupin, thank God, did not ask questions when Harry apologised for being late and mumbled with beetroot red cheeks that they'd both slept in (sorry, so sorry, didn't mean to, Sir). Lupin merely lifted his brows with twinkling eyes and muttered that it better not happen again.

Hermione stomped off, blushing as darkly as Harry was, growling curses at a certain werewolf she kept nameless.

It was soon after that moment that Tonks walked into his office, bright as a button, an imp-like smile on her lips, and winked at him. Her near-black eyes seemed to twinkle with some secret knowledge and Harry felt himself blushing all over again. Much to his surprise, Tonks hooted, a sharp bark-like sound that made him jump a foot in his chair.

"I knew it!" she hissed happily. "Ohh, I knew it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Slept in!" she sniggered.

"Oh, God."

Tonks just wiggled her eyebrows at him, and she reminded him spookily of Sirius. Harry sighed at her.

"Yes, yes, all right. Whatever you're thinking, it probably happened, with bells on. Can we please get on with our work now?"

"Hhmhehehe!" Tonks nodded. "Promise."

Harry sighed and looked over his glasses at her. "Do you and Lupin *always* tell each other everything?"

To Harry's complete surprise, Tonks' cheeks grew bright red, and she stood up, pushing herself away from his desk.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled, and strode from the room.

From then on, the day looked up. He'd spent time with Hermione at lunch for once, managing to drag her from the library (but she wasn't too hesitant to leave it).

Thankfully the second half of the day wasn't quite as embarrassing as the first. He could feel people's eyes on him as he went about his daily duties, but he really was starting not to care. So what if people were amused? So what if they said to each other, "I knew it was going to happen!"? He didn't, and now it had, and he was with Hermione and life, for the first time in years, was absolutely wonderful. He felt like he had a balloon inside of his chest, making him float a little all the time. Whenever he saw Hermione, it made him float a little more. It was thoroughly intoxicating and he surrendered himself to it. He was quite simply sick of trying to find reasons not to enjoy it all.

That night at the pub with Ron, Lavender and Hermione would have to have been the best he remembered. It was just the four of them, laughing and drinking and talking together, old friends that had found something in someone and were exploring it bravely. Bravely and drunkenly. Hermione tapped the bar, winking at Tom the Barkeep.

"Harry needs another one, Tom, mate," she said, leaning her cleavage on the bar. "Look, he's not wobbling."

Tom snorted and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky. "Don't mind on his sobriety, as long as the drinks is paid for," said the bar man.

"Always," said Harry dourly, but there was a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

Tom just nodded at that and put another full-strength butterbeer on the bar.

The night wore on. Like the last time he'd spent there, Lavender plied him with liquor, and worse, Hermione joined in this time. He had to wonder what she was up to, because if she got him any more drunk he doubted he'd be much good in bed later that night. It was around one in the morning when Hermione pulled him from the bar chair and squeezed him sharply on the bottom.

"Come on," she mumbled, "Time to go for a walk."

"Where?" he asked, wishing she'd keep still, and then realising it was him that was wobbling.

"Diagon Alley," said Lavender, tugging on Ron's arm and leading him out the back door of the pub.

Hermione hummed the favoured Gryffindor pride song under her breath, every now and again muttering the lyrics (all wrong because she was drunk). Lavender joined in every now and again, deliberately mangling the lyrics till they were rude.

Plodding after the others, Harry found himself in the back alley of The Leaky Cauldron. With a shaky sort of aim, Hermione jabbed at the bricks of the alleyway, grumbling.

"Oh DO keep... rgg... STILL!"

She finally smacked the last brick with her wand and the bricks shook and folded back to reveal Diagon Alley. Harry had barely realised that the way was clear when Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him into the alley. All he could do was watch his feet, making sure that one went after the other and that he didn't trip up at all.

"Here, Harry," said Hermione, pulling a bottle out of her bag. "Have some of this. You too, Ron."

Harry looked to the bottle in her hand and choked, waving a wild pointing finger at it.

"Tha's tha' evil green stuff!"

"It's fabulous!" exclaimed Lavender.

"Have some!" Hermione said. "Come on!"

She pulled the stopped and held it to his lips, and with a sigh of supplication, he opened his mouth to sip some. Hermione must have been half mad, he thought, because she was tipping copious amounts of the stuff down his throat. He gulped it down desperately and coughed.

"You tryin' to DROWN me?!"

"Jus' 'ave some more," she said, pushing the bottle to him. "I's very impordant."

"Whah for?"

"You'll see," she said.

Harry took another mouthful of the vile green stuff, and with a toddling, staggering step, was directed down Knockturn Alley, barely noticing where he was going. He may have passed out at that point, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that was where his memories of the night ended.

~~*~~

Harry awoke the next day with a shocking headache. He was very glad that it was the weekend. He doubted very, very much that he would have been able to make it to work if he'd had to have gone. In fact, he was sure he would have splinched himself in the phone booth on the way in. He rolled over with a groan, collecting a face full of bushy brown hair and a soft, warm, round female body. Aah, it wasn't all bad, he thought. Except that his bottom was hurting something fierce. He tried to snooze some more, but his head was pounding far too much for that. He crawled out of bed, promising himself some painkilling charms and a hot cup of coffee when he got downstairs. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he felt like a bundle of needles were prickling into his bottom. He hissed, standing up and checking if he'd accidentally invited a hedgehog into his bed last night.

No, no hedgehog.

But standing in the middle of the room, he saw his reflection in his full-length mirror by the wall, and felt all the blood drain from his face.

He'd been marked.

He sprang over to the mirror, twisting about in it, trying to ignore his head still throbbing painfully, pulling at the round of his bottom and trying to see the little brown something that was fluttering on his skin. His heart drew still as he saw what it was.

A book. Brown, leather-bound, with a gold buckle on it. On the cover it said, "Hogwarts: A History" (of all the things!) and he immediately thought of Hermione. His heart thumped hard in his chest, and the book blew open, the protective leafs fluttering by to reveal the front page, marked thusly:

-Property of-

Hermione Granger

He groaned, rubbing his face in a shaking hand, stomach clenching and then dropping in his chest. That evil, delicious, wonderful woman. He turned about, propping his hands on his hips, tapping his fingers on the curl of them with a heavy sigh. Hermione was stretched out on her back, hair, shoulder and face peeking out of the quilt. He stepped over to her, and stood there patiently. He whistled, tapped his feet, did generally annoying things to stir her from her sleep. It eventually paid off, and her eyes cracked open slowly.

"Hmm," She smiled, rubbing her eyes and looking him up and down. He was absolutely stark naked, standing there with his hands still on his hips. Propping herself on her elbow and leaning on her hand, she sighed happily. "What a wonderful sight to wake up to."

"I'm glad you enjoyed waking up," Harry said, "Because it was quite a different experience for me."

"Was it?"

"Yes!" He nodded. "I woke up and low and behold, not only do I have a cracking headache from a certain green vile liquid you made me consume-"

"I didn't hold my wand to your head, Harry," she said, eyes twinkling.

He eyed her, lips pursed. "No, you just poured it right down my throat."

"You swallowed," she smirked.

He sighed with frustration. Damn her for being sexy.

"-not ONLY do I have a cracking headache, but my poor arse cheek feels like a knarl decided to use it for a pillow!"

A cheeky smirk twisted Hermione's lips. "I wonder whatever's wrong with it?"

"Oh, I can tell you," he said, kneeling in front of her and bringing his face close, eyeing her firmly. "It's all thanks to a tattoo of a book saying 'Property of Hermione Granger'."

He waited for that to sink in. Hermione merely blinked and giggled. The wench giggled.

"You were very insistent on getting it," she said. "You can hardly blame me."

"You're behind it!" he growled, pointing at her. "You made me get it!"

"I merely made a suggestion!" she said, sitting up in bed, the quilt falling down around her hips. "You can't blame me for your strange decisions!"

"It's a decision I probably wouldn't have made if I hadn't been three sheets to the wind!"

Hermione threw back the quilt she was under and pulled her hair behind her shoulders, exposing her breasts and effectively every other part of her anatomy. She flapped a hand impatiently.

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I can't very well get rid of it." She then pouted. "Don't you like it?"

He'd been quite distracted by all the skin that had been exposed, and at her plaintive tone, he opened his mouth, no sound coming out. He blinked, mouth wagging for a moment and he sighed.

"I - I wouldn't say I didn't like it," he said, and he looked over his shoulder. "It's... I'd say it's a shock. I mean... I like the sentiment."

Hermione suddenly brightened and jumped out of bed. "Good!" She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, and Harry couldn't find his indignant anger anymore. There were too many nice warm soft bits pressed up against him for that.

"Why don't you go downstairs and bring us up some breakfast!" she asked him. "We can sit in bed all morning and misbehave."

A light smile fluttered across Harry's face and he nodded. "All right."

He pulled on a pair of his tracksuit pants and made his way downstairs. As he dug through the fridge, he began to realise that Hermione seemed to take great joy in telling him what to do. Then again - when wasn't she just a little bit bossy? He smiled dreamily, pulling eggs and rashers of bacon from the fridge and putting them on the sideboard.

"Morning."

Harry turned and saw Ron padding into the kitchen, wearing only his pyjama pants, moving very gingerly.

"You look bloody awful," said Harry.

"So do you," Ron said, and pulling out a chair at the table, he sat down. As his bottom made contact with the chair, he hissed.

Harry did a double-take and pointed at Ron.

"Don't tell me... you too?!"

Ron's eyes widened and he pointed back at Harry. "You mean-"

"On my bum!" Harry cried.

"Those evil little-"

"What did they put on you?!"

Ron went bright red and sinking in his chair he hid a little behind his hands. "A Quick-Quotes quill."

"Does it move? What does it do?" asked Harry, brows rising.

"It reports on what I'm feeling," Ron said through gritted teeth. "Word for word, right across my arse cheek!"

~~*~~

When Harry got upstairs, he got naked again as quickly as he could and jumped under the covers with Hermione. They playfully fed each other the breakfast Harry prepared and when they were both quite full, Harry levitated the plate carefully to the floor. He'd barely rolled onto his back when Hermione straddled him, a naughty smirk on her face.

"Hello," he said, raising his arms and laying them on her thighs.

Her smirk turned to a grin. "Hello."

"What are you up to?"

She gave a cheeky sigh, scooting down underneath the covers, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Yes, he decided he would like to know, and oh - he was now finding out exactly what she was up to. He wanted nothing more than to melt into the mattress, enjoy what he was feeling, but something was niggling at him. It was curiosity. He squirmed.

"Mmph!" Hermione burrowed out from under the quilts. "Harry, unless you want me to bite it off, you have to keep still-"

"What did Lavender get?"

Hermione blinked, seemingly affronted at the mention of another woman while they were in bed.

"Well... I got a book. You got a Snitch. Ron got a quill. If he got something, naturally Lavender must have gotten one, because the whole point in Ron and I getting tattoos was revenge, right?"

A dawning look fluttered across Hermione's face and she nodded. "Yes, you're right."

"So... what did she get?"

Smirking, Hermione leant towards his ear, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest rather nicely.

"A weasel."

At that, she disappeared under the blanket, Harry giggling before Hermione stopped him from thinking much else - at least for a little while.

~~*~~

A final AN: Okay everyone. Thank you SO much for reading my story, and reviewing and being utterly wonderful. If you loved this story, do yourselves a favour!! Check out Anne's wonderful companion piece “Scratching the Itch”, which is Hermione's point of view of what is going on! Thanks! Oh - and keep an eye out for my next Harry Potter tale - Harriet.

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